The Summer Island Festival

by Rachel Burton

  The first six months had been wonderful, exactly how Cathy had imagined her life would be back when she lived in the bedsit with Pip. Storm was sober and full of creativity. Together they would write music – bouncing ideas off one another until late into the night. The Laurels were doing well, playing to fully booked venues all over the country and Don had booked them in for their first overseas tour – supporting another folk band through France and Germany in the spring.

  King Silver meanwhile were bigger than they’d ever been – their comeback album had outsold all their other records and their upcoming tour had sold out in days.

  He wasn’t going to drink again, he’d promised. He wasn’t going to ruin another tour by being out of his head. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes.

  ‘And I’ll be back by Christmas,’ he’d said, kissing her gently as he got ready to leave for the tour. ‘We’ll have plenty of time together before it’s your turn to tour.’

  He was drunk within a week; it was all over the papers and she’d felt a fool to have believed a word he’d said.

  And yet she had stayed. Despite the drink and the drugs, despite never really knowing where he was half the time, despite The Laurels going from strength to strength as King Silver lurched from crisis to crisis, she had stayed. For two years she had stayed loyal to him, only putting The Laurels and her career before Storm.

  Don and Krystal had become increasingly worried. Don had begged her to leave Storm, convinced that she was in danger. But Cathy had stayed and the longer she stayed the more isolated she became from everyone else she knew.

  It was Don who intervened in the end. Almost two years to the day that Storm had knocked on Krystal’s door looking for Cathy, Don arrived to take Cathy out.

  ‘You can’t just stay in all the time waiting for him to come home,’ he said.

  They went for dinner, the first of many dinners and lunches that they ate together as Storm did whatever it was Storm did when he wasn’t on tour or in the studio. Cathy never really knew, never really wanted to think about it.

  ‘You have to get on with your own life,’ Don said.

  ‘But this life I have, being in The Laurels, knowing you and Krystal, I owe it to him,’ Cathy replied.

  Don wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t allow Cathy to waste her talents, waste her life on a man who didn’t appreciate her, a man who was barely sober enough to notice whether she was there or not. As winter became spring, as The Laurels toured in Europe again, as spring became summer and they were starting to get ready for festival season, Don finally started to get through to her. The more time they spent together the more Cathy remembered how life was meant to be. She was twenty-two years old; she should be out there living her life, not spending her nights sitting alone, worrying.

  And at some point, between the daffodils coming into bloom and the festival season starting at midsummer, Cathy and Don became more than friends. Storm wasn’t the only one who could cheat on their relationship.

  Last night was meant to have been the end. Cathy had arranged to meet Storm at his flat and he had promised to be there. She had been going to tell him that she was leaving, tell him about her and Don. She’d had it all planned out.

  But Storm hadn’t come home. She’d waited and waited and still he hadn’t come. And that was when she’d poured herself a drink – one wouldn’t hurt, she had told herself. But one had turned into several and in the end she had taken herself to bed, drunk and sad and crippled with the guilt of what the vodka had done to her baby.

  The baby Storm didn’t know about. The baby she could never tell him about.

  22

  Willow

  As Willow walked to The Music Shop all she could think about was kissing Luc. She hadn’t meant to kiss him; it had only been a month since the wedding that never was. But as she unlocked the door to the shop she touched her lips with her fingertips again and remembered Luc’s kiss, how good it felt. It had been a long time since Charlie had kissed her like that. When had it gone wrong? When had she and Charlie started taking each other for granted? When had Charlie changed so much?

  She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Roger Beck creep up behind her until she heard his voice.

  ‘You’re late opening up,’ he said, making Willow jump out of her skin and push the door open too hard, setting that damn bell off again. She really must take it down.

  Roger was the last person Willow wanted to see. ‘Hello, Roger.’

  ‘The whole Island is buzzing with the rumour.’

  ‘What rumour?

  ‘That Storm Tyler is on his way.’ Roger smirked. ‘Any luck finding him yet?’

  ‘I don’t need luck, Roger,’ she lied. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’

  Roger looked a little taken aback at that, which gave Willow some satisfaction.

  ‘Well I hope you do know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘Because if he doesn’t show, and I understand he’s quite famous for that, you’re going to have a lot of angry fans on your hands.’

  ‘He’ll show,’ Willow said as Roger started to walk away, but she had no idea how to make it happen. She’d clearly upset her mother and she hadn’t found the courage to ask her father’s opinion yet. She’d only ever meant to help and now she was pretty sure she’d started something she couldn’t finish. She’d forgotten how quickly rumours spread through Seaview, and that everyone would have heard about her wild promises by now. Why had she got herself involved in this when she should be back in London trying to sort out the mess she’d left behind there? Her life seemed to be a series of messes – Charlie, Storm Tyler, Luc.

  As the shop door shut behind her and the bell jangled again she thought she might replace it with a sign that said: Abandon hope all ye who enter here. Luc’s kiss had reminded her of all the things she used to be but it had also reminded her of all the things they had lost twelve years ago and how they could never get that time back, not now. Because even the lingering memory of Luc’s lips didn’t change the fact that everything was hopeless, that she had no idea where Storm Tyler might be, that she didn’t love Charlie anymore, that Luc had mysterious commitments on the other side of the Atlantic.

