Sunny Days and Sea Breezes

by Carole Matthews

  As people drift away, I slip under the rope and go over to Ned. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘Felt a bit rusty as it’s the first one of the festival season. Takes me a bit to get back into my groove of doing these.’

  I pick up the statue of the mother and baby. It’s surprisingly weighty and, as I hold it to my chest, the permanent ache that has been in my arms for the last few months disappears. I trace my fingers over the face of the baby and the wood feels warm, alive beneath my touch. As it always does, the emotion catches in my throat as I say, ‘I’d like to buy this.’

  Ned raises his eyebrows. ‘You would?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Let it be my gift to you.’

  ‘That’s not necessary . . . ’

  ‘I’d like you to have it,’ he insists. ‘But let me finish it for you properly. The ones I do

  for festivals are a bit rough round the edges. I want to sand this down so it’s nice and smooth. I’ll put it somewhere safe and do it when I get back to the boat.’

  ‘OK. That’s very kind of you.’ I’m reluctant to hand the statue back. Just the few moments of holding it has eased something in my heart.

  When I do part with it, Ned packs the carving away carefully in a box. ‘Ready to head out into the fray again when I’ve put this lot away?’

  ‘You bet.’

  Ned grins at me. ‘Are you having a good time?’

  ‘The best,’ I tell him. And I am. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the puff, or the company, but it’s a long time since I’ve felt so relaxed.

  He laughs out loud. ‘Then my work here is done.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  If you haven’t been to a festival, then do. It’s a revelation. I wish I’d started my festival career much earlier in life as I think I’ve been missing out. I see all the people dancing to African drums or doing yoga in the fresh air or trying their hand at a new craft and wonder why I’ve spent so much of my life sitting in an office worrying about the placement of furniture and architectural plants. I’m too uptight, too embarrassed to join in with some of the more quirky activities, but we pick up great street food as we go – halloumi wraps, chickpea curry, blackberry flapjacks, the best salted caramel ice-cream I’ve ever tasted.

  I feel so much lighter, freer, surrounded by the sights and scents of the festival – it’s a delightful assault on the senses. There’s every kind of music that you can think of and we pause at the different stages to take it all in. We get up and dance like mad things to a crazy Balkan disco band called Circus Folk, then there’s country music from The Shires and I feel a bit teary at the emotion in their songs.

  Darkness is gathering when we say goodbye to the music stage and Ned persuades me to join a sound meditation. We sit on huge cushions opposite each other under the cover of an open-sided, Moroccan-styled tent. Following instructions from the workshop leader, we take each other’s hands and look into each other’s eyes. I love the feel of my fingers intertwined with his and gazing so intently at his face makes my heart start to beat faster and my temperature rises. Just when I think I can bear the intensity no longer, people begin to dance around us tinkling little bells and shaking tambourines while chanting. They are so earnest and sincere in their endeavours, it’s all I can do to stop giggling.

  ‘Take it seriously,’ Ned whispers, trying to supress his laughter too.

  ‘I can’t.’

  We sit until my shoulders start to shake and tears of laughter start to stream down my face.

  ‘Come on,’ Ned whispers. ‘We’ll try something else. You’re completely rubbish at meditation.’

  And we burst out of the tent, cackling like teenagers.

  ‘That was pathetic,’ he says. ‘Let’s find something that’s more your level.’ So he pulls me along until we find an area in the woods with a Pop-up Hula Disco. ‘Perfect. This will do.’

  I pull against him. ‘I haven’t hula-hooped since I was about seven.’

  ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ he insists as he drags me into the clearing. ‘You never forget.’

  The trees are lit with fairy lights and there are disco balls hanging from the trees making the woods look as if they’re filled with shimmering butterflies. There’s a wooden boat that provides the DJ platform and he’s pumping out old skool funk and disco music. We’re given hula-hoops that glow with LED lights and Ned’s right, it only takes me a minute or two to remember how to get the hoop twirling round my hips.

