Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Jake was properly holding her hand now, and the solidity of him, his enormous hand in hers, was a comfort. He led the way out of the yard, turning left along the lane towards the next cluster of holiday cottages.
As they approached, Frankie called out for her dad again, but there was no reply and, strangely, no sign of the ATV. As she turned to Jake, tears in her eyes even as her face was frozen solid, the wind howling around them, a familiar figure appeared on the horizon.
‘Dylan?’ said Frankie, needlessly, for it was he. His yellow raincoat stood out a mile in the grey landscape. She dropped Jake’s hand, a pang of guilt flashing through her, which she couldn’t quite explain.
‘Great,’ said Jake under his breath.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Frankie as Dylan got closer, his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold wind and driving rain, which had eased but only a little.
‘Thought you could use some help,’ he said, jaw clenched, navy-blue eyes fixed on hers, strands of black hair flying in the breeze.
‘Thanks, mate,’ said Jake, ‘but I think we’ve got this.’
‘That’s really sweet of you,’ said Frankie.
Dylan shrugged. ‘Couldn’t just sit in the hotel room, could I? Not while I knew you were out here searching.’
‘A regular knight in shining armour,’ said Jake to no one in particular.
‘That’s me,’ said Dylan, still gazing at her.
Frankie dropped eye contact first. ‘Well, it’s appreciated. Come on, then,’ she said, turning to head further down the lane, her pulse pounding in her ears.
The two men followed dutifully behind, neither particularly happy to see the other, if their body language was anything to go by.
Frankie thought it was best to pretend this was a perfectly normal scenario.
Dylan had come to find her. He hadn’t fall in love with Sally while she was gone.
He’d left his cosy warm hotel room to come help her.
And that meant… whatever it meant, it was one more person to help find her dad and that was all she cared about. At least, that’s what she told herself.
Gravel crunched under their feet as they approached the next few houses, peering into outbuildings and yelling out for her father, although their every word was whipped from their mouths and carried off by the wind.
Even with the panic rising in her throat, a small part of her was supremely conscious of two sets of male eyes on her rear, which was only partially and definitely not adequately covered by her new waterproof, as they walked.
Fortunately, her spiral of paranoia was swiftly curtailed by a faint sound coming from the tiny chapel at the side of the road.
Frankie was already running. ‘Dad?’ she yelled as she reached the entrance.
‘Frankie? Is that you? I’m in here.’
It was him. Thank God. She pushed at the door and sure enough, there was her father, prostrate on the floor near the altar.
At the sight of him it was an effort not to scream the place down.
One of the chapel’s stone statues was laying across him and he was surrounded by plaster and detritus from where it had toppled and part of it had smashed on the floor.
On him. Part of the wooden altar table was broken, too; he must have grabbed at it as he fell.
All this she took in in a couple of heartbeats.
‘Dad! Oh my God. Hold on. Dylan! Jake! In here!’ she yelled, her voice breaking with the effort as she knelt beside her father.
Jake appeared in the doorway first, Dylan close on his heels.
Jake let out a low whistle at the scene before him and her dad visibly winced at the sound, as if he’d already been afraid of how bad it looked.
Frankie reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.
Her father was pale, his face covered in dust, but as far as she could see there was no blood.
Please God, don’t let there be any blood.
She was supremely grateful for their presence as Jake and Dylan grabbed either end of the stone statue without a word.
‘Jeez, it’s heavy,’ said Jake. ‘You okay there, Dylan?’
‘Cheeky bastard,’ muttered Dylan, but they were soon both huffing with the effort.
‘I think it’s caught on something at that end,’ said Frankie, attempting to be helpful.
As they pulled at it, it shifted slightly, easing the pressure on Brian’s chest. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his face contorted in pain.
‘Don’t thank us yet,’ said Dylan grimly, his jaw clenched.
Frankie gave her dad’s hand another squeeze, then stood to help them lift.
‘On three,’ said Jake, and with one final effort the statue came away and her dad collapsed back onto the floor.
‘Dad,’ said Frankie, rushing back to his side and wrapping her arms around him. They sat like that for a long moment, before Frankie began checking him all over, terrified of what she might find and desperate to know, all at the same time.
‘I’m okay,’ he said with a groan, waving away her attentions as she tried to lift his jumper to check for bruises. ‘I’m okay, darling. Just give me a minute.’
‘Oh, Dad. Thank God we found you. And also, you scared the living shit out of me,’ she said. ‘What the hell were you even doing in here?’
He pointed with a dust covered hand. ‘Blondie,’ he said. One word and Frankie’s heart dropped like a stone.
There in the gloom in the far corner of the chapel, was their beloved dog, regarding Frankie with big eyes, her tail tucked underneath her.
‘Oh, girl. Oh, my darling girl. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s me,’ she said as gently as she could. Please God, don’t let her be hurt. Don’t let either of them be hurt.
Blondie’s long tail began to thump. Once, twice, three times on the stone floor.
