My Constance Comfort

My humble apologies for submitting the wrong draft. Please see corrected one.

All characters having sex are well over 18, and are fictional creations as well as the story.

Please enjoy, and be warned of a slow burn, and one or two typos and grammar errors.

My Constance Comfort

I was 39 when I first set eyes on Constance, whilst visiting my mother at the care home, having had to take the painfully difficult decision that I simply couldn't look after her on my own anymore. Her mind's sharp decline had been the most awful thing I'll ever have to endure - including a messy divorce. Such was the unpredictability of the situation, I had even agreed to my daughter living with my ex, through the week, with me having her most weekends.

On the first Sunday of my mother's residency, I was leaving her back to the the communal area, after taking her to her favourite cafe for tea and scones, and that's when I noticed Constance. She was sitting with a frail old lady, whom I would later find out was, as I had surmised, her mother. As I slowly guided Mum to a seat, our eyes met and she smiled in that, 'Isn't this the saddest thing you never thought you'd do,' kind of way.

She was approximately mid-late 50s, shoulder-length blonde hair, that was parted in the middle with the slightest hint of grey in the parting. Not to sound creepy, I just noticed it as she was sitting and I was standing, and as we made eye contact I was immediately struck by the warmth in her sad, painted on smile - much like mine - and her kind, blue eyes, who's crows feet lines suggested that she liked to laugh.

By the time I had got Mum settled, Constance was gone, and the rest of the week's visits were to be disappointing in no further sightings. I was strangely drawn to this woman's warmth, and had no idea why.

On the following Sunday, I took Mum out again for tea and scones. A good day, she remembered me and we talked about my childhood, my deceased grandmother and grandfather, and as I was getting carried away by thinking she was just her old self, she said, "We'll have to go soon, Daniel needs collecting from school."

I knew that Daniel was ok for a lift, Daniel was me.

My mother was only 70, cruelly robbed of her retirement by this terrible thing, after losing my Dad to cancer 6 years ago. Mum had just gotten on with life, having the occasional moment of grief with me, her only child. Then I began to notice her sharp mind's decline, forgetting things that we knew so well. I moved in with her to help, telling her I was short on money and she would be doing me a favour. In truth, I had been promoted at work and never had been better off.

I was just leaving, in a dazed world of my own and going to sign out when there, signing into the visitors book, was Constance. She turned, about a head shorter than me, approximately 5ft 5 and radiating a beautiful smell of rose and lavender wafting to my nose as her hair fanned out and swayed with her movement.

"Hi," she said and her eyes smiled with her pale, pink lips.

"Hi," I replied, then asked,"How was she today?"

"Not the worst......It's tough. As tough as your day by your expression. New here?"

"Yeah. I'm just on my own with her and I couldn't manage her anymore," I said.

"You know you'll have to stop doing that," she replied in her sweet, dulcet voice.

"Sorry?" I said, confused at what she meant.

"You don't need to justify why she's in here to me, or anyone......especially yourself," she said.

I looked at her and realised that that was exactly what I was doing. I said, "Thank you. I really needed to hear that."

"I would say any relative who's made this decision, would tell you the same thing. You need to give yourself a break."

People at work, close friends and family had told me this, apart from a my Mum's younger brother, who pretty much stopped talking to me over my decision. Immediately, I listened to her. She held my gaze and I realised I was getting emotional, so I made a lame excuse, forgot to sign out, and left.

I started the car and the news came on, it was 3pm. I drove up to a local coastal route, just me, my thoughts and my right foot, pressing hard on the accelerator of my used, Range Rover Sport. I like my cars fast, this being the only thing I fancied driving that still allowed Mum to get in and out of.

Again, I found myself thinking about the kind lady's words, not knowing her by name at this point. I did need to give myself a break, I had lasted as long as I could on my own, and those who would criticise had offered zero help. For that moment at least, I put my guilt out of my mind.

I visited my Mum every day, swapping shifts and taking time out of work and making more than it up. It kept my mind off Mum, and returning to an empty house.

####

I had checked the guest book to see her name, C. Roswell, visiting Valerie. I tried to guess what name would suit her.

Charlotte, no. That seemed too sultry and Caroline didn't seem to fit either. Camel? No as well.

