Page 78 of Washed Up

‘Perfect,’ said Sally. ‘Look.’

She indicated the full-length mirror behind the door. Frankie stood before it, eyes narrowed, hardly daring to look. There was no backup plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t awful. She spun left and right, looking for flaws, issues, but it – thank the Maker – actually suited her. A bit. It was low at the front but not too low and it hugged her curves, such as they were, in a way that was, while not beautiful, certainly not unflattering. Even Blondie seemed impressed.

‘His eyes are gonna bug when he sees you,’ said Sally delicately.

‘You think?’

‘Poor Jake never stood a chance.’

‘That’s not fair. He’s lovely, actually. I…’

Sally shook her head. ‘No time for that now. Dylan will be waiting and I have to go. Good luck. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. No, scratch that. Do everything I would do and everything Lily would do, too.’

‘Can we leave my mother out of it?’

‘Not when she realises Dylan is back on the island.’

‘Oh crap, I hadn’t thought of that. Operation keep Jake, Lily and Dylan out of the same room for the foreseeable future is a go.’

‘Roger that,’ said Sally, giving a mock salute. ‘Now I gotta go or I’m legit gonna get fired.’

‘Thank you,’ said Frankie, giving her friend a hug.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Sally, skipping out of the room. ‘Knock him dead.’

Frankie looked back at the mirror. Apart from the terrified expression on her face and the unruly curls that urgently needed some kind of taming before she stepped outside the house, she was ready for him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

And there he was. Dylan Wright. The Dylan Wright. Not some chancer or a shipwrecked nobody, as it turned out, but an actual bona fide rock musician. Right here on Herm as if he’d never been away. Leaning on the fingerpost sign at the T junction near Belvoir, already grinning that grin as she made her way towards him as casually as she could.

Everything had been perfect in the house. She’d felt confident, sexy even. Now he was standing there in person, though, she felt mumsy and awkward in the dress and more and more like a country bumpkin. I preferred it when I didn’t know he was famous, she thought as she tried not to slip and slide down the last bit of the path towards him in her posh(est) flip-flops with fancy silver buckles.

Still, Dylan didn’t seem to think she was mumsy or awkward, thank God. He let out a low whistle as she approached that set her skin tingling.

He was wearing the same jeans but he’d changed into a dark blue shirt the exact shade of his eyes. It was a good look. He also had a package under his arm.

‘I popped in to see Charlie and bought fish and chips for us,’ he said, waving them at her. ‘I hope that’s okay.’

‘Ooh,’ said Frankie. It was all she could manage. Being this close to him seemed to have rendered her speechless.

‘I know it’s not a patch on a picnic,’ said Dylan with a sly smile.

‘This is turning into quite the day,’ replied Frankie carefully.

Dylan snorted. ‘That’s for damn sure.’

‘Shall we go?’ Frankie was already leading the way towards Shell Beach, sending up silent prayers that they wouldn’t bump into Jake, or her mother, or any one of the sixty plus islanders for that matter.

As they got to the first corner on the cliff path, Frankie put a hand briefly on Dylan’s arm. He turned to her, curious. ‘Wait for it,’ she said, willing her cheeks not to redden under his gaze.

‘What?’ he said, bemused.

‘Just trust me. You go first.’

She stepped aside and let Dylan turn the corner ahead of her. From his reaction, she knew the exact moment he’d seen it. He let out a high-pitched whistle, then a ‘Woah’.