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Isabel pushed open the door to the herbal shop five minutes later.
‘Hello again,’ Delwyn said hearing the bell jangle. She put the brochure she’d been flicking through down and came out from behind the counter. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell me how you got on with your horsetail tea and honey?’
‘I have.’ Isabel grinned. Today she noticed Delwyn was wearing jeans teamed with a white peasant blouse which along with her pixie haircut, gave her a bohemian look. She liked her style and made a mental note to ask where she’d gotten her blouse; it was gorgeous. ‘Look,’ she said, tilting her head. She pulled her hair back with both hands before angling her neck.
Delwyn leaned in to look, smelling of Irish moss.
Isabel sniffed; she loved the stuff. Her mum always bought it for her when she had a cough. She’d tell her not to eat the whole bag of soothing black jubes like they were sweets. The thing was they were covered with a sugary coating and reminded her of black jelly beans, so eat them like sweets was precisely what she used to do. Isabel let her hair swing free as Delwyn took a step back, inspection done.
‘What a difference. It’s only been, what?’
‘Four days,’ Isabel announced proudly. ‘I spritzed with sea water which did sting but took the itch away, and I bathed daily in the horsetail tea brew just like Constance suggested before applying the honey to the affected spots. It's worked wonders. Well worth all the sticky messiness although the tide marks around the bath are a sod to get off.’
Delwyn laughed. ‘A rub down with baking soda should do the trick. I’ll make a note of all that if you don’t mind?’ She grabbed a pad from beside the till before scribbling the information down. ‘Thanks for the recommendation. It’s always good to hear back from customers first hand as to the success of a product.’
‘No problem.’ Isabel liked Delwyn; there was something unaffected and genuine about her. She was in need of a friend too she realized. A proper one. She decided to find out more about her. ‘How long have you had the shop?’
Delwyn looked up from the notepad. ‘Oh, just over a year. It was a scary step going into business for myself, but so far so good. I moved over from Dorset which was lovely, but my heart is here on Wight. It’s a special place and the people are very open-minded.’
‘Did you have to train in herbs then?’ Isabel frowned. ‘Sorry, that didn’t sound right. I don’t know what the correct terminology for knowing about all this stuff would be.’ She waved her hand toward the shelves.
‘You’re not the only one! And some would say and have said, I studied for a degree in pottiness, but I am a qualified naturopath. I have an honor’s degree in herbal medicine from Westminster University. It took three years, and I have to say in some ways it was easier being a poor student than being a grown up with her own business. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing though, and nowhere else I’d rather be.’
That was something Isabel could relate to. Being a grown-up was bloody hard work sometimes. She envied Delwyn her conviction that she was on the right path. ‘But how did you decide you wanted to learn about all this stuff?’ She gestured around the shop.
‘That was easy. I always loved pottering in the garden when I was little, and my mum was a keen cook who kept a fabulous herb garden. I was fascinated by the way the different herbs added so much flavour to food, and I loved the different smells. I used to mess with making my own natural body lotions when I was a teenager for myself and my friends and to take it further was a natural progression. It’s funny really,’ Delwyn continued, ‘because in another era the locals would have pointed the finger at me for being a witch. My shop would have been burned to the ground.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Your friend Constance knows all about that.’
‘Oh yes. One of the nurses at Sea Vistas told me the story of how she was related to the last witch on Wight. And she’s not my friend; I don’t know her. Well, not really. I’m hoping to get to know her a bit better. I didn’t tell you the whole truth about why I went to see her the other day.’ Isabel found herself relaying the tale of her encounter with the dying Ginny, and how she’d come to meet Constance. Delwyn was fascinated.
‘Gosh, that’s some story. I wonder who they were to each other.’
‘You and me both. Constance didn’t give anything away when I went to see her. I’m going to call in on her before I start work today to thank her for sharing her remedies with me.’
