Page 77 of Washed Up

Frankie: Please for the love of all that is good and pure put down my brother and come and meet me at the Manor. I need you.

Sally: What’s up? I’m at work. Oh and btw I haven’t touched your brother for at least 20 minutes. Although when I do… my God.

Frankie: Yuck. And also vomit. Please. Tell Charlie you need to leave. It’s an emergency.

Sally: Not the pub. The hotel. They called me in. Said a special guest was coming or some crap like that.

Frankie: Oh my God. Even more reason.

Sally: ???

Frankie: The special guest is bloody Dylan.

Sally: What

Frankie: I know times one million

Sally: WTF

Frankie: Yup I know still but this is an emergency, Sal. Get here now.

Sally: Running. I’ll make an excuse. Meet you there.

Fifteen minutes later Sally burst into Frankie’s bedroom, where she was pacing the floor, already surrounded by piles of discarded outfits.

‘What the actual hell,’ said Sally with no preamble as she collapsed onto her friend’s bed, breathing hard.

‘I know,’ said Frankie faintly, her hands in her hair. ‘Wow, you actually ran.’

Sally pursed her lips and gave a sharp nod. ‘I’ve got fifteen minutes. Tell me everything.’

Frankie took a deep breath and it all came out in a rush.

‘Oh my God, Sal, it was awful. Jake asked me out for a picnic at lunchtime so we went to Belvoir and had crab sandwiches, and we had nothing to say to each other and it was super awkward, but I still thought it might be nice to hold his hand, you know? And we were there, right, holding hands and lying next to each other when bloody Dylan bloody looks down at us and says “hi” as if he’d planned the whole bloody thing.’

‘Holy shit. And breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.’

‘Thanks. Yup, then Jake left in a huff and he looked so sad and Dylan is staying at,’ here she paused to jab a finger accusingly at Sally, ‘your bloody hotel and I have no idea how long for and the real emergency – because I know you have questions, but you’ll have to save them for later – is I said I’d take him to Shell Beach at 6pm and I need an outfit and I don’t have anything to wear.’

Sally glanced at her watch. ‘Seven minutes left. Time to raid your mum’s wardrobe. She’ll understand when we tell her why. Afterwards.’

Frankie clapped her hands together in triumph. ‘Yes. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a bloody genius.’

They sneaked down the hall even though there was no one else in the house except Blondie, who considered this an excellent wheeze and started dancing around them and barking super loudly just as they got to Lily’s dressing room.

‘Ssh, Blondie,’ said Frankie, ‘you’ll get us busted.’

The dog cocked her head on one side, then gave one more sharp bark, which Frankie hoped meant ‘understood’ and not ‘I’m going to keep singing the song of my people until someone comes’.

‘Your mum has her own dressing room?’ said Sally, her eyes enormous.

‘I told you, no time for questions. Quick,’ said Frankie, shaking her head and pulling outfits from racks.

After discarding something like 150 million lacy or silky outfits that they deemed were far too racy and risqué, not to mention entirely unnecessary and pointless for island living, Sally shouted in triumph. ‘I have it.’

‘Oh please, please say you have it,’ said Frankie, now nearly beside herself with nervous energy. At the sight of what Sally held in her hands, she felt her shoulders relax a fraction of a millimetre, which seemed like progress.

It was a floral dress, with shades of pale green, yellow and purple, capped sleeves and a dropped V neck in a beautiful soft fabric. Frankie was already stripping off her T-shirt and skirt and pulling it over her head, praying to God it would somehow miraculously fit despite the difference in their sizes. Her mother had willowy down pat.