Page 60 of Washed Up

When Bobby was sixteen, the very day he turned sixteen in fact on 3rd March, he was on that ferry and gone. He’d threatened to do it for years, but none of them ever thought he’d actually go through with it. None of them had been ready for the hole he would leave behind.

He’d been trouble, of course he had. The only trouble Betty, as the island’s part-time police officer, had ever had to deal with. Bobby was the only resident in recent memory who had ever spent time in the world’s smallest jail; the tiny domed structure in the garden of the Herm Island Hotel, which was only big enough for one occupant. Rarely, if ever, in use except for the odd drunken fisherman, Bobby had actually spent more than one night in it when Betty simply didn’t know what else to do with him. He had claimed to enjoy it, too.

And, of course, there was the fact that he was Sally’s ex. Fair enough, they’d only been fifteen at the time, but to this day she had always claimed he was the love of her life, even when he was nicking stuff from the gift shop or sneaking behind the bar to steal the alcohol. The day he left, she’d sat on the harbour wall staring across the water, tears rolling down her cheeks, until the sun sank beneath the horizon.

And that was exactly the problem. No matter how much trouble he caused. No matter how much heartache, how much pain, how much infuriation, the island was a poorer, smaller, quieter place without Bobby on it.

‘What does Herm’s naughtiest former resident have to say for himself?’ said Frankie, trying to keep her voice light. She couldn’t resist a quick glance at Sally, whose pale face was even paler now, practically Snow White levels of white, and her eyes were even wider.

‘That’s just it,’ said Lily. ‘He wants to come home.’

Sally made a little strangled noise in her throat, but it was Frankie who spoke first. ‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Where the hell has he even been?’

Frankie knew the answer to her own question, to a point. One measly scrappy letter had arrived, six months after he’d left, telling them he’d joined the army. Somehow – somehow – with little more than the shirt on his back, Bobby had managed to enlist at the Army Foundation College in Yorkshire, presumably faking parental permissions in the process, though that would have been easy for him. There’d been a few sporadic letters since, often brief, not saying a lot, which was partly for security reasons presumably, or at least that was the excuse he gave. They didn’t even know for sure that he was still in the army. Whether he’d actually lasted. Somehow, Frankie highly doubted it.

Lily clasped her hands on the table, her lips thin. ‘He’s coming over on the ferry on Wednesday. He’ll be here by twelve noon, or so he says.’

Sally let out another little moan.

‘You okay, Sal?’ said Frankie, putting a hand on her back.

Sally shook her head. ‘Bobby? Here?’ Her voice was low. She actually looked like she might faint.

‘Sounds like it.’

Lily smiled. A rare sight these days. ‘Your dad’s beside himself. He’s saying we need to have a little party, he’s so excited.’

‘And you? How do you feel?’

Her mother ran her hands through her dark curls; hazel eyes silvered with tears. ‘I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Is that an awful thing to say? I know he’s my son. Of course I want to see him. I can’t wait to see him. I’m going to hug him and never let him go. But whether I think I want a party…’

‘I think that’s understandable,’ said Frankie.

Lily sighed. ‘It’s been twelve years. Twelve years of worry. Twelve years since he’s been back. I cried when I got this letter, I couldn’t help it.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Frankie, although she didn’t. Not truthfully. The pain for her had always been more about Bobby’s absence than his presence. It was about what he’d left behind, the damage he’d done when he left, the broken pieces of their lives that she’d had to pick up and attempt to piece back together when Brian and Lily just weren’t strong enough. For her mum and dad, though, it was totally and utterly devastating. There was no other word for it.

Lily exhaled. ‘I just can’t wait to give him a really big hug. Did I mention that?’

‘Me too,’ said Frankie. Did she? Is that how she felt? Part of her was excited to see him, of course, but deep down she was also jealous. Jealous seemed to be her default condition, these days. If not jealous, then at least a little envious that he’d got away, that he’d been able to be that selfish when her own conscience had never let her do it. And he’d gone first, of course he had. It wouldn’t have occurred to him for even one moment that once he’d left the island, she never could. She could never have hurt her parents like that, not again.

And there it was. There was that other, secret part of her that was simply furious with him for harming her parents so badly. For abandoning them.

For trapping her on the island.

For leaving her behind.

If she was honest with herself, Frankie knew that’s when her mother had changed. She had shut down, the grief overwhelming her. That’s when she’d started drinking, that was true, but she’d also began to shut them all out. She started flirting with the guests; made space between her and Brian. As if she blamed him for the loss of their son, when Frankie knew with every part of her being that it was entirely Bobby’s fault. He’d been a wrong’un, right from the start. Nature vs nurture was all well and good in a biology textbook, but with the most beautiful place on earth to grow up in, with a loving family around him, with no cares in the world to weigh him down, it had to be in his nature. And no amount of nurturing could have pulled that boy back from the brink.

‘What the hell am I going to wear?’ was all Sally could say.

On Wednesday morning, they gathered on the harbour. Lily and Brian, Frankie and Sally, plus a few of the islanders who’d somehow got wind of the news but were just pretending they wanted to help. Jake was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Frankie wasn’t sure she wanted him to see Sally and Bobby’s reunion, if that’s what it was going to be. Wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him, full stop. Not yet. Not like this.

When the little Trident ferry hoved into view across the waves, Sally gripped Frankie’s arm as if her life depended on it.