The Promise

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘My brother Teddy is in uniform, and that’s Ginny next to him.’

  Isabel stared at the image, greedily eager to wipe the image of the dying old woman whose hand she had held in her lost moments and replace her with this vibrant soul looking back at her. ‘She was very pretty.’

  ‘Yes, she was. Her eyes were the colour of cornflowers. Teddy was absolutely besotted. They were besotted with each other.’

  ‘How sad.’ Isabel looked at the handsome soldier and back to Ginny. They’d have had so much hope for their future when that photograph was taken. It was a good job, she mused, that none of us knew what fate had waiting around the corner for us.

  ‘All of it was so very sad.’

  Isabel sensed there was much more to her words, but Constance held her hand out and took the photograph placing it in the box and this time producing a leather-bound journal.

  ‘I can’t see the text anymore so I wonder if I might borrow your young eyes to glance through and see what, if anything, there is for gout.’

  Isabel took the book from her. It must have been where Constance recorded her remedies, she thought the leather rough beneath her fingers with the ripples of time. It was not much bigger than a notebook, and she looked at it in a heartbeat or two longer before, sensing Constance’s impatience, she opened it. Her eyes settled on the tea coloured page inside, and she frowned. This was old, very old. It was filled with swirly, generous and almost illegible handwritten notes.

  She focused on the writing taking her time to get used to the different style and slowly the words began to make sense despite being the prim language of yesteryear.

  ‘Chamomile, boil the flowers in a posset. Drink to produce sweat and to help expel all colds and aches and pains. It is also excellent for the bringing down of women’s courses,’ she read out loud before turning the page. It felt brittle to the touch, as though it could crumble away to dust if she said the magic word. The script on the next page revealed a cure for boils using a bread poultice and the next, a remedy for hay fever involving the brewing of butterbur tea.

  The wording was too old-fashioned to have been Constance’s, she decided and looked over at her wondering if she’d tell her where this book had come from.

  ‘The journal came to me when I was a young girl. I believe it once belonged to Molly Downer. We were related she and I, you know—much to my mother’s shame.’

  Isabel’s mouth fell open. ‘This was Molly Downer’s? As in the last witch on Wight?’ The words came out in a whispered gasp, and she had no idea why she felt the sudden need to lower her voice. The days of witch hunts were long gone.

  Constance looked amused, and the light dancing in her eyes told Isabel she’d enjoyed Isabel’s reaction. ‘Yes.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘It's our secret, Isabel. Now I believe you were looking for something to ease gout.’

  Chapter 28

  ‘Are you getting dinner ready?’ Isabel asked upon hearing her mum’s harried tone answer after a few rings. She’d not long come home, on her dinner break and was stretched out on her bed, wrestling with her shoes trying to kick them off one foot at a time. Her nose twitched at the delicious aroma of garlic, onion, and spices sizzling in the pan as it made its way up the stairs and wafted under her door. The soft beat of a tune she didn’t recognise was playing beneath her, and her shoe fell to the floor with a satisfying thunk. She wriggled her toes to ease the aching of having been on her feet for the last five hours. She had just about an hour and then she’d be back at the Rum Den for her shift through to closing.

  She’d been pleased to see Rhodri wielding a knife and humming his way through dicing an onion when she’d popped her head into the kitchen five minutes earlier. She’d needed reassurance that sustenance wasn’t far away and satisfied things were underway she’d called out a quick greeting before tripping up the stairs, quite literally.

  ‘Watch your step!’ Rhodri called out to her, as she picked herself up and carried on up to her room.

  ‘Mmm, I’m making steak and kidney pudding,’ her mum said her voice nearly drowned out by a whining in the background. ‘Shoo out you go; daddy’s going to take you for a walk when he gets home.’

  Isabel waited for a few beats until all was quiet. ‘So how’s Prince Charles getting on? Has his little, er, problem settled down?’

  ‘It has actually. Your dad’s been taking him around the block, despite his strained this or pulled that, when he gets home from work, and he manages a piddle on every gatepost. Prince Charles that is, not your dad. We think he’s smitten with the Cocker Spaniel at number eighty-two and we’re encouraging the relationship. It’s healthier than him mooning around after you.’

