My sister comes to stay with me, dropping everything to rush to Yorkshire from her home in Glasgow. She waves away my protests, insists her husband and their two children will be fine, her mother-in-law will see to that while she sees to me. I’m glad of Helen’s presence, her cool, calm competency. I’m not at all convinced I’d have managed without her. She won’t hear a word of thanks or appreciation.
“That’s what family is for. You’d do the same for me.”
Perhaps I would. I’d at least try. I doubt I’d have done anything like such a good job.
It’s Helen who sits with me while the police ask their questions. It’s Helen who holds my hand as the cause ofdeath is confirmed—not that there was ever any room for doubt. Multiple injuries, the most notable being a broken neck. I’m assured he died instantly, though I’m not sure I can draw the comfort from that which is implied. I had no opportunity to say goodbye. I was angry with Ed that day, resentful that he’d insisted we go out even though he knew I didn’t want to. He was gone so suddenly, I never got to set that right.
The familiar refrain reverberates around my head. It should have been me lying on that slab in the mortuary. It should have been me in that coffin, wept over by more than a hundred mourners. It would have been but for a quirk of fate, a twist of destiny that put Caroline on the back of Ed’s bike on the day he decided to play daredevil.
The accident investigators do their job, measuring the skid marks on the road, questioning me and Ewan, the only witnesses. They seem at first to be of the view that Ed and Ewan were racing, but I strenuously deny that. I expect Ewan does too. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ewan tried to catch up with the bike, but only after he realised how recklessly Ed was riding the Yamaha. I suppose between us we manage to convince the police, and they drop that line of questioning.
The coroner gives permission for the funerals to take place, so more arrangements are required. Caroline is to be cremated the day before Ed, and I’m determined not to go. I can’t. I know I won’t be able to bear all those accusing eyes glaring at me, blaming me for the waste of her precious life. Whatever courage I’m hanging on to by my fingertips would be splintered by that. Helen convinces me otherwise, insists I’ll never forgive myself if I let this occasion pass and I’m not there. She assures me no one will hold me responsible, I had no part in what happened, I wasn’t to blame.
I know different, but I’m becoming used to doing asI’m told. So I do attend Caroline’s funeral, once more hanging onto Helen’s hand to borrow her strength and certainty when my own deserts me.
It’s a huge gathering. Caroline was clearly a popular woman, much loved. I’m amazed that Ed is mentioned in the clergyman’s words as he offers up prayers for the family of the friend and neighbour who also lost his life that day in the same tragic accident. No one protests, no one points out that Ed doesn’t deserve prayers, that he was responsible for Caroline’s death. No one observes that he killed her, an innocent woman, when really it should have been his wife who died on that cold, damp roadside.
The service ends and the congregation file out. There’s to be a family get-together at a restaurant nearby, all are welcome. Helen asks me if I want to go, but I shake my head, unable to summon up sufficient determination to even get out of the pew. I’m still there when Ewan passes, his head downcast as he strides towards the doors and the outside world. He stops beside me. I know it’s him even though I don’t lift my face.
“Faith? How are you doing?” His tone is soft, holds no note of accusation, no suggestion of blame.
I don’t answer, so Helen once again steps into the breach.
“She’s in shock. It’s been very hard on her. She’ll be alright though, she just needs time.” There’s a short pause, then, “Were you a close friend of Miss Barclay? A relative? Mister…?”
“A friend, and yes, we were close. My name’s Ewan, Ewan Lord.” He offers his hand, which Helen takes. They shake.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lord. I’m Helen Frazer, Faith’s sister. I’ve been staying with her for a few days.”
“Good, that’s good. This is a difficult time, she shouldn’t be alone.”
“No, of course not. I’m going to be here for a fewmore days, just to see her through this worst bit.”
I still don’t raise my gaze to look at him, I can’t, just couldn’t bear to see even a hint of reproach in his eyes. Helen and Ewan exchange a couple more pleasantries before he asks if we’re intending to join the family at the restaurant.
“No, we won’t be there. I think Faith needs to get home now. It’s been a strain, and there’s tomorrow of course. We need to get ready for that.” Helen makes our excuses, and Ewan murmurs something about hoping tomorrow goes as well as it might. Then he’s gone, his footsteps echoing around the now almost deserted church.
Ed’s funeral is also very well attended. This surprises me, I had never considered him a popular or gregarious character, too wrapped up in his bikes to socialise. It seems I’m wrong; he was a leading light in the Yorkshire motorcycling fraternity and they are here in force. The chapel at the crematorium is packed, the car park outside bristling with motorbikes, the roar of engines reverberating in the hallowed air.
The vicar says the requisite kind words, bemoaning a life lost too soon, a bright future quashed by tragedy. He calls attention to my courage and fortitude, though I’m at a loss to understand where he thinks he may have discerned those. I am neither brave nor strong. I sit in the front pew listening to my husband’s eulogy, knowing all the while that I’m feeble, helpless, terrified of the future, and worst of all, wracked with guilt.
If I’d not been such a wimp, so keen to avoid a spot of rain, Caroline would have driven home with Ewan and arrived safely. Ed would not have been so inclined to show off and would not have been riding so recklessly. We would in all probability have been safe too, all four of us enjoying whatever we would normally do on a wet Tuesday morning. I wouldn’t be here, a widow,surrounded by men and women decked out in leathers and smelling of petrol, mourning the loss of my husband. Caroline would not have been cremated yesterday, Ewan would not also be contemplating a life without her.
It’s all my doing. All my fault.
* * *
Helen has to return to Glasgow a few days after the funeral, but she returns a couple of weeks later to attend the inquest with me. The coroner listens to the facts, the police forensic evidence, my statement, and Ewan’s. He asks each of us a couple of questions, nothing heavy, just clarifying the circumstances and what we actually saw that day. His verdict, accidental death, seems to me quite correct as far as Caroline is concerned, but as the days have passed, turned into weeks, I’ve become less and less sanguine about Ed’s actions that day.
He’s dead, and not in a position to face the consequences of what he did, the risks he took with his own life and someone else’s. If he’d survived the crash I suspect he would have been looking at charges—causing death by dangerous driving seems fair enough to me. Not that any of this helps with my own feelings of responsibility. Ed was an idiot, and he paid for it. I was a fool, and weak, and someone else paid for my failings.
* * *
I return to work after about six weeks. Em See Squared has been very kind, very patient, but I must start making an effort. I know this, but it’s so hard. I struggle to concentrate, I’m easily tired. The enthusiasm and drive I used to bring to my job seem to have deserted me. I’m contemplating giving in my notice. I can’t face the demands of a busy office, surrounded by people withhectic, meaningful lives. Oddly enough, it’s not as though I need the money. Ed may have been a waster in many respects, but he had superb life insurance. Who would have thought it? Certainly not me. A few weeks after his death I learnt I was in possession of sufficient funds to pay off the mortgage on our terraced house and still have a tidy lump sum left over. All the more reason to retreat into my shell and never come out again.
* * *
It’s been three months since Ed died. I’ve become used to the silence, the endless emptiness. Ed wasn’t always brilliant company, but he was at least here. He made noise, made a mess occasionally. Now it’s just me. I’m quiet, and tidy, and utterly lost.