A month passed, we made eye contact and said hello almost every Sunday, missing each other's visits on the other days. Then, as I was arriving on the Sunday, I spotted her walking across the car park. She was always immaculately dressed, today in dark blue jeans and a flower print blouse. Her hair, as usual, was silky smooth and blowing in the breeze. She smiled, with a warm, "Hi, here we are again."

"Hi, Fingers crossed it's a good day," I replied, and she responded with a nod and a smile. Sadly, there would be no tea and scones today. Mum was pretty confused. I sat with her for over an hour, then told her I loved her and left.

As I left, I noticed my new friend walking through the car park to her car, just before the exit to the one way system. I went to leave, and as I got to her car, I noticed her sitting with her head on the steering wheel. I got out and gently tapped her windscreen and she looked up, quite startled.

She lowered her window and said hello, and I asked her if she was OK. "Yeah," she said, "Just not good news. You need some time to re-focus after visiting, at times."

"I recommend driving fast on bendy roads, personally," I said and she smiled.

"Maybe I'll try that. How was your day?" She asked.

"Hmmmm, not great. Couldn't get her focused to go for tea and scones at all."

"Oh, so that's where you go every Sunday," she replied, "It's hard when little things like that change."

I then decided to introduce myself to this woman, who was practically a stranger. I said, "I'm Dan.....Daniel."

"Hi, Dan, Daniel," she replied with a grin. I'm Constance, pleased to officially meet you."

I then unintentionally hit her with the cheesiest thing I've ever said. I had already swooned over her name and my mouth opened and said, "What a beautiful name. It suits you."

Half expecting her so raise her window and drive off laughing, she looked up at me, smiled and said, "Thanks, most people call me Connie."

"Do you have a preference?" I probed, wishing I would shut my mouth.

"Close friends know I prefer my full name," she replied, surprisingly adding, "You can call me Constance. Have you a preference, Dan, Daniel?"

I smiled at her reference to my recent gaff, then said "You can call me Daniel, Constance."

A car then sounded it's horn, as my car was blocking the exit, and I made my apologies and said goodbye to Constance, hoping to see her again, next week.

I didn't see her the next week. And on the second week, I didn't see her Mum in her usual seat either. The third week, I was bringing Mum back from Tea and Scones when I saw Constance, coming out of the Senior Assistant's office. She looked dishevelled, her usually pristine hair showing more grey than the usual, and she wore a pair of sweatpants and an old looking t-shirt.

I said, "Hello," and she folded her arms, not replying with her usual warmth. "Long time no see, all ok?" I enquired.

With her arms still folded under her breasts, she rubbed her upper arms soothingly with her hands and said, "I'm......I'm just confirming funeral arrangements, she......Daniel, my Mum's dead."

Not knowing what way to react, I told her I was sorry, and saw her eyes tearing up. Suddenly, she does what I had really wanted to do and, edging towards me, hugged me around the shoulders and cried into my neck and upper chest, until I put my arms around her shoulders. As I stroked her hair, feeling strangely like it was the right thing to do (I'm not usually a hugger,) she pulled back sharply and started apologising.

I assured her there was nothing to be sorry for as she explained that I was the first person she had said those words to, and all her emotions just spilled out. I said, "Don't be silly, you said that only friends get to call you Constance, and you don't have to justify your grief to me, Constance."

She looked up at me, her emotional eyes reflecting the light like the deepest sapphire stone and said, "Thank you."

I asked her if she wanted to go for lunch or a cup of tea, but she understandably declined, saying she had a lot to organise. I told her I had contacts, and that if there was anything I could do to just ask. She replied, "Thank you, but you have so much to deal with. I guess you are on your own in all this too?"

"Pretty much. Dad died years ago and I've no siblings."

"What shitty things we have in common. I'll be ok once my daughter arrives, she lives in Australia" she half-smiled, again looking into my soul with her beautiful, but sad eyes.

"Take my phone number, Constance," I said, handing her my business card.

"That would be nice, "she said, enclosing my hand in both of hers and then gently taking the small card from my fingers.

