Ruth’s expression changes once more, and it reminds Malcolm of when they first met and of her descents into self-doubt and self-criticism. So, he is not surprised when she says, ‘Really, I have nothing to complain about. The retired clergy are amazing; they do far more than they should, especially looking after the other churches. There are the volunteers, too, who we couldn’t survive without. I think it wouldn’t be so bad, but we lost our curate.’
‘Isn’t that a bit careless?’ Malcolm comments, hoping this will amuse his friend.
He is rewarded with a half-smile, but this is followed by a frown. ‘Her parents were involved in a terrible car crash, and she has a brother who cannot live on his own, so she has had to go home to look after him while they recover. Which of course is completely understandable.’
‘But bad timing?’ Jo suggests.
‘I shouldn’t say that. But you’re right. Now enough about me – how is the new book idea coming along?’ Ruth asks, and she turns towards Malcolm.
He shifts in his seat. He can’t help feeling a bit of a fraud. It is three years since his Christmas novella came out. It hadn’t made him a fortune, or famous, but it had resulted in him securing a job in the local bookshop.
It began when Malcolm had spotted a display of his novella,The Ghosts of Highgate Cemetery, in the shop window three Christmases ago. The gleaming copper-coloured fox on the cover had jumped out at him, just as the real fox had done all those years ago. Malcolm had gone in and spoken to the owner, Padam, who he had often passed the time of day with but had never, until that point, introduced himself to. It had taken a lot for Malcolm to mention that he was the author of the book. Not only was he a naturally modest man – but he found he became a little breathless when he conversed with Padam, with his hazel brown eyes, softly spoken voice, and striped Fair Isle knitted vests. Padam had been delighted, and not incredulous as Malcolm had feared. He had mentioned some of the very positive reviews it had received and asked him to sign the books. Padam had then invited Malcolm to partake of a cup of steaming masala chai. He explained it was popular in his home country of Nepal and, as it contained cinnamon and other spices, he felt it was appropriate for the season. After the second cup, he offered Malcolm a job two mornings a week.
‘I have had an idea,’ Malcolm eventually admits, ‘but I am afraid, rather like in the past, I am finding it a little difficult to go from the research and note-taking stage to writing. Especially as I don’t type very well.’
‘Oh, I could get you some help with that,’ Ruth leans forward. ‘I know a lovely woman at the women’s refuge. She would welcome a bit extra, and she used to be a proofreader. That was in the days before her husband broke her ribs and jawbone with the butt of his antique Purdey shotgun.’ She breaks off. ‘Which is proof enough that social class is no barrier to domestic violence. Apparently, he was more concerned about the gun than her.’
Malcolm stares at Ruth in horror, and he can see his expression mirrored in Jo’s face. That was the thing with Rev. Ruth; she was very direct and did not shy away fromsaying just how it was. It had shocked him at first how much a vicar – well, a vicar like Ruth – saw of the tough side of life.
Malcolm regards Ruth in silence, and eventually realizes something is expected of him, ‘Yes, of course. Of course, that would be most helpful. How is the poor woman now?’
‘She’s beginning to get angry.’ Ruth looks thoughtful, ‘I often preach about turning the other cheek. But you know what …’ She leans forward. ‘Sometimes a bit of well-placed anger can help you shake off the fear that stops you from doing anything.’ She continues, ‘Like, in this instance. Not only has she left the monster but she does talks for groups about her experience in the hope she can help others.’
‘Wow, how brave,’ Jo says approvingly.
‘Yes, she certainly is that. She came to the refuge late one night, she was in a terrible state. But she is doing very well now. Quite remarkable.’ Ruth voices her satisfaction. Focusing back on Malcolm she asks, ‘What’s the new idea about?’
Malcolm feels a worried frown gathering. Will they think he is being foolish? Then he recalls the gleaming copper-coloured fox and, taking a deep breath, replies, ‘It is about the ghosts within a bookshop. I once overheard someone in the shop telling Padam that all bookshops were haunted, and that everyone knew ghosts liked to read.’ Malcolm pauses, ‘Quite an extraordinary thought when you consider it. And I must admit I rather liked that idea. I began to think, who would haunt the shop and what would they take from the shelves?’ He glances from Jo to Ruth, ‘I also considered what friendships might spring up between ghosts browsing in a bookshop.’
‘I love it!’ Jo enthuses.
‘You have to write this one,’ Ruth seconds, and Malcolm can feel himself blushing.
‘That is what Padam says,’ he admits shyly.
‘Oh,doeshe?’ Ruth comments, and Malcolm is not sure he is quite comfortable with the knowing gleam in her eye.
‘Anyway, over to you, Joanne,’ Malcolm rushes on. ‘What are your plans for the Christmas season?’
‘We don’t really have much on. We’ll catch up with Lucy and Sanjeev and my parents.’ She pats her bump, ‘I’m not due until January, but we’re not taking any chances, so not travelling far from home. Eric’s parents are going to his brother’s this year, so we don’t have anyone staying.’ She grins, ‘I think this year is going to be such fun with Eliot. Last year he didn’t really realize what was going on. But now he is talking about putting out carrots for the reindeer. It’s so sweet.’
As if on cue, a small body bundles onto the seat along with Jo. Rain dripping from his coat, he squashes into her and launches into speech. ‘We got you some pink flowers from Sainsbury’s for a surprise and Daddy bought me some pants. They’ve got tractors on.’ He appears to notice Ruth and Malcolm for the first time and waves cheerfully at them, both hands held wide.
Eric the Viking appears at the table, looming over them all, shaggy beard also dripping rain. ‘Hold on, bear, you’re getting Mummy all wet.’ Despite a few years in Yorkshire, Malcolm notices the Viking still holds fast to his Birmingham accent. He makes a grab for his son and manages to peel his coat off, shaking water over the others in the process.
‘Eric!’ Jo protests.
‘I gather it’s still raining,’ Ruth comments, not so dryly.
‘Sorry,’ Eric responds apologetically, nodding a greeting to them all.
‘Oh, don’t mind me and Jo,’ Ruth tells him, ‘We’re already wet from the pool. It’s Malcolm’s suede coat you need to watch.’
He had wondered if it was quite the day for aubergine suede. But he’d been excited to be meeting up with Ruth and Jo and wanted to make an effort.
‘Great coat,’ Eric observes.
‘My pants are great too,’ Eliot pipes up, not wanting to be left out. Jo – hiding her grin – mouths, ‘Potty training.’
