Thanks to Mulligan for editing this story and making it a better read.
If you have read the original version the changes are mainly grammatical, spelling and punctuation, however the story has been developed to continue a little bit further, with the addition of a couple of scenes at the end.
Phil loses his wife, but will he find love again at 57? When he does he is caught out!
In this story there are no consequences from unprotected unsafe sex, no diseases and no unwanted pregnancies, but remember, it is a story, and not the real world.
Readers from other parts of the world should note that this story is set in England, and the language is that which you find in England.
If any of the words are a problem have a look at http://www.english2american.com, and if this doesn't provide the answer e-mail me.
To quote the words of the Baz Lurhmann song 'Sunscreen' from a few years ago:
"The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday."
Well it wasn't Tuesday, it was Thursday, but it certainly was real trouble.
A bit about me, I'm Phil, 57 when this story starts, and married to Jane who was nearly 20 years younger than me 11 years ago. It was my second marriage and her first, and we lived together for nearly 10 years before that. We've had a few problems along the way like all couples but never anything that came close to splitting us. After 15 years of hard work we got to the point where we were comfortable financially, and we were in the situation where I work but I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Jane never worked full time. When we were younger my work took me all over the country and beyond, and she was able to accompany me on occasions. She managed our rental properties in the area later on when things got easier.
We lived in a small village close to Chichester in West Sussex: we had a house and some land, which we extended over the years.
And we had a healthy sex life, I never seemed to age in that area, and I still fuck every night and twice a day on a weekend when I can.
So the story starts about 2 years ago, in the summer. I had been up to London to deliver some work to a customer (I design control systems). I always go by train to London as I can't stand the traffic, and as it was a fine day I cycled to the station which is about 4 miles down quiet roads into town.
I left London at about 3.30pm and rang from the train to say I would be in about 5.30pm I thought Jane seemed a bit quiet, but I didn't really think much more about it. I got off the train and cycled home arriving just after 5.30pm. When I walked in it was obvious Jane had been crying. I went up to her to give a cuddle but she just pushed me away and said, "You don't care, do you" and then ran upstairs to our room.
I followed her, and as I did I wondered what the problem was. Standard male thing I suppose, we are not good at mind reading although females seem to have it off pat. I quickly thought through if I had done anything to piss her off, but apart from catching a train a half-hour later than I hoped, I really couldn't think of anything. No anniversaries or birthdays missed, and I hadn't been unfaithful in the 20 odd years we had been together. These usually seemed to be the things that caused arguments and worse amongst our friends.
When I got to our room Jane was sat on the edge of the bed and looked as white as a sheet, but had stopped crying. She said "Sorry, I didn't mean to fly off like that, but you need to sit down and we need to talk."
And so it started.
Some years ago she had had an ovary removed; it wasn't cancerous, but there was a large cyst on it. She had been for regular check-ups ever since, but the previous one was 12 months ago. She'd had her last one about 3 weeks ago, and got a call from the doctor today calling her in urgently.
She kept her appointment that afternoon and was told that there was a good chance that she had ovarian cancer, and they needed to do more tests.
So we talked, and I told her it would be OK, all the other stuff you say when you are trying to comfort someone. Deep down I was scared but we got through the next few days and managed to keep cheerful and even had a brilliant sex session Sunday afternoon, we locked the front door, drew the curtains and spent the afternoon in bed. We were both sore when we had done, there had always been a little competition between ourselves with me being older that I wouldn't be able to keep up with Jane but so far, allowing for the standard recovery time I was always ready to go again.
Over the next few weeks Jane went for more tests and scans, and about 2 weeks later we got the news we both dreaded, Jane had cancer, and it had already spread. The prognosis was poor, with no hope of a cure. The doctors offered various treatment options, but they all seemed to end with "it may give you a bit longer."
We discussed things and in the end she refused most of the treatment as it was going to make her ill and wasn't going to cure her. This was her decision and she wasn't going to be moved on it. What ever I thought I kept to myself, as I knew that it was only selfishness over wanting to keep her around longer.
The next 3 months were OK. I cut back on work still further, and we went out quite a bit, and we also had a 1-week break to New York. We visited her family, my family and a lot of friends. We also didn't tell anyone else about the cancer, but I noticed that she was tiring easier, and losing weight. She had always been a big girl, not fat, but with huge boobs and wide hips, and at 5' 9" she was not short either, so it didn't show at first.
Unconsciously we had been making plans for how to manage things as she got more ill, and Jane said that if possible she wanted to be nursed at home. I agreed but said if that was the case we must have some help, both with the nursing and around the house.
I felt now was the time to have some help in the house, while she could still 'train' them, and I told Jane this one evening, she agreed and said she would do something about it. A couple of days later I had been to a customer in Gosport and when I got home Jane said "I want you to meet Della, she is going to be helping in the house now."
Well Della was a surprise, she looked to be in her mid twenties, short and fairly plump, and black. Now there aren't many black people in the village (as in none, until Della arrived), so I asked Jane how she had found her. To cut a long story short she was the niece of some friends of ours from Skipton in Yorkshire. There had been some trouble at home, she didn't say what sort of trouble, and in return for board and lodging and a wage she was going to keep house for as long as we wanted. Della seemed to be quite withdrawn, she didn't say much to me, she wasn't rude or anything, just shy. I know Jane talked to Della a lot but Jane wouldn't say anything to me about Della's past, she said I would find out in time, and I didn't push it. I had more important things on my mind.
The next few months were a blur. Jane was getting weaker by the day, I remember the little incidents, the last time we made love, the last time we went out together, and by the beginning of December she couldn't walk. On the 7th of December she asked me to take her into our garden, as it was a fine day, so I got her into the wheelchair and took her outside. I sat with her for an hour; it was an unseasonably warm day, and she dozed off. Della called me to the phone, and I went in and was on the phone to a customer for about 15 minutes, as soon as I finished Della called me in a panicky voice and said that Jane wouldn't wake up. I called the Doctor, he came out and said she was in her last few hours, I sat with her and the McMillan nurse came round to sit with me. The nurse said she died at about 4pm.
The funeral was horrible, every one was nice to me, and don't get me wrong, but I felt that there was nothing left for me. It's really silly because all my plans had centred around the fact that I would go first, even the things I hadn't even discussed with Jane, to make sure she was looked after, after all when she would be 60 I would be 80.
It was the day after the funeral, and the week before Christmas. Jane always insisted we start to put the Christmas dressings up on the 1st of December, so we already had some decorations up. I got up at 6am as usual and I was downstairs making a cup of tea and feeding the cat when Della came down. She looked as if she had been crying as well, and I asked her what was wrong.
She said that she missed Jane, and she was wondering what the future held. I said, "Do you mean about staying here?" and she said, "Yes do I need to find somewhere else to stay?" I told her that she could stay here on the same terms as before, for as long as she wanted. I realised that I needed someone to help with the house, I am a good design engineer but I will be the first to admit that my housekeeping skills are not up to scratch, and she was a damn good cook; so when she accepted I was relieved. I had also promised Jane that I wouldn't force her to leave unless living under the same roof became impossible. We then sat down and talked, for the first time since she had arrived, and she told me about her trouble at home.
.... There is more of this story ...