Faith

Chapter Two #2

It’s not even as though there’s any noise from next door any more.

Ewan didn’t live there as far as I know, though he did seem to be around a lot.

He had an odd pattern now that I think of it.

I’d see his car parked outside day after day, week after week, then suddenly he’d be gone.

He seemed to be away for a month or two, then his car would reappear.

I used to assume they argued perhaps, or maybe he had work that took him away for periods of time.

I never asked, and of course I won’t now.

I suppose the house will be sold, though no agents have been round as far as I know. No sale board has gone up. I assume the place is just as Caroline left it.

* * *

It’s Friday evening, four months now since the accident.

I’ve made myself eat an unappetising meal of reheated pizza, and I’m wondering whether to swill it down with the bottle of wine I brought home with me.

I shouldn’t; the solitary drinking is becoming too much of a habit recently.

I never used to drink alone, but these days, what choice do I have? I do everything alone.

I sigh as I head over to my cupboard for a wineglass.

The knock at my kitchen door startles me. It’s not loud, more a light tap. I halt, stand stock-still in my kitchen, staring at the door. I must have been mistaken, dreaming. I don’t have a visitor, no one ever visits, not since Helen left.

It sounds again, louder now, slightly more insistent. Someone’s there. Definitely. It must be trick or treaters. Hallowe’en is just a couple of days away. Pity I don’t have any sweets to offer them.

“Faith, I know you’re in. Open the door.”

I know that voice, I’ve heard it before. But it can’t be, surely not. Why? Why would…?

“Faith, it’s Ewan. Ewan Lord. I want to talk to you. Let me in, please.”

Oh, God! Oh, God, he’s realised. He knows. He’s come to tell me what he thinks of me.

I knew this confrontation was coming, it had to be. Eventually I’d have to face this. But I hadn’t expected it to be now. I’m not ready, not prepared.

Except I am, as much as I’ll ever be. If he’s come to tell me what a stupid, destructive little coward I am, to have it out with me because I got his beloved Caroline killed with my idiotic behaviour, I might as well get it over with.

There’s nowhere to hide, and at the back on my mind I’ve been expecting this. Waiting for this. For him.

I step over to the door and turn the key to unlock it. I open it and step back.

“Good evening, Ewan.”

He comes inside and closes the door behind him.

Despite my nervousness I go through the ingrained motions of hospitality.

I pick up my kettle from the worktop and head for the sink.

“Would you like a drink? Tea, was it?” I recall that was what he drank at the café in Hawes, though there’s no reason I should have retained such a trivial detail.

“If you’re having one. Faith, you look like shit.”

Charming. I turn to him in surprise. This is not the opening I’d expected from him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve lost weight. Your hair needs a wash. Were you about to drink that?” He eyes the bottle of wine, opened on my kitchen table. “Alone?”

I don’t answer, preferring to concentrate on filling my kettle and plugging it in. When I turn to face him at last, he’s hitched one hip on my table, watching me. He’s waiting for a response.

“Why are you here, Ewan?” Not the most polite welcome, but the best my fuddled brain can manage. I’m not at my best these days, with or without wine.

“I wanted to see how you are. How you’re doing.”

“No, I mean what brings you here? To Oakworth? It’s hardly somewhere you’d be passing. Are you here to collect your things from Caroline’s?” Maybe the place is about to go on the market.

“No. I live here.”

I gaze at him, stunned. “You… How do you…? I mean… Isn’t Caroline’s house going to be sold?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not Caroline’s house, it never was. It’s mine, and I intend to carry on living here, at least for the time being. Which makes you my next-door neighbour.”

“I…Oh.” I sit down at my table, my head reeling with all the awful ramifications of this news.

He lives next door, this man with every reason to hate me, to resent me and the disaster I brought down on him, on both of us.

He’ll be here, accusing, blaming, a constant reminder of what happened, of the tragedy I caused.

“But, I don’t understand. I mean, it was Caroline who lived here. I know you visited a lot, but…”

“She did live here, and so did I when I was in the country. I still do. I have to travel a lot for my work so I’ve never been around that much.

I’ve been away for the last four months solid, just got back today.

I’d been meaning to drop in when I got a chance, see how you are.

I saw your light and decided now was as good a time as any.

And as I said, you look like shit. You’ve not been looking after yourself.

I’m guessing that sister of yours has gone? ”

“Helen? Yes, she has her own family.”

“I see. Is there no one else?”

“No, not really. I do okay.”

“Do you? I wonder. Right, well at least share that bottle of wine with me. I want to talk to you.”

Here it comes. I sit down opposite him, my head bowed, waiting for the onslaught to start.

“Do you have any glasses, Faith?” His tone is gentle. If he’s gearing up for a confrontation, he’s taking his time about it.

I get up and fetch a pair of long-stemmed wineglasses from my cupboard. I set the stemware on the table and retake my seat as Ewan pours each of us half a glass of wine. He pushes mine towards me, and I can’t bear the waiting any longer.

“I know it was my fault. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much I regret what happened, what I did.”

There’s a brief pause, then, “What are you talking about, Faith?”

“The accident. Caroline riding with Ed, and then, and then…” I can’t finish, can’t bring myself to put into words the awful reality of what I caused.

“I know what happened that day. But why would you be saying it was your fault? It was your fuckhead of a husband’s fault.” He pauses again, then, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t come here to slag off Ed.”

“You came to see me. You said that.”

