She registered another knock; it was a bit louder this time. She’d almost forgotten Jill was waiting to come in. She put the box back in the drawer where she kept it before opening her mouth to call out that yes, she could come in.
‘Are you ready for me to take you down to breakfast then Miss D?’ Jill asked upon opening the door.
Constance felt like screaming. Did Jill think she was starring in her very own American sitcom? Caring for Miss D or perhaps Me ‘n’ Miss D. All of this she kept to herself, however, as she nodded. She eased herself upright and allowed Jill to take her elbow to help her the short distance down the corridor to the lift although she was capable of walking the short distance on her own.
Her usual table beside the bay window looking out to sea would be set, the tea brewing in the pot for one. Her poached egg, done the way she liked it—dippy in the middle with toast soldiers to the side—would arrive with a flourish and sprig of parsley as soon as she was seated. She would be sure to position herself in her seat just so to ensure nobody asked to join her. She couldn’t be doing with idle chit-chat and especially not when she wanted to concentrate on the simple pleasure of dipping her toast into her egg. For the most part, she was left alone.
These days, she looked forward to her meals. They structured her day for one thing and for another, she was no longer in charge of their actual preparation—cooking had never been her forte. She handpicked her week’s choice of breakfast—that never differed from the poached egg, lunch, and dinner from the menu provided on a Sunday morning. She could have wine with her evening meal if she wanted too. No cause for complaint on the dining front.
Mind you, she thought, nodding at Iris Marshall who was also waiting for the lift, some of them seemed to think being old gave them a license to complain. Iris being a prime example. Only last night, Constance had heard her trilling in a voice designed to carry through to the kitchen to her crony, Jean that she reckoned it was cask wine, not bottle being served with dinner. And that for the money they forked out to stay at Sea Vistas they shouldn’t be fobbed off with cheap plonk! Didn’t it all taste the same after the first glass? Constance had thought waving her glass for a refill and knowing that as she sipped its contents, she’d stop hearing the chatter combined with the chink of the residents’ knives and forks. She’d gaze out the window seeing a different story in a different time unfolding.
The dining room was cast in the rosy glow of morning, and the unmistakable smell of bacon mingling with toast wafted forth as Jill, her arm linked firmly through Constance’s, steered them toward her table. Constance nodded good morning at several of the diners before Jill saw her to her seat. The nurse glanced up at the time and announced she was due to see one of her ladies. Constance muttered her thanks and watched her sprightly form stride from the dining room before unfolding her napkin. She smoothed it on her lap and sat waiting for her day to unfold just as it had yesterday, and the day before that and well, every day since she’d moved to Sea Vistas.
Chapter 11
It was on Tuesday morning that everything changed. Constance had woken early. Far too early. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, her huffing sigh of exertion sounding loud in the space around her. Jill had plumped the pillows for her the way she liked them before she’d turned in the night before, but now they were squished at awkward angles beneath her back. It would require too much effort to rearrange them, she decided straining to hear the familiar routines of Sea Vistas outside her door.
It was silent in the hall, no rattle of trolleys signifying that morning was here. Her eyes felt gravelly, and the feeling reminded her of when she was a girl playing on the beach. The wind would whip up the sand near the Solent’s edge, and she’d blink against the sudden deluge of gritty, fine particles. Now, she squeezed her eyes shut once more. She’d passed a restless night, sleeping soundly for a few hours and then waking for no reason other than things were playing on her mind. It seemed that the past was always there these days lurking in the wings of her subconscious waiting for her to drift off to accost her.
Constance let out another huff and plucked at the covers; it had always frustrated her so when she couldn’t sleep. In bygone years it had been because there was so much living she wanted to cram into each day and energy was needed for that. It had been an obligation of sorts to those whose lives had been cut short or never even had the chance to begin. The war had done that. Now there wasn’t much with which she was desperate to fill her day, but not sleeping still frustrated her simply because it added unnecessary length to those long daylight hours of sameness looming ahead.
‘Oh stop it, Constance Downer, you old misery guts,’ she murmured unsure as to whether or not the words had been breathed aloud. It wasn’t like her to be maudlin, her inherent nature was sunny, but this mood had settled on her while she tossed and turned through the long night. It would not be banished lightly she knew, recalling how the memories had come in thick, fast drifts like snow.
Constance opened her eyes and turned her gaze