  ‘Much healthier,’ Isabel agreed, pleased to hear the corgi was moving on his affections.

  ‘Now then what about you. How’re you getting on, love?’

  Isabel brought her mum up to date with everything she’d been up to, leaving out the part about Constance having shown her Molly’s journal. The journal was their secret; she wouldn’t breathe so much as a word about it.

  ‘So we now know that Ginny was Constance’s sister–in–law and that she was widowed when she was pregnant, but that’s it right?’

  ‘That’s it. I don’t think there is much more of a mystery to solve, Mum. I reckon Ginny felt bad about emigrating and not keeping in touch that was all.’

  ‘Perhaps. I’m not convinced though something in my waters is telling me there’s more to it. Will you go and visit Constance again? She might open up a bit more as she gets to know you.’

  ‘Yes. She’s asked me to pick a few things up for her neighbour who suffers from gout. I shall call in tomorrow. I was a bit scared of her when I first met her mum, she was very sharp, but I’m beginning to think that’s a reaction to her circumstances. I like her, and I don’t suppose you get to her age without having a certain amount of spirit about you.’

  ‘I’d think not. So now tell me was it worth sloshing around in all that horse poo tea, then?’

  ‘Horsetail thank you very much, and yes it was.’

  ‘Now that I think about it Isabel, you couldn’t ask Constance whether she knows of a natural remedy for jock itch next time you see her? I don’t like the thought of your father putting chemicals down his pants.’

  Isabel grimaced. ‘Eeew! Please don’t say anymore, my dinner’s nearly ready. I’ll check it out online and get back to you all right?’ She had no intention of mentioning her dad’s little problem to Constance. She was beginning to side with her mum when it came to her dad’s burgeoning mid-life football career. From what she could gather, he seemed to limp off the field with one medical complaint after another and, they’d yet to win a match!

  ‘Okay sweetheart, but I’m telling you it’s not a good look. Your father has a bad case of it, his hand’s permanently—’

  ‘Mum, I am hanging up now!’

  Isabel kept her word and Googled ‘jock itch’. She’d just finished tapping out a text back to her mum when Rhodri called from the bottom of the stairs that he was about to serve up. She pushed send on the information that her dad needed to stop wearing tight underwear, sweating excessively and that he could do with losing a few pounds. On top of that, washing the area concerned with diluted apple cider vinegar was advisable.

  As it happened, nothing would have put Isabel off her dinner, not even jock itch and she barely said a word other than to give her compliments to the chef before she began wolfing it down. It was chicken curry but not as she’d had it before and if she closed her eyes she could’ve been dining in a street café in Malaysia. Rhodri had made the sauce from scratch hence the delicious smells emanating throughout Pier View. She was also conscious of the spicy smells that would be emanating from her all-over-her-punters at the Rum Den tonight if she had the second helping Rhodri was presently offering.

  It was a tough call, and she stared at the pot on the stove for a couple of seconds teetering on the edge of another dolloping until Rhodri shrugged
and dipped the spoon into it, ladling the fragrant sauce over the remains of his rice. Nope, Isabel reaffirmed to herself with a rueful glance at her middle. A skipped lunch and a regular person sized portion of dinner would not do her any harm.

  ‘That was ridiculously yummy, Rhodri,’ she said, pushing her chair back. She made no move to get up and rested her hands on her belly like a satisfied statue of Buddha. ‘Thank you. What are you up to tonight then?’ It was a Friday night, after all; she guessed he’d have plans.

  Rhodri sat back down at the table. ‘I’m off to the cinema to see the new Bladerunner movie.’

  It didn’t escape Isabel’s attention that he hadn’t mentioned who he was going with. She debated picking up her plate and licking it but decided that would be going too far. Instead, she did her usual trick of tracing her finger around the rim of her plate to scoop up the remains of the yellow sauce. He’d make some lucky lady a fantastic husband, she mused. I mean he was good looking, housetrained, and he could cook. What more could a girl want? So why was he single? If indeed he was single. Nico flashed to mind once more. ‘So, Rhodri,’ she angled slyly seeing confirmation of her suspicions. ‘You’re off to the movies. Are you going with anyone special like Nico for instance? Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, by the way.’