  I hold up my hands and still the hoop spins. ‘Oh, yes. Go me. Haven’t lost my touch.’

  It’s fair to say that Ned has pretty good hip action too. I lose myself to Barry White, the Bee Gees, James Brown and the Commodores. All oldies but goodies.

  We’re breathless and laughing even harder when we leave the woods.

  ‘That was a first for me,’ I tell him, still panting. ‘It was great fun. Thanks for making me do it.’

  ‘It’s good to be out of your comfort zone every now and again. It’s also good to hear you laugh,’ Ned says.

  ‘It’s a sound that been too rare in recent times,’ I agree.

  ‘Glad we could fix it.’ And I like that he takes my hand as we head to the stage where he’s playing this evening with the Beach Bums.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Ida’s already there with the rest of the band when Ned goes to set up. We find a vacant hay bale and sit on it together. She seems a little tipsy though not overly so, yet she’s all smiles and happy face. I’m glad that she’s having a good time. Though I fail to see how you couldn’t have a wonderful time at this place.

  Ned and the band perform a mellow set – covers of songs by Jack Savoretti, Adele and Paloma Faith. Ida wanders off and brings us back two cartons of bean chilli which we eat with wooden spoons and two glasses of white wine in plastic glasses. Both of them hit the spot. There’s a good kick to the chilli and the wine goes down way too easily. I go to the nearby bar and get us a refill.

  As the families with children drift away, the atmosphere changes with the evening vibe taking over. The sun goes down, there’s the heavy smell of weed in the air and everything feels more moody.

  ‘We should have brought blankets down,’ Ida says, ‘but there’s no way I’m walking back to the tent until I have to.’

  The night air is cool but it’s helping to keep my head clear. Once again, I find myself watching Ned far too closely.

  When the band performs their last number, the crowd go wild and give them a rapturous round of applause which is well-deserved. Ned packs away his bass and jumps down from the stage.

  ‘Excellent. That was a great set.’ Ida says. ‘Now you’ve finished work for the day, we can hit the hot spots.’

  Ned rests a hand on my waist. ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes. Very much so.’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Ida raises her arms and dances. ‘Let’s find somewhere to boogie.’ Then her phone rings and she rolls her eyes before answering, ‘Hey.’

  When the caller speaks, I see the expression on her face fall, her shoulders droop.

  ‘Fuck,’ she breathes into her phone. ‘OK. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ Ida hangs up.

  ‘Not good news?’ Ned asks.

  ‘The café. It’s been broken into. Bastards.’ Quite rightly, Ida is furious. ‘What the fuck is wrong with people? That was the police.’

  ‘Did they say what was missing?’

  ‘Nah, but they want someone to meet them there. The window’s busted and the

  door’s been kicked in. That will need to be fixed. More frigging expense. I’ll call Fern and get her to go back if she can, but I’ll need to head out straight away.’

  ‘I’ll drive you there.’

  ‘How many beers have you had?’ Ida says.

  ‘Shit.’ Ned rubs his forehead. ‘Too many.’

  ‘I’ll get a cab,’ she says. ‘Besides you’ve got to be here for tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can see if
one of the lads in the band is going your way?’

  ‘A cab won’t take long. I don’t want to put anyone out.’ Then she sighs heavily and you can see how very pissed off she is. ‘I’d better make tracks.’

  ‘Call me as soon as you get there. Let me know what the damage is.’ Ned is as distressed as Ida is. ‘I can come over as soon as I’m done here.’

  ‘You’re a pal,’ Ida says, tearfully. ‘I hope we can still open tomorrow. I can’t afford to lose a day’s takings.’

  Ned pulls her close and hugs her. She stays there in his arms, eyes closed, head against his chest.

  When she pulls away, she says, ‘Sorry to break up the party. You’ll bring the rest of my stuff back? I can’t be arsed collecting it now and Jodie will need the tent.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ned assures her. ‘I don’t want you to go back alone.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  I hug her as well, although we’re more awkward. ‘I hope it’s not too bad.’

