It is a phrase that Malcolm will wish he had left unsaid.
Chapter 7
Another invitation
The pub is warm and welcoming. The wood burner is lit, and holly and ivy strung along the beams, intertwined with twinkling lights and mistletoe. It is now 19 December and Malcolm has persuaded Ruth to join him here for supper as his guest – in between an afternoon carol service at the care home and some Christmas communion visits to housebound parishioners. He doesn’t want her to see his house and all the preparations he has made for her until Christmas Day, so had explained that – with his extra work in the bookshop – he was too busy to cook. And really this is partly true. With an extra guest, he is rethinking his recipes slightly, and has thought of a gift he would like to give Polly Poole. A pink jumper, maybe with some flowers on the front, and a pink lipstick. Something to make her think of the future and of sunnier times.
He is also doing as much as he can to help Padam. This is the shop’s busiest time of year, and it is important that they make the most of this seasonal business opportunity. He has the grace to acknowledge this is nothing compared to the desire he feels to spend as much time as possible with Padam, acutely aware of the pleasure of pottering around the shop with him, discussing books and chatting about local news. There is still no definitive view of whether it will be a white Christmas.
They have also talked about Malcolm’s next book. And something seems to have changed. It really does feel like he might write this one. He must ask Rev. Ruth about the woman who used to be a proofreader. He would be more than happy to pay for her to type up his manuscript and for her professional advice. The editor he worked with before has since left his publisher, but an initial email has resulted in a new contact anda request for more information. The tone was friendly, and Malcolm has promised to get back to them after Christmas.
Rev. Ruth arrives wearing a red jumper with a galloping reindeer on the front. Her clerical collar, looking a little incongruous, is peeking out the top. Then it occurs to Malcolm that those who are so ill that they cannot leave home might appreciate a visit from a festive vicar, rather than a crow in black that reminds them of death.
A crow?
No, definitely not. But Malcolm still thinks Ruth resembles a bird.
He draws a chair out for her and hands her a menu. ‘Now, what can I get you, Ruth? I know you don’t have long.’
‘I’ll have a non-alcoholic Guinness. Makes me feel like I’m drinking the real thing, but I don’t have to worry about driving.’
Malcolm organizes the drinks and, after a few more minutes, takes their order for food to the bar. ‘How was the carol service at the care home?’ he asks, returning to his seat.
‘Pretty jolly. A few hecklers, but I’m used to that.’ Ruth grins, ‘One old chap got a bit shirty as he didn’t like the carols we were singing. He wanted something quite different.’
‘What did he want?’
‘“We Plough the Fields and Scatter”,’Ruth laughs. ‘So we sang that one too.’ She sips her Guinness. ‘One of the women who used to be in the church choir had made me a tapestry cushion as a present. It’s really lovely, covered in purple hellebores.’
‘I remember how you like purple. The colour of advent, if I recall,’ Malcolm chuckles, reminded of something Ruth once told them about the colour she woreunderher cassock at this time of year.
‘Malcolm Buswell. You shouldn’t talk to a vicar about her underwear.’ She shakes her head, ‘Anyway, that is a thing of the past.’
‘I think that is rather a shame. I don’t think age should be a barrier to nice er …’
‘Knickers?’ Rev. Ruth provides.
Malcolm blushes, ‘Quite.’
‘No, the fancy stuff will come back soon. But Malcolm, this last week is an absolute marathon. I just don’t stop. Comfort is key. It’s Sloggis for me from now on.’
‘Too much information,’ Malcolm laughs. Although in reality it is too little information. He has absolutely no idea what Sloggis are.
Their food arrives and they eat in contented silence, both grateful for a moment of peace amongst their teeming schedules, before Ruth asks him how he got on with Yana.
‘She was excellent company. It would be nice to meet her again. Our conversation was a bit hit and miss as we were so busy.’ He continues thoughtfully, ‘She seems to be settling in here and making friends. I hope she enjoys the farm work.’ His voice holds an uncertain note. ‘I think it was kind of the farmer to take her on.’
Rev. Ruth looks at him over her final forkful of cottage pie. ‘Kind, was it? Yes, I suppose so.’ Before he can ask her why she appears to find this amusing, she puts her fork down and declares, ‘That was just what I needed, Malcolm. Thank you!’ She slumps a little in her seat, blowing out a long breath, ‘How I wish I could stay longer. I can’t think of anything nicer than sitting here with you for the evening, chatting. I hardly feel I see you these days.’ She glances wistfully at the log fire, then looks up at him, ‘But we will have Christmas,’ she says more brightly. ‘The thought of that keeps me going.’ She grins, ‘It has to. I really have no choice this time of year. Being busy rather comes with the job.’ She gets up, gathering her coat and bag, ‘You’re sure I can’t pay my half?’
‘Not at all. You go and do your vicarly stuff. I will sort everything out.’
She leans over and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and then she is gone.
The next day, Malcolm is in the shop just turning the till on and sorting the post when Ruth rushes in. ‘Thank you so much for last evening, Malcolm. It was just what I needed. And I’ve done something for you that I hope you will like. You know you said you wanted to be able to chat to Yana properly and that, as far as you were concerned, “the more the merrier” for Christmas day. Well, the good news is, Yana is joining us for Christmas lunch.’ She leans forward and says more softly, ‘I thought you would like me to ask, as I know you find all this sort of thing a bit daunting.’ She straightens up, ‘And Yana has promised to bring plum vodka.’ She beams at him, ‘Now I have to dash.’ She gives a wave that takes in Padam as well and, with that, she is out of the door and jumping into her car.
Malcolm has to turn away from Padam to hide his consternation. Polly Poole was one thing, but now Yana! It was his idea for the lunch, his gift to Ruth. Now it seems to be turning into a bun fight.
‘Do you mind about Yana?’ Padam asks quietly.
