Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was an agonising wait for Wednesday night.
An agonising few days with no sign of Dylan at all, just whispers and a few stares from the other islanders, and one or two quite impertinent questions as to where he was staying and what he was up to.
It seemed even on Herm there were a few residents who were outright celebrating his return, desperate for a glimpse of the man himself. Chance would be a fine thing.
The day came at last and Frankie sneaked into the hotel half an hour before their meeting to get Sally’s advice on her outfit again, even though she’d already exhausted any possibilities from her mother’s collection and had been forced to go with the least awful of her flowery skirts and T-shirts.
Sally hadn’t exactly thrown up at the sight of her but she had made a little grimace, handed her one of her own much tighter cropped T-shirts, and quickly taken charge of Frankie’s ever unruly hair, hauling it between two large clips so it was at least swept off her face.
She then teased out a couple of curls, cursing when more came out than she intended and pushing it all back in again.
Which meant Frankie was fashionably late by the time she walked into the restaurant, pulling the T-shirt down self-consciously over her stomach and schooling her features into what she hoped was casual yet sophisticated calm as she scanned the tables. But there was no sign of Dylan.
There was still no sign of him twenty minutes later and the waiting staff, youthful summer employees who all made Frankie feel as old as the hills, were starting to throw pitying looks and side-eyes her way.
Did they know who she was meeting? She felt like more of them might have been lingering near her table if they did.
That’s if he ever showed up.
Frankie had studied the menu for as long as she could without making it look like she was having some difficulty reading the words, and was now staring at her phone again, to save face if nothing else.
Where the hell was he? This was mortifying.
She had been right, after all. This was some kind of elaborate game.
Frankie resolved to give it five more minutes, then she’d leave.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ came a voice behind her, and her shoulders dropped two inches.
‘Good evening,’ she said with a smile, as Dylan slipped into the seat across from her.
His face was pale. ‘God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.’
‘It’s okay. Are you, though? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Dylan ran a hand down his face. ‘Yup. Yup. Fine. Just had a difficult phone call. How are you?’
‘Delighted that you’re here. The yoofs were circling.’
One corner of his mouth quirked up as he glanced around them. ‘Did they want blood?’
‘I think the one in the corner wants something else entirely from you,’ she said, indicating a petite blonde who was staring at Dylan. ‘And that one over there currently wants me dead.’ A tall redhead was staring daggers.
‘Word gets round the island fast, eh?’
‘I mean, most of them would have known you were here the second you stepped onto the harbour.’
Dylan grabbed a breadstick from the pot on the table and waved it at her. ‘You didn’t.’
‘You got me there.’
He cocked his head to the side. ‘That’s a point, why didn’t you?’
Frankie pretended to swipe at his breadstick with her finger.
‘Well firstly, it was in the middle of a storm so my spies were hunkered down in safety. And secondly, because you hadn’t just stepped off the ferry.
You were passed out on our bed with a hangover the size of Manhattan.
And thirdly, because I never read the glossy magazines and I couldn’t care less about celebrity gossip. ’
‘Frankie Jacks, you are a breath of fresh air,’ said Dylan.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Never mind, ignore me. Shall we eat?’
‘Let’s.’
The food was served surprisingly quickly, with waiters and waitresses tripping over themselves to serve them drinks, check how the food was, top up their water, so much so that Sally actually came over at one point and shooed them all away from the table, raising her eyebrows at Frankie as she did so.
Dylan took it all in good humour, but Frankie was already starting to wonder how he actually went about his daily life with any kind of normality.
She was also painfully aware that the dining room was dated, it needed painting, the burgundy tablecloths were tired and faded, and there was a faint smell of cabbage.
She’d always known it wasn’t the most up to date of locations but with Dylan here, for the first time in her life, she was almost a little embarrassed.
It must be a far cry from the Michelin starred restaurants and fancy bars he was used to.
She was instantly ashamed of herself for even thinking it.
‘Where do you live, then, when you’re not touring?’ she said as they tucked into their meals. The crowd had finally dispersed, although Frankie was painfully aware that the other hotel guests were all pretending to chat while they watched them. And listening in, no doubt.
‘In north London,’ said Dylan. ‘I’ve got a little place in Primrose Hill.’ He winced. ‘Is that a horrible cliché?’
‘Not at all, makes sense,’ said Frankie, making a note to google it later. Somewhere expensive, no doubt. She was willing herself to think of some better questions. If the invitation had been casual, it was feeling a little like a date right now, even if Dylan did seem rather on edge.
He coughed, as if aware of the vast chasm between them. ‘But I was born in Cambridge,’ he said, as if that made him somehow down to earth.
She bit her lip to hide a smile. ‘You didn’t want to stay there? I’ve heard it’s lovely.’
‘It is, but no. I was out of there as soon as I could. If you’re an academic and can get into the university it’s obviously amazing but if not, you want to get the hell out.’
‘I get that.’
‘What about you? Did you ever want to go to university?’ He had this way of looking you right in the eye when he asked a question, as if he was genuinely interested in what you had to say.
It was rare, in Frankie’s limited experience at least. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Somehow his gaze, his interest, it was lovely to have his attention, of course, for however little or long she might have it, but it also made her squirm. Like the glare of the sun.
‘I thought about it, I won’t lie. But when Bobby left, you know, I thought…’
‘You thought the ferry had sailed,’ said Dylan, grinning.
She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Yes, exactly.’
Dylan’s phone began buzzing on the table. He glanced down at it, then turned it over quickly, but not quickly enough.
‘Johnny,’ said Frankie. ‘Isn’t he…?’
Dylan caught her eye. ‘From the band, yes.’
‘Well, you can get it, that’s fine, I don’t mind.’
He frowned. ‘I… No, honestly, I couldn’t do that. He’ll call me later.’
‘Really?’
‘Honestly. I know what it is. It’s not urgent.’
The phone stopped buzzing, then started again seconds later.
‘I mean, it seems urgent.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
Dylan’s mouth was a tight line. They tried to continue the conversation but every few seconds the phone would start ringing again, and even when it wasn’t, it was clear Dylan was majorly distracted.
Eventually she put a (bold) hand on his. ‘Please. Take the call.’
He looked her right in the eye, then sighed. ‘You’re right, thank you. Please excuse me, I’ll be right back.’
‘Sure, of course. I’ll just learn the dessert list off by heart,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I might even set it to music.’ Her poor attempt at a joke went over his head, or he was too distracted to hear.
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said, grabbing his phone and practically running out of the room.
Cue more sympathetic looks from the youngsters at the back of the restaurant.
‘It’s a phone call,’ she mouthed towards them, before wondering exactly how pathetic she had become.
Why was she having to explain herself, explain him, to these children of all people?
It rankled as the time went by and for the millionth time that day, she wondered if this is what her life would be like.
Sitting in a mansion in Primrose Hill. Waiting.
Always waiting for Dylan. Fending off an endless line of lithe young things all eager to take her place.
It wasn’t a good feeling.
Twenty minutes, she told herself. I’ll give him twenty minutes.