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“There’s some up there. Just a medium-size pair, please.” Megan pointed to the shelf of flip-flops high above the woman’s head. “Oh, and I’ll have to put them on the McLaren cottage tab, please. Jules said to do that yesterday.”

“No tabs here, so I can’t sell you nothing.”

“But Jules said yesterday—”

“There ain’t no Jules works here.” The woman came from behind the counter and crossed to the door. “I’m closing for elevenses now so you’ll have to go.” Opening the door, she stood with her foot wedged against the bottom and stared at Megan.

Confused, Megan walked to the door. It was nowhere near eleven o’clock. Her gaze fell on the newspaper rack along the window. She leaned forward and picked up the Taunton Times and froze, ignoring the woman’s protests in the background.

“Put it down. I told you there’s no credit here.”

Megan caught her breath as the room spun. She reached for the door and held on with one hand as she scanned the newspaper. The lurid headline in bold black letters proclaimed Davy Morgan Drug Scandal. He Was With Her When She Died, and as she dropped her eyes to the other articles, disbelief crawled icily through her veins. On the bottom of the page was an article saying John Lennon had just gone into the Abbey Road Studios in London to record his new album called Imagine. Squinting in the dim interior she struggled to read the date at the top of the paper. She looked around at the shop. Maybe they were selling retro stuff to go with the festival? She was grasping at straws.

Maybe my suspicions are right, after all.

“What’s the date?” she demanded, turning to the unpleasant shopkeeper.

The woman shrank back as Megan’s voice rose, and she dropped the hand she’d held out for the newspaper. “It’s the 26th June.”

“What year?”

“What?”

Megan closed her eyes and dropped the newspaper onto the floor beside her as the woman stared at her.

“That’s why we don’t let hippies into the village. You’ve addled your brains with all that pot smoking and sex.” The woman almost spat the words at Megan as she bent to pick up the crumpled newspaper. “Now get out of my shop and don’t come back. You and your type aren’t welcome here.”

Megan opened her eyes and the room had stopped spinning. “Please, just tell me what year it is?” Her voice shook as she whispered softly.

The woman must have taken some pity on her and she answered gruffly, “It’s 1971, of course.”

***

David kept close to the low stone wall and gave the markers a wide berth as he crossed the fields back to Worthy Farm. The air was still and almost shimmering with expectation. Going through the time gates was always quickest at this time of day and especially during the solstice. Once, he’d slipped through accidentally without even lining the markers up. That was the last thing he needed today—to go back unintentionally and leave Megan here.

He took a deep breath to dispel the unease that had settled in his chest since he’d returned to the brook to find her missing. As he turned to cross the last field, the sound of a small truck travelling towards the village reached him. Glancing across, he paused and put his hand on the sun-warmed fence. It might be worth cutting across to the village; maybe she’d left the festival and decided to go back to the cottage through Glastonbury. Bracing himself on one hand, he climbed over the waist-high fence and turned east towards the buildings across the wide green field.

The main street was quiet and the store was closed. An elderly man digging in his garden scowled at him and turned away as he crossed to the pub.

The publican was at the side of the building rolling a keg of beer around to the side door. “Hey, Ken.” David called a greeting to the burly man.

Ken straightened and wiped his hands on his jeans before reaching his hand out to shake David’s hand.

“Davy, boy! Good to see you.” He pumped David’s hand vigorously. “What brings you into the village so early?”

“What time is it, Ken?” He’d gotten to know Ken last year when he’d stayed at the pub with Emma when he’d come down from London. He’d brought her here to try to get her away from the fast crowd she’d been hanging with. He’d be forever grateful that Bear and Slim were having a drink there that lazy Sunday afternoon. They’d hooked up and Davy had joined them as lead singer of their band. Ken was good friends with Arabella Churchill, who was the main organiser of the festival, and he was one of the few villagers who welcomed the musicians and visitors. He’d told David about the vacant cottage next to Alice when he’d been looking for somewhere else to live.

“Almost nine. I thought you’d be sleeping in after that great performance the band put on last night. Great show, man.”

“Shit, I have to be back for our next set at ten.” David ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He’d lost track of the time in his concern for Megan. “I’m looking for a girl…a woman.”

“Who?” Ken winked at him. “Plenty over at the Worthy Farm.”

“A tall woman. Dark reddish hair. Red jeans, black T-shirt.”

Ken’s face lit up in a grin. “You’re in luck, Davy. Old Mrs. Carmichael just gave her short shrift at the village store and slammed the shop door behind her when she left. The old biddy was the first one to put the no hippies sign up.”

“Where did she go?” Relief coursed through David’s chest as he looked around.