The Promise

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘That’s true.’

  Isabel glanced sharply at him unsure what he meant by that.

  ‘You enjoy your food; that’s a good thing,’ he elaborated swiftly.

  Was he saying she was a bit of a pig? she wondered. Not that she cared because truth be told she did have a healthy appetite—just not this evening.

  ‘I think perhaps you’re suffering from a touch of karaokeitis.’ He popped a piece of schnitzel in his mouth.

  He’d remembered tonight was the night then, and she wondered if he remembered what he’d said when he’d walked her home from the pub a fortnight ago too. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up in case he’d regretted opening his mouth. ‘I think you’re right.’ Her mobile bleeped from over on the bench, but she ignored it, feeling rude enough for not having touched her meal without getting up and messing about with that as well.

  ‘I meant what I said, you know, about singing a duet together.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no skin off my nose, and if it makes things easier, I’ll get up and belt out a song with you. I’m bound to make you look marvellous by comparison, and if anything it’ll be a bit of a laugh.’

  Isabel felt a flicker of hope flare, she could pretend he was Andre, and she was Celine and that they were on stage in Andre’s hometown not singing karaoke at the Rum Den. That way she might just be able to get her nerves under control and pull tonight off after all. ‘Are you sure?’ She sounded pathetically eager even to her ears.

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t. I’m no Andre Bocelli, but I reckon I could stretch to doing my best Tom Jones.’

  That crushed her Tuscan fantasy. Perhaps she’d just have to pretend she was in the bath then, Isabel thought flushing as she recalled him overhearing her bathroom performance.

  ‘So how about we do that number he sung with the pretty blonde girl back in the late nineties?’

  ‘You’re showing your age Rhodri; I was still in the primmers then. What song?’

  ‘“Burning down the House.” I loved that one. I remember breaking out my moves at the school disco with Myfanwy Davies, my first love.’

  Ha! Isabel had known a Myfanwy would pop up sometime. The song rang some vague bells, she thought. She’d Google it in a mo.

  ‘I can still swivel my hips with the best of them, and I’ve got a black polo neck in my drawers begging for an outing. We’ll be a hit!’

  Isabel giggled. His enthusiasm was infectious. She was warming to the idea and to her amazement her appetite returned with a vengeance. She missed Rhodri’s grin as she sawed into her schnitzel with relish and demolished what was left on her plate in record time.

  She pushed her chair back from the table. ‘That was delish, thank you. I’m going to have a listen to that song, “Burning Down the House”’

  He nodded.

  She carried the plates over to the sink before retrieving her mobile. The bleeping earlier had been courtesy of her mum. She and her dad had been over for a visit last weekend; Prince Charles thankfully had stayed at home. Mum said she’d left his favourite CD on for him in the hope he wouldn’t shred the furniture in protest at being excluded.

  They’d met Rhodri, Constance, Delwyn, and Brenda, who’d all made a fuss of them. Constance had told them their daughter was a credit to them; Mum had forgiven her for being the instigator of the blue hair at those words of praise. Her dad was on the fence where Rhodri was concerned given he was a rugby man, but her mum had thought him a dreamboat; that had been her exact terminology. Isabel had primly replied that she didn’t look at him in that way, what with him being her landlord because it would be inappropriate. Her mum had raised an eyebrow but hadn’t said anything more on the subject. She was texting now to wish her luck and a request for a video link of her only child’s moment in the spotlight.

  ‘It was a band called the Cardigans he sang the duet with,’ Isabel said, a few ticks later clicking on the arrow. She had heard the song before, she realized, and it was catchy.

  ‘Ah yeah, that’s right.’ Rhodri said, peering over her shoulder at the images on the phone. ‘You know you look a little like her, except for the hair of course.’

  Isabel felt herself stand a little taller; she was secretly pleased because the woman was gorgeous. As she watched Tom, the Welsh crooner she’d discovered thanks to Rhodri, do his thing she said, ‘Rhodri, do you promise there’ll be no hip–swivelling or thrusting on stage?’

  He grinned and winked naughtily. ‘I can’t promise a thing.’

