Page 61 of Washed Up

Her friend was looking pale but lovely. Like a model, Frankie had always thought. Whereas Frankie was softer and more rounded, Sally was all angles, sharp cheekbones, narrow waist, and today, with a vest top under her best pair of dungaree shorts, she was showing off just enough of her equally pale skin, her blue eyes wide, her short hair framing her face perfectly. Right this second, she also looked a little bit like she might vomit. Frankie put a hand on hers and squeezed.

Her dad was hopping from foot to foot on the far end of the harbour, his body practically humming with excitement. He may have had something to do with the small crowd that had gathered, now she thought about it. In fact, he’d been in the pub the night before, telling everyone who would listen that his son was coming home. Not a trace of anger. That was her father all over. Complete and immediate forgiveness.

Frankie’s mother was more guarded, arms crossed, chewing her lip, but as the ferry approached the harbour steps and she caught sight of Bobby, standing on the deck in a polo neck shirt and black combat trousers, waving furiously, she let out a little squeal and ran, actually ran, jumping on to the boat before it even docked.

Her dad was close on her heels and from the bank, the little group watched as Brian and Lily threw their arms around their son and collapsed in tears.

Frankie wondered if she should have gone with them, but her feet were frozen in place, stuck to the harbour, hovering in indecision. Sally, beside her, had gone very still.

As well she might.

Bobby was taller, so much taller, and handsome, too. His former brown curls had been tamed into a short buzz cut and he was lean and wiry as if he’d grown into himself while he’d been away. He was a man now, that much was true. And as he stepped off the ferry his eyes were fixed on Sally as if she was a drink of water in a desert.

‘Fraaaaaaaankie…’ was what he said first, though, the skin around his hazel eyes crinkling deeply at the sight of his sister. She moved towards him, her feet like dead weights, and as they met, he pulled her into a hug before she had time to think. He smelled different. Much less teenage boy, thank God. She breathed in his aftershave, the smell of the sea, the overall sense of cleanness, and squeezed him back.

‘I missed you,’ she managed as the sob swelled in her throat.

‘Me too,’ said Bobby, although he was already moving out of her embrace, his eyes back on Sally who hadn’t budged from her spot at the top of the harbour.

‘You total git,’ Sally screamed at him, and Bobby’s steps faltered as if he’d been shot. Her eyes were full of tears and then she was running, launching at him full pelt down the harbour, leaping into his arms as he caught her and pulled her close.

They hugged for so long that the others began to wonder if they should leave them alone.

‘God it’s good to see you,’ said Bobby eventually, his voice husky.

‘Wish I could say the same,’ said Sally, dropping out of his arms onto the harbour then running her hands through her hair. Her mouth twisted into a grin. ‘Not really, it’s bloody great to see you, too.’

‘Does that mean I’m forgiven for not writing more?’ said Bobby to her but already turning his body a little, as if he was speaking to them all.

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Frankie, but she was drowned out by her mum, dad and Sally all speaking at once.

‘Of course, of course you are,’ was the general gist, and there was much back slapping and more hugs and Frankie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was that Bible story about the prodigal son? She wouldn’t have been remotely surprised if their dad wasn’t about to produce a fatted calf, he was that bloody excited.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They convened at the pub immediately, because of course they did. Gathered around a table in the middle of the room, all talking at once, everyone wanted to know everything he’d been up to, everything he’d neglected to tell them in that twelve-year vast abyss of correspondence. All his adventures and mishaps in the months after he first left the island. And Bobby didn’t disappoint, regaling them all with tales of sneaking onto late-night trains, running out of food, blagging his way into the college, and the intensive training, loud-mouthed instructors, ten-mile runs and other horrors they were subjected to daily once he was there.

Frankie watched Bobby closely through it all. Marvelling at the difference in him. Sally sat beside him, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe he was here. Her mum and dad bought him drinks, bought him lunch, couldn’t stop touching him, as if to check he was real. Frankie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father so happy. And she tried to feel it too, she really did. Tried to conjure up the joy she could see on their faces.

But somehow, she was just numb.

It was all for show, Frankie knew that. The army had clearly done a number on him but her brother had to be the same person he’d always been, deep down. Course he did. It was only a matter of time before they all realised. Before she uncovered the truth like a TV detective.

These were the ungenerous thoughts buzzing around in her brain as they sat there. Perhaps it was the lack of reprisals that was making her cross. Not one mention of the fact he’d left so abruptly. At the pitiful amount of contact in the last twelve years. The worry he’d caused them all. Nothing like that. He was golden boy once more.

‘So, Bobby, what have you been up to since?’ said their dad, visibly bristling with pride. ‘You can tell us now, eh? Clearly the army suits you.’

Bobby laughed, a throaty sound, a man’s laugh. ‘They straightened me out, if that’s what you mean, Dad,’ he said to much polite tittering around the table.

Frankie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ‘So where are you based now?’ she said.

Bobby’s eyes flashed with something like joy. To be fair, Frankie had never seen him look so happy either. Something twisted in her gut… guilt, perhaps. Another familiar emotion these days.

‘Suffolk. I’m in the Army Air Corps. Ground crew. I work on the helicopters. Next year, though, I’m hoping to get my pilot’s wings.’

Sally practically swooned beside him.

‘Don’t you need a degree for that?’ said Frankie, a little more sharply than she’d intended.