“Yes.”

“To tell me what you think of me.”

There’s a pause. I don’t look up, but I see his hand reach for the wineglass, lift it. A couple of seconds later, he places it down on the table again.

“Oh, and what might that be? What do I think of you, Faith? In your opinion?” His tone is soft, but intense. It never occurs to me to make excuses or try to deflect his contempt. I deserve it. All of it.

“That I was weak that day. That I should have stood up to Ed, made him leave earlier so that we’d be home before the weather changed. That I shouldn’t have offered to swap with Caroline.”

“You didn’t offer. Ed suggested it and Carrie wanted to. You just went along with them.” Again, that even, reasonable tone. Does nothing disturb this man’s quiet calm?

I’d anticipated aggression, a confrontation certainly. I’d expected to be accused, to be on the defensive. Perhaps the absence of all that is what causes my tongue to loosen and the truth to flow so readily.

“I was so glad not to have to ride back. I was cold, tired. So I just let her have my gear and, and…” I can’t continue.

I just break down sobbing, drowning in my self-loathing and guilt.

Moments later I’m lifted from my chair and find myself clutching at Ewan’s thick cotton shirt as he carries me through into my little sitting room.

He settles himself on my couch, me on his lap.

I continue to weep, the floodgates opened now as though the events of months ago were only yesterday.

He may have been my nemesis, or so I thought.

Now it appears Ewan is more of a catalyst, bringing about a release of the pent-up emotions I’ve been managing to contain up to now.

Ewan says nothing, makes no attempt to stop my outpouring of grief.

He just sits and holds me until eventually my sobs subside into gulps.

I sniffle, try to wipe my nose with my hand, fearful of letting him see my ravaged face.

If he thought I looked like shit before…

“Here. You can keep it afterwards.” He shoves a handkerchief into my fingers. I use it to cover my face as he strokes my lank hair back. I don’t attempt to speak, just concentrate on mopping up what I can of the damage as I try to collect myself. When I’m settled at last, Ewan tries again.

“Well, that was unexpected. But long overdue, I suspect. Are you ready to talk now, do you think?”

I nod, though in truth I doubt if I’ll ever be truly ready.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You think what happened was somehow your fault? That you might have prevented it?”

Again I nod.

“How? How could you have prevented it? Ed wouldn’t have listened to you. I’m sorry, Faith, I don’t want to sound brutal, but it’s true. He did just as he wanted, regardless of anything you might have said.”

“If I hadn’t agreed to swap, Caroline would still be alive. I wanted a lift home.”

“I know, and you could have had that whether Carrie rode back on the bike or not. I said that to Ed while you were in the toilets getting changed.”

“I… oh.” I’m not sure what difference this makes, but it seems significant.

“If anyone could have, should have stopped Carrie getting on that bike, it was me. If I’d said no, she wouldn’t have done it. But I let her, and by the time I realised the danger it was already too late. If either one of us is to blame it’s not you, Faith. It’s me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why not? Do you have a monopoly on that?”

“I don’t understand? I thought you… I mean, I was scared that you might think…”

“Think what? Did you really believe that I’d come round her this evening just to accuse you of killing my sub? Sorry, my girlfriend.”

I try to look away, staring at the crumpled, soggy handkerchief twisting between my fingers. He’s having none of that. He cups my chin and lifts my face back up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Did you think that, Faith?”

“Yes.”

“You were wrong. Wrong about why I’m here, and wrong about the accident.

If you feel guilty to be alive when Carrie’s dead, maybe that’s just because what happened was so bizarre.

A cruel twist of fate. Yes, it could so easily have been you.

You are lucky to be alive. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have any right to be.

Carrie didn’t deserve what happened to her, but neither did you deserve it. ”

I notice he makes no such comment regarding Ed. I don’t either.

“I wish to God I’d refused her permission, insisted we give you a lift back.

I thought about it, but decided to let Carrie do what she wanted to do.

There was no way I could have known, not at that stage, but I’ve still beaten myself up about it.

I was responsible for her, I let her down.

I didn’t intend to; if I could turn the clock back I would.

But it happened, it’s done now. There’s no going back, for any of us. ”

I’m staring at him, incredulous. All these months I was convinced Carrie’s death was my fault, and it seems at least to some extent he’s been blaming himself for it. His lip quirks in a sardonic half-smile.

“What a pair we make. I wish I’d come earlier. I wanted to talk to you, probably because we shared it, that experience.”

“Yes, I know. No one else understands. It was so, so—unique. And so awful.”

“It was. But we have to pick ourselves up now. We have to move on.”

“You already have.”

“No, not really. I’ve been away because I was working, but I always knew I’d be back here eventually. I hoped you’d still be here, but I wasn’t sure until you opened your door earlier.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Carrie? Yes, of course. I cared about her, cared deeply.”

“Did you love her?” His words are an odd choice, and I feel I need to ask.

“I understood her, and she trusted me. You know what our relationship was. Carrie told you about it.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes. Not much, but a little.”

“I was her dom.”

“You used to hit her.”

“I did. With her permission.”

“I know that. She liked it. And she adored you.”

He hesitates, and I begin to realise that perhaps Carrie’s feelings were not entirely reciprocated, though Ewan will never say that.

I admire his loyalty, and his sensitivity.

My gut wrenches again with a slight stirring of something, gladness perhaps, that what happened that fateful day may not have entirely ruined his life.