Page 36 of Washed Up

He waved a hand. ‘Oh, that’s okay. There’s a new plan.’

‘You’re staying?’ The words hurtled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Curses.

His eyebrows lifted, an amused smile flickering across his mouth. ‘Sadly, no. Why? Would you like me to?’

‘I just… there is no other way off the island, that’s all,’ she fudged desperately. ‘Unless you’re going to swim. And you would definitely need some new clothes for that.’

As if in response he pointed to the air. ‘Listen,’ he said.

And there, at a distance but coming closer, was the unmistakable thwock, thwock of a helicopter’s blades. He grinned.

You had to admire his optimism. ‘Nice try but helicopters don’t land on Herm unless they’re bringing royalty or Jimmy Doonan. Sorry. Also, I didn’t take you for an enthusiast.’

Dylan shrugged. ‘I’m not an enthusiast. I’m a passenger. Can’t you see all my piles of luggage?’ He waved a hand at his pathetic little bag of clothing from the Herm gift shop.

She snorted. ‘Oh yes. Good one. I suppose the ferry wasn’t good enough for you, Mr Famous Musician.’

‘Something like that,’ he said. Behind him, the twins were moving about on the field, waving their arms in the air. Her brain snagged, slow on the uptake, as she began putting the pieces together.

‘I was actually joking,’ said Frankie, more loudly as the helicopter drew closer.

Dylan grinned. ‘Look, this is not my first choice of transportation, I promise. Please don’t think I’m, you know, that guy. The ferry would have been fine, normally. But they need me back on the mainland quick sharp and this was the easiest way. We’ve got a gig tonight at Wembley.’

Frankie crossed her arms. Here we go. ‘Oh yeah, right. Nice one. This is all a big wind-up, isn’t it? Any minute now someone’s going to jump out and shout “Surprise” aren’t they?’

‘Doubtful,’ said Dylan, raising his voice, which was being drowned out now as the helicopter came into view a short distance away. To Dylan’s credit it was making a good show of looking like it was about to land.

He put a hand on her arm. ‘Listen, this might sound weird given we only met yesterday, but I’m going to miss you, Frankie. It’s been great meeting you. Give us a follow on socials if you like, the Misdemeanours. Or you can find me, I’m Dylan W in most places.’

She nodded dumbly, the pieces finally dropping into place.

‘You weren’t joking. About the band, I mean,’ she said, eyes searching his face, urgently trying to memorise every feature.

‘Of course not,’ he said, having to raise his voice as the helicopter began to lower. ‘Why would I make something like that up? You could have proved me wrong so easily.’

‘I know, but…’ said Frankie, her words whipped from her by a sudden gust of wind.

‘You wish you believed me sooner?’ he shouted as the helicopter, white and blue and gleaming, landed neatly in front of them on the makeshift helipad that she realised now had been hastily cut into the grass. The wind from its blades cut across the field, sending chills through her body. It was so noisy she was struggling to focus.

‘Gosh. I’m sorry, Dylan. It all seemed so far-fetched. I’m so sorry.’

He just smiled a little sadly, leaned forward and pulled her into a hug, his lips grazing her neck, making her tingle all over. She breathed him in. He smelled of the island, fresh and salty and clean. After just one day. Like he’d absorbed it.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Thanks for taking care of me. Keep it real.’

He began backing away, still facing her, leaning into the wind from the propellers.

‘If you ever come back to Herm, I’ll take you to Shell Beach,’ she yelled, and he nodded although she wasn’t sure if he’d heard.

‘It’s a date,’ he shouted back, giving her a jaunty wave. Her heart gave a lurch of anxiety as she watched him duck under the helicopter’s enormous blades to climb into the front seat. He buckled in, put on a pair of headphones and waved again as the helicopter began to climb, that ridiculously handsome grin on his face. A tiny bit of smugness too, and who could blame him? He was leaving in a bloody helicopter and more than that, he looked as if he did it all the time.

The trouble was, she wasn’t ready.

‘Wait,’ yelled Frankie, then cringed at herself. So pathetic. In any case, it was too late. He was already out of view, the aircraft turning towards Guernsey, towards the mainland. She was astonished to find her eyes were full of tears. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, but it was no good. They were coming whether she liked it or not. She scrubbed at her face with her arm.

‘That was so cool,’ shouted Harry, watching the helicopter growing smaller and smaller as he stepped up beside her. ‘I can’t believe that was Dylan Wright. Holy shit, wait till my mates hear about this.’

Frankie could only nod, watching the helicopter until it was a mere dot on the horizon, sorrow in her veins.