We didn't hug again, and I wouldn't see or hear from her again until 3 months later, when my own mother passed away. I had advertised the funeral in all the relevant newspapers and websites, when 2 nights after she died, my phone rang.

"Hello, is that Daniel?" The voice from the unknown number said.

"Yes, who am I speaking to?"

".......It's Constance. "

Those two words alone were like a warm embrace, her voice like a hug from an angel, in a hellish time of my life.

"Constance, my goodness....how are you?" I said, sounding inappropriately upbeat for my situation.

"Getting by, you have good days and bad," she said. "I was reluctant to call and saddle you with my problems, but when I read about your Mother, I had to call and tell you how sorry I am."

"Thank you, Constance. But you must never feel like you're a burden to me," I replied, still disbelieving that the voice on the phone was her.

We chatted for almost half an hour. I learned that she has been struggling, and giving herself a hard time about not being a better carer. When I reminded her of her own soothing words to me that first time we spoke, she said, "Hmmmm, that sounds very familiar."

Whenever I replied, "A very nice lady told me it," there was a moment of silence.

Then, changing the subject completely, she asked if there was anything she could do. I told her that everything was arranged, and the funeral would be in 3 days. I was surprised when she asked, "Would it be strange if I came? You know, just to pay my respects and....say hello to you?"

Wanting to gush, 'Oh it's absolutely fine, can you come round now for a hug?' I settled on, "Constance, I would love nothing more than to see your friendly face."

I could tell she was smiling when she said thank you, and when we said goodnight, I felt so comforted that she had made contact. She would make contact via text every morning, up to the morning of the funeral. Just a little text to say hello, or ask how I was getting on, seemed like a million dollars to me, and I had to have a word with myself as I remembered that one hug we shared, her smell and warmth, a little too fondly.

All too soon, my mother's funeral day arrived. I was out of bed at sunrise, having struggled to stay in it for that long, as I had lay awake all night. With the funeral at 10am, I was pleased when I received a text from Constance at 8am. She asked me if I had managed to sleep, and when I told her I hadn't slept in two days she confided in me that she had suffered the same. I asked her what time she was coming to the funeral, and she replied, "Are you really sure you want me there?"

So, I called her. I still don't know why, but it seemed like the best thing to do. As she answered and her honey-smooth voice said, "Hello," I still wasn't sure what I really wanted to say.

"It's so good to hear your voice......I've been thinking about you," she said.

"Constance......I've been thinking about you too, thank you for checking in with me."

"Don't mention it. I.......never mind."

"No, what were you going to say?" I replied, sensing the pure, caring compassion in what she had been about to say.

"Daniel, it's taken all of my self control to not sound like a silly old woman, and ask you where you live, to make sure you're OK."

I knew from that very moment, with those very words, that she was a truly unique person in my life. Not only were her words full of natural love and warmth, but she was in the select league of three people in my entire life, who's every word I believed without shadow of doubt, or question of sincerity. The other two, I hear you ask? My Mum and Dad.

Trying to at least maintain a shred of dignity, I didn't blurt out, "99 Landsdown Crescent," and ask for a hug. I replied, "You would be more than welcome in my home, but I am getting by alright. It's just 'Up and down,' you know.

"I do. But do text me at any hour. Talking to your kids is OK, but they have their own lives."

I could sense that it was a searching statement, to see if I had a family. I replied, "My 15 year old daughter has been the only person I've spoken to, other than old aunts and uncles.....and you."

"A 58 year 'Randomer' at a care home? You poor thing," she said with a jokey edge in her warm tone, lifting the mood at least for that moment.

"Now it's my turn to not say what I'm thinking, afraid of sounding like I'm an emotional limpet," I said, to silence for about 5 seconds.

"Say it, please," came the polite request.

"Constance, there's no way that you're a 'Randomer,' to me. I saw a friend in your eyes and heard it in your words, that first time we met at the care home," I said, hearing her exhale in a way that I knew she was smiling.

"Likewise. One doesn't make new friends a lot at my age. You must know that you are only the third person who spoke with me regularly in that place, over the space of three and a half years,",

"I feel truly honoured," I replied, feeling like I should follow it up with "Your Majesty," such was the aura this woman conveyed.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," she continued,"I meant, I mean...."

"Constance......"