  He looked amused. ‘I wouldn’t say “special” with an inference of romance. If that’s what you’re getting at.’ He carried on eating for a minute before taking a serviette from the container he’d placed on the table. He wiped his mouth before speaking, ‘There was someone before I moved to Wight, but it didn’t work out. I suppose you could say I ran away like you did.’

  Something in his tone told Isabel he’d said all he was going to say on the subject. ‘Ah well, her loss,’ she murmured, getting up from the table to fill the sink. It took her a moment to figure out why she felt disgruntled, and as she squeezed the detergent into the hot water, it dawned on her. She’d poured her heart out to him as to what had happened with Ashley and Connor the other night, but he didn’t feel he could confide in her. It irked her and turning off the hot water tap she set about washing up with more gusto than usual. With her back to the table, she missed seeing Rhodri’s bewildered look as she banged a pot upside down on the bench to drain.

  ͠

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have anything for relieving bunion pain would you?’ Brenda hopped from one stiletto hoof to the other. She’d hobbled around calling last orders twenty minutes ago, and the pub was slowly emptying out. Isabel had been giving her daily updates on her eczema treatment. She’d just finished telling Brenda she’d phoned Don and had arranged to meet him in the morning to pass on the same ingredients she’d tried to his granddaughter. ‘And don’t tell me to get a pair of sensible shoes because it ain't happening.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ The thought of Brenda in flats was an anomaly, but a boss with bunions was not an ideal scenario. They were bound to affect her mood and not for the better. She’d have loved to have a look through Molly’s journal to see what she suggested, but for now, Google would have to do. She fished out her mobile and keyed in the search. ‘Well Brenda, according to Google, castor oil is a good idea as it contains anti-inflammatory products.’

  ‘Gordon Bennett. I remember me old mum shoving that stuff down my throat as a kid.’ Brenda raised an expertly filed fingernail to her mouth and tapped it as she frowned, thinking. ‘Hang on a minute, maybe it was cod liver oil. Either way, it was horrible.’

  ‘It says here that if you heat half a cup of castor oil in a pan, and soak a thin cloth in it before wrapping it around the bunion, it will help. Oh, and put a towel over the oily cloth to keep the heat in. It should reduce the swelling, and you can do it up to three times a day to relieve the pain.’

  ‘It’s worth a try, I suppose.’ Brenda rearranged her face and turned her attention to the stocky chap who’d placed his empty glass on the bar top. ‘Ta love, mind how you go now.’ He nodded his good night before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and shuffling forth into the dark outside.

  It wasn’t long until it was just the two of them and Brenda and Isabel settled into what had become their end of night routine, whipping through the cashing up and clearing up in next to no time.

  ‘While I think of it, I’ve hired a karaoke machine for the last Friday night of the month. If it goes over well, we might make it a regular thing. What do you think?’ She moved toward the door to let Isabel out.

  ‘Sounds like a good idea. It should get a few more punters in the door.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so because I’d like you to kick it all off with an introductory song. You know, get them queuing up to request a number themselves.’

  ‘Ah, no way Brenda. I’m not getting up on stage.’

  Brenda flapped her hand, holding the door open to the cool night outside. ‘You’ll be fine, the star of the show. I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

  Isabel knew her boss would not let her off the hook. There was no point standing here arguing and besides she was bushed. She shook her head signalling defeat, before saying goodnight. Brenda reiterated the sentiment and shut the door, Isabel heard the bolt slide into place behind her. She was about to stride off when a man materialised from the mist, seeming to emerge from the stonework of the shop frontage he must have been leaning up against. Isabel faltered mid-step, and her breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat.

  ‘I thought I’d walk you home.’ A voice with an accent as thick as homemade soup sounded loudly on the still air.

