The Summer Island Festival

by Rachel Burton

  ‘We talked about so many things; we really opened up to each other about the past, about the last twelve years. But he chose not to tell me this: the most important thing in his life.’

  ‘Would you have slept with him if you’d known?’ Skye asked, direct as ever.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Willow replied. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘There you go then, that’s why he didn’t tell you.’

  Willow looked at her friend for a moment. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘You think so? This is Luc. He’s not like that is he?’

  ‘It’s Luc,’ Skye said with a small smile. ‘But he’s still a man.’

  Willow smiled too, surprised at how Skye could still cheer her up even in the worst moments. She wondered again how she had let their friendship just disappear all those years ago, how she had let Skye walk out of that pub and never stood up for her. Skye had always been on her side after all. She’d been so stupid, walking away from the Island, from her life and allowing herself to be changed by Charlie, moulded into a life she thought she wanted. Why had she thought that was what she wanted? Because it was as far away from her life on the Island as she could imagine? Or was it just because Charlie had been there, the first person to be kind to her, to notice her, to love her when she thought that nobody else did?

  ‘Seriously though, Willow, I know it’s shit that he didn’t tell you,’ Skye went on. ‘But this is probably complicated. He told me he wasn’t seeing anyone back home and you said that this little girl arrived here with Krystal?’

  Willow nodded.

  ‘Don’t run away again,’ Skye said. ‘Hear him out, listen to his side of the story.’

  But Willow’s mind was still on Charlie, on the reasons she’d stayed with him for so long, the reasons she’d moulded herself into somebody new. She knew now that she never really loved Charlie, not like she used to love Luc.

  Not like she suspected she still loved Luc.

  But neither Luc nor Charlie were the answer now. Willow needed to find out what she wanted for herself, by herself. Because until she had learned who she really was and what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, until she had learned to love herself again, she couldn’t open herself up to anybody else, not completely.

  ‘I will hear him out,’ she said quietly. ‘But not yet. I need to go back to London first, I’ve always known that and so has Luc. I need to talk to Charlie. I need to start sorting out my life.’ She paused. ‘I need some clothes of my own other than this dress.’ She looked down at herself still wearing the dress from the night before. She must look a complete mess.

  ‘But you’ll come back?’ Skye asked.

  Willow thought about all the things that had happened since she arrived on the Island, about the festival and the planning committee and the wild promise she’d made to find Storm Tyler. She thought about how angry her mother was with her and how the festival tickets were selling so fast but Storm couldn’t be found anywhere.

  Everything was such a mess.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ Willow replied, squeezing her friend’s hand. ‘I have to. I still have to find Storm Tyler.’

  ‘Still no leads?’

  ‘Nothing, but I have to keep trying and I’m sure Mum knows something so I’ll be back in a few days. I promise.’

  ‘OK then,’ she said, screwing up her nose. ‘But I think the first thing you need is a bath.’

  Willow laughed then, properly. A big belly laugh, the kind of laugh she hadn’t allowed herself to laugh in years. She looked at Skye and realised that it was good being back on the Island; it felt right.

  ‘Get out of here,’ Skye said as Willow wiped her eyes. ‘Before my next client sees the state of you or this’ll be all around the Island by this afternoon.’

  Willow thought about all the people she had passed as she’d run down the High Street earlier on her way to Skye’s studio. ‘I think it’s already too late for that,’ she said.

  As she got ready to walk back to her mother’s house, Skye called her back.

  ‘I spoke to my parents the other night,’ she said. ‘I meant to tell you. They say Tom Newell’s right.’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘There was a rumour that Storm Tyler was coming to the Island the summer of the eclipse but nothing ever came of it. Mum and Dad were big King Silver fans remember?’

  Skye’s father’s record collection had been fantastic and eclectic, and Luc would spend hours sifting through it, looking for something new, something he hadn’t heard before.

  ‘It was your dad that introduced us to King Silver wasn’t it?’

  Willow remembered Skye’s dad putting the record on for them in a reverential manner years ago. How old had they been? Twelve? Thirteen? She had a feeling that unravelling the mystery behind the tape that sat in the drawer of her nightstand might help her understand what she wanted and where to go from here.

  ‘Yeah,’ Skye replied wistfully. ‘He still listens to old King Silver albums sometimes.’

  ‘Do you?’ Willow asked.

  ‘Listen to King Silver? Yeah, sometimes.’

  Willow nodded, thinking that maybe it was time she started listening to the music from her childhood again.

  ‘Now get out of here,’ Skye said. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’

  *

  It was late by the time Willow got to London. She’d tried to phone Charlie three times on the journey – from the ferry, from Southampton station and again from Waterloo just before she descended into the underground system – but he hadn’t answered, and Willow hadn’t left a message. The journey had felt strange – crowded and hot and full of people and the underground, which she’d been navigating at rush hour for years, felt alien and unfamiliar. After six weeks on the Island she’d forgotten how crowded and dirty and noisy London could be. She’d forgotten the roar of the tube trains as they came out of the tunnel and the squash of people trying to get on – nobody waiting for passengers to get off first.

