The thing about reaching her age, Constance mused was that she’d never really imagined what it would be like. She’d never bothered to think about the business of getting older; she was too busy getting on with the business of living. The war had made one think about life differently. It was fragile, fleeting, and so very precious. It was one’s duty to get through each day as best one could. She’d survived those fraught times when so many others hadn’t, and she had no idea why. She was nearing the final march now, but she did not intend popping off just yet.
Death held no fear for her. In a way, it would be like going home given the plot where she’d be buried was next to her parents and Evelyn at Brading Cemetery. Molly too was there somewhere, although as the site was unmarked, no one knew where exactly. Teddy was a name on a memorial. Perhaps she would get to see her family again, now that would be nice.
She looked around the bustling dining room and knew that if her fellow residents were privy to her thoughts, they’d accuse her of being maudlin. Constance didn’t think dwelling on the inevitable was maudlin though. Wasn’t dying the only guarantee in life?
‘Constance, are you all right?’
She turned toward the voice blinking up at Isabel with the languidness of someone who’d just woken from a peaceful doze in the sun.
‘I asked if you were okay.’ She held out a serviette picked up from the table.
Constance looked at it blankly.
Isabel touched the serviette to her cheek and dabbed gently. ‘You’re crying,’ she said, showing her the sodden tissue before crumpling it and putting it down on the table. ‘I just popped in for a cuppa and a chat. I’ll get us a fresh pot. Tea fixes everything, or so my mum always says. That and a piece of her fruit loaf but I can’t offer you that I’m afraid.’
Constance smiled her thanks and watched her young friend walk toward the tea tray. Her hair was the colour of the Solent today, she thought randomly. It wasn’t true; tea could not fix everything. She knew a cup of Earl Grey couldn’t change the way it all worked out so long ago. Nothing would it was simply far too late.
͠
As she sat at the table, her meal in front of her, Isabel fidgeted in her seat. She was out of sorts as she thought back on her visit with Constance who hadn’t been herself. That’s not what had her knickers in a knot so to speak. She stared at the piece of schnitzel she’d speared onto her fork. She should eat; she loved Weiner Schnitzel and chips were her weakness. Rhodri had put his usual time and effort into preparing their evening meal, and it all looked delicious, cooked to perfection, but her insides were agitating like a washing machine. It was only an hour until she was due at the Rum Den. She’d already popped her head in just before lunch because Brenda had wanted her there when the karaoke machine was delivered. The bald man with the ring in his ear, whose tattooed arms bulged from his T-shirt had set it up on the stage before giving her the rundown on how to operate the blasted machine.
Brenda had decided to give it a whirl and Isabel had found Rod Stewart’s “Sailing” on the playlist for her. She’d done her best at doing a proper introduction, channelling her inner Ant & Dec to make her boss feel special. It’d been hard not to laugh as Brenda had stepped up onto the stage in the empty pub, shook her hair back and grabbed the mic. Her rendition of the old hit, however, had reminded Isabel of the cat fight that had gone on below her window the night before. A vicious ear-splitting, caterwauling. She pitied the punters if she decided to grace them with her version of “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” that evening.
Still, it wasn’t playing a few songs for people to sing along to that had her in such a stew she knew, taking a desultory bite of her meat. Being the karaoke DJ would be a bit of fun. A break from her normal bar duties. Nope, it was standing up in front of a pub full of people, feeling all eyes on her as they waited for her to open her mouth and sing that had her tummy in knots.
Brenda had been busy spreading the word about town all week too. Hear ye, hear ye Friday’s Karaoke Night at the Rum Den. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, Isabel thought, but still, she regretted Googling how to soothe bunions for her boss now. If she hadn’t been feeling so sprightly, she wouldn’t have been strutting about telling all and sundry in Ryde about tonight’s happening at the pub.
‘Are you okay?’ Rhodri asked, slicing into his crumbed meat. ‘You look a little peaky.’
‘I don’t feel too good.’ She put her fork down. It was no good. She couldn’t stomach anything, not with the night that loomed ahead of her. ‘It’s not the meal, I promise. You know I normally tuck on in.’
‘That’s true.’
Isabel glanced sharply at him unsure what he meant by that.
‘You enjoy your food;
