Faith Read Online Free Page A

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 with hectic, 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.
    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