At the sound of her mum’s voice, Isabel jumped and snapped shut the cover of her laptop. She hadn’t heard the front door. She swung around to face the Southampton Inquisition she knew she was in for.
‘What are you up to Isabel Stark?’ Her mum’s eyes narrowed. “Gemma from work says she can always tell if her fella’s looking at things he shouldn’t be on the computer by the way he slams the lid shut whenever she walks in the room.’ She nudged the persistent Prince Charles away from the shopping bag with her foot. ‘At least I don’t have to worry about your father getting up to no good; he doesn’t even know how to switch the bloody thing on.’ She gazed hard at her daughter. ‘You’ve got a guilty look on your face. Is it boy trouble?’
Isabel snorted. ‘Mum I’m twenty-six, not fourteen and no it’s not.’
‘Isabe,l when you have children of your own, and that is a big when, you will understand that your baby is always your baby. So, come on then spill, what is it?’
Isabel took a deep breath and fought the urge not to scratch at her arm. She knew stress was exacerbating the problem. The only people who knew about the awful afternoon on the outskirts of that South Island town were those that were there and Father Joyce. It was all bubbling up inside of her again now though. She needed to talk to someone and Helena had not mentioned the accident since she’d arrived home; her Facebook messages were filled with fun times being had home in Freyburg catching up with friends and family. Isabel had not wanted to put a dampener on her homecoming by telling her friend that she simply could not put the accident behind her.
‘Right I’ll put the kettle on and you, young lady, had better spill the beans as to what is going on.’
It was all the prompting needed. In one big burst, while her mum busied herself making a brew, and cutting generous slices from her homemade fruit loaf she was convinced fixed everything, Isabel told her all about she’d given her word to the dying Ginny. When she’d finished, Babs brought two steaming mugs over to the table and a plate of the buttered loaf. She put them down and held out her arms to wrap her up in a cuddle that smelt faintly of her morning dousing of Paris and of the baking counter behind which she worked. Isabel inhaled deeply feeling like she had when she was a little girl, and a cuddle from her mum had meant that everything would be okay.
‘Right then, my girl, you need to decide what you’re going to do,’ Babs said, giving her daughter’s back a rub. ‘The way I see it is you’ve two choices. You can put what happened behind you and move on, starting by finding yourself some work because you know what I always say, a busy mind is a healthy mind. Or, you can try and set about finding Constance, whoever she may be, if she’s still alive. You said this Ginny woman was ninety-something, Iz, it’s not all that likely.’
Isabel’s voice was muffled against her mum’s chest. ‘I want to go to Wight and see if I can find her and if she’s still alive, which I know given Ginny left Wight in the late forties is unlikely, I can pass her message on. And if she’s dead, well, at least I tried. Mum, you and dad always taught me that a promise is a promise.’ She hadn't known for certain that this was what she wanted to do until the words popped out of her mouth but as she’d just told her mum a promise was a promise.
‘Oh Izzy, I had a feeling that’s what you’d say.’ Babs disentangled herself from her daughter and scanning the plate, she picked up the thickest slice of fruit slice.
Chapter 5
‘I think it’s nice you’re off out to catch up with your old friends for lunch today, Izzy. Although how you can afford to, given your current employment status, I don’t know,’ Babs said pouring herself a second cup of tea from the pot sitting between her and Isabel.
‘I’m only meeting Charity, Mum, not half of Southampton, and it won’t be anywhere fancy.’ Isabel, still in her nighty, didn’t want to get into a discussion about the state of her finances at this time of the morning— any time of the day come to that.
Bab’s shot her a pursed lip look over the top of her teacup. ‘Dad and I had a good chat last night about this Wight business.’
‘Oh yes, and what did Dad say?’ Isabel squinted across the table at her mum. The sun had decided to come out, and cheerful rays of sunshine streamed into the kitchen. An excitable woof sounded from the back garden where Prince Charles was frolicking.
