Five gold rings.
Padam smiles at him. Into the silence his words fall.
‘I think sometimes, Malcolm, we have to just trust the universe.’
Malcolm shakes his head in wonder.
‘Who are you missing?’ Padam asks.
All Malcolm can think of is a partridge. That is where it started, after all. The most famous one. A partridge in a pear tree.
And then it comes to him. He sits bolt upright on his chair. He even laughs.
‘Who?’ Padam enquires.
But Malcolm shakes his head, ‘You will just have to excuse me for one moment,’ and he rises and joins the throng. He sees her, sitting on a pew, listening.
‘May I join you?’ he asks Grace. Not Amazing Grace or Gracey, just Grace, the actress who had performed with Sir John Gielgud. ‘Grace, could I enquire whether the Agatha Christie play you performed in was calledThe Moving Finger?’
She looks at him in wonder. ‘My darling, itwas,’ she exclaims.
‘And the name of the maid was—’
‘Partridge,’ she finishes for him.
He reaches down and, lifting her hand to his lips, he kisses it. ‘I don’t doubt it was a magnificent performance,’ he tells her.
It is like a fog has cleared. He walks back to Padam and, as he reaches him, the church door opens. He knows before he sees her who it will be. Padam had been right; he should just trust the universe. Coming through the door, plump in a grey cashmere dress and wrap, clerical collar just visible, is his turtle dove. Rev. Ruth.
A cheer goes up, and the diners gather around her. She holds up her hands, ‘I am so sorry, I got a call and then in the rush I forgot my phone.’ She looks over their heads to Malcolm. ‘It’s Jo. She’s fine,’ she assures him quickly, ‘but she went into labour earlier than expected and her parents couldn’t get through because of the snow up on the hills where they farm. So, I just dropped everything.’
Before she has finished speaking, with a squeak and then a sonorous rumbling, the sound of a bagpipe can be heard in the kitchenette.
Yana glances to the empty chairs, ‘To our seats everyone. It looks like we’re ready.’
And indeed they are. The kitchen door is flung open and Roddy emerges, a dignified piper, followed by Jim carrying the large bronzed bird. All hurry forward. All except the two dear friends, Malcolm and Rev. Ruth. Malcolm because he knows ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ of old – and because he can count. He was a tax analyst, after all. And Ruth pauses because she is waiting for someone.
‘I’ve got it!’ a small voice declares. ‘It’s a big one. If you’re a good dog I’ll throw it for you.’
Beside him the vicar, who is not a Runaway Vicar, barks happily.
And down the aisle comes Eliot. The unexpected guest. The twelfth chair is ready for him, tucked beside Rev. Ruth’s. Seeing the piper, Eliot starts to march in time. And as he marches, he bangs the stick he scavenged from the churchyard along the tops of the pews. Head held high. Smiling at Malcolm as he passes.
A drummer drumming.
Was there ever such a Christmas lunch?
In the years that followed, Malcolm was sure there could not have been. Whatever else Roddy could do – fighting, drinking, neither of which were on display that Christmas Day – there was no doubt the soldier could cook. And it seemed that he enjoyed it. Malcolm watched his face relax into a barely perceptible smile when Jim came to carve the magnificent bird, and the young man registered the hum of appreciation from around the table. The meat was moist and succulent, the parsnips and roast potatoes crisp and golden. The mashed potatoes, which Max had insisted he take care of – following a recipe of his grandmother’s – were white and creamy, with just a hint of horseradish. And it seemed that sprouts really did taste better when cooked with parmesan.
Eliot sat with, and occasionally on, Rev. Ruth. Malcolm had worried that he would be sad without his parents, but he seemed to eat well and Rev. Ruth had thought to bring some Christmas books with her, which various people read to Eliot when it looked like he was getting restless. The Three Disgraces came into their own and it seemed that they were old hands at entertaining children, adding extraordinary voices for the different characters on the page. Catching Malcolm glancing anxiously at Eliot, Padam commented: ‘You know Malcolm, he is still very young. He is not yet at that stage when a child associates Christmas with certain traditions and when they wish only to be in their own home.’ Malcolm thought he made a good point, and then, as Padam nudged him with his shoulder, and then stayed leaning slightly against him, he forgot his worries and returned to simply enjoying the wonderful meal.
In the lull before the pudding, Rev. Ruth was on her feet raising a glass to Malcolm. ‘The founder of the feast.’ She accompanied this with a smacking kiss on his cheek. This was followed by Yana who made them all repeat her Ukrainian toast, each raising a glass of plum vodka to Malcolm. Discomposed by so much praise, Malcolm took out the bottles of champagne he had been saving for the pudding, and toasted absent friends. He sent a special silent blessing to his mother, who it seemed to him was present in each of the twelve ‘days’ represented at the table. He hoped that, somehow, she knew how happy he was. Then he bowed with slow reverence towards Polly and Auntie Jean who, misty-eyed, returned the salute. As the table fell silent, a gentle voice sounded and all heads turned to Gracey. Clearly and slowly, she sang the words to ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. Her voice reminded Malcolm a little of the late Judy Garland. Towards the end of the song, Jim joined in, with a deep baritone. At this point, Malcolm didn’t think there was a dry eye around the table, so with help from Roddy, much brandy and a match, they piped in and ignited the Christmas pudding. Raising the mood, but singeing Malcolm’s bushy eyebrows in the process. Jean Appleby and Polly followed the procession, laughing and holding aloft ‘Colin’s trifle’.
It was after the pudding, which was accompanied by a fragrant brandy sauce flavoured with orange and cardamom, that Malcolm realized he had forgotten to put crackers on the table. Eliot was recruited to help him hand them around, and the small boy insisted on pulling most of the crackers with people. Guests pretending they didn’t know quite how to do it, and Eliot explaining to each in turn how it should be done. He was allowed to collect all the toys that fell from the crackers. He tossed aside the hats, which were soon taken up by others, until a circle of jewel-coloured crowns were visible around the table. The chatter became quieter, and the hum of voices lent a soporific air to the proceedings. All were tired, all replete, but none wanting to leave this time andspace. This included Malcolm, who sat with an Olympian warrior leaning against him, his hand held snugly in his.
Epilogue
Christmas Night
