The Summer Island Festival

by Rachel Burton

  Luc felt as though the room was spinning.

  ‘Start by telling me about your daughter,’ Skye said putting a cup of tea down in front of him, as though she knew he had no idea where to begin.

  ‘She’s called Annelise,’ he said. ‘She’s seven but I didn’t know she existed until two years ago. She’s the reason I did American Stars. I wanted to do something worthwhile, something to make her proud.’

  He told Skye everything. He told her about meeting Annelise for the first time in a Chuck E. Cheese in Antioch, ten miles outside of Nashville, about how shy she had been – so different to the girl she’d grown into. Her mother had finally got in touch after five years to tell him about his daughter because she needed help, needed money, needed someone to look after Annelise in the school vacations. When the initial shock had subsided Luc had been more than happy to help, more than happy to finally have a purpose to his life.

  ‘I’d never been able to settle when we moved to Nashville,’ he said. ‘Mum got the record deal of her dreams and I got a job as a short-order cook in a diner.’

  ‘How American,’ Skye said with a smile. ‘But did you not play too?’

  ‘I got a few gigs at some of the smaller bars off the back of being Krystal Kane’s son, but I was a very small fish in a huge pond. I don’t know what I’d have done if I hadn’t found out about Annelise.’

  ‘Why had Annelise’s mum never told you before?’ Skye asked.

  ‘I think she’d thought she could cope on her own, thought I was just another flaky musician who wouldn’t care. But then her mother died and she was desperate. I’m not sure she would ever have told me otherwise. But I did care, from the moment I set eyes on Annelise I cared so much.’

  Krystal had been less accepting, cynical even, and had insisted on a DNA test. It had come back confirming that Luc was the father, but he hadn’t needed a test. He’d known that Annelise was his from the moment her green eyes met his across a plate of cheap pizza.

  ‘I should have told Willow,’ Luc said. ‘I should have told her weeks ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  He told Skye about the panic attacks and the way he’d fallen apart on tour. He told her about the record he was meant to be writing and the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to. He told her about the tape, although Skye already knew about that, and the idea it had given him.

  ‘I thought,’ he said, voicing his idea for the first time. ‘That instead of writing new stuff I could work on some Ballad Book songs – rearrange them for the twenty-first century or something.’ The idea didn’t sound quite so brilliant when he said it out loud.

  ‘None of that explains why you didn’t tell Willow about Annelise,’ Skye said.

  ‘I thought that if I told her she’d walk away and I needed her.’ He paused. ‘When she’s there I feel like I can do all the stuff I’m meant to be doing – I can play the festival and record the album and even find Storm Tyler for her. But if she’s not there…’ He trailed off. ‘She’s playing again you know,’ he said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Mandolin?’ Skye asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Skye nodded and Luc couldn’t work out if she already knew this.

  ‘I was intending to tell her about Annelise on Saturday morning,’ Luc said. ‘I was going to take her out for breakfast and tell her then but—’

  ‘Oh, Luc,’ Skye interrupted. ‘You really do know how to screw things up don’t you?’

  ‘What am I going to do, Skye?’

  ‘I think you’re going to have to wait for her to come back. She promised she would – she’ll be back for the festival.’

  ‘If the festival even happens.’

  But Luc knew it was the right thing to do. This wasn’t something they could sort out over the phone or by WhatsApp.

  ‘Don’t give up on her though,’ Skye said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. ‘She hasn’t run away this time, I’m sure of it.’ She paused, looking at Luc. ‘And in the meantime have you got any leads on Storm Tyler? I know Willow has come to a dead end.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Luc said. ‘It’s like he’s disappeared off the face of the earth. Nobody knows where he is. Cathy must know – she was on that tape too, but she’s not talking. At this rate there’s either going to be no festival at all or a lot of very angry folk fans.’

  ‘You never know,’ Skye replied, smiling. ‘Miracles can happen.’

