Page 89 of Washed Up

Frankie frowned. ‘I think that’s just a coincidence.’

‘Hardly. It’s the universe. What’s it called, normative determinism or something like that? You’re “Frankie Remember Me”.’

‘Ha. Or I’m going to Hollywood.’

‘Exactly. Either way, you were born to be in a band.’

‘That’s rich coming from someone named Dylan,’ she said.

‘True enough. Maybe I’m your destiny.’

There was an awkward pause as they stared at each other. Dylan broke eye contact first. ‘I’ve got it. Your dad can be Eno or May.’

Frankie giggled, and Dylan beamed, as if delighted to have made her laugh. Her heart was beating out a rhythm in her chest, that was for sure.

‘How has this never occurred to me before?’ she said.

Dylan shrugged. ‘It’s a thing.’

‘Except none of us are musical. Present company excepted, of course. And my dad, who was famous for five minutes, or so he’ll have us believe.’

More shrugging. ‘Nah. Your dad knows the score. It’s ten per cent talent and ninety per cent having the confidence to pretend you’ve got the talent.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’

Dylan clicked his fingers. ‘Karaoke. That’s happening. I’ll have a word with Charlie.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Frankie. ‘He’ll never agree to it.’

Dylan grinned. ‘But he’s never been hounded by me before.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Frankie. She suddenly needed to get out. Being around him, being this close to him, in this house again. It was too much. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need anything. I’ve left my number on that card. Just in case you have any issues.’

‘Can’t I just come and find you?’ he said. ‘You’re only up the road, right?’

‘That’s true.’

‘I’d love to come see your dad sometime.’

‘My dad,’ she said, faintly. ‘Sure. Just promise me you won’t even look at my mother, okay? Not for even one second. I’m serious. If you look at her, she’ll think you fancy her. Honestly, not even joking.’

‘Deal,’ he said.

‘So, then.’

‘So, then.’

‘Do you need anything else?’ she found herself saying. Why couldn’t she just leave?

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘Oh. Okay,’ said Frankie. She had reached the front door and the end of her reasons to be there but somehow her body was letting her down again. Her feet were like lead.

‘But…’ he said, and her spirits lifted.

‘But?’ she said, trying not to sound too desperately needy.

‘But…’ he said, ‘I will need dinner, tonight, if you fancy it? I mean, if that hulking fisherman of yours will let you out.’