‘We need to go to the bank, Isabel,’ Constance announced imperiously. She’d have to withdraw the money to purchase it. She had an EFTPOS card, but it had a daily limit on it and her days of operating a Visa card were long gone. She wanted to make haste, to seal the deal before somebody else came into the gallery and fell in love with it, just as she had.
Rhodri put his hand on hers. ‘No, Constance, really there’s no need. It’s yours. I’d like you to have it.’
Constance shook her head. Was the dear boy mad, giving away expensive art pieces? Surely he worked on a sale and commission basis? She heard Isabel gasp.
‘Rhodri, it’s yours!’ Isabel pointed to the black swirl in the corner of the painting. ‘Your signature is as illegible as your accent is indecipherable,’ she declared, her eyes wide. ‘You told me you dabbled in painting but this, well this is not dabbling, this is amazing.’
Constance tried to follow the conversation.
Rhodri smiled at her guilelessness. ‘I told you it’s a hobby really and occasionally if I’m pleased with a piece I try my luck, pop a preposterous price tag on it and hang it here in the gallery.’
‘You’re bloody brilliant,’ Isabel said, watching him take it back down from the wall.
Constance made protesting noises about paying for the work, but Rhodri paid no attention.
‘No, I want you to have it.’ He was insistent as he promised her he’d deliver it personally after he shut the gallery for the day.
Constance was taken aback, but there was a serendipity to it all. That this painting was by the man who’d bought Pier View House from her, should be of somewhere so dear to her heart and would hang in her room, well it just seemed right somehow. She settled herself back down in her chair and thanked him.
He patted her hand. ‘You’re welcome. Thank you for Pier View House. It came along at the right time.’
Isabel gazed at him curiously as Constance made noises about getting on their way.
‘I’ll just nip up to the loo. Back in a sec and we’ll get on our way.’ Isabel reappeared a minute later, ‘Ooh that’s better, right forward march.’ She took hold of the handles of the wheelchair and pushed Constance forward. Rhodri held the door open for them. As she passed by him, he tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Mmm?’
‘Your dress is a bit caught up there; you might want to adjust it before you hit the street.’
Isabel felt around her back, and pulled her dress out from where it was firmly tucked up in her knickers. Rhodri, she realized scowling, was grinning, and with a face the colour port wine, she made her exit.
Chapter 31
Isabel paused as they passed a shoe shop on Union Street to admire a sparkly pair of summer sandals. They’d go lovely with her dress, she thought. She caught the wistful look on Constance’s face and thought of the pink satin shoes she’d mentioned her parents had bought for her eighteenth birthday. She recalled too her disparaging remarks about the shoes she was currently wearing. Perhaps new shoes were the order of the day. ‘Shall we have a look inside?’ She didn’t wait for Constance to reply as she turned the chair and went into the shop backward.
She helped Constance up, and together they went to browse the shelves.
‘Isabel, these are pretty.’ Constance announced holding a pair of sapphire blue ballet flats aloft. They had a diamante butterfly sitting on the soft, ruched fabric near the toes.
Her eyes had lit up like a magpie spying shiny things, Isabel saw as she held the shoes closely and stroked the smooth leather upper with the pads of her fingertips before turning them this way and that. Her examination of the shoes was as thorough as a doctor giving his patient their annual physical.
‘They’re very pretty, Constance, and flat so they’re practical—sort of.’
‘And the leather is very soft.’
Both women’s gazes went toward the counter to where a young girl was frantically texting having given them a token hello as they entered the store. ‘Excuse me do you have these in a—what size are you, Constance?’
Constance shook her head, she wasn’t sure, and she directed Isabel to help her sit down holding her foot out for the unimpressed shop assistant to measure.
Five minutes later having tried three different sizes, she’d found her Cinderella slipper. The young lass whose facial expression could have curdled milk completed the sale and then settled back to her texting as Constance was wheeled out of the shop. A bulging bag hung from the wheelchair, contained her precious new shoes. She’d bought the blue pair, and a white pair with a pink bow and was already vowing to say sayonara to the black ones when she got back to Sea Vistas. Constance sat up straight in the chair. She felt all tingly, in a good way. It was with a sudden clarity she understood that the woman who’d been disappearing bit by bit these latter years was shaking off the cobwebs and re-emerging. It was as simple as having bought a pretty pair of shoes.