  She took her phone out of her pocket and thought about calling Charlie again even though she knew he wouldn’t answer. She could call him at work where it would be harder for him to ignore her, but also it would irritate him – he’d be short with her and wouldn’t want to talk in the office. Willow knew there was only one thing for it – she was going to have to bite the bullet and go back to London for a few days. She could easily be there and back before the festival started.

  ‘Morning, Willow,’ Tom Newell called as he pushed the shop door open, setting the bell off again. ‘I’ve just popped in for some guitar picks.’

  Willow hoped that was all he wanted. She noticed that he’d tied his little dog, Monty, up outside the shop so hopefully he wouldn’t be here long. She felt as though she needed to be alone.

  As Tom looked at the display of guitar picks, Willow wondered how much he knew about the history of the Seaview Folk Festival. He’d always been the sort of person who stored up all kinds of musical knowledge.

  ‘Tom,’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘Mmm?’ He looked up at her.

  ‘You’ve heard of Storm Tyler, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Who hasn’t? Although it’s a mystery what happened to him.’ It was interesting that he didn’t mention her rash promise. Perhaps Roger Beck had been lying about the whole Island buzzing with the rumour, just as she’d been lying when she told him she knew what she was doing.

  ‘So you’ve no idea?’ Willow felt disappointed that he didn’t seem to know anything.

  ‘No, I don’t think anyone does do they?’

  He went back to examining the picks. Tom was unusually quiet this morning.

  ‘Although,’ he said slowly after a moment. ‘There was rumour of him coming to Seaview one year.’

  ‘
Really?’

  Tom nodded and leant on the shop counter, the picks forgotten. ‘There was a rumour he was going to play the festival or that he was recording on the Island,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t play and there was no new record so I guess they were all just rumours.’

  Willow tried to keep her face as neutral as she could. ‘Can you remember when this was?’

  ‘Nineteen years ago,’ Tom replied authoritatively. ‘It was my first summer on the Island, before I started running the studio. It was the summer of the solar eclipse.’ He paused. ‘Do you remember the eclipse?’

  The summer that she and Luc were eleven, the summer before they were sent to school full-time. Willow could remember the eclipse; she could remember looking up at the sun with Luc, both wearing special protective glasses. She could remember being disappointed that it didn’t go completely dark like it had done in Cornwall, just a strange sort of twilight that made all the animals at the zoo get ready for bed.

  How could she and Luc not have known anything about it? She tried to remember if they were listening to King Silver by then but she thought that might have been the following summer. Luc would know.

  ‘I’m surprised your mother never mentioned it.’ Tom said.

  ‘I suppose if the whole thing was nothing but rumours,’ she replied, ‘then Mum wouldn’t have bothered talking about it.’

  Tom shrugged and turned back to the guitar picks, but Willow’s brain was whirring from all the implications of what Tom had inadvertently told her. She already knew Storm had been on the Island that summer and he’d spent time with her mother. What had happened to stop Storm recording any more songs, or playing at the festival? She needed to talk to her mother and to Luc.

  She needed to talk to Luc about so many things.

  Her phone vibrated and it was a text from Luc, as though he knew she was thinking about him.

  I need to lock myself away and do some work for a couple of days, it said. But there’s something I have to tell you. Will you have dinner with me on Friday?

  She could hear Tom talking to her as she read the text again, but she wasn’t listening. She barely paused before replying. She didn’t think about the kiss, or about Charlie or Storm Tyler or the tape that was locked in the drawer by her bed. She didn’t even think about the mysterious “sweetheart” on the other end of Luc’s phone who wasn’t his agent.

  This was Luc Harrison and they only had a few weeks together. All she could do was text back one word.

  Yes.

  Now she just had to worry about what to wear.

  *

  ‘It’s not Bond Street,’ Skye said as she and Willow got off the bus in Ryde the following afternoon. ‘But we should be able to find something for you to wear.’

  ‘I don’t only shop on Bond Street you know,’ Willow replied, but Skye just looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Let’s start in Primark then,’ she said. Willow tried not to pull a face.

  ‘Ha!’ Skye pointed at her, smiling. ‘I knew it! Don’t worry, Ryde doesn’t have anything as sophisticated as a Primark yet. But I’m sure the boutique shops will be more in your line!’

  Willow had told Skye that she would cobble an outfit together for her dinner with Luc.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Skye had replied. ‘We need a shopping trip. You need to look your absolute best.’

  ‘You didn’t need to do this,’ Willow said now as they walked away from the Esplanade. ‘You didn’t need to close the studio to take me shopping.’

  ‘Of course I did! What are friends for?’

  When she heard those words, Willow had to look away, biting her lip. Her heart suddenly felt too big for her chest as she realised that it wasn’t just seeing Luc again that had made her slip back into Island life so easily. It was being with Skye too. She’d never had a friend like Skye since she’d left and she was beginning to wonder if she ever would. She’d heard people talk about those friendships where you don’t see each other for years but then, when you do, you just pick up where you left off. She’d always assumed she’d never know what that was like but it turned out she’d had it all along, waiting for her on the Island.