  By the time she emerged back into the summer night at Regent’s Park she had grown to hate the city that she claimed to love. Willow knew then that her life wasn’t here anymore, and it certainly wasn’t with Charlie.

  But if her future wasn’t here, then where was it?

  It was much hotter in London than it had been on the Island, an oppressive, sticky heat that made Willow feel claustrophobic as she slowly walked along Great Portland Street towards her apartment building. She didn’t try to call Charlie again and she didn’t ring the buzzer before she went up to the apartment. It was her home as much as it was Charlie’s and she had every right to walk into it whenever she wanted.

  Even if it was to say goodbye.

  The flat was in darkness and at first Willow didn’t think anyone was home. It was late, but not so late that Charlie would have gone to bed. It was Saturday night and Willow guessed he’d gone out somewhere. The coward in her was relieved that she didn’t have to face him straight away, that she could pack some clothes and sort herself out before she saw him.

  She walked into the living room and turned on the light, surprised at the mess that greeted her. There were empty takeaway cartons on the coffee table, an empty bottle of champagne lying on its side and two empty glasses, one with lipstick marks around the edge. Willow swallowed as she noticed the pair of discarded Louboutin’s. She leant against the doorframe and closed her eyes.

  Charlie was sleeping with someone else – and she could hardly criticise him for that. But it made everything seem so final, as though walking away on her wedding day was somehow meant to happen so they could both move on.

  She should leave and come back the next day, but as she was deliberating about whether to see if one of the nearby hotels had a vacancy, Willow heard female laughter from the bedroom. She headed back into the hallway just as the door to the master bedroom at the other end of the passage opened. A woman stepped out, looking back over her shoulder. There was a lump in Willow’s throat that was preventing her from speaking, from sw
allowing, from breathing.

  The woman turned around and Willow noticed that she was wearing her silk robe. Then she recognised the woman. When she looked back at this moment Willow would always be slightly confused that she noticed the robe before she noticed Kate.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She did have the decency to look embarrassed at least.

  ‘I live here, Kate,’ Willow replied. ‘Did you have a nice time on my honeymoon?’

  Before either of them got a chance to say anything else, Charlie appeared in the hallway in his bathrobe and turned on the light, filling the hallway with a harsh white glow.

  ‘Willow,’ he said, his voice expressionless. ‘You should have rung.’

  ‘I did,’ Willow replied walking towards the bedroom. ‘Three times.’ She’d disturbed his evening anyway so she might as well pack a few things while she was here. ‘But as usual you didn’t answer your phone.’

  ‘You can’t just let yourself in—’

  ‘I can,’ she interrupted. ‘It’s my flat too and my name is on the deeds and at some point you and I will need to sit down and talk about what we’re going to do with it. You can buy me out if you like or we can put it on the market.’ Charlie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She was surprised herself by how sure she was about this. She hadn’t realised that she was going to leave London until she came back.

  ‘You’re not coming home,’ Charlie said. It didn’t sound like a question.

  Willow looked at Kate, who was leaning against the wall as though she wanted to disappear, and then back at Charlie. ‘How long have you two been seeing each other?’ she asked.

  ‘Since the wedding,’ Charlie replied, looking away from Willow. ‘Kate has been a tower of strength—’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Charlie,’ Kate interrupted. ‘Tell her the truth. You owe her that much.’

  ‘About a year,’ Charlie said, still unable to meet Willow’s eyes.

  ‘A year,’ Willow replied quietly, coldly. ‘You talked to me about shame, Charlie, about all the shame I’ve brought on you and your family by walking away from the wedding and all the time you were making a mockery of my life.’

  Charlie didn’t say anything, didn’t look at her.

  ‘And you,’ she said turning to Kate. ‘You were meant to be my best friend, my maid of honour.’ She paused. ‘It’s no wonder you didn’t encourage me to go through with it.’ She remembered the strange mood Kate had been in on the morning of the wedding. Everything made sense now.

  Willow stood in the hallway that used to be hers and looked at her fiancé and the woman she had always considered to be her closest friend. This was the thing that had been missing, the thing that had been bugging her for weeks. She should be crying or shouting, but all she felt was a sense of resignation and a twinge of regret at the time she’d wasted.

  She had a strange empty feeling where her life used to be, because where would she go now? What would she do?

  ‘Willow, I’m sorry,’ Kate said. ‘Let me explain.’ She reached out for Willow but Willow stepped away.

  ‘I’m just going to get a few things,’ she said quietly. ‘And then I’ll get out of your hair. You can ring me when you’re ready to talk about the flat,’ she said to Charlie. She turned to Kate. ‘You can keep the robe,’ she said.

  Willow walked into the bedroom, her old bedroom, turning her head away from the rumpled sheets on the bed. She stepped into her closet and quickly sorted through the clothes she’d need – jeans, tops, jumpers, sneakers, a couple of summer dresses, some underwear. She left the designer suits, dresses and shoes where they were; she wouldn’t need them wherever it was she ended up. The life that she’d made for herself in London was over. That life was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

  Before she left, she walked over to Charlie’s nightstand and placed her engagement ring on it.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered to nobody in particular.