Isabel was enjoying herself. Iit had been lovely seeing Constance so animated and spying the Royal Victoria Arcade she suggested they have a look around.
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‘It’s gorgeous in here. It’s like stepping back in time,’ Isabel enthused wheeling Constance over the tiled floor. ‘How about we wander right down to the end?’
Constance nodded, she too was enjoying herself and looking at the eclectic businesses on either side of her, she spied a colourful clothes shop she’d like to peruse. She was pleased the arcade had been restored to its former glory. The building was a survivor having been threatened with demolition more than once. The same could be applied to her, she thought ruefully.
They passed a sign for the Donald McGill Museum with its collection of saucy seaside postcards tucked away in the basement. Those postcards used to make Constance’s mother blush and tut when she spied them for sale along the Esplanade, and she’d thought it just desserts when five shops daring to stock his lurid cards were raided in Ryde. That was back in 1953; the date sprang to mind the way certain events do forever cemented in the recesses of memory. There were over 5,000 cards seized in that raid Constance recalled. As she spied a couple of young lads mooching along, peering into the taller of the two’s mobile, she wondered how the times had changed so. These days youngsters could access all manner of unspeakable things with a push of a button on their phone before their hormones had even had time to produce so much as a pimple!
Isabel distracted her train of thought by coming to a halt outside a coffee shop. ‘I think its cup of tea time.’
‘Yes,’ Constance agreed, eyeing the narrow doorway. She didn’t fancy her chances of getting the chair through it, and she didn’t fancy the palaver of collapsing it for the sake of a cup of tea either; ‘Just park me there, Isabel.’ She waved towards the nearby tables dotted about. She was content to be parked up by the arcade’s piece de resistance, the rotunda, with its lead-painted glass domed ceiling and frescoes, happy just to sit for a while and watch the world go by. Isabel maneuvered the chair up to one of the empty tables.
‘I’ll surprise you shall I, Constance?’ she said, receiving a nod before she pushed open the café door. Constance had barely had time to frown over the noise a toddler, unhappy about something or other was making nearby when Isabel reappeared with a number. She placed a plate with two wagon wheels on it down on the table and gave the mother dealing with the tantrum-throwing tot a sympathetic smile.
Constance sighed with relief as he was picked up and marched out of the arcade. All that ruckus would have given her indigestion.
‘I hope you can get your teeth through one of these.’ Isabel giggled, pulling a chair out and sitting down.
Constance had already snatched up one of the marshmallow filled, chocolate biscuits from the plate, not having had a wagon wheel in years. Her narrowed eyes said Isabel was a cheeky mare as she began nibbling around the edges. Their tea appeared, and with a sip from the pretty china cup, she realized she’d been gasping.
The two women sat in companionable silenc
e watching the world go by until fed and watered, Isabel suggested it might be time to mosey off. Constance still buoyed by the success of the shoe shopping expedition conveyed that she’d like to have a little look in the clothes shop she’d seen near the entrance. Perhaps this pea hen might get to don some beautiful plumage! She’d liked the look of the brightly coloured rack of sale clothes that had caught her eye earlier.
For her part, Isabel was excited by the glimpses of this different Constance, and she pushed her through the arcade toward the entrance at a rate of knots. Constance found herself clutching her handbag with one hand and holding onto the armrest for dear life with the other. Their mutual excitement waned, however, after a desultory search through the half price items on the rack outside the shop yielded nothing worthy of a try-on.
There was nothing that was her in slightest, Constance thought, disappointed. She’d look ridiculous in a red velvet jacket like a female Liberace and as for those nautical stripes, what was she supposed to do? Greet people with a cheery, ‘Ahoy there, me hearties?’
