‘I have no idea how long we looked at each other. Its form was mainly shrouded in darkness, but there was a smudge of red, and oh, how bright its eyes were. That is when it came to me, the story that my mother told me …’
Jo can see Malcolm’s eyes sparkling with tears.
‘It was close to Christmas – I cannot recall the exact date – but I thought, if this was Christmas Eve, then maybe you would speak to me. And I know it sounds foolish but, in that instant, I knew what the fox would say.’
The two women beside him nod encouragingly. A tear rolls down his long nose.
‘It would say, “Malcolm, all you need to do is to keep putting one foot in front of the other and things will get better. But maybe you could help yourself by finding a really good hobby.”’ Malcolm gives a watery chuckle. ‘Mother was always trying to encourage me to take more interest in things.’
Jo goes to speak, but Malcolm interrupts her. ‘Most of all I felt that the fox was there to reassure me, to tell me what my mother always told me. That I, Malcolm Buswell, was enough.’
Jo can feel her own tears gathering.
‘When the fox turned tail and left, it came to me what I should do with all the research I had been doing, and that is how the idea for the book based on the meeting of Christmas Eve ghosts was born.’
‘Well, I do not doubt for a moment that it was Eve coming to give you some encouragement and a bit of a talking-to,’ Ruth says, releasing Malcolm’s hand and picking up her glass of mulled wine.
‘You really think so?’ Malcolm asks, his voice a mixture of incredulity and hope.
Jo reaches for her wine too, ‘Of course,’ she says. And she means it. For once she is very glad that James is not with her. He would pick something like this apart and scoff at it. But for Jo it makes perfect (if inexplicable) sense.
Malcolm smiles at them both, and another tear runs down his cheek.
‘Tissue!’ Ruth declares, rummaging for a packet in her bag.
As Malcolm accepts the tissue, he adds, ‘I have had no one to share this with, and to be honest I have made so little progress with the book that I did sometimes feel like …’
‘Going back to the cemetery full-time?’ Ruth suggests, and Malcolm laughs.
It is a good sound, Jo thinks.
‘Well, there have been moments. But since nearly going under that bus, and meeting you two dear people …’
There it was again.Dear.
Malcolm puts the tissue away and reaches out and takes Jo and Ruth’s hands again, ‘… it has made the world of difference to me. You have made me feel that I should do things differently in my life. That I should be braver. I cannot thank you enough for what I hope isn’t presumptuous to callour friendship.’
Jo leans across and takes Ruth’s hand in her other hand – the three of them connected in a circle around a small pub table. ‘Friendship’ is exactly the right word for it. She knows that she has undervalued her friendships in the past, and she silently promises her new,dearfriends that she will never do so again.
24
The silence of the city when it pauses
‘Now who would like another mulled wine?’ Ruth is on her feet gathering their glasses.
‘You must let me help you,’ Malcolm says, half rising.
‘No, you stay and keep Jo company, I’ll only be a minute.’
Left at the table with Malcolm, Jo realizes that he looks more relaxed, but tired. He starts to say something, then stops.
‘Yes, Malcolm?’ she prompts.
He checks over his shoulder and leans forward in his seat. ‘I have been unsure whether to raise the subject, but I fear that curiosity has got the better of me. And I do worry about her. Has Reverend Ruth ever told you what it was that caused her to become what they’re calling the Runaway Vicar?’
Jo shakes her head. ‘Not a word. And I haven’t liked to ask. She told me that her bishop knows she’s well, but I don’t think he realizes she’s in London.’
‘Ah.’ Malcolm sits back in his chair, his fingertips joined together to form a steeple in front of him.
