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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After she closed up that evening, Fran made an executive decision. She'd been feeling a growing sense of being cramped up inside, restless, over the past few days. She loved the music, meeting new people, but it was wearing thin on her nerves. She wanted some time to herself, to wander around and get a feel for the place, get out of the house. Even though Ash and Joel had been insistent that there was nothing in Seacombe outside of a lifetime of boredom, she was too new here to be jaded. The world was huge: there had to be something she could do.
"So what would you recommend for the intrepid traveller to do in Seacombe for a fun day out?" Fran asked Darren over breakfast.
"A fun day out?" Darren asked. "Not doing your jam club today?"
"Nope!" Fran replied cheerfully. "I'm off to see the world!"
"Well, alright. What would I recommend...?" Darren repeated, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "Well, there's the beach..."
Fran considered repeating Ash's 'pile of sand' observation, but decided against it.
"I suppose there's the pier, but that's just shops...there's an art gallery that opened a couple of years ago; that might be worth checking out, if you're into art..."
Fran pulled a face. Perhaps the world wasn't as big as she'd first thought. "Okay, well. Thanks for the help."
"That sounded sarcastic," Darren said.
"Only a little bit," Fran said. "I suppose if there's actually nothing do to, I can't blame you."
"Nah, I just don't get out a lot. I'm sure you'll find something. Have fun seeing the world anyway."
Fran shot him a thumbs up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and pushed open the door. The bleak morning light greeted her, bleaching the cobbled road and the terraces around her. The sea in the distance seemed to shimmer. She was still getting used to stepping outside into a world of light and colour. Back home she had boxy grey high-rises and small parks, the trees all safely behind fences like their council were determined to protect them from parkgoers at any cost.
She headed to the beach first because the road outside their house led there. The tide was right out, so she slipped off her sandals and walked all the way down to the water's edge, where the sand was saturated with water and kind of sloshed beneath her feet.
She liked watching beaches transform with the tides. Last night the beach had been tiny, and where she was standing now could have been metres underwater yesterday. Or, maybe not. What was the difference between high and low tide in Seacombe? For a second she felt the impulse to google 'Seacombe Tidal Range' so she could know the exact number before remembering the signal here was terrible and sighing.
Another useless fact she'd never know, she reflected sadly.
There were two men hunched around one of the rock pools halfway up the beach, Fran noticed, as she started to walk back up the sand. She had been intending to hit the pier and have a look at the art museum Darren had mentioned, but her curiosity was piqued. What could possibly be so interesting about a rock pool? She slowed as she walked by them, and then finally managed to gather up the courage to ask what they were doing.
