Both parents used to drive her mad on a Friday night when under the influence of Lager and Babycham they’d dig out their old Springsteen albums. Dad would don a red bandana and an air guitar while Mum would pretend to be Patti Scialfa. As a teenager, to watch her parents carry on had been cringe-worthy, but now the memory made her smile and grinning she hit “play”.
“Time to Say Goodbye” filled the house as she set about making herself some breakfast.
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The morning had disappeared by the time Isabel had sorted out her washing and sitting down at the kitchen table she opened her laptop. It wouldn’t do any harm to check out the ferry timetable and fares to Wight; she’d tidy herself up in a minute.
‘Ooh, my feet are bloody well killing me. What are you looking at Izzy?’ Babs Stark asked a beat later from the kitchen doorway. She was knackered having done the weekly shop at the end of her shift, and she was eager for the good news that her daughter had, in the ensuing hours since she’d left for work, found herself gainful employment. She dumped the two bags full of groceries down on the floor and shooed the hopeful Prince Charles away. ‘Get your nose out; there’s nothing in there for you. He’d live on fillet steak that one, given half a chance.’
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