  *

  Cathy called Luc the next day, asking him to come and see her. He left Annelise with Krystal and went round as soon as he could. He had to face the music sometime. He knew it was time to start being honest, and Cathy was a good place to begin. She and Don would be worried about Willow and Luc knew it was time to tell the truth.

  But when he arrived Cathy wasn’t angry with him for what happened with Willow or for not telling her about Annelise. Cathy was worried. She and Don sat at opposite ends of the sofa as Cathy told Luc that Willow wasn’t in London and that she was holed up in some hotel in Southampton licking her wounds after finding out the truth about her almost husband.

  ‘He’s been cheating on her,’ Cathy said.

  ‘I knew it,’ Luc said quietly and Luc was suddenly aware of a tension between her and Don, as though they’d been arguing about something.

  ‘I know Willow,’ Cathy went on. ‘She pretends she’s all right but I know she isn’t. How could she be?’

  Luc nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was so angry with Charlie for hurting Willow. But he knew he’d hurt her badly too – he and Charlie were as bad as each other.

  Cathy stood up and walked over to Luc.

  ‘Bring her home,’ she said, pressing the keys of her Jeep into his hand. ‘Tell her you’re sorry, explain everything as best you can and bring her home. Go first thing tomorrow and if your mum can’t look after Annelise then bring her here and I’ll take care of her. We need Willow to come home.’

  *

  ‘Luc,’ Willow said softly as she walked across the hotel lobby towards him. He stood and smiled at her. He felt a wave of relief when she smiled back. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Everyone was worried,’ he said. ‘They want you to come home.’

  ‘Everyone?’ she asked.

  ‘Your mum and dad. Skye.’ He paused. ‘Me.’

  She held his gaze for a second longer than she needed to.

  ‘Your mum told me what happened in London, Willow,’ he went on. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I was going to get some breakfast,’ she replied. ‘Do you want to come? I think we probably need to talk.’

  They walked side by side and he had to dig his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from touching her, just as he had done when they’d walked to Tom’s recording studio a couple of weeks before.

  She stopped outside a café. ‘Shall we sit outside?’ she asked. ‘It’s a beautiful morning.’ She sounded tired and sad.

  Luc sat down as the waitress came over to them, chatting to Willow like they’d known each other for months. He wondered how many times she’d walked down to this café on her own and how long she would have kept doing that if Cathy hadn’t intervened. She ordered her breakfast and he asked for a coffee for himself.

  ‘What are you doing here, Luc?’ she asked as the waitress moved away, echoing the words she had said to him in The Music Shop the first time he’d seen her again.

  ‘Your mum wanted me to come,’ he replied. ‘She wants you to come home.’

  ‘And what do you want?’

  ‘I want you to come back to the Island,’ he said. ‘And I want us to talk properly. But mostly I want you to do whatever you want to do. Whatever makes you happy. Because I have a feeling you haven’t been happy for a long time.’

  She crumpled in front of him at those words, leaning her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. ‘Talk to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to talk about Charlie so tell me about your daughter.’

  Luc smiled. ‘She’s called An
nelise,’ he said. ‘And I first met her just over two years ago.’

  ‘You didn’t know about her?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I had no idea until I got a phone call from my agent about it. Annelise’s mother had got in touch with him. I was really small-time back then, just playing in bars and small venues, but I had got myself an agent and I’d recorded a few tracks for a compilation album. That’s how Annelise’s mum got in touch.’

  ‘How did you not know?’ Willow asked.

  ‘How do you think I didn’t know?’ Luc replied, looking away from her and towards the street. He could feel himself blushing, embarrassed at the memory of who he used to be, how badly he had behaved. He’d been so unhappy in Nashville, so lost. He’d tried to bury his feelings in music and drinking and women but none of it had worked. He’d still found himself thinking about the Island, about Willow, whenever he was alone.

  He looked over at her and an expression of understanding passed briefly over her face as their eyes met. He didn’t need to tell her everything. He didn’t need to tell her the details – they’d both had their own methods of forgetting the Island, of forgetting each other. That much was clear to him now.