  *

  The hotel in Southampton was basic but it was all Willow needed. A bed, a bathroom, a kettle and a restaurant to feed herself when she remembered.

  She couldn’t stay in London; she no longer felt that she belonged there now that Kate had taken over her home. She didn’t want to go back to London at all – not even to return to the job she thought she loved. Her boss had been right when he’d hinted she wouldn’t come back in September.

  But what would she do instead?

  She knew she would have to go back to the Island, she’d promised Skye that she would but right now she couldn’t face the pity and the sympathy. It had been bad enough after the wedding that never happened and Willow knew it would be worse once everyone found out that her ex-fiancé had been cheating on her.

  She couldn’t face the disappointed people who had bought festival tickets on the promise that Storm Tyler would be making his longed-for return. She couldn’t face telling them that Storm was impossible to find, that email after email had come back with nothing. All she had was a tape and a rumour to suggest that Storm Tyler even existed after 1987.

  She couldn’t face her mother who still wouldn’t talk about the tape or about Storm. She hadn’t asked her father about Storm either even though it had been the elephant in the room when they’d played mandolin together in the afternoons.

  And she definitely couldn’t face Luc.

  She’d always known that, by the end of the summer, he would be going back to his life in America. But finding out he had a child, a little girl, was physical confirmation of that other life.

  Instead of staying in London and fighting for her flat, her fiancé, her life – instead of going back to the Island like she’d promised, to face the man she was sure she was falling in love with all over again, Willow hid away in a cheap chain hotel in Southampton unable to do anything. Frozen like a rabbit in the headlights.

  She slept a lot, consumed by an exhaustion that had been settling around her since long before the wedding. The days ran into one another until she had to check with the woman on reception that it was in fact Tuesday.

  Her mother called her that Tuesday afternoon. At first Willow didn’t answer but Cathy kept calling until she did. As soon as she heard her mother’s voice she told Cathy everything. Everything about Luc and Charlie and how she didn’t know what to do or where to go. Cathy had already guessed most of it from her sudden disappearance to London and her vague text late on Saturday night saying she’d be gone for a few days.

  Neither of them mentioned the tape, or Storm Tyler.

  ‘Come home,’ Cathy said.

  ‘I don’t know where home is anymore.’

  ‘This is always your home, Willow,’ Cathy said. ‘No matter who else is on the Island, no matter what else is happening. This will always be your home.’

  At those words something unfurled inside Willow, something that had been curled up so tightly for so long that she’d forgotten it existed. Something warm and comforting that reminded her of the sea, of sunshine, of the sound of laughter and music and the sensation of being part of something.

  Home.

  London had never been her home. She’d been so focused on trying to escape her past, escape the Island, and become what she’d thought was “a success” that she had lost sight of all the things she loved – the sound of the waves against the shore, the sand between her toes, the taste of fermented apples, mandolin strings beneath her fingers.

  Luc.

  She still didn’t know what she was going to do. Everything was still a mess; she still owned a flat with her cheating fiancé, a fiancé she no longer loved, whom she may never have loved. She still officially had a job in London too, a career she’d worked so hard for, fought for.

  And Luc had a daughter, a life elsewhere, twelve years that Willow knew nothing about.

  But the warmth that unravelled inside her when she thought about the Island made her realise that this chaos wasn’t hopeless. She could do something, she could change the course
of her life, she had complete control. She just needed to work out if she could face being on the Island, full of its reminders of Luc, when he wasn’t there.

  She poured herself a glass of wine from the minibar, not caring that it was three times the usual price. She ran herself a bath and, for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to relax. She slept for eleven hours and woke up too late for the hotel breakfast. She got dressed and walked down the hotel stairs to go out and find some coffee and food.

  He was there, waiting for her in the hotel lobby.

  26

  Luc

  Luc didn’t try to phone Willow to explain afterwards. He certainly didn’t try to beg her forgiveness. He had no idea what he was going to do or how he was going to salvage any of it. He knew he should have told Willow about Annelise weeks ago and he knew he should have listened to Don. But his daughter was finally on the Island and he’d missed her with every ounce of his being, so he concentrated on Annelise instead, spending the weekend with her and trying to forget about the look on Willow’s face when she came out of the bedroom on Saturday morning.

  On Monday he finally ventured into Seaview again with a vague idea of passing by The Music Shop to see if Willow was there. And that was when he discovered that she’d left the Island and he’d missed her.

  Skye called out to him from her studio as he passed. He turned and saw her in the doorway of her shop, her arms folded. He knew he had to talk to her, to tell her everything. But he turned his head away for a moment, looking towards The Music Shop.

  ‘She’s not there,’ Skye said. ‘She’s gone back to London.’

  He felt his stomach drop as he slowly turned back towards Skye, walked towards her.

  ‘She’s gone back to him?’ he asked.

  Skye shrugged. ‘I doubt it,’ she said, ushering Luc into the studio. ‘Let’s not have this conversation on the street,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen her?’ he asked as they sat down in Skye’s little kitchen.

  ‘She came here on Saturday morning, she told me everything.’