‘Well, would you mind seeing how the land lies if I were to visit her on my day off, Sunday? Look, you’ve given me goosebumps.’ Delwyn held her arm out. ‘Don’t you think it’s uncanny how you’ve wound up living in her old house above her old shop?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is strange how things all fell into place once I arrived here on the island. It was like I was given clues along the way as to how to find her.’ Isabel explained how she’d found work at the pub and gotten her first inkling as to where Constance might be, but it was only when she’d ventured into A Leap of Faith to ask about the accommodation on offer that she’d found out for sure where she was.
‘It’s like somebody was guiding you, Ginny perhaps?’
Now the hairs on Isabel’s arms were standing on end. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
‘Ah, don’t mind me I have an overactive imagination. I’m sure it’s all just coincidence,’ Delwyn said noticing how pale Isabel had gone. ‘I’ve popped into A Leap of Faith a few times; I bought a gorgeous print for my cottage from Rhodri not long after I moved to the island. He’s rather gorgeous too. I’ve seen him out and about a bit with a pretty blonde woman. Is that his girlfriend?’
Nico, Isabel thought shrugging. What was it about blondes? ‘I’m not sure. If it’s who I think it is then her name’s Nico, and she teaches him pottery, but he didn’t introduce her to me as his girlfriend.’
‘He’s a lovely guy, but you get the sense there’s a lot of stuff going on beneath the surface. Do you know what I mean?’
Isabel looked at Delwyn. That overactive imagination of hers was obviously in overdrive. ‘Let me guess. You watch Poldark, right?’
‘Guilty, well, one or two episodes anyway.’
Both women laughed.
‘I’ve meant to pop into the Rum Den for a drink; it looks lovely and quaint. I don’t know many people here yet though, and I’ve been so busy with this,’ she gestured around her shop, ‘it’s not left me much time to socialise.’
‘Well, you’ve met me now so call in anytime, and I’ll reserve a stool at the bar for you.’
‘Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.’ The two women grinned at each other. ‘And I’m pleased Constance suggested you try her recipes and that the products worked for you. Otherwise you might not have come back in to say hi.’
‘It’s the first time I haven’t had to resort to getting a script from the doctor’s for a flare-up when it’s been that bad. It felt good knowing everything I was putting on my skin was natural for a change too.’
Delwyn was nodding. ‘That’s what I’m all about. I want to give people an alternative option. I’d never advocate not going to see a GP, but it's not the only route available for minor ailments.’
‘That’s another reason why I’ve called in again; I’d like to buy more of the same ingredients please.’
‘Stocking up?’
‘No, I still have plenty to be going on with and hopefully I won’t need it for a while. I met this lovely chap near the pier the other day when I was bottling the seawater, and we got chatting. His granddaughter suffers from eczema too, and he asked me to let him know how I got on too. I thought I’d bottle a brew of the horsetail tea and buy some more of the honey for him to pass on to her to see if it’s of any help.’
‘That’s kind of you.’
Isabel shrugged. ‘I know what it’s like to be in her shoes. It’s even worse when you’re a kid, and everyone’s on at you to stop scratching because you’ll only make it worse.’ Her mum’s face flitted before her; it
was her favourite catchphrase. ‘It’s like constantly telling a smoker, smoking is bad for them. You know it, but you can’t help it. The urge is far too strong for words to stop you doing it. So, if I can help ease someone else’s urge to scratch, then that’s great.’
Delwyn grinned at her turn of phrase and went to the shelf where the bags of horsetail herbs needed for the tea were.
Chapter 27
Isabel found Constance, as Nurse Jill said she would, in the library. She loitered in the hallway outside momentarily unsure of the reception she would receive. A woman of great years such as Constance was entitled to be disagreeable if she so desired, she supposed. The library she saw was a large airy room lined with wall-to-wall books. A lady with a salt and pepper crop, decked out in smart leisurewear, was holding a fat novel in her hand and inspecting the back cover with a frown on her face. A picture window dominated the far end of the room. Its purpose was to let the natural light flood in and to beckon to the expansive back lawn and surrounding gardens beyond. The window was framed with thick velvety russet drapes, which added to the overall inviting warmth of the room.
