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“Aye, he’s all right,” the man called Reg said. “He’s been caterwauling that newfangled music out there all afternoon. You’re lucky you slept through it, love.”

Megan stood carefully as the young man held on to her arm. He passed her the hat she’d grabbed from the hook this morning. “You had no shoes on when you came in, but you should be able to get a pair of those rope sandals at one of them hippie stalls.”

“You watch what you’re doing out there, young lady.” Reg towered over her with his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face. “We don’t want to see you in here again. You feeling okay now?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.” Megan looked down at her bare feet. Her jeans were muddy around the bottom, but her clothes were dry. “I’m just going to go home. Honestly, I didn’t take anything. I must have fainted.”

Maybe it was delayed jet lag? Or it could have been that vintage wine we drank last night?

Maybe it was all a dream? But when she turned, Megan knew she was awake and this was real. She stepped towards the opening in the tent and turned back to the two men before leaving. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Their attention was already on another woman lying on a stretcher on the other side of the room and the young man lifted one hand in a brief wave. Megan lifted the tent flap and stepped outside. It was almost dusk and the rays of the setting sun lit up Glastonbury Tor in the distance.

The quirky voice of one of her favorite artists from the seventies, Melanie Safka, drifted across to her on the still evening air. The words of the song “Brand New Key” sounded out in a melancholy wave. Either they were piping in recorded music or whoever was singing was a brilliant cover artist. Megan looked around curiously. The festival was nowhere near as crowded as she’d expected, apart from a large group of people gathered around a pyramid of scaffolding on the other side of the field. As the song faded away, a bright orange flash lit the night sky and strident guitar chords blared out. Clouds of smoke billowed above the stage as the sun slipped below the horizon in a brilliant shaft of gold.

The ground was muddy outside the tent and she looked around, trying to figure out the way back to Violet Cottage. She was still confused and unsure of what had happened. Her feet were bare, she had no money on her or her festival ticket, and she’d left the house unlocked. As soon as she could figure out which direction to go, she’d head home. Turning around, she looked across the dark field but couldn’t see any lights in the distance. A group of people came up the path behind her, and she was jostled across the grass towards the pyramid stage.

“Oh, man, how cool is that.” The man beside her grabbed her arm and pointed, as another huge orange flare lit up the sky. “Look, working with the universe, man.”

Megan shook his hand from her arm and hung back as they walked past her. The men all had shoulder-length hair and two of the women were wearing nothing from the waist up.

It was nothing like any of the rock festivals she’d been to in Australia. She wished she had her bag and camera with her to take notes and photos. Then she remembered her Smartphone in her pocket. Pulling it out, she tried to turn it on but the battery must have gone dead again because the screen stayed dark and blank when she pushed the buttons.

This festival was casual, nothing like the slick barricaded events she’d attended at home. She hoped they wouldn’t ask to see her ticket on the way out as she had nothing with her apart from the cotton hat now scrunched up in her hand.

That’s if I can find the way out. More people were coming up the path and she was jostled closer to the stage as they pushed past her. The smell of dope was overpowering and there was not a security person in sight.

“Peace, man.”

“Love, man.”

The words echoed around her as the throngs of festival goers headed towards the stage. The voice of her favorite singer sounded loud and pure through the huge speakers suspended from the top of the pyramid.

Megan pushed her way through to the front of the crowd. Her attention was totally focused on the familiar voice in front of her, and she elbowed and jostled until she could see the band. The music was deafening and the beat reverberated in her chest.

Bright lights glared down from the stage, and she put her hand to her eyes as the lights blinded her for a moment. The noise was incredible. She dropped her hand to her side and looked up at the stage.

David stood with his eyes closed and his lips caressing the microphone as the words and voice of his uncle, Davy Morgan, came from his mouth. Megan closed her eyes and swayed with the music. His voice was identical and the song was one she knew by heart.

It could have been Davy Morgan himself.

***

David got to the end of the first line of the song and looked down at the crowd in front of the stage. A mass of waving, swaying bodies, bright eyes, and bare chests filled his vision under the bright spotlight at the side. Most of the women had skimpy tops on…if they had a top on at all. There was more than one flash of bare boobs and he grinned across at Slim.

Slim was in his element. The bass guitarist was a breast man through and through.

As David belted out the words at the end of the second verse, his gaze settled on a face he recognised. His eyes widened in disbelief as shock hit him like a truck

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He recovered and kept singing but his chest closed as tension gripped his muscles.

Please God, let me be wrong.

Moving forward to the centre of the stage, he looked down at the woman who’d caught his attention.

Hell and damnation. It was Megan. Gazing up at him, her mouth was open, her face pale…but her expression was full of awe and adoration. Her head turned as though she sensed him looking at her, and as her gaze locked with his a sweet smile brought her face alive.