‘Polly Poole. You know, you came to the Christingle with her.’ Before Malcolm can explain about them both arriving late, she continues in a rush, ‘Oh look, I’m sorry, I’m chatting and you must be gasping for a cup of tea. You go and get one and I will look after things here.’ She steps in behind the trestle table and makes room for him to leave.
‘Can I fetch you anything?’ he asks Yana, politely.
She looks up from serving a customer and shakes her head, pointing to a Thermos flask beside her.
‘Oh, you might spot a friend if you go that way to the refreshments,’ Rev. Ruth calls cryptically, pointing towards the nave.
Malcolm hurries away, eyes scanning the crowd, not really sure who he is looking for.
‘MALC!’
He knows who it is immediately. There is only one person who calls him this, having struggled to say his name as a young toddler. There – behind a trestle table that iscovered in handmade Christmas cards – is Eliot, along with two other children. Beside them is a young woman who Malcolm presumes is their nursery school teacher. Although to Malcolm she hardly looks old enough to have left school herself.
Eliot is jumping up and down, ‘Malc, we’re helping!’
Malcolm wonders if part of the helping is eating everything off the neighbouring cake stall. Eliot’s lips and chin are covered in chocolate.
The young woman smiles at him, ‘Ruth asked if we would make some Christmas cards to sell.’
‘That’s mine,’ Eliot says proudly, pointing with a chocolatey finger. The cards show Christmas trees made from green paint handprints, dotted randomly with stars.
‘Well, that is very special. A work of art—’
‘And that one,’ Eliot interrupts, pointing to another, ‘and that one and that one and that one …’
It seems Eliot has been busy.
‘You could buy them,’ he says, as if offering Malcolm an enormous treat; big eyeswidened hopefully.
‘They’re a pound each,’ the teacher supplies.
‘Which one of yours to choose?’ Malcolm ponders. ‘They are all so good.’
‘You could have them all!’ Eliot offers, bouncing on the spot.
‘I could indeed,’ Malcolm smiles, giving into the inevitable.
‘That comes to five pounds,’ the teacher says.
‘But you could payten!’ Eliot exclaims, and Malcolm isn’t quite sure whether Eliot thinks he is offering a deal to a friend, or if he knows his numbers and has been trained in sales by Rev. Ruth. As he pays over his £10, he reflects that at least Eliot hadn’t shouted, ‘A hundred!’
‘Thank you,’ the teacher murmurs a little apologetically, as Eliot waves Malcolm goodbye.
Back at the raffle table, he has barely time to tell Ruth about Eliot the salesman, when she becomes distracted. ‘It looks like they need me to announce the weight of the cake competition.’ Ruth rubs his arm as she leaves. ‘Anyway, before I go, I meant to say, I found out that your friend Polly is on her own this Christmas. It’s all very sad, and I thought you wouldn’t mind me asking her to join us for lunch.’ And with that she is gone.
Malcolm’s mind is flooded with a single thought.
She isn’t really my friend.
Quickly followed by another.
Idomind.
His mind races on: has Ruth actually asked Miss Poole to join them, or was she just suggesting it? He can’t see how they can take back an invitation, but maybe he could get to Ruth before she actually offers? He feels sorry for Miss Poole. It is horrible to be alone at Christmas. But surely there are other people she could spend the day with? She really isn’t Ruth’s responsibility. And she certainly isn’t his. But wasn’t that just like Ruth scooping everyone up? He is shocked to find he is annoyed with his friend, and what does he call it? Her do-goodery.
Malcolm is grateful to be distracted by a flurry of people wanting to know about the raffle … ‘Yes, that is for a strip of tickets.’
‘Yes, you can choose the prize you want …’