‘Come on. We’ll have a look inside.’ Isabel bumped her over the lip into the shop, putting the brakes on beside a mannequin with a lopsided wig in an unnatural shade of red.
‘Right Constance. Give me your hands,’ Isabel bossed. ‘I can’t hold anything up against you when you’re sitting in there.’ She took both her hands in her own and pulled her to her feet. Satisfied Constance was perfectly able to stand for a bit, she flicked through a rack. After a beat or two, she produced a dress and inspected it briefly before holding it aloft. She shook her head and put it back much to Constance’s relief. It had not been her sort of thing at all. As Isabel neared the end of the rail, she gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh now Constance, look at this, it’s gorgeous!’
Ah now, this was more like it, Constance thought, greedily eyeing the dress Isabel was holding up.
‘Do you like the colour and the pattern? It’s what’s called a batik print, and it’s all the go. I think you’d look lovely in pink. A little cardigan over the top and you could wear leggings under it. It’d be just perfect for now and when the weather gets warmer.’
Isabel’s enthusiasm amused Constance as did the word batik, the young always thought they’d invented everything. She’d lived through the ‘70s for heaven’s sake and had worn more batik prints than Isabel had probably had hot dinners. Still, she was trying so hard to muster enthusiasm in her that the least she could do was oblige.
She’d mustered plenty in the young sales girl who didn’t look old enough to have left school in Constance’s opinion. She was busy disentangling a chunky beaded necklace off the stand by the counter. The beads, Constance saw as she carried them over were of a polished rosy hue, and the girl looked pleased with herself as she held them up against the dress. ‘I thought they’d work. It goes a treat with that dress, doesn’t it? Go on try it on; I’ll keep an eye on your chair for you.’ The girl whose name badge said Tara, had already kicked the brake off as though well used to dealing with parked wheelchairs and began pushing it towards the back of the shop.
With nothing else for it, Constance linked arms with Isabel, and they followed Tara’s lead to the fitting room. Isabel hesitated, and Constance huffed, ‘You’ll need to help me, Isabel.’ She turned toward young Tara, ‘I’m eighty-nine, you know.’ There was no room for embarrassment when you got to her age, Constance thought, as Isabel squeezed into the cubicle alongside her. Jill regularly had to help her do up her bra on those days when her fingers wouldn’t quite work properly.
‘Well, you don’t look it.’ Tara gushed holding the curtain so as Isabel and Constance could squeeze into the cubicle.
Constance fiddled with her blouse and let Isabel help her shrug out of it, leaving her skirt on before sliding the floaty tunic styled dress over her head. It felt comfortable, fitting nicely across her bust, and draping loosely over what once upon a time had been her waist but what was now most definitely her middle. She liked the sleeves too, elbow length, and the hemline stretched to below her knees. No woman should wear a mini dress past forty in her opinion, and there was nothing at all titillating about the knees of a woman who was flirting with ninety decades.
Isabel opened the door and stepped out of the cubicle allowing them both room to breathe. She gave Constance the once over, her expression that of the self-satisfied. ‘I knew that was the right dress, I knew it. Constance, you look fabulous! Come and have a look in the big mirror out here.’
Constance wasn’t sure she wanted to look. Would she see a batik print beach ball and one with a slow puncture at that gazing out at her from the mirror? Nevertheless, she bravely took Isabel’s outstretched hand and allowed her to position her in front of the mirror. She blinked at the reflection staring back at her. Gone was the little old lady she barely recognised and wholeheartedly disliked and in her place was Constance Downer. She’d forgotten the power colour had to perk her up and the bright pink background of the dress had just given her an instant lift. Her new shoes, the white ones with the pink bow would go perfectly too, she thought before Tara appeared and draped the beads around her neck.
She hadn’t had this much fuss since the day her mind had wandered off, and she’d failed to stop when the lights went red on the East Hill Road into Ryde. Her beloved Morris Minor went up the back of the post van, and that had been that. It was all the excuse the powers that be needed to slap her in the face with her septuagenarian digits and revoke her license. This was, of course, a much nicer sort of fuss, and although she’d never admitted it, she was enjoying being centre of attention.
