Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
‘Now we look like the Paddington twins,’ said Dylan, as they braced themselves at the door ready to face the rain again.
‘I think you both look very nice,’ said Michael.
Frankie was now wearing red welly boots, some soft tracksuit trousers, and a red waterproof jacket over a black hoodie, which was doing a very inadequate job of keeping her damp curls in some kind of order.
She didn’t look remotely nice but, as she told herself, at least she looked less like Paddington than Dylan.
‘That’s because you’re a nice man,’ said Frankie. ‘But it doesn’t change the facts. Why don’t you close up and head to the pub, Michael? Charlie’s got a lovely fire going and you won’t be having any visitors today, the ferry’s stopped.’
‘I had you two,’ said Michael, cheerily.
‘I know but…’ she glanced at Dylan, ‘we’re a special case.’
‘That’s for sure,’ said Dylan. ‘Can we go and get my phone now?’
Frankie clicked her tongue. ‘You’re obsessed with your bloody phone.’
‘Don’t forget your clothes,’ said Michael, bundling their sodden effects into a bag.
Frankie grabbed the handles. ‘I’ll get them dried at the hotel. Thanks, Michael.’
‘Yeah, thanks, buddy,’ said Dylan.
‘Before you go…’ Michael began.
‘Yes…?’ said Dylan.
‘Can I get a selfie?’
Dylan laughed. ‘Maybe when the rain stops, eh?’
Frankie stared at Michael. ‘Why’d you want a selfie with Paddington? I mean, I know he looks a bit ridiculous but no need to make him feel worse.’
‘He’s famous,’ said Michael, his eyes wide.
‘No, he’s not,’ said Frankie. ‘He’s winding you up.’
Michael started to object but before he could finish his sentence, Frankie had pushed Dylan out of the door into the rain.
‘Come on, Paddington.’ She laughed. ‘This way.’ She shrieked as the wind gusted and the rain turned horizontal again, hitting them full in the face.
‘Should have got that hat,’ spluttered Dylan.
‘No shit, Sherlock,’ said Frankie.
They pushed their way back up the hill to Heron Cottage, leaning into the wind, which was roaring in their ears, trying to keep their mouths closed so the rain didn’t get in. By the time they reached the top of the hill they were both drenched again.
Frankie’s fingers were so cold and sore she could barely turn the key in the lock.
‘What a bloody day,’ she muttered as the door swung open at last. Dylan pushed his way through behind her and they both stood in the doorway, dripping from every conceivable place, their hair flat to their heads. ‘I can’t believe you made me come all the way back here.’
‘Jeez,’ said Dylan. ‘That is some weather.’
‘I did warn you. When it comes, it really comes,’ said Frankie, her mouth practically frozen shut. ‘Blown the hangover away though, I bet,’ she went on, slipping off her wellies and heading to the airing cupboard in the hallway.
‘It has, actually,’ said Dylan. ‘Who knew?’
Frankie dripped back down the hall carrying a couple of towels. ‘For your hair,’ she said, throwing one in his face.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ she replied, although she wasn’t. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’
‘Got any coffee? I don’t drink tea.’
Frankie’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you actually kidding me?’
‘Not at all. I’m quite fussy about my coffee too, sorry.’ He grimaced in a way that made her want to push him over.
‘To think, I was having quite a nice morning until you turned up,’ said Frankie.
‘Sorry,’ said Dylan, again, looking over her shoulder towards the tiny kitchen. ‘What I’d kill for right now is a ground roast.’
Frankie actually laughed out loud. ‘No chance. I mean, we’re not Neanderthals or anything. We get whatever supplies we can bring over on the boat, but fancy coffee is rarely on the list, I’m afraid. Not for us mortals. The hotel will have some, though.’
Dylan rubbed a towel across his wet hair. ‘Damn. I could have sworn Charlie had some in the bar.’
‘He might have. He gets a bit in, now and then. Under the counter, like.’
‘You make him sound like a pirate.’
‘Maybe he is,’ said Frankie. ‘Maybe we all are.’
‘I knew it,’ said Dylan, hanging his raincoat on the banister.
‘I’ve got instant?’ said Frankie with a sigh, wrapping her arms around herself. Already sick of being damp and cold.
‘That’ll do,’ he said, heading up the narrow stairs. ‘I’m just gonna find that phone.’
‘Course you are,’ said Frankie under her breath, heading to the kettle.
She’d never been bothered about mobiles, herself.