  Chapter 35

  It was standing room only in the Rum Den; it was the busiest Isabel had seen it in the month or so that she’d worked there. Brenda, she saw with a glance toward the bar was revelling in it. She was in her element prancing around and bantering with the punters. The people of Ryde were obviously partial to the sound of their own voices, she thought wryly. Her eyes swept over the pub from where she stood on the stage, partially hidden behind the karaoke machine—it was a full house.

  Brenda had promised her a cash bonus for her efforts tonight a few minutes earlier. It was a moment of generosity brought on by the heaving tavern and the scowl on Isabel’s face at having to be the first act on stage. The thought of the extra spends didn’t quell the butterflies in her stomach though, despite knowing Rhodri would be right there next to her. She just wanted to get on with things now; it was the anticipation that was the worst of it. She checked her phone. Ten minutes until show time, which meant she’d better do a sound check.

  ‘Testing, testing, one, two, three.’ She breathed into the microphone wincing as it screeched into life garnering a few catcalls from the waiting crowd. Her face flamed, as she thought she heard someone call her Smurfette. This was going to be worse than she’d imagined. But then she caught a glimpse of Rhodri. He was leaning up against the bar nursing a pint, and catching her eye he raised his pint glass to her and grinned before mouthing, ‘We’ll be great.' She couldn’t help but grin back as he winked and did a cheeky hip swivel. He’d worn his black polo neck she noticed, giving him a quick once over. But thank goodness his jeans were a loose fit. She was the only one who needed to hit the high notes, thank you very much.

  She gave him a thumbs up and was about to carry on with the task at hand when she saw a familiar blonde turning heads with each step as she weaved her way toward the bar. It was Nico making a typically grand entrance with no effort on her part whatsoever. Ashley had always had that effect on people too. It was the first time she’d thought about her ex-friend in ages, Isabel realised seeing Delwyn, bringing up the rear. Oh, that was just terrific, she thought, kicking a wire out of the way so as nobody would trip as they ascended the stage, more witnesses to her humiliation. Ah well, now Delwyn was here, she could ask her to record their performance for her parents. They deserved to see it having listened to her bedroom performances for so many years. She waved over and managed to attract Delwyn’s attention.

  Isabel watched as she began to elbow her way through. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her suggestion that she look into taking her obvious interest in natural healing further. She’d gone so far as to check out the courses online and the seed was beginning to sprout, but she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about it just yet. Not until it had properly taken root.

  ‘Hi, Isabel. Gosh, it’s a packed house,’ Delwyn said, reaching the stage at last.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I heard you and Rhodri are doing a number.’ She grinned. ‘Is that what the lemon balm tea and lavender oil you bought this morning was for? That rude man interrupted before I got a chance to ask you.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I hoped they’d get rid of my headache. This,’ she gestured at the karaoke machine, ‘was an order from the boss. She reckons someone has to kick things off and encourage others to get up and have a go. I drew the short straw and Rhodri gallantly offered to perform with me as moral support.’

  ‘Well, don’t look at me. You know that saying—I’m a lover, not a fighter?’

&
nbsp; Isabel nodded.

  ‘Well, I’m a herbalist, not a singer.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Isabel laughed. ‘Hey, can you do me a favour and record Rhodri and me? I promised my folks I’d forward a video of it to them.’

  ‘Sure, no problem. I liked your parents; they were a laugh.’

  Isabel passed her, her mobile. ‘Yep, they’re hilarious, and thanks.’

  ‘Um, Isabel?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Would you be able to do me a huge favour tomorrow and man the fort at the shop for a couple of hours? It’s short notice sorry, so if you can’t its no—’

  Isabel interrupted, ‘What time?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘I’ll be there on the dot.’

  ‘You’re a life saver, thanks.’

  ‘No probs.’ Isabel smiled. She’d relish the time on her own in the shop.

  ‘Okay, well, break a leg.’

  ‘Cheers with my luck that could well happen.’ She almost wished it would remembering how as a kid sometimes she’d wish she could be sick so she wouldn’t have to sit her maths test or take part in the cross country. She’d feigned an upset tummy once or twice but had never managed to pull it off. Her mum had always seen through her.

