Page 95 of Washed Up

Dylan: Friday?

Frankie: Fine.

Dylan: Great. Friday it is. And sorry.

Frankie: No problem.

No kisses from either of them. But still, if he wanted a rematch, she wasn’t about to argue. She swallowed down hard on the red flags jostling around for attention in her brain. This was Dylan Wright. So what if he walked away from the table to take a call, then never came back? So what, indeed.

She hauled herself out of bed and set about her day’s work, willing it to be Friday already. Sadly, she still had Thursday to get through. Sadly, she still had saying goodbye to her brother to get through, and that was not going to be pretty.

That night, her family were all sitting by the fire in the house when the lights went out.

‘Dad?’ said Frankie into the darkness.

‘Just give it a minute,’ said Brian.

Power cuts were not rare on Herm. In fact, until the power station had been upgraded, it had been almost a weekly occurrence. Plans were afoot for a new biofuel station that would mean they were completely self-sufficient, but for the moment the whole island relied on diesel shipped over on the ferry from Guernsey. And, sometimes, on someone hitting it with a spanner when it wouldn’t play ball.

Bobby laughed. ‘Thanks for arranging a power cut on my last night on Herm. It wouldn’t be the same otherwise.’

Sally giggled from her position curled up on the sofa beside him. She was a permanent fixture in the Manor House these days. Frankie wondered for the hundredth time how she was going to cope when Bobby left.

‘Things have got much better, lately,’ said Frankie, a little defensively. ‘It hardly ever happens.’

‘Sure.’

‘Maybe something came loose in the storm,’ said Brian. ‘Do I sound like I know what I’m talking about?’

‘Sort of,’ said Lily.

‘How long are we going to give it, Dad?’ said Bobby just as a loud knock came at the door.

Lily was there first, grabbing a storm lantern on her way through the kitchen. Her dulcet tones drifted through to the lounge. ‘Dylan, how lovely. Don’t worry at all. Come on in and cuddle up with us.’

Something flipped in Frankie’s stomach. It was him. He was here.

She waved a little shyly as he came into the dimly lit room, the light from the fire casting odd shadows across their faces. The others made vague noises of welcome, and pointedly tried not to look at Frankie as she smiled inwardly at them all trying to keep their cool with Dylan in the room. Or maybe it was just her that was screaming internally.

‘I thought it was only Heron that was out,’ he said, gingerly making his way over to where Frankie was sitting on the small sofa in the corner, clambering past furniture and swearing quietly as he bumped his toe on the coffee table.

‘I spent ages trying to find the fuse box.’ He gave Frankie a sheepish smile as he sat down beside her, and her stomach did another little flip.

‘Nope. Sorry,’ said her father. ‘It’s probably only our quadrant. It doesn’t happen often–’

‘You keep saying that.’ Her mother tutted through the gloom, her lantern bobbing about next to her. ‘Dylan, darling, would you like something to drink? Tea? Oh shoot, I can’t make tea. Champagne?’

‘It is my last night,’ said Bobby.

‘Don’t encourage her,’ said Frankie, forcing herself to laugh despite how close Dylan was to her.

‘Champagne it is,’ said Lily.

‘Good with me,’ said Dylan.

‘Great to see you again, lad. Saved my life, this man,’ Brian said with a flourish of his hand.

‘That’s a bit dramatic, if I may say so,’ Dylan said with a low laugh, ‘but I’m glad to see you’re okay. How are you feeling?’