‘Well, once he’d finished moaning on about how he thinks he’s pulled his calf muscle after Monday night practice he said that you’re bonkers.’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘I told him, “Be that as it may you’re an adult and as such you can make your own mind up.”’
‘And what did he say to that?’
‘That he still thinks you’re bonkers. I’m having another round of toast, would you like a piece?’
‘Yes please.’
Babs got up and popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. ‘I always liked Charity you know even if she was a bit too heavy handed with the slap in my opinion.’
It was true, Isabel mused stuffing in the last of her toast. Her old school friend was a beautician and as such had always been a dedicated follower of the latest trends and was forever watching YouTube makeup tutorials. ‘Charity calls her look ‘photo ready’.
‘I call it tarty. Did I hear through the grapevine that she’s engaged?’
‘Mmm, I don’t know him, they met at the pub the night of my leaving drinks.’
‘Ooh, you might get to be a bridesmaid. Then you would have to do something about that hair,’ Babs said as two pieces of toast popped up.
Isabel doubted it. For one thing, it would place Charity in an awkward position having to choose between her two friends and Isabel was the one who’d been away not Ashley.
‘You know Izzy,’ Babs said pausing mid buttering of the toast, ‘it wasn’t just you I missed when you went away. I missed your friends bowling in and out of the house too.’
Babs and Gaz had always had an open home policy when it came to Isabel’s friends. Her mum would have home baking on hand to offer around, and her dad never said no when it came to ferrying them all about. It made Isabel feel a bit sad sometimes because she could see how well-suited her parents would have been to a large, noisy family but fate played them a different hand.
Charity had spent so much time at their house over the years that it was like having a sister. It was Charity who first met Ashley when they both started work at the same beauty salon. The three of them soon became firm friends. Ashley with her natural good looks was the confident one, Charity the naughty one and Isabel, well she made them both laugh and she was the one they turned to when they needed to talk. ‘You’re a faithful friend, Izzy,’ Babs would often say.
The girls enjoyed countless Friday and Saturday nights dancing around their handbags and shared annual holidays in Ibiza. They’d been there with wine and chocolate when there were boyfriend dramas, and they’d promised each other that one day when they finally found Mr Right, they’d be one another’s bridesmaids. Then, after what happened with Connor all those years of friendship had gone sour.
Isabel had met Connor when she was working for the mobile phone company. He’d come in to upgrade his plan, signing himself up for another two years. Before he left, he’d looked at her from under his heavy sweep of dark fringe and asked if she’d like to meet him for a drink after work. By the end of their first date, she was smitten. Connor ticked every box: funny, smart, kind, gorgeous but what she’d loved most about him was the way he always made her feel like she was the most interesting girl in the world. Okay, so his inability to ever put the loo seat down wasn’t all that endearing. Neither was the way he’d just kick off his smelly socks leaving them to lie about on the floor of his bedroom until he ran out of them and had to go to the laundromat. Worst of all though, was his channel surfing habit—it drove her nuts and thanks to him she’d missed some of the most crucial moments on Downton Abbey! But nobody’s perfect, and she’d loved him even if he did hate opera.
‘How�
��s that other one these days?’ Babs' lip curled interrupting Isabel’s reverie. ‘The one with the look of a weasel about her. Is she still with Connor?’ Connor’s name was said with appropriate vehemence.
Ashley looked nothing like a weasel; she was blonde and beautiful, but her mum was loyal. ‘Ashley?’
‘Yes her, with the squinty, mean eyes. Always did remind me of a ferret.’
‘I wouldn’t know, Mum. Aren’t you supposed to be at work soon?’ It was after 8.30 a.m.; her mum was due behind the bakery counter in half an hour.
‘Oh bloody hell!’ Babs dropped the buttery knife, ‘You’ll have to put the jam on yourself.’
Isabel got up from the table and hearing her mum thundering up the stairs, picked up the two pieces of toast, and dropped them in the bin. She’d lost her appetite.
