Sunny Days and Sea Breezes

by Carole Matthews

  I confess that I’ve never been brave enough to go to a festival before. I’m more of a five-star kind of woman and it definitely wouldn’t have been Chris’s kind of thing – he liked luxury all the way. The thought of sleeping in a tent would give him hives. Yet, that handstand must have made the blood rush to my head as I find myself seriously considering it.

  Ned beams up at Ida. ‘You’d be happy to share?’

  Again the dilemma of both wanting to say no and yet not appearing to be churlish. I don’t want to put Ida’s nose out of joint, but I find myself really wanting to experience festival life – even if I just do it once, I can tick it off my bucket list. Though, if I’m honest, it was never actually on my bucket list.

  I risk saying, ‘I’d love it. If you wouldn’t mind?’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘OK.’

  ‘Cool,’ Ned says. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a road trip.’

  ‘What do I need to take? I don’t have a sleeping bag or anything.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We can sort it. The band are all seasoned campers. They’ll have some spare stuff kicking about. Other than that, pack minimally.’

  Another couple walk up from the beach and settle at a table. Ida clocks them and whips out her pad to take our order. ‘What can I get for you?’

  We both order – scrambled egg on toast for Ned and pancakes for me – and Ida moves on to the next table.

  ‘You’ll enjoy it,’ Ned says. ‘I promise you.’

  And, no one is more surprised than me to find that, already, there’s a buzz of excitement in my tummy.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I spend the rest of the day pottering about doing nothing in particular. I read some more of George’s book and really enjoy it. I do so hope that he gets a positive response.

  Later that night, I sit on the top deck of the boat with a welcome glass of white wine and watch the ever-changing landscape. Silently, peacefully, the tide slides out. Sea birds settle down before darkness falls and Sunny Days sighs as her hull shifts into a new position in the water. The sky is ablaze with golden clouds and raspberry splashes, all perfectly reflected in the still water of the harbour. Again, I think that perhaps I’d like to paint this.

  As I start my second glass and am feeling more chilled, I call Della. I haven’t spoken to her for days and she sounds a bit crisp when she picks up.

  ‘Chummie.’

  ‘Is this a bad time?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Are you at home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  That’s a rare thing for her. ‘I thought you might still be at work or heading for a bar. It’s nice that you’ve got an evening to yourself.’ I can picture her lounging on the sofa in her grey cashmere pyjamas. Della’s the only person I know who does casual in cashmere.

  My friend’s apartment is too cool for words as well – rough brick walls, sanded floorboards and all industrial-style fittings. I’ll admit to helping her furnish it, which is probably why I like it there so much. It’s a great space for entertaining too as the kitchen is huge and there’s room for a table that seats ten. Not that Della is at home all that much and she’s like Chris in that she definitely prefers restaurants to cooking. The place is so spacious that there’s always a faint echo behind her down the line. ‘Have you got time for a quick catch up? We haven’t spoken properly for a while.’

  ‘Sure. It’s the perfect time. How are you doing?’ she asks, but there’s a distance in her voice. Perhaps she still cross that I’ve skipped to the Isle of Wight.

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Feeling much better. I think the sea air is suiting me.’

  There’s a little pause before she says, ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Walking on the beach, reading, watching afternoon television – lots of adverts for incontinence pants and pensions.’

  ‘Sounds riveting.’ Again an off note.

  ‘I’m really enjoying it. I’ve even done a bit of yoga.’ I get a flashback to my attempted handstand and tumbling onto the sand with Ned and it makes me smile. ‘I managed a handstand. Kind of.’

  ‘Good Christ,’ she says. ‘Now I’ve heard it all. Should you be doing that so soon after . . . ’

  She doesn’t need to finish her sentence, but we both know what she means.

  ‘Too late to consider that now,’ I admit. I’m sure that everything, physically, is fine now. But surely it’s a good thing that I didn’t even think about it?

  ‘Ooops,’ she says.

  I can’t put my finger on it, but Della sounds distracted. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘All good at work?’

  ‘Busy as fuck, but otherwise same old, same old.’

