The Summer Island Festival

by Rachel Burton

  ‘That’s not unusual,’ Willow said. ‘Dad still gets that sometimes you know.’ Luc did know and he still remembered what Don had told him the afternoon he’d found him in the fishing boat at the other end of the beach.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he replied quietly. ‘But after the live final there was a tour, then I went to LA to record the album, then there was another tour and then…’ He didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘And then what?’ she asked.

  ‘And then nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘I’m contracted to write another album, go on another tour, play European festivals next summer.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’ she asked. ‘To practise for next summer?’

  ‘No, Willow. I’m here because everything has fallen apart. My panic attacks got worse and worse throughout both tours, throughout recording the album. I tried to hide them from everyone, which was stupid because I couldn’t control them, and my behaviour was all over the place. The press got hold of my erratic behaviour and obviously interpreted it as a drink and drug problem – the rock ’n’ roll cliché.’ He rubbed his eyes, turning away from her.

  ‘I saw some of the stories,’ Willow said quietly. ‘I just assumed they were rubbish.’

  ‘And now I can’t write,’ Luc went on. ‘My agent is expecting me to come back with an album full of original songs by the end of the summer and I can’t do it. I tried to write this week, cut out all distractions and just get lost in it, but nothing. Just thinking about it makes my throat close up and…’ He had to stop at the sense of panic rising in his throat like bile. He felt her arms around him.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Everything is going to be OK.’

  And for a few moments he almost believed her.

  ‘What made you do it?’ Willow asked as his breathing returned to normal and she moved away from him slightly. ‘What made you go on such a huge show, knowing you were prone to panic attacks?’

  This was his opportunity to tell her everything, about Annelise and the real reason he decided to go on American Stars. But he couldn’t. If he told her now then this evening would end here and he didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to let her go.

  ‘I hadn’t had any sign of a panic attack for years at that point,’ he said instead. ‘I’d been playing bars around Nashville for a while and everything had been fine. All I wanted to do by auditioning for American Stars was to prove something to myself.’ It wasn’t quite a lie. ‘I never expected to get to the final.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  There was a loaded question. ‘No, but I wish I’d gone about things differently, been a bit more honest with people.’

  ‘Does anyone know about the panic attacks at all?’

  ‘My agent,’ Luc replied. ‘I had to tell him in the end when all of the drink and drug stories were coming out in the papers. My mum knows of course and your dad.’

  ‘My dad knows?’

  ‘Your dad always knew,’ he said, finally telling her. ‘It was him who found me that morning after… well when I was supposed to meet you. He found me at the other end of the beach thinking I was having a heart attack. He helped me, because he’d been there himself. I made him swear not to tell anyone.’

  He looked at Willow as she stared out to sea and wondered if he’d said too much. She looked so beautiful and he didn’t think he could bear it if she went home now.

  ‘I wish a lot of things were different,’ she said eventually. ‘But you can’t change the past.’ She moved closer to him then and he felt the warmth of her body against him. ‘We can make up for it though.’

  His eyes met hers and he could see the desire there, the need. He could see that she didn’t want this evening to end any more than he did. He stood up, offering her his hand, as he told himself he’d done the right thing by putting off the truth.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asked.

  They walked to his building in silence and, when they got there, she followed him into the lobby and up the stairs. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked as he opened the door to his apartment.

  She shook her head as she closed the door behind her and leant back against it. ‘I’m not here for coffee,’ she replied.

  He stepped closer to her, tucking her hair behind her ears and she lifted on to tiptoe, letting her lips brush against his. Luc’s hands slid around her to pull her closer as she deepened the kiss and he lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist, supporting her against the door. As he kissed her, he remembered the night on the beach, when they stood like this, naked in the sea and he remembered the clifftop and all the times he had thought of her in between. He pressed himself against her, supporting her with one arm as he buried his other hand in her hair. She smelled amazing and he could kiss her all night, lose himself in this kiss and never come up for air.

  After a moment he pulled away. He felt as though he could consume her, and he didn’t want to push her to do something she wasn’t ready for. He let her go and she stood in front of him again.

  ‘Willow I…’ he began, but she seemed to already know what he was thinking and she smiled, her eyes sparkling. Her hands found the front of his jeans and he took a breath. She pulled him towards her by his belt buckle as she nuzzled into his neck.

  ‘I want you, Luc,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Right now.’

  How could he resist?

  *

  She still slept on her stomach, just like she had done when they were children. Luc could remember the tour buses they used to travel on with The Laurels, and how she would sleep on her stomach across two seats with one arm hanging down like a cat.

  He’d always thought she would follow her parents into music but she’d never believed that she was a creative person like her mum and dad. She’d thought she was good at maths and that was all, but it wasn’t all. Not by a long shot. She was as good, if not better than her mother. If someone had told Luc back when they were teenagers that she’d end up working in finance he’d never have believed them.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and watched her sleep. She’d always slept so well, so deeply. He had envied that. His sleep had been patchy and erratic for as long as he could remember and he often found himself awake in the early hours of the morning with only his guitar for company. There always seemed to be too much going on to allow him to sleep. Too much to think about, too much to worry about.