  ‘Thanks. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’ She gives me a knowing look. It’s obvious that she thinks Ned and I will sleep together. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘Can’t you come back later?’ I ask. ‘You might be able to.’

  ‘I doubt it. I’ll have to see how it goes. Don’t let this spoil your first festival. Eat, drink, be merry.’ She punches a number into her phone and orders a cab to meet her at the main gate. ‘See you, guys.’

  Ida waves over her shoulder then marches away looking angry and crestfallen. It’s a shame that she’s had to leave like this. It wasn’t how any of us saw the evening panning out.

  ‘That’s a bummer.’ Ned looks torn as he watches her walk away and I know that part of him wants to go with his friend to help her out. When she’s out of sight, he turns back to me. ‘But she’s right, we should still make the best of it.’ Ned slings his arm round my shoulder. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.’

  That fact hadn’t been lost on me either.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  With nightfall the mood of the festival becomes much darker. Everyone seems to be drinking more, including me and Ned, and behaving with more abandon. The myriad coloured lights come on and the acts on display seem more risqué, sexier. There are fire-breathers, burlesque dancers, contortionists, a steam-punk jazz band and circus acts in minimal costumes. There’s an abundance of feathers, body paint, PVC and Goth clothing. I look for George among the crowd, but can’t spot him. I hope he’s taken time off from statue duties and is having a wonderful time somewhere. I should have taken his number so that I could call him but, if I’m honest, part of me is enjoying being alone with Ned.

  The woods are lit up with coloured lights and there’s the scent of incense in the air. There are pagan masks painted in fluorescent colours that glow in the dark as we work our way through tunnels of entwined trees. We come to a clearing where there are performance poets in bondage gear strutting their stuff around a welcoming firepit. The Antipoet are edgy, funny and clever. Ned and I sit and listen to them put the world to right in their own individual style. We laugh until our sides hurt and, when their set ends, to rapturous applause, I don’t want to leave.

  But, as there’s so much still to experience, we move on. Deeper into the woods, the air is heavy, charged – it smells earthy and fecund. We stop to watch a couple doing a tango so intimate, so erotic that it stirs feelings in me that I haven’t had for a very long time. Even when Chris and I were trying for a baby, it all became very mechanical. We lost the spontaneity, the love too in some ways. Perhaps that was when the rot really started to set in? I just know that as I look at Ned standing next to me in the darkness and have a yearning that I thought was all but gone.

  The music continues and Ned leads me onto the makeshift dancefloor and any show of reluctance on my part is distinctly half-hearted. He twirls me round until I’m dizzy and the fairy lights around us are a blur. I throw my head back and laugh. Then the music slows and he pulls me into his arms and we sway together in time to the rhythm. I can feel the heat of his skin through my dress, feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and I could happily stay like this all night.

  It’s two in the morning when the band packs up and, reluctantly, we drift away from the dancefloor.

  ‘Time for sleep?’ Ned says and I nod my agreement. I’m tired, happy and aware that Ned keeps my hand in his.

  We head back to our tents, wandering across the fields and away from the main festival area. In the darkness, it takes a bit of effort to find where we pitched them so many hours ago and when we do find the spot, only one of our tents is there. Ida’s tent is still in place, but Ned’s has obviously been stolen.

  He stands and stares at the empty space where his tent used to be. ‘Damn.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I say. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘It’s fairly standard at some of the festivals, but we don’t normally get anything nicked at this one.’ He pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll call one of the lads and see if I can bunk in with them.’

  ‘It’s gone two in the morning. They’ll probably be fast asleep by now.’

  Ned laughs. ‘Knowing that lot, they’ll probably be partying all night. I doubt they’ll even go back to their tents.’

  ‘Ida’s is still here.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that. She’s got enough on her plate without her stuff getting stolen from here too.’

