The Promise

by Michelle Vernal

  Today as she left the factory boarding the bus for home and taking her customary seat down the back, she was filled with a sense of desperation. It was Thursday, five whole days since she’d last seen him and she’d exhausted the memories of that last encounter during that time. They’d gone to the Saturday night dance at the Shanklin Theatre; it had been Henry’s idea as he reckoned his leg was strong enough for a few turns on the dance floor. ‘I want to show my girl off,’ he’d said, and she’d thrilled at the way he’d called her ‘my girl.' Henry had proved he was trustworthy when it came to looking after his daughter, and so Arthur Downer had agreed that yes, Constance could go to the dance in Shanklin with him.

  It was the first dance of that scale, Constance had been too, and she’d been a little in awe as Henry led her past the milling animated crowd up the theatre’s grand, classical staircase and in through the main doors. She couldn’t wait until she saw Norma next so she could tell her all about it and she’d mesmerized the lively scene for her friend’s benefit. She and Henry had fun jitterbugging and doing the Lindy hop under the domed ceiling with its bright lights their feet skidding over the polished floors. Constance had felt a surge of gratitude as she whirled and twirled to Evelyn for teaching her the dances and hoped her sister had forgiven her for the number of times she’d trodden on her toes! She’d been surprised too that Henry, despite his stature, was light on his feet and as her dress spun out around her thighs, she’d felt as though she was starring in a Hollywood film.

  They left before the dance finished, beating the throngs to catch the bus back to Ryde. Constance flopped down in her seat and leaned her head on Henry’s shoulder. The lights, the noise, the dancing and the late supper had worn her out. She closed her eyes and must have drifted despite the bus’s juddering motion, but she was startled awake by Henry’s voice.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said.

  Constance rubbed her eyes and swiveled in her seat, so she was facing him. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small bag with drawstring ties, like the one Ted used to keep his marbles in, she thought watching as he opened it.

  ‘Hold your hands out, palms up.’ He smiled, and Constance cupped her hands curious to see what would spill out onto her upturned palms. It was an assortment of pretty shells of all different shapes and sizes, and she gave a delighted cry, ‘Oh they’re such lovely colours.’ Her fingers sifted through them feeling their smooth sea-worn exterior beneath their tips. The colours were the same soft oranges, and pink of a setting summer sun. She already knew what she held in her hands were much more than just shells; they were treasures.

  ‘You can hear the sea with this one,’ he said, holding it to her ear, and Constance smiled as he covered her other ear and she heard the tide.

  He grinned. ‘Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I do that, and it always sends me off.’ He sorted through the little pile. ‘That one there was such a pretty colour I couldn’t resist it.’ He indicated toward a vibrant pink and purple scallop shell.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ Constance breathed as if he’d just pointed out a precious gem.

  ‘I’ve been collecting them since I arrived here on Wight. I’ve quite a stash back at my lodgings, but those there are my favourites. There’s seven of them, one there for each day of the week.’

  He didn’t say the words, but Constance knew the sentiment behind the gesture was so she’d know he was thinking about her each time she held them.

  Now as the bus shuddered to a halt, she shoved her hand into her overalls pocket and her fingers closed over the shell she’d chosen to carry with her today. It was no good, she thought bidding the driver goodnight; she couldn’t face another night sitting by the wireless with daddy while mum and Ginny clacked away with their needles. She needed to put her mind at rest. Constance looked down the long stretch of waterfront ahead of her; there was nothing else for it—she’d go to Puckpool. She had to see him.

  So it was twenty minutes later she found herself being barked at as to what her business was. She retrieved her identification card and handed it to the police officer on duty at the entrance to the camp, explaining she’d come to see Wing Commander Henry Johnson. Satisfied the officer nodded and handed her card back which she duly tucked away once more in her front pocket where there was no risk of it falling out.

  She moved away from the front gates and stepped further into the grounds of the former holiday camp. She hadn’t a clue as to where she’d find him, she realized looking around at the unfamiliar scene. Gone were the days when shouts of laughter would ring out from the camp, the sound of families enjoying the summer weather on their annual hols, now the grounds were a hive of naval activity. The main building was to her right, and she supposed that would be as good a place as any to start.