  ‘I think I agreed to go to a festival this afternoon,’ I confide. ‘Can you imagine? Me, camping and everything?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re just in the Isle of Wight? It sounds as if you’ve been abducted by aliens. Yoga? Festivals? Camping?’

  ‘Maybe this is the new me?’ I must admit that I’ve been feeling excited by the prospect all afternoon.

  ‘I think I like the old wine bar/gym bunny better. Who are you going with? You can’t go to a festival on your own.’

  ‘Some of the local people have invited me. I’ve made friends with the guy in the boat next door and a woman who runs a café on the beach.’

  Then I hear a man speak in the background and, although Della must cover the phone with her hand, I hear her whisper, ‘I won’t be long.’

  I feel a stab of hurt. So that’s why she doesn’t seem keen to chat. ‘Have you got someone there? I didn’t realise. You should have said. I can call back tomorrow.’

  ‘There’s no one here,’ she answers too sharply.

  But I know that there is. She’s there with a man and hasn’t said. It isn’t like Della. Now I feel weird. Perhaps because I haven’t been entirely open with her, she’s paying me back this way. As much as I love my friend, it’s definitely something she would do.

  ‘Well, I’d better go anyway,’ I rush out. ‘Marilyn has left me a casserole and it’s in the oven.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ Again quite crisp.

  ‘Shall I call you tomorrow?’ I venture. I wonder if she’s actually still working but didn’t like to admit it and he’s one of her colleagues? Or perhaps she’s picked someone up in a bar? Or, more likely, has got herself another Tinder hook-up. It’s a bit early for it, but I wouldn’t put anything past Della. She could have just told me I was interrupting, though. We usually tell each other everything – or we used to. Is she jealous that I’m having a good time without her?

  Then I think I hear a voice again and can’t let it go. ‘There is someone there.’

  ‘There’s not,’ she insists. ‘It must be the telly. Don’t be paranoid.’

  Perhaps, she’s right. I’m reading too much into everything. Once you’ve been burned, it leaves a lasting scar. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot.’

  ‘Yeah. But I still love you, muppet.’

  ‘Sorry. Now I feel foolish.’

  ‘No need. Look, I’d better go. Stuff to do. I’ll phone you,’ Della says.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah. Bye, Chummie.’

  And, with that, my best friend hangs up. I’m unsettled for the rest of the evening and don’t know why.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  In the wee small hours, I lie in bed and fret about Della’s call. I think she’s more pissed off with me than I imagined. It’s not like her to behave like that. I thought she’d be pleased for me that things are going well here but obviously not. Perhaps she thinks it’s ridiculous that I can’t face my troubles like a grown-up. Everything with Della is black and white. She’s had a blessed life, every advantage, and has never been through anything like I have. As such, I’m afraid that my bestie has very little empathy. Normally, I like her uncompromising feistiness, but not when I’m on the receiving end of it.

  I jump out
of bed and fly upstairs to see Marilyn when I hear her welcoming ‘Coooooeeeee!’ An extra cheery one today as if she can sense my distress.

  Today she’s rocking a scarlet red jumpsuit and silver accessories. She smells like an explosion in a perfume factory. The now-obligatory bag of shopping goes on the work surface. I’m going to have to start running every morning simply to keep pace with the amount of calories Marilyn tries to get in me during the course of a day.

  ‘The goulash was lovely,’ I tell her. ‘I froze the rest.’ For the next time ten people turn up unexpectedly. ‘And washed your dish.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ she tuts. ‘That’s my job. I’m looking after you.’

  ‘And very well too,’ I say. ‘I do appreciate it.’ Though she can still make my ears ring with her chatter, I do look forward to seeing her.

  ‘You look a bit out of sorts this morning.’

  ‘Had a weird conversation with my best friend last night. I’m sure it’s nothing, though. Just me being a bit sensitive. I felt like she couldn’t wait to get me off the phone.’

  Marilyn raises her eyebrows. ‘Could be just a touch of the blue-eyed monster? Perhaps your friend would like to be on holiday by the sea.’