"Yes?"

"I know what you meant," I assured her, "You're the only person who spoke with me. I didn't know your Mum was in there for that long," I said.

"Yes, it feels like forever since she was here with me.....whilst also, just like yesterday," Constance replied, and I could sense a little sadness.

"She's with you, Constance. She'll be smiling down on you, taking on a stray like me the way you have."

I could then hear her sniffing and blowing her nose, then she said, "Oh yeah, taking you in and ending up crying down the phone, that's bound to cheer you up the day of your mother's funeral."

"I can assure you that you are making me feel much better, but I must let you go, it's been over half an hour."

"Has it? My goodness, I'll have to get ready."

I then offered her one last chance to wriggle off the hook in saying, "Constance, you know I'll not think less of you if it's too painful, being at a funeral. Especially of a woman you didn't know," and I was floored by her reply.

"I spoke with your mother each time I was there. She always told me how proud she was of her son. Daniel, do you want me to come, as a friend who knows what you are going through?"

I was now sobbing, finding it beautiful that she took time to talk to Mum, and replied, "I truly would be grateful if you could come."

"I'll see you soon, take care."

###

As I looked in the mirror, seeing my green/blue eyes and dark brown hair that were identical to my mum's, I tried to secure my black tie and making a terrible job of it.

My mind was awash with memories of Mum, from childhood and throughout my life. And then there was Constance. Why was this woman, this genuine lady, taking so much time to be nice to me. I must confirm that there was nothing sexual about my interest in her at this juncture. Her beauty was not lost on me, from inside her heart to her deep blue sea coloured eyes.

My daughter, Zoe, then arrived and gave me a nice, big squeeze. 15 going on 24, into boys, makeup, and rock music. I was proud of the latter, and had shared her first big concert when we went to see AC/DC.

She was usually like a whirlwind, but today she was carrying herself like a caring young woman. Sad that her beloved Gran was gone whilst looking out for her old man, she seemed embarrassed when she told me that her mother had just dropped her off, but I already knew this would be the case, there was no love lost between Jenny and my mum, and neither would want her to be there.

The church service took about an hour, and as I walked back up the isle with my daughter on my arm, behind the coffin, we passed the back row and there she was. Warmth and comfort, dare I say love and affection too, Constance was looking straight at me and gave me a simple smile when I looked back. Zoe noticed her, as leaning into my ear she said, "Who's that nice lady?"

"Constance," I said, "Her mother was in the same care home, and she often spoke with your Gran when she visited."

"That's a lovely thing to do. I've never heard that name before, it's nice."

"Isn't it....." I breathed, feeling a little warmth in the, typical for a funeral, freezing day.

With the graveyard within the grounds of the church, my mother's coffin was hoisted aloft on her brothers, brothers in-law, and my shoulders. In what was a slow and sad procession, we made the short journey around to the back of the building, and down the concrete pathway between the headstones, to what had up until then been my father's grave.

As we were relieved of our not so heavy load, my daughter arrived by my side again, and gave me a nice, big squeeze. Looking around, I saw Constance, standing on the edge of the humble gathering of friends, family, and many former colleagues from where she had worked, before her illness revealed itself.

Constance smiled warmly in that way she does, that reflected the sadness of the situation, but warms the heart. As I looked at her, dressed in her long, black coat and scarf, she lowered her eyes, as if we had lingered too long, and I turned my focus back to the seemingly tiny wooden box that contained the remains of the woman who gave me life.

Soon, my mother was committed to the ground, and my daughter held my hand as we trudged back up the pathway. I looked for Constance, but she wasn't where she had been standing, and I guessed that she was gone.

I shook hands with everyone who attended, just one hand after another went by and a voice saying, "I'm very sorry for your loss." What else could anyone say, I guess. No one knew how I was feeling......until a smooth, loving voice said, "How are you, Daniel?"

As if in slow motion, the voice sank into my very soul and was accompanied by the calming aroma of strawberry and lavender as her small hands clasped mine. "I'm ok, you know," I replied, adding, "Will you be joining us in the church hall for tea and sandwiches?" She nodded and said she would, then squeezed my hand and let go before moving on to offer my daughter, and the rest of the family, her condolences.