  It had been given over to offices she saw, poking her head around the door to where a handful of WRNS were busy at their desks or industriously engaged in filing. ‘Hello,’ Constance called tentatively, ‘er, excuse me.’

  One of the girls with glasses perched on the end of her nose, making her look older than she probably was, had a manila file in her hand. She was standing in front of an open filing cabinet and stopping what she was doing turned her attention to Constance. ‘Yes?’ Her tone was impatient.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’d know where I might find Wing Commander Henry Johnson.’

  ‘Henry?’ Her face smiled at his name which was said with such familiarity that Constance felt her stomach twist. She was aware she must seem like a silly little girl next to this glamorous lot. This was his world, and it was one she knew nothing of. ‘He’s probably heading over to the dining hall about now I should think.’ She turned away, silently dismissing her as she retrieved a sheaf of papers from the file she held. Constance thanked her before taking her hint and leaving her to get on with her task.

  She had no idea where the dining hall was, she realized looking around the busy camp and receiving a curious gaze from a passing officer. She felt foolish standing there, conspicuous and out of place in her factory overalls with her hair hidden away beneath its turban. She shouldn’t have come. Constance made her mind up to go home; Henry would call when his duties allowed him the time to do so. She was about to turn and head back toward the gate when she saw him, and her heart plummeted.

  His tall, rangy figure was unmistakable as he appeared from between a cluster of cottage buildings. At his side and with her arm linked firmly through his was a pretty WRN, her blonde curls escaping from her peaked navy hat. The girl was looking up at him in a way that made Constance feel very strange; her face grew hot as she watched the young woman’s face light up with laughter at whatever he was saying. She’d seen enough and turning she walked from the camp as swiftly as she could manage without drawing attention to herself. Her eyes burned with threatened tears and she thought she heard him call out to her, but she might just as easily have imagined it.

  Evelyn’s words ran through her mind. She was too trusting, and she was stupid, but most of all she was heartbroken.

  ͠

  ‘I always said she should be on the stage, that one,’ Eleanor muttered to Ginny as though Constance weren’t sitting at the table and perfectly able to hear her mother. It had been nearly a week since her fateful visit to Puckpool Camp. Henry had called twice at Pier View House, but she’d refused to come downstairs to see him much to her parent’s bewilderment. A girl had to have some pride she’d told herself, biting her nails in her bedroom as she fought the temptation to hear what he had to say. Their puzzling over what had transpired between the pair of them filled many an evening, but bafflement soon turned to chagrin when Constance refused to tell them what the matter was. She hadn’t told anybody about seeing Henry with the pretty WRN who was hanging off his every word and his arm. It was mortifying enough without her parents and Ginny feeling sorry for her as well. They’d be sure to tell Evelyn too, and Constance couldn’t bear the thought of hearing her say, ‘I told y
ou so.’

  As the days wound on, they grew tired of their daughter’s endless sighing and hangdog expression. Now, Constance scowled at her mother’s back as she carried on unpicking the hem of the dress Mrs Drury had brought in for altering. Ginny was sitting opposite her shelling peas. They were early peas, and a bag of the sweet pods had been dropped in by Arthur Downer’s old mate, Terry who was a keen gardener and often shared his excess with the Downers in exchange for the odd bit of mending. Constance was pretending not to notice how many peas Ginny was popping in her mouth and not the bowl—she was eating for two after all.

  Eleanor glanced over at her daughter from where she was scraping potatoes and waved the knife at her. ‘You need to get down off that high horse, young lady, and patch it up with your Henry. I’m fed up with looking at the face on you.’

  Ginny took a more gentle tact. ‘It’s a lover’s tiff, Connie. It’s a rite of passage in a romance, but you do need to make it up with him. Look at you old thing—you’re miserable!’

