Constance, I’m so very pleased you’ve reached out, and I would like nothing more than to come and see you. I think we have waited long enough, and I hope this is not presumptuous of me, but I have booked my flight to London for the end of the month. I shall be in touch before then with the date and time of my arrival on Wight.
Love
Teddy
‘Love Teddy,’ Constance murmured wondrously. ‘Imagine that.’
͠
Later that night, Isabel lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Her mind was buzzing with the news that Teddy was to come to Wight to meet Constance and that she’d been instrumental in it. Outside she could hear the wind whistling across the rooftops, and her tummy grumbled sounding obscenely loud in the darkened room. She sighed and rolled on to her side to check the time. It was nearly midnight, perhaps a bit of a midnight feast was in order. She happened to know there was leftover lasagne in the fridge. With the thought of mincey, cheesy loveliness firmly on her mind, she knew there was no going getting to sleep, and she got up.
The stairs creaked as she descended them despite her attempt to be as quiet as a mouse making her wince with each step. She paused for a moment, but there were no sounds other than her own, and so she carried on to the landing, catching her toe on the doorframe and swearing softly under her breath. She did not want Rhodri to bust her with her head in the fridge at this hour of the night. It wouldn’t be a good look. It was then she saw the light was on downstairs in the gallery. Surely he wasn’t working this late? She’d pop her head around the door and see what he was up to.
She carried on down the stairs and pushing the door open wider she saw that the gallery was deserted. He must’ve been working on his painting until late, and left the light on by mistake, she decided. She was about to flick it off when she spied Rhodri’s easel. He’d covered his work in progress with a sheet. He’d been very secretive about what it was he was working on, and the temptation to take a peek was strong. Her fingers were twitching, and she couldn’t help herself, carefully lifting a corner of the sheet and holding it aloft she stood back prepared to admire his work in progress.
She stared at the canvas not quite sure what she was seeing. The precise brush strokes depicted a bustling Pier scene with a woman gazing out to the Solent at the fore. The background activity seemed to fade so that it was the woman who held your attention. She wore a rather dreamy, faraway expression, her blue hair whipping about her face and there was something about the lines of her body that gave the illusion of a bedraggled mermaid. Isabel inhaled and chewed her bottom lip as the realization sunk in. The painting was of her. An inscription in the corner of the artwork read, The Mermaid.
She stood for an age staring at the canvas, and slowly her mouth curved into a smile.
Chapter 45
One Month Later
Isabel’s voice soared alongside the rest of the Angels of Wight Acapella. The All Saints Church hall was almost standing room only, and her eyes took in all the people who’d crowded in to see them perform. She saw the enraptured looks on the audience’s faces and felt proud not just of herself, but the rest of the group too. They were brilliant, these girls, and she was so enjoying their regular Monday night get together as she got to know them all.
She scanned the rows of seats down the middle of the hall until she found who she sought, her mum and dad. Her dad, bless him, was on crutches, having sprained his ankle at football practice. Mum had informed her they were in serious talks about salsa. The dance lessons would be better for his health, and she thought that he might be coming around to her way of thinking given she’d added a bit of a sweetener. ‘I told him if he comes with me to salsa classes I’ll forfeit my week in Benidorm so he can get himself a Premier League season pass.’ Isabel shuddered at the thought of her parents getting hot and sweaty together as they attempted to learn the Latin American dance moves.
She’d finally mustered up the courage to tell them both that she’d like to try and find her birth mother on a visit home a couple of weeks ago. ‘Mum, Dad, you know this doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I’m curious that’s all. I mean what if I have kids of my own one day and they want to know more about their biological background? Or, what if there’s something medically I should know about?’ They were all thoughts that had occurred to her since she’d made her mind up to try and find out more about where she came from.
Both parents had gone very quiet; this was so unusual that Isabel was assailed with guilt as she saw the flash of hurt and shock in her mum’s eye. ‘Mum, you’ll always be my mother nothing and no one will ever change that.’
Then, Babs and Gaz had begun talking quickly as though they’d practiced their reaction to this moment. Bab’s had opened the desk where she kept all their official bits and bobs to retrieve a manila folder. Inside it was a sheaf of documents including her original birth certificate. Isabel stared at the name on it feeling a sense of deja vu from her
