Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frankie had a terrible night’s sleep. Her dreams, such as they were, were full of lurid images of buildings collapsing, her father’s face, pale and covered in brick dust. Her mother leaning over him in her bathrobe.
Images of Sally falling from a cliff, leaving Frankie crying out in anguish.
Jake, lingering in the darkness. The only person she didn’t dream about, it felt like, was the one person who was on her mind the second she woke up.
The morning had dawned bright and sunny.
A much more normal state of things for Herm.
In fact, it was so warm and sunny and quiet that it was as though the whole previous day had been a figment of her imagination.
If she hadn’t seen stormy days like that before on Herm, she would have imagined it was.
As she sat on her bed, attempting to put on a little make-up, she wondered if she’d imagined Dylan, too.
Frankie took a deep breath. Her heart had been hammering with excitement from the moment she woke up.
Excitement and a sense of panic, but whether it was panic that he was leaving or just panic at the thought of seeing him again, she couldn’t tell.
As she made her way down the hill towards Fisherman’s Field, dressed in the same old familiar combo of floaty skirt and shirt, although she had at least brushed her curly hair into some semblance of order, she still couldn’t work it out.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter, she thought, as she tried to calm her hammering heart.
Maybe he would decide to stay a few more days.
Maybe he’d changed his mind and gone for the ferry early.
Perhaps he didn’t really like goodbyes. Perhaps he’d forgotten her already, forgotten all about arranging to see her this morning.
But no. There he was.
As she rounded the corner, she could see him standing in the middle of the field, the blue sea vibrant behind him.
But he wasn’t looking at the sea. He had his face turned up to the sun as if he couldn’t believe it was out, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth on his face.
Even seeing him standing there, little more than a small, dark figure on the horizon, her heart gave a little lurch.
He was leaving. Oh God. Her body was poised to run, but whether towards or away from him was unclear.
As she got closer, he opened his eyes as if he could tell she was watching him.
Dylan was back in his normal clothes, which were little more than those tight, dark jeans and his open waistcoat.
He looked a lot less hungover than the previous day, and even at this distance he greeted her with a little wave, a little twist of the lips, a little swallow.
As if he wasn’t altogether sad to see her either.
His eyes stayed on her as she left the path and began walking across the field towards him and under his gaze, she immediately forgot how to do it.
How hard could walking be? Why was it so confounding?
Her legs and arms suddenly had a mind of their own. Whatever you do, don’t fall.
She stumbled and nearly fell into a rabbit hole. But she recovered quickly, pulling her shoulders back and hoping against hope he hadn’t noticed. Phew. Imagine if she had fallen flat on her face in front of him. The mortification!
They weren’t even alone. A crowd would have been there to witness it. Wait. What was he doing in this field anyway and why were there other people lingering about to watch their long kiss goodbye? This was not at all how she’d imagined it.
She blinked, recognising a couple of the harbourmaster’s young stevedores a little way across the field, the twins in fact, George and Harry, both wearing high-vis jackets.
Weird. Had they got lost on the way to the ferry?
She glanced around her self-consciously as she drew nearer but Dylan’s eyes never wandered.
‘Hello, you,’ she said as she reached him.
‘Good morning,’ said Dylan with a wide grin that made her heart go boom in her chest. ‘Right on time.’
‘Did you sleep okay?’ she said, looking up at him.
‘Eventually,’ he replied. ‘This place is just so…’
‘Quiet?’ she offered.
He grimaced. ‘Silent. I’ve never known anywhere so bloody silent. It’s a bit unnerving.’
‘You get used to it.’
‘I’m used to going to sleep to the sound of sirens and nightclubs. I honestly don’t know if I could,’ he said frankly, and his words hung between them for a beat, two.
‘What’s going on?’ she said by way of distraction, frowning as she looked around them. ‘I really hope it doesn’t involve the twins.’
‘Trust you to make that sound dirty.’
‘I did nothing of the kind.’
He laughed. ‘Ha ha, I know. You should see your face, though.’
She pretended to hit him. Oh, how she wanted to touch him instead. That chest of his. That glorious chest. She was never going to see it again.
‘Make it quick, then,’ she said, feeling inexplicably cross with him. ‘I need to get on.’
‘And here I thought you’d come for a lingering goodbye.’
‘Did you indeed? What, with an audience? Anyway,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘if we linger much longer, you’ll be late for the ferry.’
He waved a hand. ‘Oh, that’s okay. There’s a new plan.’
‘You’re staying?’ The words hurtled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Curses.
His eyebrows lifted, an amused smile flickering across his mouth. ‘Sadly, no. Why? Would you like me to?’
‘I just… there is no other way off the island, that’s all,’ she fudged desperately. ‘Unless you’re going to swim. And you would definitely need some new clothes for that.’
As if in response he pointed to the air. ‘Listen,’ he said.
And there, at a distance but coming closer, was the unmistakable thwock, thwock of a helicopter’s blades. He grinned.