  It was true, Constance thought, finishing the last of the unpicking, she was miserable. She got up from the table and carried the dress downstairs. Her mother would re-hem it to a shorter more fashionable length by machine later. She whiled away half an hour in the shop, glad of the peace away from her mother and Ginny as she tidied the shelves. Her father, knowing better than to chat with her given her current mood, carried on with his mending work and they toiled in an easy silence. She glanced out across the road to the sea. The activity on the Solent seemed to have intensified, and the sense that something was brewing was growing stronger too. People were waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next and everybody was praying whatever tactics were planned would see an end to this interminable war.

  It was the next evening, as Constance stepped down from the bus, that she saw Henry. He was leaning against the rails of the pier waiting for her. She hesitated. It was all well and good saying she didn’t want to see him when she was tucked away upstairs at home, but she could hardly avoid him now. Besides, he’d already seen her. Despite this, she turned as though to cross the road to Pier View House, and heard him call her name. He reached her before she could make her mind up as to what she should do.

  ‘Connie, please talk to me.’

  Constance risked a look up at him and saw hurt and confusion etched into the face she knew by heart. ‘You played me for a fool, Henry Johnson,’ she managed to say, and as she moved away, he grabbed hold of her arm.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please just talk to me, explain why you’re so mad.’

  ‘I saw you at Puckpool last Thursday night with that WRN, and you can let go of my arm thank you very much.’

  He dropped his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I just… I, well… I just don’t understand,’ he said, shaking his head.

  It was evident he was telling the truth, about that at least, Constance thought. ‘Blonde, pretty, arm linked through yours,’ she spat wanting him to own up.

  To her amazement, he threw his head back and laughed.

  ‘It’s not funny, Henry, I trusted you.’ Anger replaced the hurt of the last week.

  ‘I know, but it kinda is funny, Connie. That WRN is Helen Kent. She’s married to my pal, Don and believe me she is mad about him. Connie, I’ve only got eyes for you, and it's driven me mad this week not seeing you.’

  Constance swallowed hard. Perhaps she’d seen what she wanted to see that evening at the camp, her imagination running wild thanks to Evelyn’s words of advice and not having seen Henry. ‘I hadn’t seen you in days and when I saw you with her I thought—’

  ‘Something is happening. I can’t talk about it Connie. I couldn’t get away.’

  Constance sniffled. She’d got herself into a terrible state over nothing. ‘I’m so sorry Henry.’

  ‘Hey, come here.’ He opened his arms, and she fell into them.

  He stroked her hair, and she breathed in the smell of him, she felt the roughness of his shirt against her cheek. She didn’t want him ever to let her go.

  ‘I love you, Constance Downer.’

  ‘I love you too.’ She had from the first moment she’d seen him.

  Chapter 19

  ‘Henry I can’t keep up!’ Constance laughed, feeling the wind whip her hair back. She’d lose her scarf at this rate, she thought. The skirt of her dress ballooned out as she pedalled as fast as she could to catch him up down the empty lane. They were nearly at their destination, the ruins of Quarr Abbey. The spiky blackthorn hedgerows with their smattering of dainty white blossoms loomed up on either side of them. They were just high enough to hide the patchwork of green fields she knew lay on the other side. Above her head, the blue sky was clear save for the puffballs of white skimming their way across it.

  ‘I gave you an advantage. I’ve got a dodgy leg,’ Henry called back over his shoulder, kicking his leg out to demonstrate. It wasn’t quite true, time was a great healer and the passing month had seen his limp become virtually imperceptible. The warm weather May had brought helped the dull ache he had been plagued with while it healed too. He slowed his bicycle to a stop and Constance puffing now, caught up to him. She pushed her hair back as she turned her face to the sun, and caught her breath.

  It was a glorious Sunday afternoon, but then again every day had been glorious since she’d met Henry. It was three whole months since she’d first laid eyes on him at the folly. Since that evening the war had faded into the background for Constance, her mind preoccupied with the business of falling properly in love.