͠
Charity forked up her salad and gazed wistfully across the table at Isabel’s bowl of nachos. The corn chips were draped thickly with melted cheese, and Isabel hungry after her light breakfast, piled a chip high with mince, avocado, and salsa. The pub they’d met in was new, it didn’t have the cosy ambiance Isabel liked. It was obviously a place to be seen, she thought, her eyes sweeping past the well-heeled lunchtime patrons all trying to outdo one another on their cellphones.
‘Do you want one?’ She pushed the bowl toward Charity. ‘I won’t be able to eat all of it.’ It was a lie; she knew she was quite capable of chomping through the lot.
Indecision flitted across Charity’s face before she shoved the salad into her mouth and mumbled, ‘No I’m trying to lose a few pounds before the wedding. I like your hair by the way. Very early Katy Perry.’
Isabel wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Still, it was a break from the topic of her upcoming wedding, which was all Charity had talked about since they’d sat down. Her dress, the venue, the menu, the music, the cake but the one thing she had not touched upon over the last thirty minutes was who was in her bridal party. Given the fact the wedding was in less than two months, she was fairly certain she was not. It made her sad because they’d discussed the finer details of their imaginary weddings so many times over the years. Charity was always Isabel’s chief bridesmaid, and her dress would be mint green while Isabel was always Charity’s and her dress would be a pale lemon. Sitting here now, she found it hard to believe that the two of them had once confided everything to each other.
‘Iz, the reason I suggested we meet today…’ Charity squirmed in her seat. ‘This is awkward, so I’m just going to come out with it.’
Isabel did not say a word; she wasn’t going to help her out.
‘Look, Iz, I would have loved for you to be my bridesmaid, but you haven’t met Sam, not properly anyway and well Ashley was here, and you weren’t, and I can’t very well have both of you, can I? Not with how it stands between you two. Unless you want to try and patch things up her?’ Her eyes, sandwiched between a thick layer of top and bottom mascaraed lashes, were hopeful.
Isabel thought she might choke on her corn chip and she took a sip of water before trusting herself to be able to speak. ‘Charity, you know why I wasn’t here. I went to Australia because Ashley stole my boyfriend, which left me a bit of a wreck and I needed to get away.’
Charity speared a tomato defensively. ‘Yes I know that, and I’ll admit it wasn’t handled very well by Connor or Ashley. Ashley knows that too, and she’s prepared to meet you halfway.’ Seeing her friends stony gaze she added, ‘Ah come on Iz, it’s not as if you and Connor were ever that serious. It’s not like you were engaged or anything.’ Her eyes flitted to her shiny bauble and a self-satisfied smile danced across her lips. ‘It’s ancient history. Ashley and Connor are made for each other, and you’ll meet Mr Right too, that’s if you haven’t already. Tell me do the men in Australia all look like the Hemsworth brothers?” She giggled. ‘I bet you had a blast checking them all out.’
Isabel felt like kicking Charity, really, really hard under the table. Had she always been this much of a self–absorbed, insensitive bitch? And if so, how come she’d never noticed it before? That she and Connor had never been serious was breaking news to her. She’d been very serious about Connor; he’d said he was serious about her too, and then he’d gone and slept with Ashley.
She’d walked in on them when she let herself into Connor’s flat one evening when he thought she’d gone to the cinema with Charity. Her friend had cancelled at the last minute, and Isabel hadn’t fancied spending the evening at home, and so she thought she’d surprise her boyfriend. It was her that had gotten the surprise, and the sight of her so-called good friend and Connor—bare bum in the air going for gold with Ashley’s fingernails digging into his back was one she didn’t think she’d ever forget. She hadn’t stuck around to hear what they had to say and two weeks later she was on her way to Australia.
‘You know if I hadn’t made you have leaving drinks at the Fox n Hound I might never have met Sam. How weird is that?’