  ‘You’re probably right. I thought as much myself.’

  ‘Why don’t you invite her over for the weekend? You could do with some company.’

  ‘I can’t do this weekend. At least I think not. Ned and Ida invited me to go to the Spring Oasis festival,’ I explain. ‘I’m hoping I have your approval. Della thinks I’m mad. If you tell me it’s a bad idea, then I might well change my mind.’

  ‘Oh, you must go. It’s lovely,’ she declares. ‘It’s in a fabulous setting in the woods. If the weather’s kind to you, it’s like a little slice of heaven. They usually have great bands and all kinds of quirky acts. I haven’t been for a few years – I’m always on babysitting duty as at least one of my kids is there every time. I think two of the girls have got tickets for this one.’

  ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘You’re always worried,’ Marilyn points out.

  ‘I know. I’m nervous but do you know what, Marilyn, I actually feel a bit happy too. And then I feel guilty about that.’

  She gives me a sideways glance. ‘It is OK to start to live your life again.’

  ‘At what point, though? How long am I supposed to grieve for? I feel as if it might be for a hundred years.’

  ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that. It will always be there with you, but it doesn’t have to define your life. There are times when I’m a concert or out for a meal and I think, “Ah, my Declan would have just loved this” and it makes me sad to think that he’s not still here to share moments like that with me. It’s only natural. But life is for the living. You’re still allowed to have fun and this seems like the perfect opportunity for you to put your brightest lipstick on dip your nose into the water again.’

  ‘Toe,’ I correct.

  ‘Yeah, that as well. While you’re at it, dip all of your bits in the water,’ she advises. ‘You might find you like it.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I fret until the weekend comes but, as Marilyn suggested, I put on my brightest lipstick and take a few deep breaths. Actually, I didn’t have a bright lipstick, so I bought one from the local chemist in a shade that would make Marilyn proud. It’s red. The reddest red I’ve ever worn.

  There’s a knot of anticipation and dread in my stomach which meant I couldn’t touch any breakfast. Don’t tell Marilyn. She’s arrived early to wave me off, bless her, and is now fussing round me.

  ‘You’ve got a jumper and a jacket? It might be cold in the evenings.’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ I’ve also checked the weather forecast and it looks like it’s going to be glorious for the Spring Oasis Festival.

  ‘Don’t forget your sleeping bag,’ Marilyn reminds me unnecessarily.

  I decided I couldn’t do a borrowed sleeping bag and did some clickclick shopping online and had one delivered yesterday.

  Marilyn is stressing as much as me. ‘Have you got toothpaste? Toothbrush? Soap? Deodorant? Clean knickers.’

  ‘Yes to all of those things.’

  Other than when he popped by to tell me of the arrangements for the weekend, I haven’t seen much of Ned this week. I haven’t had another yoga session with him. I don’t know whether he’s been up extra early or if he’s been too busy but I’ve heard him sculpting on the back of his boat and I find the noise comforting rather than irritating. It’s nice to think that he’s close by, even if I can’t see him.

  Now I watch out of the window as he walks down the gangway before he knocks on the door for me. He looks ready for a festival in cut-off khaki pants and a black T-shirt, but then he always looks festival-ready. His brown hair is as messy as usual and there’s more than a hint of stubbly moustache and beard, which suits him.

  When I open the door, Ned gestures at his battered car. ‘Your chariot awaits, madam.’

  The car looks packed to the gills and I wonder whether there’s actually still room for me. I’m glad that I’ve only got one bag and my brand new sleeping bag.

  ‘Ready to rock?’ he asks.

  ‘I feel terrified,’ I admit.

  ‘It’ll be a blast,’ Ned assures me. ‘We’ll make a hippy chick out of you yet.’

  ‘Wish me luck, Marilyn,’ I say as I grab my stuff and head to the door.

  She comes after me and hugs me tightly. ‘Be careful,’ she warns. ‘Don’t eat cakes with funny stuff in them.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Look after her.’ She wags her finger at Ned. ‘You’d better bring her back in one piece. You’ll have me to answer to if you don’t.’

