Fran has a tried-and-tested solution for dealing with her problems: run away.
And despite what the self-help books say, it's worked pretty well up until now. "Now" referring to her hiding in the seaside town of Seacombe until the end of summer, and...
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Nobody came in on Monday, either. Fran had stopped checking over the balcony whenever she heard the jingle as the front door opened. It was a little sad how disillusioned she'd become. She'd barely been here a fortnight. What was she doing wrong? Should she try door-to-door advertising, Jehovah's Witness style? Or would that be too pushy...
This is ridiculous, she decided, sitting up. She was getting a headache from not doing anything. She couldn't spend an entire summer like this. If the Youth of Seacombe weren't going to come here, then it was her duty to bring them in. Feeling like an evangelist anxious to bring the misguided sheep back to the fold, she slung her guitar case over her back and headed outside.
The air was not-quite-cold, and the sky was a bright milky grey: a perfect British summer day. The steeply sloping road the store was on levelled out at the shorefront, packed with restaurants and pokey tourist shops. A seagull perched on the railings between the promenade and the beach, eyeing her up with a cruel, hard stare, so she quickly ducked into one of the stores. She didn't know why, but she'd always found seagulls a little unsettling.
Still, now she was inside, she might as well have a look around. She spent a good hour admiring the beach-themed fridge magnets and keychains displayed in trays in the aisles. Her gaze lingered on a small mobile, lines of seashells hanging off a spindly cross of driftwood. She didn't need a mobile, of course. But now she thought about it, there was a space next to her bed that had always seemed a little empty. Could definitely benefit from a little decoration like this, she thought, before remembering sadly she'd left her purse at home. She left the shop before she could be tempted by anything else. If she won the lottery she'd probably spend half the money on food and the other half on trinkets, she mused to herself.
Declaring her mission a failure, she bought herself a packet of crisps and some lemonade from one of the little beachfront stores, eating her lunch on a bench on the promenade, overlooking the coast. The misguided youth were nowhere to be seen. Back at home, with good weather like this, most kids would be at the park or in town. She should have asked Rhodes what he did in his spare time. Or even Darius, she thought belatedly. Maybe she'd try and talk to him when he came in on Tuesday.
She stayed on the beach a little while after she'd finished her crisps, enjoying the gentle sea breeze and the sound of the ocean. She'd like to write a song about Secombe, she decided. It looked like she was going to have plenty of time to herself at this rate, she thought sadly, balling her crisp packet up and tossing it into a bin on her walk back.
She'd underestimated the hill. Coupled with the weight of the guitar on her back the climb back to the store was a struggle. She pushed the door open and collapsed theatrically on the ground, shrugging her guitar onto the ground.
It took her a second to realise she wasn't alone. She was sitting on the countertop with one long leg crossed over the other, dark brown hair hanging in a loose plait over her shoulder, her fringe half-covering one eye. She'd been reading from a brown-backed booklet until Fran had made her entrance, and was now looking Fran up and down with a look of slight disdain.
"So you finally showed up," she said. "I've been sitting here for ages. This is not how you run a business."
Fran blinked, taken aback at her tone.
"Oh, I don't really work here, I just..."
"Not for the shop. The music thing."
Fran brightened immediately. "You saw the ad in the paper?"
"What, no. Why the hell would you put an ad in the paper," the girl said. "Nobody reads that thing."
"What's the point of having a paper if nobody reads it?" Fran grumbled, half to herself.
"So, come on. Aren't you going to show me around?" the girl demanded, putting a hand on her hip.
Fran took her upstairs, slowly because she had a feeling she wasn't going to like what she saw there (and not because climbing up stairs made her out of breath).
"Here we go," she said, trying to keep her breaths steady. The girl's slate grey eyes flicked across the balcony, unimpressed.
"So there's nobody here except you?" she said, both hands on her hips now.
"You don't have to say it like that..." Fran mumbled, wishing Rhodes was here instead. He was far less judgemental about the whole situation. They'd just focused on the music, and because of that it hadn't mattered that nobody else was there. She wished she could get this girl to see that, but her demanding nature made Fran feel slightly intimidated.
"Well, how does this thing work exactly?"
"Oh, you know," Fran said, not really knowing the answer herself. "Just play what your feelings take you," she added, because it sounded a little more convincing. Kind of like an inspirational poster.
Fran felt like she had to demonstrate, lest she lose what little approval the girl had for this enterprise. Something had brought her here. She'd waited even though nobody was in the store and stayed even when she'd found out nobody else was here, so she must be interested.
She strummed some chords on the guitar, not really sure what to play. Normally she went with something that matched her mood, but this girl had thrown her. She had no songs that fit 'awkwardly nervous'. The girl leaned on the balcony railings, arms casually folded across her chest, watching Fran play.
This went on for several minutes.
"So do you play anything, or you're just here to watch?" Fran said, finally.
The girl shrugged. "I didn't bring my violin with me. I just wanted to check it out."
"Oh – see, that's best part," Fran said, brightening again. "You can just...did you say violin?"
"Is there something wrong with that?"
Fran squinted at the girl, with her black skull hoodie, a tank top with "Straight Outta Fucks to Give" emblazoned on it, black leggings and unlaced converse, trying to imagine her playing a violin. Nope. "No, no. You can borrow one of the ones downstairs. Just be careful with it, y'know. You break it you buy it, that sort of thing..."
The girl grinned at her. "Sweet."
Fran was too scared to make conversation, but the girl seemed content to just play along to the chords Fran was strumming on the guitar, and they settled into a comfortable silence. Fran felt less awkward now the two of them were playing together, and the girl was good: whenever Fran shifted the chord sequence she adjusted the melody, and sometimes she changed the melody and Fran would follow, mixing up the chords to match. After about half an hour, she managed to pluck up the courage to ask her name.
"Ash," she said, not pausing the fluid melody she'd been working through. She played the violin with a kind of gentle aggression, her body swaying, eyes half-closed, tongue between her teeth and her arms moving with alarming energy.
"Oh, cool," she replied. "I'm Fran."
"Yeah, Darius told me already."
Fran stopped playing abruptly. "You're friends with Darius?"
"Yeah, we go to the same school. He told me about this place. But the way he said it, it sounded like there would be more people. It's a shame it's just you right now. If we could get a group of people this could be pretty fun."
That was the idea, Fran thought, but instead just said, "Yeah." Still, she found it reassuring that Ash was using the "we" pronoun and not just "you". Maybe she'd help find more people, seeing as the newspaper ad had failed so spectacularly.
"Well, what would you do?" she asked. "To advertise?"
Ash shrugged. "Tell my friends. Although I guess you don't have any."
