‘A perfect ghost story for Christmas. Malcolm Buswell’s skilfully written and meticulously researched debut is both engaging and at times unexpectedly funny. It reminds us that if we look hard enough, we can always find something to share.’
Padam looks up, holding Malcolm’s embarrassed gaze. Malcolm is the first to look away.
‘Now, you will remember I am leaving at lunchtime to go and help out at the school nativity practice?’ Malcolm unnecessarily reminds Padam. He always leaves at noon on a Monday.
‘Yes, I remember,’ Padam replies, with the ghost of a laugh. He adds a final book to the display. ‘Now, if you hold the fort here, I’d better see about decorating the children’s section.’ He disappears into the back of the shop; a few minutes later, banging and occasional muttering – which Malcolm suspects is swearing in Nepalese – informs him that Padam is putting up the wooden cut-out of a painted sleigh that will decorate this section of the shop. Padam’s plan is that it should look as if it is flying above the children, with books spilling from it. Malcolm hadn’t been able to quite picture it, but he has confidence in Padam. He is a practical man and also, Malcolm has discovered, an imaginative one. It is one of the reasons he likes him so much. He stops this thought with an abrupt turn towards the ringing of the shop bell, straightens his olive-green pullover, and turns a solicitous smiling face to the ladies entering the shop. He knows them well. They are the Three Disgraces.
‘Ah good morning, Mr Buswell,’ the eldest lady calls, cheerful. He thinks this is just Grace. He finds he does get muddled. There is Grace, and Gracey and then there is Amazing Grace. They had explained it all very seriously to him on his first week working in the shop. Grace had been an actress, ‘I’m far too old to call myself an actor,’ she had told him. ‘She’s the singer,’ she added, pointing at her friend. ‘We call her Gracey after Gracey Fields.’ Gracey had nodded, gazing at him from bright blue eyes. All the ladies had white hair cut fashionably short, but Gracey’s eyes really were exceptional. This had helped a little in telling them apart. The fact that they seemed to borrow each other’s clothes hadn’t.
Gracey had then introduced the third woman, ‘She’s Amazing Grace. Grace and I did have our moments …’ Amazing Grace interrupted at this point, ‘You were bothverygood, darlings.’ She had turned to Malcolm, adding, ‘Now Gracey was in the original cast ofOliver. Beautiful voice. And one day, do ask Grace to tell you all about her time on stage withSir John.’ As Grace had begun to speak, as if on cue, her two friends cut in with, ‘But not now, darling.’
There had been much laughter, at which point they had informed him that they were not so much the ‘Three Graces’ as the ‘Three Disgraces’. This seemed to be a favourite joke. Gracey then took up the story, ‘Now Amazing Grace was the most famous of us all. She’s our dancer, and she once performed with the Bolshoi.’
‘My goodness,’ Malcolm had responded, blinking and reeling slightly from the genteel onslaught.
Three years on, he has the measure of this retired theatrical – sometimes raucous – trio and greets them warmly. They pop into the shop most weeks, and he has discovered that Grace has a taste for thrillers, Gracey for romances, while Amazing Grace loves an old fashioned whodunnit. As indeed does he. He sometimes thinks he has reread his favourite Agatha Christie at least a dozen times.
‘We have the latest Richard Osman in,’ he tells them generally, not wishing to be caught out addressing the wrong Grace. Sometimes he wonders if the women really are all called Grace. Only one has a ‘G’ on her debit card. But he never raises this as he has become fond of the Three Disgraces. They always make him smile, and they also make him feel young, which he considers is quite an achievement. They certainly do not dress like old ladies, but the transparency of their white skin and the stiffening of their movements over time gives them away. He has discovered they live together on Bridge Terrace in a small house overlooking the river Swale, and often join forces to fightvarious family members who dare to suggest assisted living might be more suitable now they are all approaching ninety.
‘We told them where they could put their “assisted living”,’ Gracey had told him with glee.