  ‘I’ll treat her like porcelain,’ he promises.

  Ned takes my bag and we head to the car. Thankfully, the front seat is empty and I climb in, sliding my sleeping bag between my feet.

  From the back seat, Ida’s voice says, ‘Hi’ which makes me jump. She’s tucked in the corner with bags and boxes piled around her. I recognise the shape of Ned’s guitar and I assume his chainsaw must be in here somewhere too. ‘It’s a good job you travel light.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘This isn’t half of it. One of the guys in the band is taking Ned’s stock of wood in his van. He’ll get through so much stuff this weekend.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK there? We can swap if you like?’

  ‘I know my place,’ Ida says. Slightly barbed. ‘Besides it’s only half an hour over there. Cramp won’t have set in by then, if I’m lucky.’

  ‘I’ll go in the backseat on the way home. I promise.’

  ‘It’s a deal. We’ll be getting very cosy with each other. My tent’s very small,’ she tells me. ‘I hope you don’t snore.’

  ‘I don’t think I do, but I probably won’t sleep a wink.’

  ‘You won’t need to. It does kind of carry on during the night. There’s lots to do.’

  ‘I am very grateful to you for having me, Ida.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I had much choice,’ she says, giving a pointed, and totally wasted, look to the back of Ned’s head. ‘But we’ll have fun. Once we get a few bottles of wine down our necks we’ll be best friends.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  When Ned’s finished squashing my bag into the boot – sounds as if there was a serious bit of re-arranging going on – he slides into the driver’s seat. ‘Ready to hit the road, ladies?’

  Tension curls in my stomach. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

  Ned touches my knee and I daren’t even look round to see whether Ida has clocked it or not. ‘Relax,’ he says. ‘Kick back. Enjoy the ride.’

  Marilyn is standing at the end of the gangway, waving her duster and brushing a tear from her eyes. You’d think I was going off on a year-long, round-the-world trip, not an overnighter just a few miles away. She blows me a kiss and I wave back.

  ‘Just drive,’ I tel
l Ned, ‘otherwise Marilyn will chase after us and bring me back.’

  So we set off and joggle along the lanes across the island. I’m not entirely sure where we’re headed and I don’t feel inclined to find out. I’m just going to go with the flow. That will be my motto for the weekend. Wherever we’re going, it’s green and pleasant and, even though I’ve not been up for long, my eyes feel heavy with sleep. It definitely must be the effect of Ned’s driving. This time I fight to stay awake. I don’t want Ida to catch me drooling.

  Soon we join a queue of cars heading into the festival camp site and it’s certainly buzzing. There are thousands of people converging on this place for the weekend. Ned is obviously known to the gate security staff as he’s waved through without a ticket check. We park up and then start the unenviable task of unloading all the stuff to take to our pitch.

  I confess to feeling that a nice comfy hotel is seeming like a much better option at this point.

  Chapter Fifty

  Ida stretches when we get out of the car. ‘Thank God the drive wasn’t longer,’ she mutters.

  I must first of all tell you that Ida looks amazing. She’s clearly got this festival chic covered. Her cute denim playsuit is topped with a multi-coloured cardigan crocheted in granny squares that grazes the top of her bright pink Doc Marten boots. Her dark hair is threaded with a multitude of ribbons in all shades of pink and she’s wearing a floppy cream hat. There’s a row of glittery sequins gracing the top of her cheeks and curling up to her eyebrows. While having her own individual style she also blends in perfectly with the sea of frilly tops, glossy wellies and floral headbands. I, on the other hand, look set for a day at the office and stick out like a sore thumb.

  Ned loads as much of our stuff as possible into a small truck that’s been in the boot of the car while Ida and I carry as much as we can. We look like we are planning to stay for at least two weeks rather than overnight. Laden down with bags, we haul all our stuff across a field and up a hill to find our allocated campsite and, with a bit of huffing and puffing, eventually find our spot. With some more faffing and swearing, we pitch our tents next to each other. Ned goes back to the car for another load.