You had to admire his optimism. ‘Nice try but helicopters don’t land on Herm unless they’re bringing royalty or Jimmy Doonan. Sorry. Also, I didn’t take you for an enthusiast.’
Dylan shrugged. ‘I’m not an enthusiast. I’m a passenger. Can’t you see all my piles of luggage?’ He waved a hand at his pathetic little bag of clothing from the Herm gift shop.
She snorted. ‘Oh yes. Good one. I suppose the ferry wasn’t good enough for you, Mr Famous Musician.’
‘Something like that,’ he said. Behind him, the twins were moving about on the field, waving their arms in the air. Her brain snagged, slow on the uptake, as she began putting the pieces together.
‘I was actually joking,’ said Frankie, more loudly as the helicopter drew closer.
Dylan grinned. ‘Look, this is not my first choice of transportation, I promise. Please don’t think I’m, you know, that guy. The ferry would have been fine, normally. But they need me back on the mainland quick sharp and this was the easiest way. We’ve got a gig tonight at Wembley.’
Frankie crossed her arms. Here we go. ‘Oh yeah, right. Nice one. This is all a big wind-up, isn’t it? Any minute now someone’s going to jump out and shout “Surprise” aren’t they?’
‘Doubtful,’ said Dylan, raising his voice, which was being drowned out now as the helicopter came into view a short distance away. To Dylan’s credit it was making a good show of looking like it was about to land.
He put a hand on her arm. ‘Listen, this might sound weird given we only met yesterday, but I’m going to miss you, Frankie. It’s been great meeting you. Give us a follow on socials if you like, the Misdemeanours. Or you can find me, I’m Dylan W in most places.’
She nodded dumbly, the pieces finally dropping into place.
‘You weren’t joking. About the band, I mean,’ she said, eyes searching his face, urgently trying to memorise every feature.
‘Of course not,’ he said, having to raise his voice as the helicopter began to lower. ‘Why would I make something like that up? You could have proved me wrong so easily.’
‘I know, but…’ said Frankie, her words whipped from her by a sudden gust of wind.
‘You wish you believed me sooner?’ he shouted as the helicopter, white and blue and gleaming, landed neatly in front of them on the makeshift helipad that she realised now had been hastily cut into the grass.
The wind from its blades cut across the field, sending chills through her body.
It was so noisy she was struggling to focus.
‘Gosh. I’m sorry, Dylan. It all seemed so far-fetched. I’m so sorry.’
He just smiled a little sadly, leaned forward and pulled her into a hug, his lips grazing her neck, making her tingle all over. She breathed him in. He smelled of the island, fresh and salty and clean. After just one day. Like he’d absorbed it.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Thanks for taking care of me. Keep it real.’
He began backing away, still facing her, leaning into the wind from the propellers.
‘If you ever come back to Herm, I’ll take you to Shell Beach,’ she yelled, and he nodded although she wasn’t sure if he’d heard.
‘It’s a date,’ he shouted back, giving her a jaunty wave.
Her heart gave a lurch of anxiety as she watched him duck under the helicopter’s enormous blades to climb into the front seat.
He buckled in, put on a pair of headphones and waved again as the helicopter began to climb, that ridiculously handsome grin on his face.
A tiny bit of smugness too, and who could blame him?
He was leaving in a bloody helicopter and more than that, he looked as if he did it all the time.
The trouble was, she wasn’t ready.
‘Wait,’ yelled Frankie, then cringed at herself.
So pathetic. In any case, it was too late.
He was already out of view, the aircraft turning towards Guernsey, towards the mainland.
She was astonished to find her eyes were full of tears.
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, but it was no good.
They were coming whether she liked it or not. She scrubbed at her face with her arm.
‘That was so cool,’ shouted Harry, watching the helicopter growing smaller and smaller as he stepped up beside her. ‘I can’t believe that was Dylan Wright. Holy shit, wait till my mates hear about this.’
Frankie could only nod, watching the helicopter until it was a mere dot on the horizon, sorrow in her veins.
He was famous. He was a famous musician. He’d been telling the truth all along.
How had she not realised? Sally had known for God’s sake.
And the way people reacted to him, the way they’d been staring in the pub – they can’t take their eyes off you, what a bloody smooth talker – he could only have been who he said he was.
She was an idiot. She was a fool. And now, in just one day, he’d managed to crack open her heart, as she had always suspected he would.
‘Are you okay, Frankie?’ said George, coming over to her.
She wiped her eyes hastily with her sleeve. ‘Yeah, course,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Your eyes,’ he said, pointing.
‘Just the wind,’ she said. ‘From the helicopter.’
George shrugged as if this made perfect sense.
He and Harry gave her a little wave practically in unison – they did that – and headed back to the harbour, no doubt whispering all the way about how incredibly cool it had been to have a famous musician on Herm and how lucky they had been to spend time with him.
Meanwhile Frankie sat down in the grass and put her head in her hands.