Jo takes a deep breath and gathers up the notebooks that are piled up beside her and spreads them out on the ottoman. She gestures to the notebooks containing his research onKarl Marx and George Eliot. ‘Now, Malcolm, you can only keep one of those,’ she says.
Malcolm frowns at her. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘One of them has to go.’
‘I’m not sure I quite understand, Joanne.’
‘Karl or George?’
‘Well, if you put it like that, I think I will keep George.’ And he holds his Karl Marx notebook out towards her.
‘No, give that to Ruth,’ Jo instructs, kneeling down on the floor and moving the pile of notebooks around on the ottoman until they are all muddled up. Taking charge has the refreshing feeling of revisiting something in herself, something half-forgotten.
Ruth, who is now holding the Karl Marx notebook, is watching her with a fascinated eye.
‘I think we should pick a notebook at random – in my case, two notebooks, as you already have Karl and George. And then, once we’ve read them, we can come back together and say what we think these people, or rather theseghosts, might chat about, when they bump into each other on Christmas Eve. I think itwouldbe random, Malcolm – both who actually meets and what they talk about. And the initial chat might lead to things that really mattered to these people. After all, they’ve been dead for a while and have probably had time to dwell on their lives. What they talk about might surprise you. Well, us.’
There is a moment’s silence, then Malcolm bursts into speech. ‘I think that is a truly marvellous idea,’ he enthuses.
‘Brilliant,’ Ruth echoes.
‘It doesn’t mean you have to take up our ideas,’ Jo says, suddenly made anxious by their praise. ‘It’s your story, after all,’ she adds to Malcolm.
‘No, not at all. I can’t wait to begin,’ Malcolm says eagerly, surveying the books.
Jo feels her confidence return.
‘Oh, we’re going to have to blindfold you, Malcolm,’ Ruth laughs. ‘Don’t kid us that you don’t know who is behind each cover. You go first, Jo. It’s your idea.’
Malcolm is watching her; Jo wonders if he has already guessed what she is going to do. She reaches out and, at random, picks a bright red ring-bound A4 notebook. Then she plunges her hand back into the pile to retrieve the notebook with the torn cover. If she is going to follow this through, she wants the spirit of William Foyle by her side. A man who certainly got things done. As she touches the damaged cover, she feels there is no harm in having Uncle Wilbur by her side too.
She catches Malcolm’s eye and he gives the shadow of a nod.
Suppressing a smile, Jo turns to Ruth, ‘You next.’
‘So I keep Karl Marx, and just pick one more?’
‘Yes. I think Malcolm has a point about wanting to include the two most famous ghosts. I think readerswouldbe interested in them. I know I’d be interested to see what Karl had to say to a stranger he might bump into as a ghost – and what they would have to say to him.’
‘Okay,’ Ruth nods, ‘here we go,’ and she reaches out and grabs a yellow and white striped notebook.
‘Now, your turn, Malcolm,’ Jo says, beginning to enjoy her new role.
‘And you have to promise to close your eyes,’ Ruth insists, leaning forward and shuffling the notebooks around some more.
Malcolm reaches out his long arm, eyes tightly shut, and digs under the pile for who George Eliot will meet. He pulls out a shiny blue hardback notebook and opens his eyes.
‘Oh my!’ he exclaims and he starts to laugh. ‘Oh, my! Oh my!’ And he brings this new notebook together with his George Eliot research with a clapping sound. ‘Now, what are you two going to have to say to one another?’
‘Who is it?’ Jo and Ruth ask together.
‘Issachar Zacharie.’
‘Who?’ they ask, once more in unison.
‘Issachar was Abraham Lincoln’s chiropodist.’
‘Oh, my,’ Ruth echoes.
