Megan summoned up the courage to walk along the road into the village in the mid-afternoon. She gave the fields a very wide berth and was relieved when the bell on the shop door chimed as she pushed it open. Crazy Jules greeted her with a smile and Megan let out the breath she’d been holding.

“So how’s your water, then, dear?”

“Fine, thank you.” She grinned at the woman, who was wearing brightly patterned tights beneath a lime-green apron today. “Solstice fixed it just as you said it would.”

Not to mention the sexy rock star who fixed my pump. But she’d go along with the woman’s story. 

Picking up a basket, Megan wandered around the dim store, collecting the ingredients for a meal to have ready for David late tonight. Tomatoes, dried herbs, some bacon, and a jar of cream, as well as a packet of pasta, all went into the small plastic crate. She’d venture into the little cellar and raid Alice’s wine stash, too.

She daydreamed as she poked about the store.

A pretty tablecloth and some flowers from the garden.

“Do you have any candles?” She placed the basket on the counter and began to unload her purchases.

“To take to the festival?” Jules turned around to a shelf behind the counter and picked up a small torch. “Safety wardens won’t let you light candles there. Here’s a torch for you, luv.”

“Thanks, but not for the festival. For a romantic dinner.”

God, where did that come from? She was usually a private person and here she was blabbing out her intentions.

Like an adolescent who had a crush on a rock star.

A cold feeling began in the pit of her stomach and she stopped unloading the goods while one hand gripped the handle of the basket. How often had David picked up a fan and spent time with her after a performance? She’d read about performers who used sex to come down from the music high.

Did he just take advantage of me? It had been like one of her teenage dreams come to life.

“You alright, luv?” Jules was looking at her curiously and she lifted her eyes slowly to the older woman’s face. Her gaze was kind and Megan nodded.

“Yes, thanks, I’m fine.”

And I will be. She’d been a willing participant in the whole episode and she just had to take him on trust.

But maybe she’d give the candles a miss. He’d probably run a mile if he thought she was trying to be romantic.

##

Megan stepped back and looked at the table setting. In the end, all she’d done was put a couple of place mats down and placed a jar of yellow roses in the centre of the table. The aromatic sauce was bubbling on the stove and her stomach grumbled. Hunger was gnawing at her but she’d wait for David. It was almost midnight and he should be back soon. In a way, she regretted not going back with him to see the performance, but based on the last two trips through the time slip, she would probably have slept through the entire performance anyway.

A bottle of red wine sat decanting on the table and she walked over to the window above the sink. In the distance, blue light bathed the spire on Glastonbury Tor. There was so much to see here and she intended to do as much sightseeing as she could before she went back home to Sydney.

Home.

It was hard to focus on her life before the past two days. There were only a couple of days left of the festival. She really should go to the festival she’d come to attend. Then she would focus on going home and sorting out her appeal.

Maybe David could come with me?

Shaking her head, she determined to do some work towards her thesis. Her research since she’d arrived was nonexistent. She must get herself out of this thrall she seemed to be caught in. Guilt rippled through her as she thought about how she’d ended the call to Tony and Kathy. Her brother-in-law had only been trying to help her and she’d cut him off. In the morning, she’d call and apologise, and explain why she couldn’t come home.

But how to explain what had happened to her?

I don’t really care about my job and my life at home because I’ve fallen in love with the rock star of my teenage dreams? Not to mention the time travel that had gotten her into that situation.

God. They’d lock me up. Then she replayed the words she’d just admitted to herself.

Fallen in love. Where the hell did that come from?

A noise outside caught her attention and Megan’s heart accelerated as she hurried over to the door with a smile. She opened the door and looked out into the dark, but there was no one there. The scuffling continued but it must have been a small animal in the garden.

Disappointment overcame the impatience filling her chest. She wished he’d hurry up. The anticipation was becoming unbearable. Lowering the flame on the old gas stove, she gave the sauce a stir and filled another pan with water ready to cook the pasta as soon as he came in.

After pouring a glass of wine, she went outside and sat on the back porch to wait. Even though it was midsummer, the night was cool and the stars glistened in the clear sky. In the distance, the soft music of the current festival drifted across the fields, broken only by the occasional low moo of a cow.

Sipping her wine, she waited…and waited…and waited.