Never saw the attraction. She’d had a rusty old brick of a phone for a while so she could text her friends – Sally, basically – but she rarely carried it with her.
The idea of someone being able to get hold of you wherever and whenever they wanted, that didn’t appeal in the slightest. And from what she’d seen of Instagram and channels like that, all that sharing your carefully curated and totally not-real life with a bunch of random strangers…
Frankie would rather have pulled her own teeth out.
Dylan came down the stairs with his face glued to the screen, just as she knew he would.
‘I can’t get any internet,’ he wailed. ‘No signal, either. And my battery’s nearly dead.’
‘Oh no,’ said Frankie, trying not to sound too sarcastic as she poured hot water over coffee granules, the familiar rich aroma filling the tiny kitchen.
‘I can see some missed calls but I can’t even tell who they’re from,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll try texting.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Frankie. ‘If the signal’s down, it’s down. Won’t be for long though, don’t worry.’
Dylan looked up at her. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do until then?’
‘Oh my God, are you actually serious?’ she replied, concentrating on not letting her jaw drop to the floor.
Dylan huffed out a sigh. ‘I’m… in… a… band,’ he said slowly, as if she was a simpleton. ‘As I believe I’ve already said, people will be looking for me.’
Frankie nodded at his phone. ‘It doesn’t really seem like they are,’ she said, stirring the coffee a little too enthusiastically and spilling some on the counter. ‘Bugger.’
‘How would you know that? I’ve got no signal,’ he replied.
Frankie mopped up the spillage with some paper towel. ‘Whatever. And also, defensive much?’
‘When I get signal again, I’ll prove it to you.’ A muscle in his jaw was feathering, as if he was resisting the urge to shout.
That might be quite fun, thought Frankie.
‘I couldn’t give a damn’ she said, enunciating every syllable. ‘You could be in the royal family for all I care.’
Dylan looked at her for a long moment. ‘Why are you like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘So annoying.’
‘I could say the same,’ said Frankie, handing him his coffee as she stormed past him, marching up the stairs for no other reason than to get away. When she got to the top, she stood for a moment or two, trying to think of a good reason to be there.
‘What are you doing now?’ said Dylan from the foot of the stairs, sipping at his coffee with a look of distaste.
‘I’m checking something,’ she said, throwing him her best scowl before marching into the tiny second bedroom and sitting down on the bed. As she did so, the floral scent of their fabric softener wafted into her nostrils. The sheets were at least clean in here. A-ha. That was it. The sheets.
‘Actually, I’m changing the bed you slept on without being invited,’ she threw down, flouncing back out onto the landing and pulling some new sheets out of the cupboard. Rain spattered on the skylight roof above her and she shivered involuntarily.
‘Fine, then. And again, I’m very sorry about that.’
‘Fine.’
A pause.
‘Do you want some help?’
Did she? ‘Bloody hell. No thanks.’
‘Oh charming,’ he said, although he sounded amused.
‘Sorry. I’m quicker on my own, that’s all.’
‘I’ll sit and drink my shitty coffee down here, then.’
‘You do that,’ she spat.
Frankie was passively aggressively pulling the first pillowcase on when he appeared in the doorway.
‘Please let me help,’ he said, his dark blue eyes wide like a puppy. ‘I did make the mess, after all.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at his pathetic little face.
Dylan’s eyes caught the movement and dropped to her lips.
When she caught him looking, he turned away and sat on the bed, pulling on pillowcases obediently.
She was suddenly acutely aware that they were alone in the small bedroom, in the cottage.
In the world, or so it felt, with the wind still howling outside.
Her heart was thumping, though mainly from annoyance, or that’s what she told herself.
‘So, how long have you lived on Herm, Frankie? That’s such a great name by the way, have I told you that? Sort of unexpected. Reminds me of Stevie. You know, Stevie Nicks?’
‘Oof, that’s original,’ said Frankie.
‘Ouch. Sorry, just making conversation.’
Frankie dropped onto her side of the bed with her back to Dylan, pretending she wasn’t struggling to pull the duvet cover on by herself. She sighed. Be nice.
‘Sorry. You’re right. I think I was named after Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Can you believe that? My parents are obsessed with music… but not exactly stuff that’s up to date,’ she added hastily, in case he was about to mention the band again.
‘See, that is cool. So… how long?’ he prompted.
Frankie tried not to swear as she struggled with a corner of the cover. ‘Um, I’ll say it quick. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m the second generation of Jacks on the island.’
‘Jacks?’ said Dylan, moving round the side of the bed to help her.
