‘Of course not!’ Malcolm says more sharply than he intended. ‘No, it’s fine,’ he says. ‘It will be fun.’
He wonders who he is trying to convince.
For the rest of the day, Malcolm cannot settle. Should he buy Yana a gift? What does she like to eat? Are there special Christmas dishes in Ukraine? Instead of feeling excited to find out, he feels despondent and disappointed. And worse, when Padam suggests that they look at some recipes together, he snaps at him. He hadn’t meant toand he apologizes, but – instead of their normal ebb and flow of conversation – the silence hangs heavy.
Towards the end of the day, when the shop is quiet, Padam makes them both a cup of masala chai. He doesn’t say anything put places the tea down beside Malcolm, who is sitting moodily by the till. As he tidies the shop, Padam begins to speak.
‘My father was a difficult man. He did not know how to show his love for his children and would spend many hours away from home. Other fathers in our village were not dissimilar, but when these men returned I sensed that my friends’ and classmates’ lives were lifted in some way by their presence. While I, even as a small boy, could sense my mother’s fear. While many of these other fathers seemed to be strong but gentle men, my father wore his anger like a second skin.’
Malcolm sits perfectly still, breathing in the scent of the masala chai, not wishing to break the moment by reaching for his drink. He knows that Padam is sharing something precious with him, even though he does not know why.
‘My father’s great love was archery. His father had also been an archer. And it was to please my father that I too took up the sport, although once the bow was in my hands I understood that this was also in my blood. My father was not a natural teacher, and he could be cruel and brutal when I made mistakes, but still I strived to please him. I think when I was picked for our national team, it was one of the only times I knew my father was proud of me. My younger brother did not have the same aptitude as me and he suffered more at my father’s hands, and I will always feel shame that I did not protect him.’
The silence that follows prompts Malcolm to ask, ‘What happened to your father?’
‘He was killed in a fall out on the mountain. There were questions asked about it at the time. Who was he with, and even if either of his sons had been with him. But it remained a mystery.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Malcolm is moved to ask.
Padam half smiles. ‘To be honest, Malcolm, I have no idea.’ The smile grows, ‘Maybe to fill the silence.’
Malcolm runs a hand distractedly through his hair, ‘I do apologize for my behaviour today. It was unwarranted.’
Padam continues as if Malcolm hasn’t spoken, ‘And maybe I told you because sometimes people see much more than you think. Like the people in my village. I think they realized what my father was like.’ Padam looks down at his hands. ‘If you mind about Yana coming for Christmas, I think you should talk to Rev. Ruth.’
Malcolm stares back at him helplessly. How can he tell the woman who tries to help everyone that when he said, ‘the more the merrier’, he hadn’t really meant it? How selfish does that make him? Instead, he asks Padam, ‘Where is your brother now?’
‘He lives in Nepal, but I try to make it up to him by keeping an eye on his son and his family. Although, these days, it may be fairer to say Dawa keeps an eye on his old uncle.’
Then Padam does a strange thing; he rubs the underside of his wrist and then starts to unbutton his shirt cuff. ‘I wanted to tell you a bit more about my archery when we spoke the other day, but I admit to being embarrassed—’
He is interrupted by the entrance of a late customer, and Malcolm is left wondering what Padam was about to show him. An old archery injury?
The customer is a woman that Malcolm knows has just joined the church PCC. ‘I’m sorry, are you closed? It’s just I need a bit of help.’
‘Of course,’ Malcolm gets up, polite and attentive, keen to make up for what the locals would call his ‘mardiness’.
‘You know Rev. Ruth, don’t you?’ the woman says, brightening.
‘I do indeed,’ Malcolm inclines his head.
‘She holds a drinks party every Christmas to thank all the volunteers, and someone has just told me she gives us all presents as a thank you, and I’d like to get her something, and I thought maybe a book. Only the party is this evening. Can you think of one she’d like?’
Malcolm can, and for an instant he doesn’t want to tell this woman, as he has imagined having a pile of choice books stacked by Rev. Ruth’s bed with a big ribbon around them and a tag saying, ‘Read Me’, like a variation onAlice in Wonderland.
He catches Padam watching him and he wonders if he can guess what is going through his mind. If so, he is determined to prove him wrong.
‘I know Ruth enjoys Jenny Colgan books, being Scottish herself, and she never got around to readingThe Christmas Bookshop.Or I have seen her with a whodunnit, so there isHercule Poirot’s Christmas, which I know she would enjoy.’
‘Perfect, I’ll take both. She really has been so kind helping me find my way on the PCC. I would have left if it hadn’t been for her.’
Malcolm is smiling as he gift-wraps the books for her, but he can’t help wishing he had only mentioned one of the titles.
‘There you go, that wasn’t so hard,’ Padam comments as the woman leaves the shop, with waved thanks and wishes for a very Merry Christmas.
Malcolm almost returns to his mardy self, but manages an ironic bow. He is about to say more when the door bursts open again and he thinks the woman may be back for another book. Well, if so, she’ll have to choose her own this time.
It’s Yana.