##

By 3:00 a.m. and two glasses of wine, the table on the porch was wet where the dew had begun to settle. Anger had replaced Megan’s disappointment. Picking up the glass, she pushed open the kitchen door and went inside. She turned the stove off and tipped the water out of the pasta pot, tapping the pot loudly on the old stone sink to vent some of her disappointment.

God. How gullible am I?

David had obviously found someone else to take care of his needs. What was the saying?

Any port in a storm?

Too restless to sleep, she turned on her laptop and pulled up her files, curious to read the old articles about the festival and David, now that she could see him from a different perspective. First she pulled up the newspaper headline she had seen in the village store.

Her chest closed and tears welled in her eyes as she read about the death of the band’s publicist in 1970. As much as she’d known about his past from her reading over the years, it was the first time that had been mentioned. That piece of information had been omitted from his biography.

Oh, no, the poor guy. No wonder he’d been so gruff when she’d first met him. She scrolled through the rest of the files that the librarian had scanned and e-mailed to her.

Her breath caught as she gasped. An article from ‘It’s Here and Now’ had the sensational headline Davy Loves the Ladies. Below the headline was a photo of David and a woman in a tight clinch on the stage. Her head whirled and she closed her eyes.

It was her. Someone had taken a photo of them when David pulled her into his arms after the concert. A feeling of unreality tore at her and she struggled to catch her breath. It was only a photo of the back of her, but she knew it was her because she had been there.

David. Where are you?

Megan scrolled through the rest of the article, and the warmth disappeared as she read the words and the sad truth settled in her stomach like a stone.

Davy Morgan rushed to the hospital to be by the side of his new woman the very night after he was pictured in the arms of the mysterious auburn-haired beauty. He loves to love ’em and leave ’em, does our Davy.

Megan snapped the lid of the computer shut, drained her wine, and went to bed.

The next morning, she lay in bed as dawn broke. A languor had taken over her limbs and she stayed in bed as the light on the white walls of the small bedroom turned a rosy pink. Just as when she’d had sex with David on the riverbank. During the couple of hours sleep she’d snatched, her dreams had been full of him, and she was reluctant to leave her bed where she felt so close to him.

Singing to me, touching me…

Promising he’d come back.

She pulled herself out of her dream, reminding herself of what she’d read and how she’d been sucked in. Megan dragged herself out of bed, determined to forget David and go to the festival.

Well, he didn’t come back. It’s time to get on with my research, and get on with real life. Forget this dream existence and go to the festival.

The bloody 2011 festival.

She dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, put on a pair of sneakers, gathered her recorder and notebook, and set off up the road. When she walked past Rose Cottage, she couldn’t help looking for him. She strolled past slowly and peered in. But the door was closed and there was no sign of life.

Surely he’d come back safely? A cold glimmer of fear trickled down her back, but she pushed it back. He’d been coming through the time slip for years. He knew what he was doing.

He’s a big boy, Megan. He’ll be okay.

And there are obviously plenty of other women to worry about him.

Today the village was jam-packed with vehicles and sightseers heading towards the old abbey. Modern vehicles, SUVs, and small cars. Obviously the overflow from the festival had come to the village. Yesterday had been so much quieter but per the program, Megan knew today was the day when all the big-name bands were playing. That explained all the cars and the crowds.

But despite that, she knew there’d be no David Morgan appearing.

Megan made her way through the crowds and along the road to the farm at Pilton. It was so different from when she’d wandered along here in her bare feet only yesterday…or actually it was different than what it looked like in 1971—more than forty years ago.

But now she needed to do what she had come here for and then book the first flight back to Australia. She needed to sort out her job.

Her thesis took priority and the wealth of information she had collected at the 1971 festival yesterday needed to be written down out of her head and into her notes before she forgot it.

Megan stayed at the festival for two hours before she headed back through the village, disillusioned. The 2011 festival didn’t have the vibe of the one she’d been to yesterday. Slick and commercial, it was full of advertising billboards, parking attendants, and security men checking every bag that was carried through the gate. The crowds were quiet and boring, and the music was modern and did not touch her soul.

She refused to admit to herself it was because David wasn’t there. It was simply different music, in a different time.

My expectations were way off base. But at least it was all material for her thesis.

Retrieving the key from the front porch, she put it in the door and glanced across at Rose Cottage wondering if David had come back.

It didn’t matter. She was going home.