Page 49 of Washed Up

‘What?’ said Frankie.

‘You spent money on technology, willingly?’

‘It’s only a phone.’ Frankie glanced over to find Sally’s eyes as narrow as she’d ever seen them.

‘Hold on. This is you we’re talking about,’ said Sally. ‘You never spend money on anything, let alone new tech.’

Frankie didn’t respond. They’d reached the field where the donkeys were supposed to live, in theory at least. She led them through the gate, which was now hanging off its hinges, gave them one last tickle and let them off their headcollars. This, as it turned out, was a mistake, as Derek and Dave headed straight back to the gate to try and slip back through the gap, and Frankie had to quickly shoo them away before turning her attention to tying it up as securely as she could with the ropes, all the while trying desperately not to make eye contact with Sally.

But it still didn’t take her friend long.

‘Oh my God. He’s messaged you, hasn’t he?’

There it was.

‘Hasn’t he?’ said Sally. ‘Spill. The. Goddamn. Beans.’

‘He might have,’ said Frankie quietly, breathing heavily as she tugged on the rope to make sure it was tight.

Sally squealed and ran up and down the lane a little way, waving her arms in excitement. Frankie stood up and wiped her forehead, waiting for her friend to calm down.

‘Tell me everything,’ said Sally eventually.

And so, she did.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It didn’t matter that there wasn’t much to tell. Only the minor fact she had been DMd by a bona fide celebrity. Sally listened as if it was the most exciting news in the world, just like a good friend should. By the time Frankie had finished reciting what she could remember of the message from Dylan three hundred times or so, her friend was still giving a decent impression of someone who was interested. They were sitting on the grass verge by the field, watching the donkeys potter about, but Frankie’s heart was hammering in her chest at the retelling, and she was torn between enjoying her friend’s reaction and wanting to jump up and run home so she could turn on her new phone.

As if reading her mind, Sally stood up first, putting her hand out to help Frankie up.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

They raced along the lane, giggling like they used to do as kids, and after a good hour’s kerfuffle because new phones are never as easy to set up as you think they will be, Frankie and Sally were both back online. Sally even seemed delighted with her new phone, which eased Frankie’s conscience, just a little.

‘Anything?’ said Frankie, as Sally scrolled through her Instagram messages.

‘I’m looking…’ said Sally. ‘Ooh, yours was good. Sufficiently casual, I think. And his is nice. Breezy.’

‘Yes, but has he written again or is there just one message from last night? Please look faster, I can’t take the stress.’

But there was nothing there. No more messages. Frankie could hardly believe it. After all that.

Frankie stifled a sob. This whole situation was getting out of hand. She’d spent one measly day with him, that was all. This crush, or whatever it was, was completely ridiculous.

‘It’s early days,’ said Sally. ‘Set yourself up an Instagram account, go on. I’ll tell him he should be able to message you directly soon, that should give him a nudge.’

Her fingers tapped over the keys as Frankie flopped down onto the bed despondently, resisting the urge to hurl her new phone across the room. She definitely didn’t have another £250 to spare. ‘I just…’

Sally sat down beside her and patted her hand. ‘You can say it, Frankie.’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Come on. It’s me. You don’t even need to say it. You know I’m an empath, Franks. I feel whatever you do.’

Frankie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Here we go.

‘Don’t you give me that look, Frankie Jacks. You know I have a natural affinity with other people’s pain and suffering.’