Page 35 of Washed Up

‘Night,’ whispered Frankie.

‘Night, darling.’

As she got into bed her mind was still whirring, working its way through the events of the day, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. His words about her mum. About Jake. And most of all, trying to ignore the rising temptation to get on the damn ferry with him in the morning and run away from home. She wouldn’t be the first, after all.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Frankie had a terrible night’s sleep. Her dreams, such as they were, were full of lurid images of buildings collapsing, her father’s face, pale and covered in brick dust. Her mother leaning over him in her bathrobe. Images of Sally falling from a cliff, leaving Frankie crying out in anguish. Jake, lingering in the darkness. The only person she didn’t dream about, it felt like, was the one person who was on her mind the second she woke up.

The morning had dawned bright and sunny. A much more normal state of things for Herm. In fact, it was so warm and sunny and quiet that it was as though the whole previous day had been a figment of her imagination. If she hadn’t seen stormy days like that before on Herm, she would have imagined it was. As she sat on her bed, attempting to put on a little make-up, she wondered if she’d imagined Dylan, too.

Frankie took a deep breath. Her heart had been hammering with excitement from the moment she woke up. Excitement and a sense of panic, but whether it was panic that he was leaving or just panic at the thought of seeing him again, she couldn’t tell. As she made her way down the hill towards Fisherman’s Field, dressed in the same old familiar combo of floaty skirt and shirt, although she had at least brushed her curly hair into some semblance of order, she still couldn’t work it out.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter, she thought, as she tried to calm her hammering heart. Maybe he would decide to stay a few more days. Maybe he’d changed his mind and gone for the ferry early. Perhaps he didn’t really like goodbyes. Perhaps he’d forgotten her already, forgotten all about arranging to see her this morning.

But no. There he was.

As she rounded the corner, she could see him standing in the middle of the field, the blue sea vibrant behind him. But he wasn’t looking at the sea. He had his face turned up to the sun as if he couldn’t believe it was out, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth on his face. Even seeing him standing there, little more than a small, dark figure on the horizon, her heart gave a little lurch. He was leaving. Oh God. Her body was poised to run, but whether towards or away from him was unclear.

As she got closer, he opened his eyes as if he could tell she was watching him. Dylan was back in his normal clothes, which were little more than those tight, dark jeans and his open waistcoat. He looked a lot less hungover than the previous day, and even at this distance he greeted her with a little wave, a little twist of the lips, a little swallow. As if he wasn’t altogether sad to see her either. His eyes stayed on her as she left the path and began walking across the field towards him and under his gaze, she immediately forgot how to do it. How hard could walking be? Why was it so confounding? Her legs and arms suddenly had a mind of their own. Whatever you do, don’t fall.

She stumbled and nearly fell into a rabbit hole. But she recovered quickly, pulling her shoulders back and hoping against hope he hadn’t noticed. Phew. Imagine if she had fallen flat on her face in front of him. The mortification!

They weren’t even alone. A crowd would have been there to witness it. Wait. What was he doing in this field anyway and why were there other people lingering about to watch their long kiss goodbye? This was not at all how she’d imagined it.

She blinked, recognising a couple of the harbourmaster’s young stevedores a little way across the field, the twins in fact, George and Harry, both wearing high-vis jackets. Weird. Had they got lost on the way to the ferry? She glanced around her self-consciously as she drew nearer but Dylan’s eyes never wandered.

‘Hello, you,’ she said as she reached him.

‘Good morning,’ said Dylan with a wide grin that made her heart go boom in her chest. ‘Right on time.’

‘Did you sleep okay?’ she said, looking up at him.

‘Eventually,’ he replied. ‘This place is just so…’

‘Quiet?’ she offered.

He grimaced. ‘Silent. I’ve never known anywhere so bloody silent. It’s a bit unnerving.’

‘You get used to it.’

‘I’m used to going to sleep to the sound of sirens and nightclubs. I honestly don’t know if I could,’ he said frankly, and his words hung between them for a beat, two.

‘What’s going on?’ she said by way of distraction, frowning as she looked around them. ‘I really hope it doesn’t involve the twins.’

‘Trust you to make that sound dirty.’

‘I did nothing of the kind.’

He laughed. ‘Ha ha, I know. You should see your face, though.’

She pretended to hit him. Oh, how she wanted to touch him instead. That chest of his. That glorious chest. She was never going to see it again.

‘Make it quick, then,’ she said, feeling inexplicably cross with him. ‘I need to get on.’

‘And here I thought you’d come for a lingering goodbye.’

‘Did you indeed? What, with an audience? Anyway,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘if we linger much longer, you’ll be late for the ferry.’