  ‘She never told you she was pregnant,’ Willow said quietly.

  ‘I don’t think she would ever have told me if she hadn’t been desperate,’ he replied.

  Willow’s food arrived then, and he waited for the waitress to move away before he continued. He’d noticed the way people looked at him as though they recognised him but couldn’t quite place him. He didn’t want to be overheard.

  As Willow ate he told her everything that he’d told Skye two days before. He told her about meeting Annelise for the first time, about how he knew from the first moment – long before the DNA test – that she was his.

  ‘Her eyes,’ Willow interrupted.

  Luc was surprised that she’d looked at his daughter for long enough to notice before running away from him.

  He told her about the early days of getting to know Annelise and about why he auditioned for American Stars.

  Willow didn’t say anything at first, she just sat back in her chair, wiping her mouth with her napkin. She didn’t look at him.

  ‘What was it like?’ she said. ‘At first. What was being a parent like?’

  ‘The hardest thing I’ve ever done. She didn’t want to spend time with me really. She had no idea who I was and I knew less than nothing about five-year-old girls. The last five-year-old girl I ever came across was you.’

  Willow smiled but she still didn’t look at him.

  ‘It was Mum who saved the day really. She just knew how to cope, how to handle Annelise. How to handle both of us really. She took some time off from touring and helped us settle in Nashville over the summer. Then, in the fall when Annelise had gone back to her mum to start school I auditioned for American Stars.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this, Luc?’ Willow asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me weeks ago? Before we…’ She trailed off and Luc reached across the table, resting his fingers gently on top of hers. She didn’t move her hand away.

  ‘I didn’t know how,’ he said. ‘When I was with you everything felt like it used to; everything felt right. I wasn’t getting panic attacks. I thought that maybe I could get on the stage for the festival. I’d even had an idea about this record I’m supposed to be writing. I thought that if I told you about Annelise that I’d chase you away when I needed you. I was wrong and selfish and…’

  She pulled her hand away from his then and crossed her arms across her chest.

  ‘You were,’ she said.

  ‘I’d been going to tell you the morning after you stayed with me,’ he said, knowing how unlikely it all sounded now. ‘I’d been intending to take you out for breakfast and tell you before they arrived. But I overslept.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been a complete idiot and I understand why you’re angry, why you might not want to talk to me.’

  ‘I’m not going to pretend that I’m not pissed off with you,’ she replied. ‘But I’ve got bigger things to be pissed off about right now.’ She stopped, uncrossing her arms and resting her hands on the table. ‘You’re Luc,’ she went on, her tone softening. ‘You’re my friend and you’re struggling. We’re both struggling. There are a lot of reasons why we shouldn’t have slept together and some of those reasons are mine. But I don’t hate you for this, Luc. I’m not angry and I’m not running away from you again – I just don’t really know where to go.’ She ran her hand through her hair.

  Luc knew how that felt, knew how all his hopes and dreams – the ones he used to share with Willow late at night when nobody else was around – had never come to anything. He knew that the front that he put on for the world bore no relation to the emotional turmoil going on inside and he was fairly sure that Willow felt the same. Nothing had turned out how either of them expected. Maybe nothing ever turned out how anyone expected.

  ‘Who else knew?’ Willow asked. ‘I mean I’m sure half the Island knows now, but who else knew about Annelise before this summer?’

  ‘Rocco,’ Luc said. ‘And your dad. We kept it quiet to protect her once things started taking off with American Stars. I didn’t want anyone to bother her or take photos of her.’

  Willow didn’t respond, she just sat looking down at the table.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you ever wonder who your father is?’

  He hadn’t expected that. ‘I never used to,’ he said. ‘But since Annelise came into my life it’s all I can think about. But Mum still won’t say anything and your dad says he doesn’t know so what can I do?’

  ‘You and Dad are really close, aren’t you?’