Today it seems they are shopping for Christmas presents, so they wave aside his offer of the latest Richard Osman and head into the back to rifle through the children’s books. He has lost count of the number of grandchildren and great-grandchildren they have between them. Malcolm can soon hear them laughing with Padam and he moves around to start tidying the central island of books. It is not long before Grace is back, and Malcolm thinks she looks tired. He breaks off from his work and offers her a chair by the counter. She sinks into it gratefully, saying conspiratorially, ‘You put that Richard Osman aside for me, but don’t let Amazing Grace see it. That’s her Christmas present sorted.’
‘No sooner said …’ Malcolm smiles, plucking a new hardback from the display and hiding it under the counter. ‘Now, may I get you a cup of tea? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look weary.’
‘Hungover,’ Grace says, shaking her head slowly as if in pain. ‘I know, Mr Buswell, I should know better at my age.’
Malcolm wonders. He secretly believes Grace would rather be labelled a ‘disgrace’ than admit that age is catching up with her. He takes pity on her.
‘I’ve heard that the BBC are showing a new Agatha Christie at Christmas. Wasn’t it an Agatha Christie play you were in with Sir John Gielgud?’
Grace perks up like she has just downed a shot of rum. ‘Itwas,Mr Buswell. My best performance ever. It was only a small part, mind you, a maid, but Sir John did point out that it was a pivotal role. Of course, he wasn’t “Sir John” at the time, and this was just provincial rep, but you could see that the man had star quality. I don’t know if I haveever told you this, but he was kind enough to say that I “embodied” the part, and that my performance was “memorable in its personification of grudging domestic servitude”,’ she quotes happily.
‘Oh no, you’ve started her off now,’ Amazing Grace grumbles as she and Gracey emerge from the back of the shop, each clutching a bundle of books. ‘There will be no living with her now.’
Gracey adds. ‘It will be “Sir John this”, “Sir John that”.’
‘Oh, fuck off you two,’ the third Disgrace responds, surprising a cough of laughter from Malcolm.
Yes, it was always a pleasure to serve the Three Disgraces.
Malcolm arrives at the church in plenty of time and, after hugging him, Ruth ushers him to the piano. At first the old building is blissfully quiet. The click of Rev. Ruth’s heels on the stone and the occasional creaking of radiators are the only sounds echoing through the old building. Malcolm settles down with a sigh. Perhaps this will go well and get him in the Christmas mood. Despite the seasonal delights within the bookshop, Malcolm can’t quite get into the Christmas spirit. He has a sense of something missing, but he is not sure what.
Ten minutes later, Malcolm is yearning for the quiet of earlier. He lifts his feet as he perches on the piano stool, as if protecting himself from a flood. Although in this case it isn’t water, but four and five-year-olds swirling and milling around him. Relief comes in the form of Rev. Ruth, accompanied by Miss Poole, who today is wearing her signature red lipstick and a Christmas jumper depicting robins eating a Christmas pudding. Together they surge forward, still unconcernedly chatting, like a pair of experienced plumbers, clearly confident they can control this flow.
Miss Poole greets him with a friendly wave. She is a woman in her mid-thirties, with wavy hair the colour of a conker. Today it is held back with a sparkly Christmas tree clip. He may be struggling to find his Christmas spirit, but Miss Poole clearly has it in abundance. She steps towards the children, the swell of her stomach enhancing the roundness of the Christmas pudding that the festive robins are pecking.
‘Now, then,’ Rev. Ruth booms, coming up beside her, ‘who wants to be a star?’
The swirling movement of small bodies stills.
Into the slither of silence, Miss Poole inserts a firm but friendly, ‘Gather around Rev. Ruth. And Ruben, give Shanaya back her hairband.’ This is quickly followed by, ‘Leo, come down from the pulpit. NOW.’
Malcolm is impressed by how soon the chaos settles, the children looking expectantly up at Ruth, who is telling them how pleased she is to see them all. Well, all apart from Leo, who is now staring at him.
‘Who’s he?’ Leo interrupts.
‘That is my friend Malcolm, who is going to be playing the piano for us as Miss Poole has hurt her finger.’