‘Oh that’s lovely on you,’ Tara declared, standing back to admire her handy work. ‘Almost perfect but just give me a minute—’ she disappeared into the shop and began rifling through a pile of folded knitwear on a stand in the middle of the shop.
A twinkling later, she was back with a few items draped over her arms. ‘Here,’ she said, handing a white cardigan to Constance, ‘with this you can wear the dress now and when it gets warmer. Oh, and I found the same size dress in this gorgeous yellow here.’ She held it aloft for them both to yay or nay with her spare hand. ‘You look like you’d suit yellow to me. What do you think?’
‘Your blue shoes would go lovely with it, Constance,’ Isabel interjected before Constance could say a word. ‘Do you happen to have leggings?’ she carried on.
‘I’ve got them right here.’ Tara looked pleased with herself as she hung the yellow dress on the handle of the fitting room door. She produced a pair of white leggings hidden beneath the cardigan draped over her arm.
‘Right well, I think we’re sorted don’t you, Constance?’
Constance was too overwhelmed by it all to do anything but nod.
Chapter 32
Constance felt like a film star in her new clothes, which she’d refused to get out of as Isabel wheeled her out of the shop. She gave a final wave to Tara who having snipped off the tags, promised to drop a brochure of the latest season’s fashions in at Sea Vistas.
‘Isabel, do you think we could call in at the hairdressers?’ Constance asked as they left the arcade. She was eager to complete her makeover before she was deposited back at Sea Vistas. There was no point in doing half a job. ‘Why don’t you freshen up your colour, dear or try something new. I think you’d look lovely with a nice bright blue; it will be my treat.’
Isabel laughed. ‘You’re the first person older than me that hasn’t asked me to let my hair go back to its natural colour. Come on, there’s a salon, over there. Let’s see if they can squeeze us in and then we can go and show off our new looks to Delwyn.’
So it was both women wound up sitting next to each other trying to keep straight faces while Jackie with the odour of a freshly smoked cigarette enveloping her, fussed around them. Constance’s hair was woven around perming rods, and Isabel’s was covered in tinfoil.
‘We look like visitors from another planet,’ Isabel whispered to Constance while Jackie busied hers
elf squeezing some noxious smelling solution all over Constance’s head.
‘Cup of tea ladies?’ Jackie beamed checking under Isabel’s tin foil to reassure herself that nothing untoward was happening.
‘Oh lovely, yes please. Constance?’
Constance nodded and blinked, her eyes watering from the solution.
‘We both have milk and no sugar. Thanks, Jackie.’
‘Right, two teas it is then. You two behave yourself.’ She wagged a pink talon at them before clacking out the back.
Isabel rifled in her bag for her mobile. She swiveled her chair over to Constance’s and held the phone aloft. ‘Say cheese.’ Constance mumbled something close enough, and she clicked. ‘I’ve got to send this through to mum; it will make her day.’ She grinned as she uploaded the photo texting an explanation, before hitting send.
Constance nodded off in the hair salon, and Isabel hoped she hadn’t been knocked out by the perming solution fumes. She flicked nervous glances over at her now and then between leafing through a magazine. Jackie had woken her gently when it was time for her hair to be rinsed and Constance was quick to tell her she was entitled to forty winks given she was eighty-nine, you know! When it was Isabel’s turn, Constance clapped her hand in delight as her new colour was revealed. She’d felt herself flagging earlier but was bright as a button once more thanks to her little nap.
‘You look like a fairy from a picture book,’ she said, and argued with Isabel for two solid minutes over it being her treat. Jackie had settled the matter in the end by taking Constance’s EFTPOS card from her and telling them both she didn’t have all day.
Constance was sitting a little straighter in her chair desperately hoping the breeze wouldn’t get up and trifle with her hair. As for Isabel, she kept slowing her pace to catch glimpses of her new blue do in the shop windows as they made their way up to The Natural Way a couple of hours later. She loved it—they made a good team, her and Constance, she thought.
The Promise Page 22