  Today, he’d swung a couple of hours off duty, and Constance had arranged to meet him at Puckpool. They’d bypassed the marching that was in progress on the quarterdeck and crept past the café area to the back of the office building where she’d encountered the WRNS, when she’d been looking for Henry. The thought of how she’d misread the situation still made her feel ashamed, and she’d made a silent vow from that point on to always have faith in him. She never wanted to feel as miserable as she’d felt in those days when she’d refused to see him, ever again.

  The reason for their subterfuge was that behind the building was where the women who were beavering away in the office inside left their bicycles. The bikes had been borrowed without permission with Henry reasoning the girls wouldn’t miss them until their shift was finished at six o’clock that evening. Where was the harm? He’d said the same thing for the past six Sundays.

  Now, in the middle of the lane, Henry cupped her face in his hands and kissed her firmly on the mouth. She didn’t want him to pull away; she wanted to stay there locked in that instance forever. He did, however, pull away and he gazed down at her, a solemn expression on his face. ‘I love you Constance Downer, and I can’t wait to marry you.’ It was said with just as much conviction as it had been the first time he had announced that one day when the war was finished, he wanted to marry her. There was nothing Constance wanted more than to be Henry’s wife.

  The words had initially been uttered under the shadows of the looming rocks with their creeping vines denoting the passing of time at Quarr. He’d made her a daisy chain ring and as he slid it on her finger, promised that one day he’d buy her a proper one. Those ruins had become their place. They were quiet and secret with the only sounds the shushing Solent tide intermingled with the birds flying overhead, behind them the soft chanting of the Benedictine Monks in the Abbey proper.

  It was in the ruins where they’d sit and talk. On those bright and sunny Sunday afternoons, the perilousness of the times was forgotten, and the future stretched ahead of them like a never-ending road, full of twists and turns.

  Constance had been whiling away the hours when she wasn’t with Henry imagining what life would be like in Vancouver. Through their conversations, she felt as though she knew his family already. His mum, he had assured her would welcome her as another daughter, and her family could visit whenever they wanted. She would picture her parents with Evelyn bossing them along embarking on an epic j
ourney to what they thought of as a frontier land, her sister determined to meet a handsome young Canadian of her own. As for Ginny and the baby she liked to think they’d visit too. She would take them to all the wondrous places Henry talked about. The baby would love to see all the birdlife, and she’d like to see a bald eagle at Stanley Park and, of course, the great blue herons.

  ‘My mom bakes the best cookies, and she’s real house proud,’ Henry would say before talking about tomboy Nancy’s prowess and lack of fear on the sled he’d made for her. His sister was the apple of his eye. He missed her and his mother terribly and he couldn’t wait for the trio to meet calling them his three best girls.

  Constance would spend her working week lost in her imagination. Instead of sitting at her tedious task in a hot and dirty factory, she was in a land full of beautiful snowy mountains and lakes with Henry at her side. It was the likes of which she’d only ever seen in picture books. And, if it were nearing dinnertime, she’d always find her mouth watering at the thought of a visit to Mr De Rosa’s Deli.

  ‘I love you too,’ Constance murmured now, and she looked up at his handsome features determined to mesmerize those flecks of gold in his eyes. That strong nose with its slight bend, broken he’d told her during a robust game of ice hockey as a kid. The freckles that mapped a path across the bridge of it. She reached up and traced her finger over the crescent moon scar on his jaw. It was as a result of landing on a stone when he fell out of his tree hut shortly before his tenth birthday. She felt the prickle of red-gold stubble beneath her fingertips, which didn’t quite cover the scar. Constance was filled with such an immense feeling of joy she wished she could bottle it and bring it out to inhale for the times they were apart.

  It was then the sky began to reverberate, and her eyes widened. She knew exactly what that sound meant. Henry snatched hold of her arm. ‘Quick!’ They clambered off the bikes and dragged them to the side of the laneway, pushing them under the hedgerow. Constance wriggled under a gap in the shrubbery feeling the brambles rake her skin as she forced her body deeper into the undergrowth. There was no time for Henry to follow suit and he hunched flat against the brush.