  Now, she thought, it was incredible how slowly five minutes could pass when you were looking forward to something and how it could be swallowed up in the blink of an eye when you weren’t. She was relieved when at last Brenda caught her eye and tapped her watch to signal it was time to get the entertainment underway. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a half a second. Channel your inner Celine, and breathe Isabel, just breathe. One, two, three and it's show time! She stretched her mouth into what she hoped was a welcoming smile and stumbled over the wires as she stepped up to the microphone. She desperately tried to ignore the sniggers, and as she began to speak, she felt as if she were having an out of body experience.

  ‘Good evening everyone and welcome to the Rum Den’s Karaoke Night!’

  A cheer went up along with a mass raising of glasses and Isabel’s nerves dissipated a little. So far so good. She’d sounded enthusiastic, and her voice hadn’t betrayed her with so much as a wobble.

  ‘My name’s Isabel, and I’m your hostess tonight.’

  ‘With the mostest, eh love!’ Some ruddy-nosed fellow, who should have been at home with his wife and kids on a Friday night, yelled out. He received a smattering of titters for his effort. Isabel ignored him as she launched into the rundown as to how the night would work. This was nowhere near as scary as she’d imagined it was going to be.

  ‘Okay, so now everyone knows what they have to do. I’m going to get this party started with a little help from a friend of mine, Rhodri. You might know him from his fabulous gallery on the Esplanade, A Leap of Faith. Come on up Rhodri!’

  Rhodri put his pint down on the bar top before pushing through the sea of people. He stepped up on the stage to clapping and a few whistles. Isabel pushed “play” on the machine and then came to stand alongside him to share the microphone. She wondered if his accent would be as broad when he sang as it was when he spoke as he launched into the first line.

  It wasn’t, and he sounded great, she thought taken aback but quickly gathering herself in time to lean into the mic to sing her line. A feeling of euphoria at her pure pitch filled her. Rhodri was superb, she thought as he minced it up and she played the cool blonde, er blue, to his Sir Tom. By the time the song finished she’d relaxed into the rhythm enough to let her body move to the beat. Their performance had gone over well; she could tell by the audience’s faces, and she grinned up at Rhodri who put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. They’d done well!

  ‘More, more!’ A group near the stage began to chant, and the rest of the crowd joined in. Rhodri inclined his head and whispered in her ear, and she nodded great idea. She was surprised to find she was as eager to do another song as the audience was to hear one and she disappeared back behind the karaoke machine to locate the track Rhodri had suggested, “Mustang Sally.”

  He was brilliant, and a group of young girls began to dance near the stage as he growled his lines. Isabel did her bit, even incorporating a bit of a twirl, as she harmonised alongside him. She’d forgotten she was channelling Celine and pretending Rhodri was Andre. She was happy just being themselves, doing their thing at the Rum Den on a Friday night. And most of all she was enjoying herself. By the time the music wound down, Isabel was buzzing and was reluctant to let Rhodri leave the stage or give up the microphone. Brenda’s plan had worked though, and people were lining up to request songs.

  ‘Thanks for joining me Rhodri,’ she said into the microphone. ‘Give him a round of applause everybody!’ He took her hand, and they took a bow to the cacophonous applause before he jumped down and headed back to the bar getting his back slapped on the way. Isabel checked her playlist before introducing Joy, an older lady with a steel coloured helmet of hair who wanted to treat them all to Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” Next, it was a young fellow who decided to crucify “Livin’ on a Prayer”, and the Island’s answer to Cher, Freddy Mercury, and Ed Sheeran kept the night humming along.

  By 9 p.m. Isabel was ready to take a short break. This karaoke business was hard work, she thought searching out Rhodri. He was easy to spot with his height and was flanked either side by Delwyn and gorgeous Nico. That the two women looked like groupies flitted across her mind, and she dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t nice, and Rhodri was nice; look what he’d done for her tonight. It was his inherent niceness which made beautiful women like Delwyn and Nico hang off his every word. She couldn’t blame them.

