by Ashe Barker
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ewan hits the brakes hard as we careen towards the bend too, the tyres screeching against the asphalt. I smell burning rubber as the powerful car slithers to a halt, sideways across the road. The bike is nowhere to be seen.
Ewan flings open the driver’s door and leaps out. He runs full pelt across the road to the grassy verge at the edge. I’m still in the car, dazed, wondering what the hell just happened. Clumsy, my fingers numb, I fumble with the door handle and drag myself out. I can see Ewan crouching in the longish grass at the roadside, leaning over something. Someone.
Oh, God. Oh, God, where’s Ed?
I stumble across the road to stand behind Ewan, desperately, selfishly hoping that the body in the hedgerow is not my husband. I can’t see the casualty properly, but I recognise my leathers and heave a sigh of relief, followed by a surge of guilt.
“How is she? Is she okay?”
Ewan doesn’t answer me; he’s too busy dragging his phone from his pocket. He hits the keys and within seconds is connected to the emergency services.
“Ambulance, please. RTA, motorcycle. One, possibly two casualties.” A pause, then, “No, no other vehicles involved.” Another pause. “B6255, about ten miles south of Hawes. Hurry. Please.”
He turns to me. “Where’s your husband?”
“I, I don’t know. I…”
“Stay with Carrie, I’ll go look around.” He skirts past me to jog along the road looking in both directions for some sign of the bike. He halts, then scrambles off the road and disappears down a grass bank. My impulse is to run after him, I need to see Ed, need to know he’s okay. But a breathy whimper behind me reminds me of my immediate responsibilities and I turn to look properly at Caroline for the first time.
My heart sinks. The unnatural angle of her legs is all the evidence I need of multiple fractures. Her head is still encased in my crash helmet and I know better than to attempt to remove it. Her breathing is laboured, her eyes barely open. I kneel beside her, desperate in my helplessness. By instinct I reach for her hand. I pull off the glove, dismayed at how cold her fingers are.
“Hold on, help is on the way. You’ll be fine. Just hold on. We’re here, and an ambulance is coming.” I mutter the platitudes, all the while knowing we’re well off the beaten track. An ambulance is indeed on the way but it might be twenty minutes or more before we hear the wail of sirens.
“I’m sorry.” Caroline’s lips move, but I can hardly make out her words.
I take her hand, lean in close. “Shh, don’t try to talk. Save your strength. You’re going to be fine.” I hope. Oh, God, I hope.
“I didn’t mean… I never wanted to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine. You haven’t hurt me.”
“Your h…” Her eyelids droop, as though it’s all really too much effort.
“I’ll get a new helmet. It’s all fine. Really.”
Her words make no sense, just delirious ramblings, more ominous almost than the twisted limbs and blood trickling from her nose. I squeeze her hand again as I survey the scene, seeking out Ewan. When I glance back at her, Caroline is drifting in and out of consciousness. Her attempts to talk to me are over.
I twist my neck, straining to see something, anything of my husband. I call out to Ewan. “How is he? Have you found him?”
No reply. I stand, just as another car rounds the bend, narrowly avoiding Ewan’s abandoned Nissan. The second car stops; a middle-aged couple get out.
“Are you alright, love? Has there been an accident?” The man is already on his way over to me. “Mary, pass me my bag.”
Moments later the couple are bending over Caroline, the man’s fingers testing for pulses, heartbeat, breathing. He seems to know what he’s about, and my confidence soars when the bag he called for yields a stethoscope. Then a syringe. A doctor. We have a doctor on the scene now. It’s going to be alright.
I leave Caroline in their care and stagger across to where I saw Ewan leap into the ditch. As I get closer I see the flattened grass where the bike has slithered off the road. Thank God, at least Ed had a softer landing. Perhaps…
Ewan comes into view, scrambling back up onto the road. He doesn’t see me at first. He stands, leans forward, his hands on his knees as he steadies himself. Only then does he straighten and spot me. His expression tells me all I need to know. The awful reality of what has happened. Even so, I ask, hoping I’m wrong, that I’ve somehow misinterpreted that bleak expression.
“Ed? Is he… I need to see if he’s okay.”
Ewan shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
I still don’t take it in. I try to step around him, past him to reach my husband. Ewan’s arm is around my waist, preventing me from hurling myself down the ditch.
“It’s too late. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”
“Gone? No, I don’t understand. He just came off the bike. He’s always doing it. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, Faith.”
I start to struggle, wriggling in his arms, desperate to be free. “Let go of me. I need to see him. Ed will need me.” I’m punching Ewan’s chest, as though pounding him for the dreadful news he’s brought me. He makes no attempt to stop the blows, absorbing them until at last I give in, exhausted.
“You should see him, I know that. Come on.” He releases me, but holds out his hand. I take it, allow him to guide me off the road and down the short bank, past the tangled, bent wreck of the Yamaha to where Ed’s body is lying a few feet beyond. His neck is broken, his head is twisted at an impossible angle. His eyes are open, unseeing behind the Perspex of his helmet mask.
I start to shake, then sob. Ewan’s arm is around my shoulders, his quiet strength holding me up when I would have flung myself across Ed’s dead body.
“There’s nothing we can do for him now. Come away, Faith. Sit in the car until the ambulance gets here.”
I let him lead me back up the banking onto the road. By now a couple more vehicles have arrived, including a police car. The officers take charge of the situation, controlling traffic, radioing for the ambulance to hurry up. Despite my dazed and disjointed grasp on the situation, I know this has to be for Caroline, because there would be no point rushing around for Ed. Not now. The officers inspect the scene, satisfy themselves there really is nothing to be done for the casualty down the banking, and concentrate their efforts on the living.
The doctor also makes a short trip down the ditch to satisfy himself that Ed is beyond his help, then returns to Caroline. She’s in a bad way, her breathing more shallow. Ewan kneels beside her, holding her hand as the doctor does his best. Her face is grey, her eyes rolling in her head. She’s unconscious now.
“She’s stopped breathing.” The doctor has managed to insert a tube into Caroline’s mouth and throat without removing the helmet. Now he starts pumping air from a rubber bag into her. He gestures to his wife to come and take over as he moves on to perform heart compressions.
With a detachment borne of shock and grief, I know it will be to no avail.
The ambulance arrives, the paramedics take over. They have a doctor on board who declares both casualties dead at the scene.
As the paramedics load Caroline’s lifeless body into the ambulance, Ewan turns to me, his expression bleak. His eyes are hard, glittering with grief and tears yet to come.
I don’t blame him. His Carrie is gone, dead and cold.
It should have been me.
Chapter Two
The days following the crash are a blur, a whirlwind of frenzied activity. First the hospital, then the police. I go through all of it in a sort of daze, on autopilot, doing as I’m told, completing tasks and making arrangements, dealing with all the things that everyone around me insist must be done at a time like this.
A time like this? What on earth is that supposed to mean? I can’t even start to imagine any other time which could be even remotely similar to this.
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 of death 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 as I’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 few more 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 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 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…?