  But last night he hadn’t wanted to sleep; he hadn’t wanted to miss a moment of this time he had with Willow because he knew it would be short-lived. She was so beautiful and last night had been one of the best nights of his life. He felt as though he’d been waiting twelve years for last night – an opportunity to make it up to her, to make it up to himself.

  It was early, the sun had risen but it was still low in the sky, its rays shining through the gap in the blind at the bedroom window. He might not want them to go back to their lives on different sides of the Atlantic at the end of the summer but he knew that what he and Willow had right now was temporary. There was so much he should have told her before he’d slept with her, so much more he should have told her on the beach the previous night. It was selfish of him to have taken this as far as he had without telling her the truth and he knew he had to tell her as soon as she woke up. If he left it any longer she was going to find out from somebody else.

  She stirred and rolled onto her side, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist to spoon her, brushing her hair away from her neck and kissing her behind her ear. She moaned gently and wiggled against him and he knew he should move away, wake her up properly and talk to her. But he couldn’t burst this bubble they were in, not yet. He let his hand trail down her belly and over her pubic bone.

  Just a few more minutes.

  *

  Luc woke up to the sound of somebody knocking on the front door. The sun was much higher in the sky now judging by the light coming in through the blinds. He looked at the clock. It was
past 11am. He should have been up hours ago; he should have taken Willow out to breakfast and told her the truth.

  The door banged again.

  Shit.

  He rolled out of bed, picking up his jeans and shirt off the floor. He pulled them on and ran his hands through his hair before he turned to look at Willow.

  ‘Get rid of whoever it is quickly,’ she said. She smiled slowly at him and he could see her lips were slightly swollen from his kisses, her chin red from his stubble. She had no idea how much a part of him wanted to ignore the door, to curl up next to her in bed forever. But the other part of him needed to answer the door because he knew who it was, he’d been expecting them.

  And that made it so much worse.

  He took one last look at Willow, naked and beautiful in his bed.

  ‘You’d better get dressed,’ he said, knowing he should have said so much more as he walked into the hallway to open the front door, the door he’d pressed Willow against last night.

  God what had he done?

  ‘Daddy!’ she screamed as soon as he opened the door. ‘I’ve missed you!’

  ‘I’ve missed you too, Annelise,’ he replied, because despite everything that had been going on he had missed her, so very much. He squatted down to give her a hug. His little girl.

  She started talking ten to the dozen, telling Luc about the plane journey across the Atlantic, the hotel she and Krystal had stayed in the night before, the car ferry across to the Island. As she talked he looked up at his mum but Krystal wasn’t looking at him; she was looking behind him as the bedroom door opened.

  ‘Hello, Willow.’

  ‘Hello, Krystal,’ Willow replied from behind him. Luc couldn’t see her, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that he’d already lost her.

  24

  March 1988

  ‘Come on, Cathy love, push,’ the midwife said. ‘Not long now, just a couple more big pushes.’

  Cathy was exhausted, she didn’t know if she had a couple more big pushes in her. She squeezed Krystal’s hand so hard that she heard her friend wince beside her.

  ‘You can do it, Cathy love,’ Krystal said. ‘And in a couple of months I get to break your hand as payback.’

  Cathy turned her head to look at Krystal whose other hand was gently resting on her own bump. In eight weeks’ time they’d both be mothers – if Cathy managed to survive these last two big pushes. Krystal had told Cathy that she was pregnant on Cathy and Don’s wedding day. They’d married at Marylebone Register Office, where Paul and Linda McCartney had married eighteen years before. It had been a small occasion, no fuss at all and Cathy had worn a simple cream shift dress that covered the beginnings of her baby bump. It was the first time anybody had seen Don Warwick in a suit. A few press cameras waited for them on the steps after the ceremony – The Laurels were well known enough by then to have a small picture printed in the NME the following week. Nobody had known that Cathy had been pregnant; she’d managed to hide the truth from everyone.

  Cathy hadn’t asked who the father of Krystal’s baby was and Krystal had never told her. Whether this was because she didn’t know or didn’t want anyone else to know, Cathy didn’t care. There was so much she didn’t care about now, so much she’d allowed herself to let go of, grateful for the things she had – Don, Krystal and the baby that she would hold in her arms very soon. They were her family now, a replacement for the family she hadn’t spoken to for four years. She’d thought about them of course, especially her mother and her baby brother. Connor would be fifteen now. Over the last nine months she’d thought about getting in touch, telling her family about Don and about her baby. But she wanted to move forward, set her own course in life and she knew her family wouldn’t let her do that.

  ‘This is the worst thing that has ever happened,’ Cathy grunted through gritted teeth. Beside her Krystal laughed softly.

  ‘Don should be here,’ Krystal said.

  Don was touring in America, doing whatever he could to earn money for his new wife and the baby that was on the way. Don was a good man, so good that Cathy only thought about Storm occasionally these days.

  ‘One more, Cathy,’ the midwife said. ‘One more big push.’

