Page 20 of Washed Up

‘Frankie? Is that you? I’m in here.’

It was him. Thank God. She pushed at the door and sure enough, there was her father, prostrate on the floor near the altar. At the sight of him it was an effort not to scream the place down. One of the chapel’s stone statues was laying across him and he was surrounded by plaster and detritus from where it had toppled and part of it had smashed on the floor. On him. Part of the wooden altar table was broken, too; he must have grabbed at it as he fell. All this she took in in a couple of heartbeats.

‘Dad! Oh my God. Hold on. Dylan! Jake! In here!’ she yelled, her voice breaking with the effort as she knelt beside her father.

Jake appeared in the doorway first, Dylan close on his heels. Jake let out a low whistle at the scene before him and her dad visibly winced at the sound, as if he’d already been afraid of how bad it looked. Frankie reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Her father was pale, his face covered in dust, but as far as she could see there was no blood. Please God, don’t let there be any blood.

She was supremely grateful for their presence as Jake and Dylan grabbed either end of the stone statue without a word.

‘Jeez, it’s heavy,’ said Jake. ‘You okay there, Dylan?’

‘Cheeky bastard,’ muttered Dylan, but they were soon both huffing with the effort.

‘I think it’s caught on something at that end,’ said Frankie, attempting to be helpful.

As they pulled at it, it shifted slightly, easing the pressure on Brian’s chest. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his face contorted in pain.

‘Don’t thank us yet,’ said Dylan grimly, his jaw clenched.

Frankie gave her dad’s hand another squeeze, then stood to help them lift.

‘On three,’ said Jake, and with one final effort the statue came away and her dad collapsed back onto the floor.

‘Dad,’ said Frankie, rushing back to his side and wrapping her arms around him. They sat like that for a long moment, before Frankie began checking him all over, terrified of what she might find and desperate to know, all at the same time.

‘I’m okay,’ he said with a groan, waving away her attentions as she tried to lift his jumper to check for bruises. ‘I’m okay, darling. Just give me a minute.’

‘Oh, Dad. Thank God we found you. And also, you scared the living shit out of me,’ she said. ‘What the hell were you even doing in here?’

He pointed with a dust covered hand. ‘Blondie,’ he said. One word and Frankie’s heart dropped like a stone.

There in the gloom in the far corner of the chapel, was their beloved dog, regarding Frankie with big eyes, her tail tucked underneath her.

‘Oh, girl. Oh, my darling girl. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s me,’ she said as gently as she could. Please God, don’t let her be hurt. Don’t let either of them be hurt.

Blondie’s long tail began to thump. Once, twice, three times on the stone floor.

‘It’s okay, come here, girl,’ she said again. Then, to her dad, ‘Is she hurt? I can’t tell.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he managed, his voice rasping. ‘I saw her come in here and I was trying to get her out when the wind rattled the whole building and that bloody thing fell on top of me. Poor girl. It’s like she knew it was going to happen.’

‘Come on, baby girl,’ said Frankie. ‘Come on.’

Finally, Blondie moved and she crept towards Frankie and Brian across the mess, her tail between her legs. She was covered in plaster dust, too.

‘That’s it, girl,’ said Frankie as Blondie climbed into her lap for a cuddle.

Dylan let out a nervous laugh, as well he might. Blondie was a furry labradoodle the size of a small horse who simply loved cuddles. And right now, Frankie was extremely grateful for the warmth and comforting weight of her. As she wrapped her arms around her, she felt her over as subtly as she could for any signs of breaks or strange lumps but no, nothing that she could feel. Phew.

Her dad was sitting up beside her now, hands on his knees.

‘Are you okay?’ she said, feeling his forehead as if he was a small child.

‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘Just feel a bit woozy.’

‘I’m not bloody surprised,’ said Jake, coming forward to help him stand up. ‘Think you probably ought to get checked out by the doctor. You might have broken a rib or…’

‘I’m fine.’ Brian waved a hand. ‘Thanks so much, young man.’ He turned to Dylan, who was sitting on a pew, trying to slow his breathing. ‘And who is this? I know I’ve had a little bump on the head, but I definitely don’t remember this one.’