‘It’s okay, come here, girl,’ she said again. Then, to her dad, ‘Is she hurt? I can’t tell.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he managed, his voice rasping. ‘I saw her come in here and I was trying to get her out when the wind rattled the whole building and that bloody thing fell on top of me. Poor girl. It’s like she knew it was going to happen.’
‘Come on, baby girl,’ said Frankie. ‘Come on.’
Finally, Blondie moved and she crept towards Frankie and Brian across the mess, her tail between her legs. She was covered in plaster dust, too.
‘That’s it, girl,’ said Frankie as Blondie climbed into her lap for a cuddle.
Dylan let out a nervous laugh, as well he might.
Blondie was a furry labradoodle the size of a small horse who simply loved cuddles.
And right now, Frankie was extremely grateful for the warmth and comforting weight of her.
As she wrapped her arms around her, she felt her over as subtly as she could for any signs of breaks or strange lumps but no, nothing that she could feel. Phew.
Her dad was sitting up beside her now, hands on his knees.
‘Are you okay?’ she said, feeling his forehead as if he was a small child.
‘I’m okay,’ he said. ‘Just feel a bit woozy.’
‘I’m not bloody surprised,’ said Jake, coming forward to help him stand up. ‘Think you probably ought to get checked out by the doctor. You might have broken a rib or…’
‘I’m fine.’ Brian waved a hand. ‘Thanks so much, young man.’ He turned to Dylan, who was sitting on a pew, trying to slow his breathing. ‘And who is this? I know I’ve had a little bump on the head, but I definitely don’t remember this one.’
Dylan stood and shook his hand. ‘Dylan,’ he said, his smile warm and genuine.
‘He’s stuck here, Dad,’ said Frankie, giving Blondie’s ears a scratch. ‘The ferries aren’t running. Dylan, this is my dad, Brian.’
‘Ah. Say no more,’ said her dad. ‘Except… Do you always dress like Paddington Bear?’
Jake guffawed at that and Dylan rubbed his face with his hand. ‘No. No, not usually.’
‘Well, I’m supremely grateful you arrived when you did,’ said her dad, bending to shake the dust out of his hair.
Frankie was still on the floor, cuddling Blondie. She looked up at him. ‘Dad, are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m okay.’ He made a show of feeling himself all over. ‘I think, anyway. No point worrying, we won’t be able to get the doc over until tomorrow so I’ll have to be, won’t I?’
Dylan looked at Frankie, his brow furrowed. ‘Is that true?’
Frankie gave a little nod. ‘Sort of. There’s no doctor on the island so yes, normally we have to get someone to come over from Guernsey. But if it’s bad…’
‘If it’s bad, we have to call the air ambulance,’ finished her dad, an audible wheeze in his chest. ‘Normally, anyway. But not today.’
‘Why not today?’
‘They wouldn’t – can’t – fly in this weather,’ said Frankie.
‘So you have to be fine, basically,’ said Jake.
‘Wow,’ said Dylan. He went to say more, then stopped, biting his lip.
‘You were going to say you can’t believe anyone lives like this, weren’t you?’ said Frankie.
‘Something like that,’ he nodded. ‘I mean, no, not in so many words.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Jake, clapping him on the back rather hard. ‘It’s how we like it.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Dylan.
‘Come on, Dad, let’s get you home,’ said Frankie.
‘Bath and a beverage and I’ll be right as rain,’ said Brian. Frankie tried to swallow the ball of anxiety that had gathered in her throat.
‘Sure, Dad. Course you will. Come on, Blondie.’
Jake hung back. ‘I think I’ll survey the damage here. We’ll need to get this mess fixed up and sharpish,’ he said. He was looking at Frankie as he said it, as if for her approval. It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her like that lately. It was unnerving.
‘Thanks, Jake,’ was all she said. He was a good man.
With one arm around her shoulder and one arm around Dylan’s, her dad made his way carefully out of the chapel, Blondie trotting behind. Brian was slow, not his usual self at all. Frankie supposed that was normal but it didn’t stop the worry.
‘Beautiful dog,’ said Dylan.
Blondie looked up at him as if she understood perfectly what he was saying.
‘She is and she knows it,’ said Brian.
‘She’s free range, basically,’ said Frankie. ‘We’ve given up trying to keep her at the house.’
Dylan laughed, a low, soft sound that made the blood hum in her veins. She attempted to cover her reaction with a shrug.
Her father chuckled affectionately. ‘That how she likes it. Sometimes she goes to visit the tourists in the cottages, sometimes she comes home to the manor. She’s her own person.’
‘Love that,’ said Dylan, giving Blondie’s head a little rub with his free hand.
‘She’s also the best dog in the whole world,’ said Frankie. ‘Just so you know.’
‘I can see that,’ said Dylan.
‘I like this one,’ said Brian.
‘You’ve said that, Dad,’ said Frankie.
‘You keep saying it, sir, by all means,’ said Dylan in that mock-American accent.
‘Suck up,’ muttered Frankie under her breath.