Faith
It all began quite simply, almost textbook-perfect, Id say: theyd been in the same class since primary school, and by the time they reached sixth form, theyd fallen in love. That love blossomed over their final two years at school, admired by everyone because they were both beautiful, and their relationship seemed pure, almost noble. Everyone assumed theyd marry after graduationit was only a matter of time. James and Faith.
And Jamess faith in that future was unshakable, as steadfast as a boy scouts oath. Faith, in turn, never doubted him, as certain as the chimes of Big Ben on New Years Eve.
Even I, their form tutor, adored them both. James was disciplined, driven, already mapping out his pathhe aimed to become a barrister, so he poured himself into history and politics. Faith, on the other hand, was destined to be “the greatest English novelist of all time,” as James put it. She wrote endless tales of knights and chivalry, with James always her first reader. I was the secondafter all, I taught them English, literature too, of course.
Her stories had it all: love so fierce it made the heart ache, heroines who renounced every worldly comfort, heroes whod duel any man who dared take her from him. There were fortresses, castles, swaying rope bridges over bottomless chasms, villainous mothers and tyrannical fathers who, blind to their childrens true happiness, tried to mould it in their own image. But in the end, the “dark spells shattered”only for her, or him, to perish unexpectedly in the final act. The triumph of truth was bittersweet, always arriving too late, even as it prevailed.
Despite the florid prose, James and I believed in her. For him, it was because his heart and soul seemed forever bound to her. For me, it was because, every so often, piercing through the thickets of her elaborate plots, came a phrase so sharp it took your breath away:
*”The brittle husks of last autumns leaves crackled underfoot…”*
*”The monks hoods, drifting above the crowd, loomed like sugarloaves of sin…”*
*”The door yawned heavily, and the world sank back into morning slumber…”*
I remember them still.
But all things, as we know, must end. And so did school.
Faith won a place at Kings College London to study under the great Rushdie. She even invited me to her workshops once or twice, where I sawhearda living legend, a friend of Heaneys. She flourished, publishing early, her talent undeniable. I was proudof her, of myself. *”I spotted her, nurtured her, let her grow…”*
James, though, was proud only of her. After each new publication, hed rush into my classroom, fidgeting as I read, urging me to revisit certain lines, to *”pay attention here.”* Then hed search my face and ask, *”Well?”* and in that single word was everything: awe, hope, a possessiveness that brooked no criticism, love so fierce it could only belong to someone not yet twenty.
Yet Jamess mother despised Faith. Quietly, methodically, she worked to unravel themnever obvious, never clumsy. She never enlisted me; she knew Id have thwarted her. Instead, she drowned me in false kindness, like being force-fed tea already cloying with syrup, then offered honey, sweets, moreuntil generosity curdled into cruelty.
She succeeded. James left to study law at Oxford. Faith told me first, arriving at school with the *”clouded gaze of a witch,”* staring into some bleak distance as she delivered the news in the tragic tones of a doomed heroine.
*”It doesnt matter,”* she said, exhaling sharply. *”Once he graduates, well marry. This is goodIve a book deal pending, debts to settle. Now Ill have time.”*
And so life settled. They studiedhim in the north, her in the south, as she put it when she visited. But those visits dwindled. James wrote even less*”Oxfords tediously predictable,”* hed grumble.
Then, a year later, Faith appeared unannounced, inviting meto her wedding. To a fellow student. *”A poet,”* she clarified, as if that were the gravest obstacle. Her eyes warned me not to ask. So I didnt. I already knew how life worked.
What more is there to say? Another love fallen. Another victory for *”grown-up logic.”* Another perfectly ordinary marriage. Soon, I supposed, James would have one too.
Faith never came back. Vanished with her poet husband. James, likewise, stayed gone.
That was that.
Until yesterday.
I stepped out of school after sixth period. May, warm, the air thick with youth and promise. *God, it was glorious.* Thenthere he was. James, older now, but unmistakable despite the sixteen years.
*”Hello. I waited for you… Yes, lifes been kind. Married, two girls. Work? My own firm. Faiths husband died. Nine days ago. Shes alone now, with their daughter. Come with meIve the car.”*
His eyes held the same warning as hers had. So I didnt ask. By then, I knewlife was just built this way.