  The words feel thick in my throat when I say, ‘You could squeeze in with me.’

  He looks at me intently and I’ll swear that the air crackles around us. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’ve never even camped before. I was kind of relying on Ida being here. I don’t really relish being left alone in a tent.’

  ‘OK. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a roommate. Thanks.’

  I feel slightly shocked at what I’ve just done. I think it’s the first time I’ve invited a man to spend the night with me before.

  ‘Shall we sit and have a nightcap before we retire?’ Ned asks. ‘My booze might be gone, but I know where Ida keeps her stash.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  So Ned goes into the tent and passes out a couple of cushions and a blanket which I spread out on the grass. He appears a moment later with a bottle of rum and two shot glasses. ‘Festival essentials.’

  We sit side-by-side and he pours us shots. Clinking glasses, we down them. My stomach is knotted with tension as I think we both know what’s coming. Our movements are too conscious, our looks too filled with knowing. Ned refills our glasses and we go again. A few stragglers wander back to their tents in the same field and raise their hands in greeting as they pass. The music from the festival drifts softly across the sky. The night is clear, cold and the stars are out. Ned takes off his jacket and puts it round my shoulders.

  A text comes in and Ned checks it. ‘From Ida. She says they’ve busted the window, the door and the coffee machine has gone. Some of the crockery is smashed and the chairs that were on the patio are now, mostly, in the sea.’

  ‘That’s awful. Poor Ida.’

  ‘I’ll swing over there tomorrow when I get back and see if she’s OK. Give her a hand to put it right.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘Ida’s a good mate,’ he says as he returns her text. ‘We go back a long time. We’ve been there for each other when our worlds were falling in for one reason or another.’

  ‘It’s none of my business but I get the impression that Ida would like it to be rather more.’

  He sighs. ‘I know. We’ve had a lot of fun together over the years. Sometimes too much fun. Occasionally, when one or the other of us is feeling lonely, we spend time together.’

  Perhaps that’s why I saw her coming from Ned’s boat the other morning.

  ‘We shouldn’t,’ he continues. ‘It only complicates matters between us. We’re mates. That’s all we’re ever going to be.’

  ‘She loves you, I think.’

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Sadly unrequited. Ida’s a great woman. High-maintenance though.’ He laughs softly at that and pours us two more shots. ‘We’ve tried being in a relationship together. Briefly. It’s never going to work. Ida might think she loves me, but I’m too laid-back for her. I drive her mad. She’d want me to be striving to be some fancy artist. Whereas I’m just happy pottering along as I am.’

  ‘And then you give her a late-night booty call?’

  ‘That sounds a lot worse than it is. It’s just something we’ve fallen into. We comfort each other. It’s not ideal, but Ida knows the score.’

  ‘I guess there’s a difference between knowing it and believing it. Is it nice to keep her hanging on? To always know that Ida will come running?’ I’m teasing, but there’s truth in my words. Ida says that’s Ned’s a player. Perhaps this is why.

  ‘That’s not how it is. It’s a long time since we’ve done that.’

  ‘The other night?’ I know it’s not my business who Ned sleeps with, but perhaps the booze has loosened my tongue, as I can’t help myself.

  ‘She came over because she was feeling down. We spent the night drinking and she fell asleep on my sofa. There was nothing more to it.’ He looks at me and seems sincere. ‘I really wish she’d find someone else. Someone who would love her as she deserves. That can never be me. You can’t make your heart love another, can you? It just happens.’ He turns to me. ‘Sometimes when you’re least expecting it.’

  I study the contents of my glass. ‘Have you never been tempted to settle down?’

  ‘I nearly did,’ he admits. ‘A few years ago now. She came over from the mainland for the season and I fell heavily, quickly. By the end of the summer Liberty found out she was pregnant. I was delighted and really thought we could make a go of it. However, Libs realised that she wasn’t quite as much in love with me as I was with her.’