Page 29 of Washed Up

‘What man?’ said Frankie as she drained the last of her glass.

‘Frankie Jacks, you absolute player,’ said Sally, giving her a nudge.

‘Bugger off. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You bloody do,’ said Sally.

‘Well bugger off anyway.’

‘I just got here.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

They watched Dylan for a moment. He was leaning against the bar with more of that swagger, that confidence, as if he knew everyone, as if he’d lived on Herm for years instead of having washed up that morning. They both spent a few moments appreciating his rear end in the green chinos, then Sally spoke under her breath.

‘Bloody hell. I cannot believe the Dylan Wright is on our island. What I wouldn’t give for one night with that man.’

‘Sally Cartwright.’

‘Oh, so now I’m being double named.’

‘You deserved it.’

‘He’s so damn hot. If you don’t visit him tonight, I’m going to.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Frankie, her stomach fizzing. ‘He’ll leave first thing tomorrow and that will be that. We can all go back to our lives and our sanity.’

‘We can be devastated, if that’s what you mean. It’s now or never. One night only.’

‘I could never live with myself,’ said Frankie after a second.

Sally cawed. ‘So… you have thought about it.’

‘Of course I’ve thought about it,’ said Frankie with a grin. ‘How could I not think about it? Have you seen the man?’

Sally was howling. ‘You nearly had me going there with the whole “I don’t know what you’re talking about thing”. You dark horse.’

Frankie bit her lip. As she did so, almost as if he was psychic, Dylan looked over his shoulder and caught the movement. He made a little motion as if to say, don’t do that to me, his eyes hungry and hooded. Frankie grinned at him, then stuck her tongue out.

‘Seriously, look at the two of you,’ said Sally, her eyes on Dylan, too.

‘What are you on about?’ said Frankie.

‘What is she on about?’ came another male voice. Jake was standing next to Sally, his eyebrows raised, looking sternly at Frankie.

‘Shit. Hi, Jake,’ said Sally with a grimace.

‘Hi, Jake,’ said Frankie, trying to arrange her features into some semblance of order. ‘How’s the chapel?’

He made a face. ‘Not good. Floor’s a mess. Statue’s a goner. It’s probably only a thousand years old or something, not ideal. We can’t do much more until this weather…’

Frankie piped up, ‘Thanks so much for your help with Dad.’

Jake coloured a little. ‘How is he?’

‘Okay, I think. Grumpy, which I guess is normal.’

‘Who ordered the steak and chips?’