Page 79 of Washed Up

‘Yup,’ said Frankie, coming up next to him.

Side by side, they admired the view. The first glimpse of Shell Beach from the coastal path was something extraordinary, and with the sun low in the sky, the perfect rectangle of white sandy beach stretching across as if it was reaching out into the ocean itself, with the swathe of dunes behind, it was nothing short of breathtaking. A scene from the Caribbean, not a tiny corner of the United Kingdom. She’d been seeing it since she was a toddler, but it never failed to make Frankie smile.

‘That is Shell Beach,’ said Frankie.

Dylan blew out a slow breath. ‘It’s incredible,’ he said. Frankie’s heart swelled with pride. Anyone who could appreciate the beauty of Herm was fine by her but hearing Dylan’s reaction made her a teensy bit giddy.

They walked along the path a bit further, the view getting more and more beautiful as they approached, the path underfoot growing thick with sand. Wildflowers in purples, pinks and whites waved in the light breeze and butterflies hovered between them in the late afternoon sun, which was still warm on their backs as they walked.

‘So,’ said Frankie, as they rounded the next corner.

‘So?’

‘You’re back.’

‘I am.’

‘Are you going to tell me why?’ Frankie’s voice had gone a bit strange and squeaky and she tried to cover it with a cough.

‘You okay?’ he said, frowning.

‘Yeah, just a touch of hay fever,’ she improvised quickly.

‘Ah cool. Um, yeah, so about that,’ said Dylan, his voice trailing off as they stepped onto the beach, the sand soft and yielding beneath their feet, and stood for a moment, looking at the sea.

‘You were saying?’ prompted Frankie.

‘Shall we eat first?’ said Dylan, indicating the rows of benches outside the little café, which were thankfully empty.

‘Sure,’ said Frankie, grateful that the café owner, Albert, had decided not to take his break out the front as he so often did. He was worse than Betty for the gossip.

After a few minutes they were munching happily on the now lukewarm fish and chips – at least, Dylan was; Frankie’s appetite had all but disappeared – and staring out to sea.

Finally, Frankie got up the courage to tap his arm with one finger. ‘You were about to tell me what you’re doing here?’

Dylan slowly licked the salt from his fingers. Frankie tried not to stare. ‘It’s…’

‘Yes?’

‘What am I doing here?’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘Let’s have a think, shall we? Could it be because it’s a beautiful island and I thought it would be a great place for a rest? Or perhaps it’s because it’s somewhere I won’t get hassled by fans, being so secluded and all. Perhaps I’ve developed a disdain for the motor car and I fancied a petrol-free destination. Or maybe,’ he paused, and Frankie held her breath. ‘Just maybe, it’s because I met a girl and I simply cannot get her out of my head.’

Frankie let out her breath all in a rush. ‘What?’

‘You heard me,’ said Dylan.

‘I did in fact hear you,’ said Frankie as her mind stuttered to an emergency stop.

Dylan toyed with a stray packet of ketchup on the table. ‘And maybe, just maybe, I came all the way back here only to find that girl holding hands with another man and now I’m wondering if this is a terrible mistake.’

All the blood drained from Frankie’s body and she had to brace herself against the table at his words, her mouth like cotton wool, pulse hammering in her ears.

‘No. That’s not… no, I… No.’

‘No?’ said Dylan, one eyebrow raised.

‘No,’ said Frankie firmly. ‘It’s not a terrible mistake.’

‘You say that, but that hulking fisherman of yours might beg to differ.’