Page 25 of Washed Up

Dylan only grinned wider and stuffed another sandwich into his mouth. ‘I do miss wifi, I won’t lie,’ he said, through his mouthful.

‘Nothing wrong with that, son,’ said Brian. ‘We get used to it, I suppose, it’s so intermittent here.’

‘Which is a great thing,’ added Frankie. ‘Social media is such stuff and nonsense. None of it is real.’

‘How would you know?’ said Lily, and Frankie didn’t miss the barb in her voice.

‘How would you know?’ she retorted. ‘You only do Facebook like an old lady, and that’s only so you can stalk that ex-boyfriend of yours.’

Dylan raised his eyebrows at Brian, who simply shrugged. ‘It’s true, she does.’

‘If your ex-boyfriend was the Duke of Pembroke,’ said her mother sharply, ‘you’d stalk him, too. And,’ she added, ‘I am not old.’

‘Oh my God, here we go,’ said Frankie. ‘Come on, Dylan, let’s get the hell out of here. Want to see the rest of the house?’

‘Do I ever,’ said Dylan. Then, eyes flashing suggestively, ‘Is it my turn to see your bedroom now?’

‘What?’ said Lily. ‘What does he mean by that?’ She turned to Brian.

He laughed. ‘Kids will be kids. Now, beautiful Lily, come here and look at my bruise.’

Frankie grabbed Dylan’s hand and dragged him from the room.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As he surveyed her bedroom a few minutes later, Dylan rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s actually lovely,’ he said.

And it was. Frankie’s room had a large four poster bed her mum and dad had salvaged and restored, and the walls were half panelled with oak on three sides. But it was the windows that made it. Windows on two sides of the room gave panoramic views out across the island. Frankie and Dylan stood side by side at the larger window, watching the trees bend in the wind and beyond, the waves tossed with foam. And in the middle, through the gloom, there shone a long strip of pale-yellow sand.

‘What’s that?’ said Dylan.

‘That,’ said Frankie, all too conscious of his arm brushing against hers, ‘is Shell Beach.’

‘That’s Shell Beach?’

‘Yup.’ She couldn’t contain the pride in her voice. ‘I know I sound like a broken record. It might not look like much at the moment, but in the sunshine I swear it’s one of the most beautiful places on earth.’

‘It’s beautiful now,’ said Dylan, staring out across the island.

‘I wish I could take you down there,’ said Frankie.

‘Why don’t you?’ Dylan glanced at her.

‘It’s a long way in this wind. Further than it looks. And honestly, I’d rather you saw it at its best.’

Dylan turned to stare out at the island once more. ‘What if I never come back?’ he said quietly.

Frankie swallowed. ‘I think that would be a mistake,’ she said simply. She felt him move next to her, as if surprised by her comment.

‘Fair enough,’ was all he said.

‘I mean it. Herm is incredible. If this is the only time you ever see it, hungover and dressed like Paddington Bear, in the middle of a hurricane or whatever the hell this is, you’re a damn fool.’

He turned his body so he was facing her. Reluctantly, almost shyly, she matched the movement. He was inches away from her. In her bedroom. This was totally surreal.

‘You really love this place, don’t you?’ he said, looking down at her, his eyes hooded.

She nodded. ‘You might not think it’s much. You’re probably wondering why I’ve stayed this long and it’s a fair question. It’s beautiful. And it’s home. I wouldn’t trade places for anything.’ Most of her, at least more than half of her, was telling the truth.