Isabel was filled with a sudden urge to run away once more, but this time it would not be to the other side of the world. This time it would be to Wight. It didn’t matter that it was only for a night or two it would give her some breathing space from the likes of Bridezilla sitting across the table from her.
‘Oh, crap. Is that the time?’ Isabel exclaimed. ‘I’ve got to run. I’m interviewing for the manageress position at Coast over in West Quay—the instore clothes discount is supposed to be fab!’
It was a lie, but the look on Charity’s face was worth it.
‘Go on; you finish them.’ She pushed the barely touched bowl of corn chips toward Charity. I hope you split your bloody dress.
Isabel would have made quite the grand exit if she hadn’t of strode out of the pub with a serviette stuck to the heel of her shoe.
Chapter 6
Isabel stood by the railings down the back of the Red Funnel ferry enjoying the sting of salty spray hitting her face. Her backpack leaned against her legs. it was going to be a bumpy crossing, she thought as strands of her green hair were whisked into a tangle. She threw her head down and wound it into a loose top knot and securing it with the bobble she kept on her wrist for moments like this. Southampton began to dissipate like fog, and the doll-like waving figures of her parents who’d driven her to the terminal got smaller and smaller.
Two days had passed since she’d made her mind up to cross over to Wight to see if she could find Constance. It was crazy given her recent adventures on the other side of the world, but today she felt like she was heading off on an epic voyage into the unknown, not the hour-long ferry crossing to East Cowes. She had a plan of sorts; she would get the bus to Ryde and, well that was as far as she’d gotten. She’d fibbed to her mum when asked as to how she was off for money.
‘I’ve enough put by to find somewhere nice to stay for a few nights, Mum,’ she’d said, waiting to board the ferry. The truth of the matter was she had enough for her ferry fare, and one night’s accommodation so long as it was budget and she didn’t stretch to more than a bag of hot chips for her dinner. Isabel had never mastered the art of saving.
Her mum had been appeased, but her dad wasn’t fooled. He knew his daughter only too well, and he’d pressed a handful of crumpled twenty-pound notes into her hand when her mum was side-tracked having spotted one of the girls from work in the queue. She decided to forgive him for last night’s leprechaun joke as she gave him a big hug. He told her to watch his latest football injury, a sore rib before adding, ‘Mind how you go, eh love?’
‘I’ll only be gone a few days, Dad,’ she said, noticing he had a hole in the shoulder of his Saints shirt. It wasn’t surprising given how often he wore it. He was off down to the pub later to watch the game with the lads as he called them or, as her mum liked to refer to them, “the long in the tooth louts.
‘And when you’ve got this out of your system—’ Babs said, turning her attention back to her family.
‘I will find a job. I promise Mum!’
͠
Isabel spotted the two-tone green double-decker bus that would take her to Ryde outside the Waitrose supermarket and clambered aboard. She ignored the young lad who was pushing past her to get off as he remarked loudly, ‘Oi mate, the bus matches her hair. She should get free fare for that.’ The driver glared at him muttering something about the youth of today, before taking Isabel’s money. He paused before handing her change and stared at her hair, ‘He’s right you know; it is the same colour.’
Obviously not right about the free fare, though, she thought, glaring at him. She snatched her ticket and marched down the aisle managing to smack an unsuspecting passenger with her backpack. ‘Ooh sorry,’ she mumbled, only just managing to sit down before the bus juddered off once more. Through the smudged window she could see the landscape unfurling exactly how she remembered it from childhood jaunts to the island with her parents.
The bus stopped and started its way through Whippingham, Wootton and the small village of Fishbourne where the car ferry from Portsmouth docked. As they passed through pretty wee Binstead with its post office that also served as the village’s general store, Isabel felt a frisson of excitement. Next stop, Ryde! Who knew what she would discover? She felt at that moment like she was starring in her very own mystery TV show and titles for the imaginary show whirled about her head. Isabel Stark Investigates or Chasing Constance perhaps. She decided she’d run with The Promise; it sounded edgy.
The Promise Page 4