"Save it," said Abbie, raising a hand. "Advice is free, follow up discussion costs two hundred pounds an hour. Now, a question for you—"
"Get lost," said Charlie.
Before he could storm off, Abbie put an arm around his shoulders and turned him from his so-called friends.
As Abbie's hand squeezed his shoulder, as her hip pressed against his side, Charlie's breath caught in his throat. He flushed as though Abbie had ripped open his shirt and thrown him into a bed. Charlie clearly had little experience with the opposite sex.
Ignoring his reaction, Abbie pointed up the beach, further west, towards the eyesore house. About twenty yards from where they stood, the smooth wall that marked the beach's end became uneven rock. Another twenty years along, the jagged rock seemed to split, creating an opening almost a metre wide. What sounded like a human cry had drawn Abbie's attention to this crack.
"That hole in the rock," she said, pointing. "How deep does it go? Scale of zero to ten. Zero being groping couple grazing elbows; ten, a near-endless tunnel leading directly into hell. Or Australia."
Charlie followed Abbie's finger to the rock. Behind him, Abbie saw members of the foursome shifting. Okay then. She was onto something.
"It's nothing," he said, his tone and eyes revealing it was everything.
Abbie gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze; lowered her voice a little further.
"If something is going on which makes you uncomfortable, now's the time to speak up. Whatever it is, I can help."
As their eyes met, Abbie saw Charlie's desire to escape the situation in which he had somehow mired himself. That did not mean she would be able to persuade him to speak.
"Whatever it is," Abbie repeated, "I've dealt with something like it. Opening up to me won't get you in trouble. It's the smart play."
"Who are you?" he whispered. He tried to stuff authority into his voice, but he was frightened. Abbie wasn't fooled. Nor would a toddler have been.
"I was just a stranger, passing through," Abbie lied. "Now I'm an interested bystander, wondering if I need to change into my guardian angel costume. I think you'd like it; it has wings."
Charlie stared. Back to not knowing what to say. Abbie gave his shoulder a final squeeze.
"I heard a yell. Is someone in danger? You don't need to say anything. We can go old school code. Blink once for yes, twice for no."
Still, Charlie said nothing. He did shake his head. Abbie sighed.
"What part of the blinking code confused you? Its simplicity is what's made it such an enduring system." Abbie raised a hand. "Doesn't matter. I think you're lying. I'll be disappointed if my journey to yonder crack reveals you're complicit in some nefarious activity. Last chance to give me something useful."
Abbie didn't wait long. In the boy's eyes, his posture, his expression, she had already learned all she needed to. Charlie would not willingly give her anything of use.
"Lovely to meet you," she said. "Final thoughts; consider the company you keep, stop trying to impress others before you've worked out how to be content with yourself, and, most importantly, wash your hair more than once a fortnight. In the battle to get a nice young lady to date you, personal hygiene is your first and most important weapon."
There was more shifting behind. Without looking, Abbie knew two of the foursome had moved from bums to feet. Without hearing Abbie and Charlie's conversation, they suspected what was going on. Patting Charlie on the back, already knowing what would happen next, Abbie stepped away from the teenager in the direction of the crack.
Within three seconds, a guy said, "Hey." Abbie didn't quicken her step. Five seconds later, a woman was walking on her right, a man on her left. Both were in their mid-twenties.
"How's it going?" said the guy.
Abbie said nothing. Did nothing except resist the urge to roll her eyes. Was this guy honestly going the false small talk route? Why not jump straight to tackling her and be done with it? At least that would give Abbie an excuse to fight back.
"Think I overheard you telling my friend your name was Abbie?"
"Wrong."
The guy was only stumped a second. He was far more confident than Charlie. The charm was insincere but well-practised.
"Your name's not Abbie?"
"No, it is."
Blink. There was frustration. Here one second, gone the next.
"But you said 'wrong'?"
"Ah, yes," said Abbie. "You said 'friend'. But it was Charlie to whom I divulged my name."
"Charlie is my friend."
Abbie smirked. "If you say so."
The frustration again. Abbie's new friend wasn't sure how to take her. Good.
"Pleased to meet you, Abbie." This was the girl. She offered a hand. "My name's Ellie, and this is Dean."
Abbie took the hand. After all, manners were important.
"What about the other two?" she asked. Raising her voice, she said, "What are you guys called?"
Ellie glanced back. Dean once again fought frustration. They had intended Abbie to believe it was only her and these two idiots. Unfortunately, lumbering feet revealed the second couple's position to anyone paying attention. And Abbie was always paying attention. To everything. They were a little way behind, couple two, close enough to close the gap in a few seconds, should the situation require such action. Four against one meant Abbie needed every advantage she could get.
"That's Francine and Howard," said Ellie. "Friends of ours."
"Actual friends or friends like Charlie?"
Neither Ellie nor Dean answered. The trio kept walking, moving ever closer to the crack in the stone. Abbie could almost feel their nerves rising as they neared the destination.
"Shy, are they?" asked Abbie. "That why they're hanging back?"
After clenching his fists, Dean tried a smile. "Abbie—"
"That's Miss King to you."
"Okay, Miss King—"
"Actually, I think I do prefer Abbie."
"Fine—"
"Or perhaps Hottie. Or Fittie. Oh, I just don't know. What do you think?"
Dean took a breath. The kind an adult might take halfway through a debate with a toddler about whether or not it is appropriate to throw paint across the telly. Ellie simply looked stunned.
