Isabel shook her head in wonderment at how the day was unfolding before following Brenda up the narrow stairs, being careful not to scrape her backpack against the old floral wallpaper on either side of her. It was already beginning to peel in places and didn’t need a helping hand from her. She could see a small lounge at the top of the landing which looked homely and lived in, but Brenda turned to the right. ‘Bathroom’s in there,’ she said, opening a door and gesturing to the bath with a blue shower curtain, but not slowing down. ‘And this ‘ere is where you are.’ The room was spartan but clean with a small double bed, and a window open just a crack to allow the salted air to waft in. ‘I’ll get you some fresh sheets, and you can make the bed up while I heat us up the shepherd's pie I made earlier for our dinner.’
Isabel leaned her pack up against the wardrobe and sat down on the end of the bed feeling bewildered by the pace at which she’d found both work and accommodation for the night. It seemed she just might stay here on Wight longer than she’d thought.
Chapter 7
Isabel woke smartly thanks to a particularly noisy bird full of the joys of spring outside the window, but despite not getting her full eight hours, she felt strangely energized. This was not the norm. She could never be accused of being a morning person and had spent most of her teen years being woken by her mum ripping open her curtains. This was followed by her announcing that Isabel was sleeping her life away before, her grand finale, yanking the covers off her.
Despite the strange surroundings, she’d gone out like a light last night only waking once for the loo. She’d been shattered by her unexpected shift at the Rum Den, downstairs the day before.
Her hair was still in the messy top knot she’d tied it into on the boat yesterday. She threw a sweater over the top of her pajamas and wondered if Brenda was up and about as she mooched forth. The barefaced publican was reading the paper at the table with an empty plate and mug beside her. She looked at Isabel over the top of her reading glasses. ‘Ere she is then, Sleeping Beauty, or is it Shrek? You obviously slept well. Knock yourself out did yer?’
Isabel flushed. ‘Sorry about the noise, Brenda. I should’ve put the bedroom light on when I got up for the toilet. I tripped over my shoes.’ Her knees were a bit tender she realised, recalling how she’d gone flying. A mental image of her mother shaking her head popped up in front of her, and she could hear her saying, ‘For the hundredth time Isabel, watch where you’re going! You’ll come a proper cropper one of these days my girl.’
‘Ah well, no harm done. Help yourself to coffee and toast. Paper’s yours too if you want a read.’ She folded it up noisily before gesturing to the bench where the kettle sat waiting alongside the toaster. ‘I’m off to put me face on.’ A frown settled between her non-existent brows as she peered at Isabel’s neck. ‘That looks nasty. Have you got summit you can put on it?’
Isabel’s hand flew to the spot behind her ear; it was hot and sore to the touch, which she hoped didn’t mean she was starting with an infection. She must have been scratching at it in her sleep. ‘My eczema's been playing up since I got back to the UK. I’ve got some stuff in my pack that helps a bit. Hopefully, it will settle down, and I won't have to go to the doctor for a steroid prescription.’
‘We’ve all got our crosses to bear,’ Brenda tutted and watching her hobble off to the bathroom, Isabel assumed she was talking about her bunions. She shook her head at the memory of the heels Brenda wore for the duration of her shift. No wonder her feet were crippling her! There was no time to sit around lamenting Brenda’s bunions though, she thought, galvanizing herself into action. She set about making coffee and toast and then in between sips and bites wrote down the names of all the local retirement homes both in and around Ryde. There were seven worth calling on. By the time she’d showered and dressed, and the double-check list of homes to call in on was tucked away safely in her bag, she felt ready to take on the day.
‘I’ll be back at twelve, Brenda. Thanks so much for letting me stay last night and for the shifts.’
Brenda looking much more like the same woman she’d met yesterday now her eyebrows were back in place and her lips a shade of red no other woman would get away with at this hour of the day, shooed her on her way.
Isabel began her search for Constance by ticking off the furthermost care home on the list she’d compiled. It was a short bus ride over to Wootton Bridge and the home she saw making her way to the entrance sat in impressive leafy grounds near the sea. The staff looked at her curiously, and whether it was because of her inquiry or her hair, she wasn’t sure. Either way, there was no Constance currently residing with them, they’d assured her. Oh well, she thought, as she waited for the bus