  Oh thank God for that. Her heart restarted. ‘Rhodri! You frightened me!’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ he said, taking a step toward her. ‘The film’s not long come out, and I was walking right past.’

  ‘Oh well, thanks. Good movie?’

  ‘Not as good as the original but then they never are. The popcorn was good though, extra butter.’

  ‘Yum.’

  ‘How was your night?’

  Isabel told Rhodri about Brenda’s bunions and had him laughing over her depiction of her hobbling around ringing her bell for last orders. ‘I found a natural remedy on Google that might help her poor feet although I should have let her suffer like she’s going to make me suffer.’ She sighed heavily as she thought of Brenda’s karaoke plan.

  Rhodri glanced at her. ‘That sounded like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. What’s up?’

  She told him in glum tones what Brenda expected of her as they rounded the street corner and Pier View House came into view. The Esplanade echoed of another era the street lights sluicing through the wet mist. She could hear the gentle shushing of the waves as they lapped beneath the Pier. Somewhere tucked away in the buildings behind them the thudding beat of a late license venue along with sporadic shouts of revelry broke the night. Rhodri, was silent for a step or two and then turned to Isabel and said, ‘Would it help if I got up on stage with you. We could do a duet?’ Isabel looked at Rhodri, her eyes wide in the dark. At that moment in time, she could have kissed him.

  Chapter 29

  It was Saturday morning, and the town of Ryde was bustling as Isabel made her way up Union Street to The Natural Way. This morning, she planned on being a Good Samaritan. Delwyn was in deep conversation with a customer she saw upon pushing the door open, and so she took the opportunity to browse the Aladdin’s cave. There were so many weird and wonderful packets and jars, lotions and potions. She’d love to know what their different purposes were but for now, she was on the hunt for some apple cider vinegar. Molly would have made her own she guessed as her eyes settled on a bottle of the organic vinegar she was after. It was locally brewed with apples grown on the island, and picking it up she read the label. Delwyn, came over to say hi leaving her customer to weigh up the anti-inflammatory benefits of turmeric.

  ‘Apple cider vinegar’s brilliant stuff. It helps with all sorts of things from diabetes, weight loss through to sinus congestion. It’s nature’s toni
c.’

  ‘Really? I’m getting it for gout.’

  ‘Gout? Well, that’s one ailment I haven’t heard of it being used for.’ She looked at Isabel in surprise her eyes dropping down to her legs, which were hidden beneath denim.

  ‘Not for me, thank goodness that on top of eczema would not be a good look. No, it’s for one of the resident’s at Sea Vistas. That and some cherry juice, if you have it?’

  ‘We do. It’s even on offer this week.’

  Delwyn retrieved a bottle and handed it to her. ‘Well, I have to say. I’m learning all sorts from you, Isabel. I ought to put you on the payroll. Did Constance suggest it?’ Delwyn looked at her curiously, head cocked to one side making her look like an inquisitive pretty little Robin redbreast.

  ‘Yes, her neighbour is driving her potty by giving her daily updates on his gout and Constance reckons this will fix him. Oh, and she told me to tell you she will be in all day tomorrow. It might pay to take her in a packet of Maltesers; she loves them.’ She turned the bottle over, and her eyes doubled in size, and she tried not to balk as she spied the price stuck firmly to the back.

  ‘Great, I’ll definitely call on her, and yes, it’s a bit pricey I know, but it’s the real deal and one hundred percent organic. You can take about two pounds off that price too,’ Delwyn offered up.

  It was still an eye-watering price for squeezed cherries, two pounds off or not, Isabel silently huffed. Constance had better bloody well enjoy her egg tomorrow or gout would be the least of the old boy’s problems. Today’s haul was going to set her back to what amounted close enough to a night’s wages. It was an expensive business helping others, she thought, as Delwyn rang her purchases up and gave her the total. In for a penny in for a pound, she thought spying the bags of Irish moss in a basket beside the till. ‘I’ll take one of those too, thanks, Delwyn and don’t forget to call in and say hi at the Rum Den one night soon.’