  She made her way over to the trio, gratefully accepting the orange juice. Brenda slid her way. She had a strict no drinking policy when on duty, which was fine by Isabel. She’d enough trouble remembering who’d ordered what and how much change she was handing over without being tipsy on the job too.

  ‘I’ve already told Rhodri—you guys rocked,’ Delwyn gushed, passing Isabel her mobile. ‘Your parent’s are going to love it.’

  Isabel grinned. She was still floating on a high.

  ‘Hey Isabel,’ Nico said appraisingly. ‘You looked great up there.’

  ‘Thanks. Have you put your name down to have a go?’

  ‘No way. I can’t sing to save myself. I have to say, you’re a woman of hidden talents, though. Your voice is fabulous. Have you ever sung professionally?’

  ‘Oh.’ Isabel was taken aback by the genuine comment. ‘No, and you, by the way, are a dark horse.’ She turned her attention to her flatmate. ‘You’ve got a fantastic voice. You gave Sir Tom a right old run for his money.’

  Rhodri raised his pint glass. ‘Strictly for in the shower,’ he winked at Isabel, ‘or the bath and for karaoke. Here’s to us nailing it.’

  ‘To us.’ She clinked her glass against his and was filled with a warm sense of pleasure at the way the evening was progressing. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a woman around her age. Her dark curls framed a round face with endearing dimples and warm brown eyes. She reminded Isabel of a currant bun, and she liked currant buns. She couldn’t help but smile back at her. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Alice. I’m with that lot over there.’ She gestured over to a nearby cluster of women who varied in age. They waved, and Isabel raised her hand back at them.

  They were probably out on a work do, she guessed given they were behaving far too civilly to be on a hen’s night, and she was betting Alice was about to ask whether Beyonce’s “Bootylicious” was on the playlist.

  ‘We’re the Angels of Wight Acapella Group.’

  ‘Oh right. I didn’t know there was an acapella group here on the island.’ It was a silly thing for her to say given there was no reason she should’ve known. She wondered where the conversation was going.

  ‘Acapella singing’s barber shop style, is that right?’ Delwyn interrupted having overheard.

  ‘Sort of
but basically it's singing without musical accompaniment,’ Isabel explained. She’d seen Pitch Perfect. ‘So, are you going to get up tonight and do a number?’

  ‘Of course. A bit of Little Mix never goes amiss, but we’ll do it with the music tonight!’ Alice laughed.

  Isabel smiled. ‘Good for you. I’d love to hear what you sound like together.’

  ‘The reason I came over is because of why we’re here tonight. Can you see the tall girl with the chin length, blonde hair?’

  ‘Yes.’ Isabel wasn’t sure where this was headed.

  ‘Well tonight’s her farewell drink, and we thought it’d be a bit of fun to pop in here and have a go at the karaoke. Linda’s moving to the mainland with her husband, Rob for work reasons.’

  Isabel nodded wishing Alice would get to the point.

  ‘Well, having heard you sing, we wondered whether you might like to audition for our group. We liked your voice and thought you’d be a great fit.’

  She hadn’t expected that and she stared blankly back at Alice.

  ‘Look, there’s no pressure, but we meet at seven pm every Monday night to rehearse at Melton Hall on Dover Street. If you’re interested why don’t you pop down this Monday and check us out, see what you think?’

  ‘Okay well, I’m—’ Isabel cast around for an excuse as she processed what Alice had said.

  ‘She’d love to,’ Rhodri interjected.

  ‘Great. Well, we’ll see you Monday night then.’ Alice gave her one last grin and made her way back to her fellow singers.

  Isabel closed her mouth and swung around to look at Rhodri intending to tell him off for speaking on her behalf, but he cut her off.

  ‘Well, that voice of yours is too lovely to do nothing with it except give private bathtub performances,’ Rhodri said his breath whispering on her neck as he leaned down to be heard.

  A tingling ricocheted up her spine, and she chewed her bottom lip. It had been a long time since she’d felt a sensation like that and it unnerved her. She told herself he was her landlord and to stop being silly, but the feeling persisted.