Page 24 of Washed Up

Brian finally eased himself out of the chair. ‘This conversation is not over,’ he said, ambling out of the room, wincing a little from the pain.

‘It bloody is,’ muttered Frankie, staring into the fire. Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at her watch. Nearly 2pm. No wonder.

Half an hour later, her father was de-dusted and back in the armchair with a round of sandwiches and more tea. He’d managed the shower by himself and was moving more freely thanks to the painkillers, meaning the ball of worry in Frankie’s chest had shrunk to more of a ping-pong ball size. She was busying herself in the kitchen, making several more rounds of sandwiches to take her mind off it all, when Lily and Dylan burst into the room. They were shaking the raindrops off their clothes and giggling, her mother’s hand still on Dylan’s arm as if they’d walked up the hill like that.

A stab of jealousy coursed through her and she almost laughed at her own foolishness. What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to sort this out and sharpish. It was, frankly, ridiculous. They’d only just met. Hell, he wasn’t her type. If she’d even known enough men to have a type. Jake was more the usual build she thought of, if she thought of it at all. Dylan was slimmer, leaner, more the tortured musician beta type she and Sally had giggled over in the teenage magazine quizzes when they were growing up. Still, she thought, as she watched him taking off his Paddington jacket by the fire, still grinning, he certainly had alpha male energy. Confidence. Swagger, even. She had to admit, it was deeply attractive.

‘What?’ he said, catching her staring at him.

‘Nothing,’ she mouthed, cheeks reddening under his returning gaze.

At the sound of their voices, Blondie came clacking into the room from her spot in the lounge, tail wagging. She made a beeline for Dylan, who crouched down to give her a scratch. The dog closed her eyes, practically beaming at him as he got hold of her ears and gave them a rub.

‘I see you’ve met Blondie,’ said Lily.

‘She’s absolutely smitten with the boy,’ said Brian with a wry smile.

Lily looked him over. ‘You look all right,’ she said, grabbing a sandwich from the plate.

‘Good of you to be so concerned,’ said Frankie drily.

‘I am all right,’ said Brian. ‘All this fuss is a load of old rot.’

‘You should have seen the size of the statue that fell on him,’ said Frankie.

‘She’s not even joking,’ said Dylan. ‘A whole Jesus, I think.’

Lily peered at Brian, then shrugged. ‘He’s made of tough stuff. That’s why I married him.’

Dylan glanced at Frankie, who raised her eyebrows as subtly as she could. ‘Have a sandwich, Dylan,’ she said. ‘You must be starving.’

His blue eyes crinkled at her. ‘I’m fucking famished, as it goes.’

Lily giggled at his use of the swear word, and even her dad grinned from his chair.

‘Good man,’ he muttered. ‘Told you, Frankie.’

‘Told her what?’ said Dylan, looking amused.

Frankie shook her head quickly at Brian, but he either didn’t notice the movement or pretended he hadn’t.

‘We were just saying what a breath of fresh air you are around here,’ said Brian.

Shame flooded Frankie’s body. ‘Dad! For God’s sake we said nothing of the sort.’

‘Did you now?’ said Dylan, raising his eyebrows at her.

‘I did not,’ said Frankie, her face even warmer now. ‘He’s an old man. He’s had a bump on the head. He clearly has no idea what he’s saying.’

Dylan glanced at Brian. ‘He seems perfectly lucid. Seems to me he’s a very sensible type. Got his head screwed on. None the worse for the whole statue thing, if you ask me.’

‘It’s a good job no one did,’ said Frankie, but she couldn’t resist smiling back at him at that. Honestly, he was insufferable.

‘You like our little island, then?’ purred Lily, her eyes raking over Dylan as he pulled up a chair at their battered old kitchen table.

‘I like it just fine,’ said Dylan.

‘No. No, he doesn’t,’ said Frankie. ‘He thinks we’re a bunch of bumpkins. Can’t wait to get back to his social media accounts and his groupies and all that jazz.’