Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When they got to Heron Cottage, Dylan let out a low whistle. ‘Ah, I remember you,’ he said softly.
‘It’s only been two weeks,’ said Frankie.
‘I know, but still,’ he replied, giving the front door an appreciative pat.
‘You could have had Egret, down by the water,’ said Frankie. ‘Didn’t my mum give you the options? That one looks right out over the beach. Inspiration everywhere you look.’
‘It’s full in the second week, I think. But anyway, I wanted this one,’ said Dylan. ‘It has good vibes.’ He looked at Frankie meaningfully.
‘Whatever you say,’ said Frankie, her cheeks warming.
Bobby scoffed. ‘Good vibes. The whole island has good vibes, man. So long as you didn’t grow up here, that is.’
‘Ignore him,’ said Frankie. ‘It was a great place to grow up.’
Dylan was looking at him. ‘Thanks for your help, Bobby,’ he said pointedly.
Bobby blinked at him, and there it was. The penny finally dropped. ‘Oh. Sure. Listen, great to have you with us, man. I’m only here a couple more days but if you fancy a drink at the pub…’ He reached out his hand to shake Dylan’s.
‘Thanks, but I’m going to be a bit busy,’ he said, glancing at Frankie.
Bobby raised both eyebrows and grinned. ‘I bet you are.’
Frankie tutted. ‘He’s writing music, Bobby, that’s what he meant.
Not everyone is obsessed with sex, you know.
’ Frankie was hyper aware of each and every part of her body as she spoke, willing Dylan to correct her.
Maybe he did have two weeks of debauchery in store.
Please God, let him have some debauchery planned.
But Dylan nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s what I meant. I’ll be writing. But thanks. Might see you around.’
Bobby threw a glance at Frankie, pity in his hazel eyes, and her cheeks heated even more. Ouch.
‘You coming, sis?’
‘I’ll be along in a minute. I just need to show Dylan where everything is.’ She knew it sounded lame, even as she said it. Lame and also unnecessarily suggestive all at the same time.
‘I bet you do,’ muttered Bobby, backing away down the little path from the front door.
‘For God’s sake, Bobby.’
‘I’m going, I’m going,’ he said.
‘For God’s sake, Bobby, take a hint,’ said Dylan.
Frankie let out a nervous little laugh. She felt suddenly shy.
‘Oh, by the way, sis,’ said Bobby, turning back to her, a stupid grin plastered to his face.
‘What?’
‘The bedroom’s upstairs and to the left,’ he said.
‘Bobby!’ yelled Frankie. ‘I’m so sorry about him.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Dylan. ‘He did carry the bags.’
‘Yeah, I did,’ shouted Bobby, both hands in the air as if he’d won some kind of competition. Which, in a way, he had.
When he’d finally gone, Dylan stepped aside to let Frankie go into the cottage first, then pushed the door closed and leant on it, breathing deeply, eyes closed.
‘It’s good to be back,’ he said.
Frankie suddenly felt like she was intruding on something. A private moment.
‘I… I’d better let you get settled,’ she said.
‘I thought you were going to show me where everything is,’ he said, eyes closed but one eyebrow quirking.
‘That was just to get rid of him,’ she admitted.
‘Good work,’ said Dylan. ‘He seems a good lad, all things considered.’
‘He’s okay,’ she said. ‘In small doses.’
Dylan strolled through to the kitchen, Frankie following him, automatically listing all the amenities.
‘Right, there’s milk and some Guernsey butter in the fridge.
It’s delicious, highly recommend. And there’s a little hamper with biscuits, cheese, that kind of thing.
Plus, some of my shortbread biscuits, you don’t have to eat those, though, of course.
’ She was wittering, she knew she was, but now she’d started it was hard to stop.
Instead, she indicated the counter, the hamper she’d packed that morning looking really pathetic under his gaze. Know the feeling, she told it silently.
‘That’s really thoughtful,’ he said, filling the kettle, already at ease in the space.
‘Goodbye, then,’ she said limply, backing towards the door.
He seemed so tall suddenly, larger than life in that tiny kitchen.
Something like electricity buzzed between them, or perhaps that was simply how Dylan Wright went about his life, with electricity bouncing off everyone he encountered.
She could well believe it. What was the word Sally had used? Luminous.
