Page 5 of Washed Up

‘Oh. Just the Misdemeanours.’

She could have sworn he stuck out his chest a little as he said this. Not that she was looking at it, of course. ‘Who?’

‘Very funny. Come on, shall we get going?’

‘I was being serious. Who the flipping Nora are the Misdemeanours? You must think I was born yesterday.’

‘I think you’re very annoying, that’s what I think. Now can we please go back and get my phone?’ His dark blue eyes were so wide that she nearly relented. But she knew it would be a mistake they might both regret. If she wanted to get rid of this intruder quick smart – and preferably before her mother laid eyes on him – it had to be now.

‘Come on. We’re nearly at the pub. We can phone the ferry, then at least we’ll know.’

Dylan rolled his eyes. ‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

They put their heads into the wind and carried on walking, Dylan scowling like a trooper.

‘The Misdemeanours, indeed,’ said Frankie, shaking her head. This was one crazy start to the weekend.

‘Do you even know who that is?’ said Dylan. ‘We’re only one of the biggest bands in the world right now.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘No clue. Not totally up on my music, I’m afraid. Which is probably why you thought you could pull that bullshit and get away with it.’

‘If I had my phone I could show–’

‘Yes, and you conveniently don’t, do you?’

‘God, you’re impossible.’

‘And you’re a liar.’

‘Just come on.’

CHAPTER THREE

Frankie needed to put very little effort into pushing open the Stargazer Inn’s door, as the wind practically snatched it from her hand. But inside, it was cosy. Warm. Quiet. Ish. She smiled with relief as the unmistakable and strangely comforting smell of stale beer and soggy carpets assaulted her nostrils.

‘All right, Frankie?’ This from Charlie, the landlord, before she was even over the threshold. ‘Blowing a fine one out there today, you’d better–’

Whatever unsolicited advice he’d been about to dole out died in his throat as Dylan stepped into the pub behind her, hastily closing the door just as the first of the rain began to fall. In fact, a hush descended on the whole place. A number of the tables were occupied, unusual for this hour of the day but then nothing brought people together on Herm – or anywhere in Britain for that matter – like a good bit of weather.

‘Who’s that you got with you? Doesn’t look like a tourist,’ said Charlie.

Dylan grinned at him. ‘What gave it away?’

Frankie rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind that, Charlie, do you know if the ferry’s still running? I’ve got to get this non-tourist off the island, quick smart.’

‘Well now, that’s not very hospitable,’ said Dylan, leaning one arm on the bar.

Charlie shook his head but he was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Don’t let her bully you, my man. I’ll phone down, hold on.’

As he lifted the phone receiver at the end of the bar, Dylan glanced at Frankie. ‘A landline? Seriously?’

She nodded. ‘When the storm hits, you’ll see why. No signal, no wifi, nothing.’ A perfectly timed pattering of rain on the windowpane made them both jump. ‘See?’ said Frankie.

‘It’s just a bit of rain,’ said Dylan with a shrug.

‘Just you wait.’