‘My surname.’
‘You’re Frankie Jacks? See? Stevie Nicks. Frankie Jacks. You could be a musician, too.’
Frankie gave up the fight and handed him two corners of the duvet cover, their hands meeting, just briefly, before she stepped back and violently shook the quilt out inside it.
‘Steady.’ He laughed.
‘Sorry,’ she said again. Their eyes locked and he held her gaze for a beat, two, three, four.
She was the first to look away but it took some effort.
Those dark blue eyes of his were dangerous, sucking her in, like a vortex.
The wind howled past the window and in that moment, she knew, with absolute certainty, that this man was going to be trouble.
She had to get him the hell out of here.
‘Have you never travelled?’ he said, his voice softer.
‘We travel all the time,’ she said, shifting on her feet.
‘I don’t just mean buzzing about on a little boat between the islands.’
‘Oh. Well, then no.’
‘Thought not.’
‘Don’t be patronising.’
‘Sorry. I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘Well don’t. I love it here, if you must know.’ She risked another glance up at him. He was still staring at her with that same intensity. She swung the duvet onto the bed, then turned to look at him again, hands on hips this time. ‘Can you not look at me like that?’
He took a step towards her. ‘Like what?’ he said, his eyes on hers.
‘Like you know every last thought in my head?’ she said, heat burning her cheeks. Either from a blush or the laser-beam focus of his eyes.
‘I do,’ he said, shifting an inch or two closer.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ he said calmly. ‘You’re thanking the Gods of the sea and sky that I’ve shown up in your boring little world and brought a bit of excitement.’
She scoffed at that but didn’t – couldn’t – contradict him, at least not quickly enough. Her brain was a fug. His musky aftershave wafted around her as he moved closer. He was inches away now. How had this happened? Minutes ago, she’d been ready to throttle him, and now…
‘You’re thinking,’ he went on, ‘that it’s amazing to have a proper man on the island after all those years of loneliness. A man with proper experience. A man who could show you all the things you’ve ever dreamed of doing.’
‘Am I…?’ she managed to squeak out.
His blue eyes flashed with amusement but his pupils were dark. ‘Oh yes. You’re wondering what it would be like to strip these sexy Paddington clothes off me right this second and mess these sheets up all over again.’
She laughed nervously as he edged closer. His eyes were on her lips. Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away. She was pinned in place, like a butterfly.
‘You’re wondering what it would be like to kiss me,’ he ventured. ‘Am I right or am I right?’
One inch closer and his lips would be on hers.
She tried, tried so hard to get her thoughts into some kind of order.
Finally – finally! – her hand did what it was meant to, even if the rest of her was still in rebellion.
It came up to rest on his chest, holding him away, giving her precious seconds to think.
His lean, gorgeous chest. Even through a double thick layer of Guernsey woollen jumper, she could feel it.
‘Say something,’ he whispered.
What on earth did he expect her to say? She couldn’t think straight when he was near her. Her body was awash with heat and desire and fury all at once, as if she’d jump right out of her own skin if he moved any closer.
‘Get away from me,’ she almost shouted, out of nowhere.
He stepped back instantly, hands in the air. ‘Woah, what?’
Her fists clenched. ‘You heard me. I don’t care if you’re famous or not, or if you made it all up to impress me. I am not one of your girls,’ she said as firmly as she could manage. ‘You can’t just get out that silver tongue of yours and talk me into bed.’
It was a mistake, mentioning his tongue, and she felt her blush deepen, the warmth spreading down through her belly.
‘I do have a silver tongue, as it goes,’ he said with a grin.
‘That… that, erm, that is not what I meant and you know it.’
He looked at her steadily for one moment, two, then stepped back into the doorway of the room. She felt bereft.
‘You’re right,’ he said, holding his hands up. ‘I was only teasing you. Of course, you have the chance to meet loads of eligible men on the island all the time, what more could you ever want in life than this? Clearly you don’t need little old me coming along and confusing things.’
She scoffed, praying her face wasn’t as red as it felt. ‘As if you could have the power to do that.’
‘Well, you’re right, of course. Exactly.’ He nodded. ‘My silver tongue and I are off to finish our coffee.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, trying to sound as sarcastic as she could as he disappeared from view.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, from the staircase.
She couldn’t help it. She let out a little squeal of frustration and sat down heavily on the newly made bed. He was full of shit. Of course he was. He was just so annoying and full of shit and damn him and those blue eyes of his all the way to hell.