  ‘I’d have lent you something of mine if we weren’t such different shapes,’ Skye went on. ‘But I know exactly the place for you.’

  She led Willow to a small clothes shop on Melville Street, with a display of beautiful one-off dresses in the window.

  ‘How long has this been here?’ Willow asked. It had been a long time since she’d been to Ryde.

  ‘About five years. The woman who owns it uses bespoke designers from all over, not just from the Island. Whatever you buy from here you can guarantee it will be a one-off. We haven’t got time for you to order anything in but I’m sure they’ll have exactly what you need.’

  Skye smiled and Willow’s heart swelled again.

  ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ she asked. ‘When I was so awful to you?’

  ‘Oh, Willow, I’ve told you that it wasn’t you who was awful to me and it’s water under the bridge now anyway. Life’s too short to bear grudges – you know that.’

  They stepped into the shop and the owner greeted Skye effusively, kissing her on each cheek.

  ‘We’ve sold nearly all of your paintings,’ she said, gesturing towards a wall at the back of the shop where some of Skye’s artwork was displayed for sale. ‘Do you have any more?’

  ‘Not today, but I will bring some more soon,’ Skye said. ‘This is my friend Willow and this is Delia who owns the shop.’

  Delia extended a hand and Willow took it.

  ‘We need to get Willow a hot dress for a hot date.’

  ‘It’s not a hot—’ Willow began.

  ‘I’ve got a few things that might just be perfect,’ Delia interrupted, leading them towards the back of the shop. She loaded Willow’s arms up with dresses as Skye pointed to all the ones she thought would be suitable and then pointed them both in the direction of the changing rooms. ‘Take your time,’ Delia said.

  Willow tried on each of the dresses that Skye had chosen for her. They were all so beautiful. Most of them were handmade and finished perfectly. They were as good as anything she could have found on Bond Street and much quirkier and more original.

  ‘I love them all,’ she said. ‘But I think I’m going to go with the black one.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Skye replied. ‘You look magnificent in the red one. Buy that.’

  Willow held the red dress up in front of her.

  ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Do you think so? It’s not really a date. I don’t think Luc will be expecting much and—’

  ‘Willow, you could turn up in a bin bag and Luc wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘He doesn’t—’

  ‘He does, and if you haven’t noticed then you’re more unobservant than I thought. I get that it hasn’t been long since you walked out on your wedding and I get that you still want to play safe, but you aren’t buying this dress for Luc.’

  ‘I’m not?’ Willow was so used to buying dresses that Charlie would approve of that she had automatically thought about Luc in the changing rooms. She hadn’t wanted to look obvious or wear something Luc wouldn’t like.

  But Luc wasn’t like that. He wasn’t Charlie.

  ‘No you’re not,’ Skye said. ‘You’re buying this dress for yourself, to help you work out what you want and who you are. You don’t have to buy the red dress if you don’t want to, but don’t buy the black one just because it’s safe – buy it because it makes you feel and look amazing.’

  Willow held the red dress up against herself again, remembering how she’d felt when she first saw herself in it. It had felt amazing; Skye was right. It wasn’t the sort of dress that she could wear in front of Charlie.

  But she wasn’t buying it for Charlie, or Luc for that matter. She was buying it for herself.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘The red one.’

  They took the dress to Delia.

/>   ‘Good choice,’ she said. ‘That’s a Julia Simmonds original. Her dresses are always stunning.’ She wrapped the dress in soft pink tissue and put it in a paper carrier bag for her. ‘It was lovely to meet you,’ she said as she handed the bag over. ‘I hope the dress brings you a lot of joy.’

  ‘Oh it will,’ Skye said authoritatively.

  Willow and Skye bought sandwiches and cans of gin and tonic and walked back to the Esplanade to sit and eat, looking out to sea. The salty wind whipped around Willow’s face, blowing her hair loose from her ponytail.

  ‘I’ve never had a gin and tonic in a can before,’ she said as she tied her hair back again and took a sip. ‘It’s not bad actually.’

  ‘You haven’t lived, my friend,’ Skye replied. ‘No Primark, no gin and tonic in cans. What do you do?’

  Willow shrugged. ‘Work mostly.’

  ‘Are you going to go back to work at the end of the summer?’

  ‘What else can I do?’ Willow replied. ‘I’ve worked so hard to get where I am; it’s all I know.’

  ‘And what about Charlie?’

  ‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘I’ve known that since before the wedding if I’m honest with myself. But now I’ve got to do the hard part and unravel our lives. I need to go back to London for that though.’

  ‘You could come back to the Island after you’ve sorted that out.’

  Willow turned to look at Skye. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘And what does it feel like to be back?’

  ‘Some days it feels like I never left.’

  ‘Well there you go then.’

  ‘I’d have to leave so much behind,’ Willow said quietly turning to look out to sea again.

  ‘But you’d have so much to look forward to.’

  As she looked across the beach Willow felt Skye’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug and she felt her heart expanding again. This feeling of love and warmth was coming from the Island, from the memories of her childhood, her friendship with Skye and the possibilities of what the future might hold.