Page 105 of Washed Up

‘He’s all right, your brother.’

‘Well let’s not get carried away,’ said Frankie.

‘Sorry,’ said Dylan, chuckling.

‘You just left,’ she said, lifting her eyes to his for the first time.

Dylan’s face fell. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I was worried about you,’ she said again, lamely.

It was his turn to play with his cutlery. ‘I felt bad. I should have told you about the band from the start. I’m so sorry.’

She tutted. ‘It’s not that. I don’t mind that you didn’t tell me.’ Did she? ‘At least, I understand, anyway.’

Dylan’s eyes widened. ‘You do?’

‘Of course. But you could have told me about the split. We wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have judged you or anything.’

Dylan sat back in his chair, his fingertips still brushing hers. ‘It wasn’t that.’

‘It wasn’t?’

‘No, not at all. I trust you completely.’ A little jolt of warmth tumbled through her at his words. ‘I hadn’t processed it all myself, that’s all. I wasn’t ready to talk about it. It’s been… unbelievably hard. Painful.’

Andy the waiter sidled up discreetly and placed two menus into their hands. He seemed to sense the mood and hovered at the edge of their vision.

‘A bottle of the Pinot Grigio, please,’ said Frankie without taking her eyes off Dylan.

‘Thanks, man,’ added Dylan.

‘Yes, thanks, Andy,’ said Frankie.

Their eyes stayed locked for a long moment. Dylan was the first to break it and Frankie felt the absence of those deep navy eyes, longing for him to look back at her. But he was staring at the menu now, a frown on his face.

‘You were saying?’ she said gently.

‘Yes. Sorry. I’m just conscious of…’ He indicated around the room. She stared for a second, before she realised what he meant. Listening ears.

‘You’re right. Sorry, not the best place. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Great. Thanks.’

They ordered steaks. It felt like a steak kind of night.

While they waited, they stared out of the windows to the sea. The sun was setting behind the island, leaving pink and purple hues across the calm water, soft blues and greens tipped with white. Dark seabirds flew across, low to the water, little more than streamlined shapes.

‘It seems impossible to believe that storm ever happened,’ he said, suddenly.

‘When you came, you mean? I know. They don’t happen often but because we’re right out here, when they come it’s usually pretty fun.’

He took a sip of wine, shaking his head at her. ‘What’s even harder to believe is that this is where you grew up.’

Frankie stared at him, trying to discern his tone. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Just that. You’re so…?’

‘What?’