Constance, with her glasses sliding down her nose, was seated at the antique oak table decorated with a scattered array of newspapers. She was, however, reading a book and must have sensed Isabel’s presence as she looked up and spied her hovering in the hall. ‘I’ve always loved to read,’ she said peering over the top of her glasses ‘C.S. Lewis once said, “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” It’s large print only or talking books for me these days, and the selection’s not so good. This one’s a load of old twaddle. I might give it away.’ True to her words she closed it with a snap.
‘Hello again Constance,’ Isabel said, entering the room. Her exterior might be that of a frail old woman but she was sharp as a tack, she thought, sitting down opposite her. The woman with the salt and pepper crop who’d been appraising the novel tucked it under her arm and left the room leaving them alone. ‘I said I’d come back and tell you how I got on. I followed your remedies to the letter, and it’s worked a treat thank you.’
Constance pushed her glasses back up her nose and peered across the table eyeing Isabel’s neck before taking her hand and turning it so she could inspect the crook of Isabel’s arm. Where there’d been an angry red patch the other day, the skin was now smooth. She finished her inventory with a look of satisfaction and released Isabel’s hand.
‘I’ve made up another brew of the horsetail tea too and brought more honey off Delwyn to give to a gentleman I met when I was collecting seawater to spritz. We got chatting, and his granddaughter suffers from eczema too. I’m going to give it to him for her to try and see if it's as successful as it was for me. Delwyn wondered if she could visit you this Sunday? Oh, and I brought you these.’ Isabel produced a packet of Maltesers from her tote bag and passed them to Constance whose hand was already outstretched.
‘They’re my favourite.’
Isabel smiled ‘I guessed.’
Constance met her gaze and held it for a beat then her expression changed as she seemingly made her mind up. ‘Ginny was my sister–in–law.’
‘Oh.’ Isabel was startled by the abrupt change of subject.
‘Yes. She married my older brother, Teddy during the war. They were only married a short while before he was killed in battle. She was pregnant when he died, and we lost touch after the baby was born. I assumed she would have remarried being such a young widow, but I didn’t know she’d gone to live in New Zealand.’
Isabel was unsure of what she should say. It explained their relationship to one another, but it didn’t explain why Ginny was sorry. Perhaps she was simply referring to the fact they’d lost touch.
‘It’s Isabel, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Tell Delwyn I will be in all day Sunday now. There’s something I’d like to show you in my room, Isabel. You might be interested in it.’
Isabel checked her phone; she had just over an hour until she had to be at work. ‘Okay.’ She was curious as to what it might be, and she stood up waiting for Constance, who struggled to her feet.
‘I’ll need to hold your arm, I am eighty-nine you know.’ The tone was admonishing.
‘Oh right, of course. Sorry.’ Isabel flushed, and held her arm out for Constance who leaned heavily on it; she let her set the pace as they stepped forth. As they passed the dining room, Isabel glanced in and saw a sea of heads bent over their closely held cards; Bridge seemed to be the order of the day. Together, she and Constance made their way down the plush, thickly carpeted hallway toward the lift with Constance nodding greetings to passing residents. There were no echoing hospital style corridors to be found at Sea Vistas, Isabel thought, guessing it cost a pretty penny to see out your days here.
The lift took an age, and when the doors slid open, they moved aside to allow the sweet-faced lady who was clutching a Zimmer frame with a death-like grip room to shuffle forth. She paused in her efforts. ‘You’d never believe I was once the school cross country champion, would you.’
‘Were you? Good for you, I was hopeless at it.’ Isabel smiled back watching the woman for a second as she carried on her cumbersome way. She regretted her first impression of an old dear struggling to walk. She was a person who’d no doubt lead an interesting life as would most of the residents housed within these walls. She probably had some wonderful stories to tell, if people including herself took the time to listen. Just like Constance, here would too. She shot a sideways glance at Constance as they stood in the lift taking them to the second floor, her curiosity as to what she had to show her mounting.