  Luc made a noise in the back of his throat that he hoped sounded non-committal. He was close to Don Warwick. He had been since the day on the beach when Don found him curled up in the fishing boat but he didn’t want to talk about it. He knew Willow wasn’t as close to her father as she used to be and he didn’t want to hurt her any further or make her jealous.

  Willow picked up her empty coffee cup and put it down again.

  ‘Will you come back to the Island with me?’ Luc asked. ‘Just for the rest of the summer?’

  ‘Can I meet your daughter?’

  ‘Of course you can, Willow. Nothing would make me happier.’

  ‘And what happens when the summer is over?’ she asked. ‘Are you going back to America?’

  ‘I have to,’ he said. ‘I have to put Annelise first.’

  He watched her try to hide the disappointment she clearly felt. He wished he could think of a way he could be with Willow and be the father Annelise deserved. But he didn’t have an answer so all he could do was make the most of the next few weeks with her.

  ‘Shall I get the bill?’ he asked.

  But she didn’t reply; she just reached over, placing her hand on Luc’s arm, sending a shiver through his body that he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.

  27

  October 1988 to August 1990

  Cathy sat on the beach with Willow asleep in her arms. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy, this loved, this needed. Having Willow had changed everything for the better and Cathy felt as though she could start to forget the past and build a future for herself and her daughter.

  Next to her Krystal’s baby started to cry again. She’d had a boy two months after Cathy had given birth to Willow. She’d called him Lucien but already everybody just called him Luc. He was the exact opposite to Willow – where she was calm and placid and slept remarkably well, Luc cried a lot, screaming in the night and refusing to sleep as though he was afraid of missing out on something. Krystal looked shattered and Cathy knew how lucky she was to have a baby like Willow. Her Willow, her saviour.

  Cathy had been there for Krystal as she gave birth just as Krystal had been there for her and the two of them had become inseparable, bringing up their children together, helping each other get by. Neither woman had an
y family to rely on or anyone to help and so they became each other’s family.

  A few weeks after Luc had been born Don had taken them all to the Isle of Wight to show them the place where he had grown up.

  ‘What do you think about getting out of London for a while?’ he’d asked Cathy when they were alone. ‘About maybe moving to the Island to bring up Willow?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Cathy had replied. ‘But we can’t leave Krystal behind. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  Cathy still hadn’t asked Krystal who Luc’s father was, and Krystal had never told her. But there had been one thing Cathy had needed to know.

  ‘It isn’t you is it?’ she’d asked Don late one night, just after Willow had been born. ‘The father of Krystal’s baby?’ They were both punch-drunk from lack of sleep and adoration of the new baby and the question had come from nowhere, throwing Don off kilter.

  ‘Of course it’s not me,’ he’d replied. ‘What makes you think it is?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Cathy had said. ‘I just needed to be sure, to know where I stood.’

  Don had touched her chin then, turned her face towards him. ‘I’m not Storm,’ he said. ‘And I never will be.’

  ‘Do you know who the father is?’ Cathy had asked, looking away from Don at the mention of her ex-lover.

  ‘No, and it’s not my business,’ Don had replied. ‘She’ll tell us if she wants to.’

  But she never had.

  ‘Krystal could come too,’ Don had said as he and Cathy lay curled around each other in the little bed and breakfast in Seaview, Willow asleep in the cot at the end of the bed. ‘If she wanted to.’

  The next day Don had shown Cathy and Krystal the house that he’d grown up in, the house that he had inherited a couple of years earlier but had been too busy with The Laurels to do anything about.

  ‘It needs a bit of work,’ he said. ‘But it’s structurally sound. We could live here,’ he paused, looking over at Krystal. ‘All of us could live here,’ he went on. ‘At least while the kids are babies.’

  They left London with a speed and organisation that Cathy hadn’t thought any of them capable of, lured by the sea air and the peace and quiet. They had hoped it would help Luc, help him calm down. But the only thing that ever seemed to help Luc settle was music.