‘Don’t you want to stay for tea?’ he said, pulling two mugs out of a cupboard and turning to lean against the counter as the kettle began to boil behind him.
‘I think it’s best I let you get on. You did say you wanted to be alone to write, after all.’ She couldn’t help the slight edge to her voice as she said it.
He frowned. ‘Did I honestly say that? Eugh. I can be such a douchebag sometimes.’
‘No, you’re not… you’re… I mean, it’s fine. I get it. Creative people need space.’
‘Do you create anything, yourself? Other than these fine-looking shortbread biscuits,’ said Dylan, taking a bite. She tried not to watch his mouth.
‘Me? No. Not really. I mean I used to paint once upon a time. Didn’t we all?’
‘That’s awesome.’
‘You didn’t see them.’
‘True. But I bet they were. Awesome, I mean.’
‘I play the keyboards if you must know. And,’ she ventured, ‘I sing a bit.’
His eyes went very wide.
‘Badly,’ she added hastily. ‘Not like you. God, I can’t believe I said that to you of all people.’
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I’m just a person.’
She scoffed. ‘Just a person. Sure.’
‘I am. Surely that’s become clear by now. And not a very strong one, apparently. I can’t believe your brother had to carry my bags. There goes my ego.’
Frankie shrugged. ‘He likes to show off. All brawn and no brains, that’s Bobby.’
‘Well, it’s impressive. Anyway, never mind that. Tell me about the singing,’ he said, taking another bite of shortbread.
She took a deep breath. ‘It’s stupid. We had a little band when I was younger.
There wasn’t much else to do, to be honest. I was the lead singer and the clarinet player and also sometimes the drummer.
Bobby was lead guitar and bass, all at the same time.
Sally was backing singer and played the tambourine, I think. ’
Dylan laughed. ‘Eclectic.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘Drummers get all the action, I’m just saying.’
‘Do they now?’ said Frankie, pushing a stray curl behind her ear.
‘Trust me.’
‘Well, I wish I’d known that when I was twelve.’ She laughed.
‘And now?’ he said.
‘Now what?’ she said, her voice catching.
‘Do you still play? Or sing?’
‘Not where anyone can hear me.’
‘That’s a shame. Especially with a name like yours. You were practically born to be a musician. All of you were, in fact.’
Frankie frowned, confused.
‘“Sally Cinnamon”? “Bobby’s Girl”? Even “Lily the Pink”. You’re all songs. Or didn’t you realise?’
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.’
She tutted. ‘He’s not my– He’s not hulking and he’s not my fisherman,’ she said all in a rush.
‘He’s not? You guys looked pretty cosy on the beach.’
‘I’ve told you already, that was nothing.’
Dylan studied her, his navy-blue eyes intense. ‘You didn’t, actually.’
‘I didn’t?’
‘No. You just stammered a bit. But you never actually said what the situation was.’
Frankie crossed her arms. ‘I thought you were here to write,’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Alone, you said.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘It’s got everything to do with it. Otherwise, why would you care what I get up to with the hulking fisherman?’
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. ‘So you are together.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
His face shut down. ‘You didn’t have to. Read you loud and clear. I’ll just hole up here and you just carry on doing whatever it is you do here and that’s that. Okay?’
‘Fine,’ said Frankie, though it was anything but.
‘Fine,’ said Dylan, his gaze steady.
‘I’ll go, then,’ said Frankie.
Dylan moved ever so slightly towards her, then stopped, as if unsure of what response he might get. ‘Dinner, though?’ he said hesitantly.
‘I thought you needed to get some writing done.’
‘Tomorrow night?’ he said, as if they hadn’t just got sidetracked.
She hesitated. She urgently needed to do something about Jake before she even contemplated considering anything happening with the handsome musician man, if that was anywhere near the realms of possibility…
or she’d never hear the end of it. This island was a den of gossipmongers.
Especially when it came to A-list celebrities making a move on one of their own.
But then, she also really didn’t want to let this opportunity go.
‘Tuesday?’ he offered, smooth as you like.
‘Wednesday?’ said Frankie, a smile threatening to break the tension. She chewed her lip to try to contain it.
He let out a breath. ‘Good. Wednesday, it is. See you in the hotel at 8pm.’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’
Frankie turned and fled before he could change his mind.