‘My neighbour Ronald, he’s in number ten across the way from me,’ Constance said, as they exited the lift and began the slow shuffle toward her room, ‘is driving me demented.’
‘Oh dear, that’s no good,’ Isabel tutted.
‘No, it's not. He gives me daily breakfast updates on his gout, and I don’t mind telling you Isabel, he picks his moments. His medical monologues are timed for the precise instant I dip my toast into my egg. It’s most off-putting, and I do so enjoy my breakfast. I told him his gout would undoubtedly improve were he to knock his nightly tipple on the head, but he got rather snippy with me and said that I couldn’t possibly know what it was like to suffer as he did. A nightly tipple, he said was the only thing that eased his discomfort.’ She opened the door to her room.
Isabel, bemused by the monologue, followed her inside with absolutely no idea as to where Constance was heading with the gout story.
‘Close the door behind you, Isabel, and help me to the chair over there.’
Isabel did as she was told. She was beginning to get used to the lack of pleasantries.
‘I wondered if we might look up a remedy in a book I have and if you’d be so kind, you might be able to pick up what’s needed to help fix Ronald’s problem.’ She didn’t wait for Isabel to reply, the assumption was evident that she would do as she was asked. ‘Now then, go into the top drawer over there by my bed and bring me the box that’s in there and we’ll find a solution to this little conundrum.’
Isabel did as she was told retrieving the box. It was such a pretty shade of blue, she thought. Very shabby chic. It was the sort of box that should be on display and filled with jewelry in some French boudoir, not tucked away in a bedside drawer in a retirement home. She passed it to Constance.
‘Sit down dear, and stop hovering over me; it's most unnerving.’
Isabel sat down in the same seat she had earlier in the week.
Constance sat with her hand resting on the lid of the box. ‘When I turned seventeen my parents bought me the most beautiful pair of pink satin dancing shoes.’ She sighed, and her gaze slipped toward her feet housed in those hated flat, black monstrosities. ‘Age, my dear is a bugger.’
Isabel looked at the shoes on Constance’s feet. They were what she would call old lady shoes, and it was hard to imagine her eve
r having worn pink satin dancing shoes. She said nothing, waiting patiently while Constance lifted the lid of the box and began sifting through. ‘This was our ration book.’ She held it aloft before putting it back and this time showing her a ticket stub. ‘My father took me to the circus in Portsmouth before the war. It was magical.’ Next, she produced a photograph, and held it out to Isabel. It had the creases of time and, of course, it was in the black and white tones of the era.
Isabel took it and gazed at it for a brief moment. ‘Is that you on the left?’
‘The smallest one, yes, that’s me and Evelyn, my elder sister, although there was only a year between us is next to me. She’s no longer with us. Evelyn left Wight not long after the war ended; she married a chap from Cornwall. They were only married a year, and she got sick with cancer, the ovaries it was, and that was that.’ It still made her eyes smart all these years later. Evelyn had been so full of life, and she too had it snatched away before she had a chance to live. And here she was in her ninth decade, no rhyme nor reason other than that was Evelyn’s lot, and this was hers. ‘We were a well turned out bunch, the Downers, but then you’d expect us to be given Mum and Dad’s line of work. They owned A Stitch in Time, a haberdashery shop where your Welsh friend’s gallery is now. My father was a tailor.’
They were indeed a smart lot, Isabel agreed looking at the picture of the young Constance and her family. Constance was very pretty, and looked to be around fifteen or sixteen, with her hair falling to her shoulder in soft waves. It was held back by a ribbon, which she’d fashioned into a side bow. She wore a polo style top and culottes, white bobby socks and flat loafers. A scarf was knotted at an angle around her neck, a hint of the young teenager’s mischievous personality. Evelyn had styled her hair into a victory roll, making her look much older than her sister despite there only being a year between them. A year could be a gulf in your teenage years though, Isabel mused noting Evelyn’s figure-skimming dress. She wondered as to what colour it might have been. Isabel fancied both sisters would have had a sense of fun about them.
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