Page 85 of Washed Up

Frankie watched the two interacting as if she was having an out of body experience. And wondering, not for the first time, where Dylan got his self-assurance from. Where both of them did, for that matter. They were both men in their late twenties, yet it was as though they’d been born with instant confidence, which had bypassed her completely. Bobby’s had slipped for a split second when he first saw Dylan in real life, which had given her no small amount of satisfaction, but now? Now it was back with a vengeance.

Was it a man thing? Was that it? Or just these two particular examples, who definitely should never be allowed to be friends. The universe might implode under the weight of their swagger.

As if on some kind of cue, Bobby and Dylan both turned and looked at her, and she shifted uncomfortably under their collective gaze.

‘What?’ she found herself saying.

‘Shall we go?’ said Bobby.

‘We have to go via the donkeys,’ said Frankie. ‘Dylan is very insistent about that.’

‘Fine,’ said Bobby. He may as well have had hearts in his eyes, the way he was looking at Dylan. Her whole family was smitten.

‘Come on, then,’ she said with a sigh.

Dylan fell into step beside her as they walked up the hill from the hotel into the middle of the island. He had one huge bag swung casually over one shoulder, but she could have sworn she noticed a bead of sweat on his brow, his jaw clenched, and muscles tensed. Bobby, meanwhile, was whistling as he weaved around them both to walk in front, the other enormous bag slung across his shoulders. He barely seemed to notice it was there. He was practically skipping.

‘He’s in the army,’ said Frankie. That only seemed to make it worse.

‘What?’ breathed Dylan, clearly struggling.

‘He’s in the army,’ said Frankie again. ‘We should probably make him carry both bags.’

Dylan was breathing hard. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting you think I’m struggling with this bag,’ he managed.

Frankie snorted. ‘God forbid. No. I was merely saying it would be funny to make him carry both, that’s all.’

Dylan reshouldered his bag for the 854th time. ‘Good. Glad to hear it.’

‘I can carry both if you want,’ Bobby said, making it worse as usual.

‘I’m fine,’ said Dylan through gritted teeth.

‘I mean, I can carry it if you want,’ said Frankie. ‘We can’t have you getting an injury when you’re about to get down to some serious writing, can we?’

She glanced sideways at Dylan. He threw her a look, then flexed a hand.

‘So long as I’ve got these babies, we’ll be fine,’ he said, a flash of suggestion in those navy-blue eyes.

‘Just don’t fall on that pretty face of yours,’ she said, and her face flushed.

‘I’m trying,’ he wailed.

Fortunately for Dylan, they had reached the top of the hill, and there, waiting at the gate to the field at the crossroads, were two little donkey faces. As soon as they set eyes on Frankie, they started to make little huffing noises before Derek launched into a full-blown wail, as only donkeys can.

Dylan dropped his bag gratefully on the ground and put his hands over his ears. ‘That is quite the noise,’ he said, grimacing.

Bobby was still standing there with the bag across his shoulders, not even breathing hard. ‘You get used to it,’ he said over the cacophony as Dave began to join in.

But Frankie had come prepared. She reached into her pocket for some magic ginger biscuits, deftly handed one to each donkey, and the noise quickly subsided.

Dylan raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Impressive,’ he said.

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ said Bobby. ‘Frankie’s always been a whizz with these guys.’

‘I’m surprised you can remember,’ said Frankie, pretending not to notice Dylan giving her an appreciative glance.

‘Ouch,’ said Bobby, mock clutching at his heart.