Malcolm is chuckling with her now.
‘Then there are the drunks. On the whole very good-natured, but quite loud. That’s where the choir helps.’ She pauses. ‘They still miss Polly Poole’s mum. She had a wonderful voice. Although, when she was struggling with her speech after her firststroke, she would sometimes sing completely different words to anyone else.’ Ruth stops, with her lighter in mid-air. ‘I wonder if the young man in tartan trousers will be back.’
‘Who was he?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. He came last year and took me aside, saying that my words had completely changed his life. That he would never look at the world in the same way.’
‘Well, that is rather wonderful, isn’t it?’ Malcolm says doubtfully.
Rev. Ruth laughs, ‘He then followed this up with a breezy, “Anyway, vicar, see you again next Christmas!’’’
‘So, the conversion of a “once a year” Christian.’
Ruth sits down on a nearby pew, and Malcolm joins her, looking around at the banks of glowing candles. ‘Oh, I don’t mind, Malcolm. You will see. There really is something special about midnight mass.’ She tilts her head to one side. ‘I wonder if Ed Sheeran will be back.’
‘Should I know him?’
‘Singer. Jo likes him.’
‘And he came to midnight mass?’
‘Yes, he did one year, and brought a house party. My goodness, they could sing. They all did the descants.’ She rises, nodding towards the door. ‘I’d better go; more church wardens and retired clergy are arriving. Oh, and some of the choir.’
Malcolm reaches out a tentative hand. ‘You are looking forward to tomorrow’s lunch too, Ruth? And you will still come and stay and let me look after you?’
Rev. Ruth bends down and kisses his cheek. ‘I’m looking forward to that more thananything,’ she assures him.
Midnight mass was everything Rev. Ruth had said it would be. The singing nearly took the roof off, the gentle words soothed his soul, and the church looked beautiful in the candlelight, filled with ruddy faces from the cold and, in some cases, from the drink. There was much laughter, and he spotted that the choir had a quiet giggle when Ruth’s voice rose to a crescendo, waking the elderly Norman. Malcolm knew he would never be a religious man, but he could appreciate that this ancient building held something within its stonework, which told of a town that had welcomed in Christmas Day for hundreds of years. He thought Rev. Ruth had been at her best, and that Jo had been right: he might not believe in God, but he did believe in the Reverend Ruth Hamilton. When the doors were flung open at the end of the service, a quiet hush fell over the congregation followed by a round of applause. Outside, the snow was falling in soft plump flakes.
He waves off Yana and Max, and eventually Glen, then loiters to speak to Ruth. It seems that they are the last ones left. Just as he is about to embrace her and congratulate her, Mrs Appleby emerges from the shadows, muttering, ‘… and the mayor had more than was good for him. The smell off him! If he’d sat any closer to that candle, he’d have gone up like a Christmas pudding …’
This surprises a cough-like laugh from Malcolm and a positive giggle from Rev. Ruth.
Mrs Appleby glares at them.
He is not sure if it is his imagination, but Ruth appears to be swaying slightly.
‘You head off, Mrs Appleshbury,’ Ruth slurs, ‘I’ve got a few things to do here.’
Mrs Appleby narrows her eyes and watches them, but Ruth turns away and grabs Malcolm’s arm, ‘Oh Malcolm. I’ve just downed the chalice in one.’ She stifles a burp. ‘Wehave to drink what is left; you aren’t allowed to put consecrated wine down the drain.’ She hiccoughs, ‘Pardon me,’ she giggles. ‘You never know how many are going to take communion, and you can’t run out, so I always ensure we have plenty.’
Malcolm thinks his friend has certainly had ‘plenty’. And wasn’t the wine more like a port? It must have knocked her for six. He stands looking down at her. ‘You head home. You have a busy morning tomorrow. I can tidy up here for you, if you tell me what to do.’
Rev. Ruth sighs, and he thinks she looks exhausted. ‘The church wardens have done pretty much everything. I was just going to put the chairs up for our lunch tomorrow. And take some of the boxes into the kitchen.’
‘Well, I can do that.’
‘No you can’t!’ Mrs Appleby is back in force.
‘I’m sorry?’ Malcolm looks around in bewilderment.
‘You ain’t got keys. You won’t be able to lock up.’ Then she startles him even more by adding. ‘I’ll do it with you.’ She turns to Rev. Ruth, ‘You get yerself home or you’ll be no good to man nor beast tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Appl … thank you, Jean, dear,’ Ruth says meekly. And even in the candlelight, Malcolm can see that Mrs Appleby has flushed with gratification.
Rev. Ruth waves a grateful farewell in their direction and heads for the door.
Mrs Appleby stands with hands on hips staring at him. ‘You up for this? You’re no spring chicken, are you?’