  Cathy gripped Krystal’s hand and closed her eyes. Come on, Cathy, she told herself. You get to meet your baby soon.

  It had been six months since she’d last seen Storm Tyler. Nobody seemed to know where he was anymore and Cathy had convinced herself that she no longer cared.

  The last time she’d seen him he’d been dripping wet, sitting up in bed after she’d poured a glass of water over him and his little groupie to wake them up. She’d kicked the girl out of the flat and, before he’d had a chance to shower or get himself a coffee, she had told him she was leaving, that she was moving in with Don. She hadn’t told Storm about the baby.

  She hadn’t really known what to expect when she told him she was going – anger maybe, followed by his usual begging and pleading for forgiveness. She hadn’t been expecting the resigned acceptance; she hadn’t expected him to sit quietly in the living room while she packed her case, or for him to offer to carry it for her. And when she refused his help, she hadn’t expected the quiet apology as she left.

  And then he simply disappeared. A few weeks after the wedding Cathy had seen an announcement in the NME that King Silver had split up for the last time, but there was no interview with Storm, no recent pictures. Rumours flew around – that he’d died, that he’d moved to America, that he was in rehab. The rumour Cathy trusted most was that he’d moved to the South of France – he’d always said he wanted to retire to the French Riviera. She silently wished him well and tried to move on with her life.

  Cathy had put Storm out of her mind, knowing that it was worth it as she waited for her baby. And when she heard that baby cry for the first time her heart exploded into a thousand stars.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ the midwife said.

  And when her little girl was placed in her arms, Cathy hadn’t known it was possible to feel such love, such adoration.

  ‘Hello, Willow,’ she said.

  25

  Willow

  ‘OK, OK I’m coming,’ Skye called as Willow banged on the door of “Clouds in the Skye”. She heard a key turning in the lock. ‘What do you want I…’

  Skye stopped as soon as she saw Willow standing in front of her, barefoot and wearing the previous night’s clothes, shoes in her hand and tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Willow, what on earth?’

  ‘Can I come in?’ Willow asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Skye replied, reaching out to Willow, taking her hand and leading her inside. ‘I was just setting up for a client but I’ve got nearly an hour until they’re due.’

  Willow allowed herself to be led into the little kitchen at the back of the studio where she and Luc and Skye had shared a pot of tea over a month before. She felt as though she was a different person now.

  She sat down as Skye put the kettle on and all Willow could think about was Luc standing there making tea that afternoon.

  Luc.

  ‘Did you know?’ Willow asked. ‘Did you know about Luc’s daughter?’

  Skye turned around slowly.

  ‘What?’ she said quietly.

  ‘You didn’t know? He didn’t tell you either then?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Skye asked.

  ‘Of course I’m sure, Skye. Why else would a little girl with pigtails and green eyes be calling him “daddy”?’

  Skye sat down next to Willow. ‘Tell me everything,’ she said.

  Willow told her how dinner with Luc had felt like a date no matter how hard she’d tried to pretend it wasn’t. She told her about the walk on the beach and about the night she’d spent at Luc’s apartment, the night she’d finally felt alive again after what had felt like years of hibernation.

  And she told Skye about Krystal arriving and the little girl with pigtails and freckles and eyes as green as Luc’s.

 
But she didn’t tell Skye about Luc’s panic attacks. She still felt loyal enough to him not to mention those.

  ‘Whoa,’ Skye breathed when Willow finished.

  ‘I know,’ Willow replied. ‘I guess that’s who he was calling “sweetheart” on the phone the other week.’

  ‘Not a groupie then,’ Skye said.

  ‘No, not a groupie.’

  ‘But that didn’t bother you?’ Skye asked. ‘That there was someone out there he called “sweetheart” and he wouldn’t tell you who it was?’

  ‘I didn’t care about his life in Nashville. It’s not like my life in London is simple and uncomplicated or that I’m really free to start seeing anyone new. But it was Luc and we were both on the Island and…’ She trailed off. Her excuses seemed pathetic, but she could tell by the look on Skye’s face that she understood.

  ‘What happens on the Island stays on the Island,’ Skye said with a smile.

  Willow put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘Something like that,’ she said.

  ‘What did you think would happen?’ Skye asked. ‘After you slept with him?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It just felt so right, so perfect and it felt a bit like we were in this bubble, that nothing else mattered except us. I didn’t think at all. Maybe that’s the problem.’

  ‘I can’t believe Luc’s a father,’ Skye said softly after a while. ‘Of everyone I know he would never have been top of my list of people who’d become a parent first.’

  ‘You should have seen him with her though,’ Willow replied as she remembered the moment when Luc took his daughter in his arms. It was so tender, so beautiful. It had made her ovaries explode. ‘I think he’s probably a good dad.’

  ‘I wonder who her mum is?’ Skye asked rhetorically.

  ‘It opens up so many questions,’ Willow said. ‘Not least why he didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘He must have had his reasons,’ Skye replied. ‘But yeah, I’m surprised he didn’t say anything, especially to you. You’ve been spending so much time together.’