Page 26 of Washed Up

Something sparked in his navy-blue eyes. ‘I like that,’ he said. ‘I like your passion.’

Something like electricity buzzed down her spine as he said that word. ‘What are you passionate about?’ she asked, scanning his face.

He visibly flinched. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You must be passionate about something. You’re a musician, for God’s sake. You should be passionate about everything.’

‘Oh, so you believe me now?’ he said.

She shrugged. Did she? He was obnoxious enough to be famous but that was about it. ‘I mean, not really, but I’m leaning in for the jokes.’

‘Fine. Suit yourself. And no, I don’t think I have anything I feel that passionate about, to be honest.’ His chuckle was mirthless.

‘Yikes,’ said Frankie. ‘Maybe you need to find it.’

‘What?’

‘Your muse,’ she breathed. His dark blue eyes studied her face for a long moment. With an effort, she pulled her gaze from his. ‘Come on, race you back to the pub.’

Frankie knew she had to put a stop to this – whatever this was – before it even started. For her own sanity. For her peace of mind. If she didn’t do it now, she might never be able to. And then where would she be? He’d be gone tomorrow, back to whatever it was he actually did, whatever kind of life he had out there in the world, and she’d be left on the island. Bereft and abandoned. And the last thing she needed right now was a broken heart.

The pub was packed with tourists and stragglers alike by the time they made it down. The walk had been in silence, partly because of the wind, of course, although they had adjusted to it quite well by now, but mainly because of the tension crackling between them. At least, Frankie felt like there was tension crackling between them. Whether Dylan was feeling the same was anyone’s guess. He’d spent the whole trip looking at his phone, holding it out at different angles trying to find even the tiniest scrap of wifi. It may have been irrational, but deep down she was a bit annoyed that he wasn’t appreciating the scenery, which she had never tired of, not once, in all these years. Not even in the middle of a mini hurricane.

Liar, came a voice from deep down inside.

It was true. There had been once. When Frankie was a teenager, in fact, there had been a time when leaving Herm was all she could think about, but at that point, she’d been tired of everything. Bored of the island. Bored of her family. Bored of the same old routines. When she was sixteen, she’d even planned her escape, planned to hop aboard the ferry one day without even saying goodbye, fantasised about phoning her dad from Spain or Italy or somewhere even further afield, to let him know she’d finally done it.

That had been perfectly normal behaviour for a teenager, right? Teenagers the world over wanted to escape the confines of the place they grew up, after all, to spread their wings and see the sights and meet new people and all that jazz. She had got as close as standing on the jetty with a backpack, watching the Herm Trident make its slow, careful way across the Little Roussel, as the channel between the islands was known. She’d got that far and then the thought of her parents being so sad at her leaving them without a word, of her father’s face when he discovered she was missing, it was enough to stop her in her tracks. She couldn’t do it to them. It was as simple as that.

Since that day, Frankie had either grown out of it or through it, she wasn’t sure which, but now, most of the time anyway, she could convince herself she was happy with her lot in life. She’d never had the ambition to leave or go and have an adventure when there was one right here. How many people got to grow up and live their lives on a bona fide desert island?

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ said Dylan as they arrived in the tiny village, ducking into the shelter along the side of the pub building.

‘Are people still saying penny for your thoughts?’

‘I am.’

‘If you must know, I was thinking about running away.’

‘Is it because of the wind? I mean, because this is Wizard of Oz levels of wind. If you wait long enough it might take you somewhere anyway.’

‘Are you saying I look like the wicked witch?’

He held up his hands. ‘Of course not.’

‘Hmmm. No, I mean I was thinking about the time I thought about running away.’

He blinked at her. They’d arrived at the pub and she paused, feeling uncomfortable, even though she was the one who had started this conversation. His eyes were on hers now, seeing into her very soul or so it felt. One dark eyebrow lifted.

‘What happened to this being the best place on the entire planet?’ said Dylan.

‘It is.’

‘But you just said you thought about running away.’

‘When I was fifteen or something, yeah.’

‘Where would you have gone?’