26
Some advice from Malcolm Buswell
A date for the swim has been fixed for the following Sunday. Malcolm was delighted with their suggestion of a commemorative swim in honour of his mother and claimed to be devastated that he could not join them (the mixed swimming ponds being closed in the winter). He assured them that while the water would be freezing, it would beinvigorating. Jo gave him a speculative look, but he smiled at her so blandly that she began to think he really was sorry not to be swimming with them in an outdoor pond in December. It was only when he scoffed at her suggestion of a wet suit (‘As if Mother would!’) and commented that his mother did sometimes wear a bobble hat for warmth, that she began to doubt the innocence of his smile. There was a glint in his eye that reminded her too much of Reverend Ruth, and she wonders if Malcolm is starting to borrow a certain mischievous humour from his new friend.
In the meantime, Jo has been busy decorating for Christmas and the whole ceiling of the shop is now festooned with twinkling fairy lights. Beside her in the window sits a small Christmas tree, its pine fragrance mixing with the smell of polish that Jo still uses on the oak cabinet. The branches of the tree are decorated with more white lights and are hung with coloured luggage labels on which she encourages customers to write their Christmas wishes. As usual, when picking up a fountain pen, people have surprised her by how personal their wishes are. One of the most moving wishes had been written by a workman who was helping mend the drains at the end of the alleyway. He told Jo that his wife’s cancer had come back and he was worried she might have to be in the hospice by Christmas. He wished for one last Christmas at home with his wife and their daughter.
Jo has not heard from Lucy since her last letter. She’s worried. Normally she would expect a text reply a few days later. Jo has texted her to ask if she is okay, but all she got back was a terse,yes, sorry, busy.
Jo is looking at her phone, wondering whether to try texting again, or even calling, when Malcolm walks in.
‘Good morning, Joanne. I have brought you a gift,’ he declares happily, and hands her a knitted orange bobble hat with a bright pink pompom.
Jo puts down her phone, and accepts it with a measured look, ‘Thank you, Malcolm, thatwillkeep me nice and warm.’
He makes a small, smiley humming noise and then stops. He looks at her more closely. ‘Joanne, you looked worried.’
‘Do I?’
‘You really don’t have to do this swim if you don’t want to,’ Malcolm says with concern.
‘Oh, it’s not the swim,’ she assures him.
Malcolm draws up a stool, ‘I see.’ He pauses as if unsure how to go on. Eventually he says, ‘Is there anything I can do?Anythingat all?’
Jo remembers the last time he asked her this. Then she’d wanted Malcolm to find a way to make James love her. She glances at her phone. Well, she may be worried about Lucy, but there is no doubt about it, there are hours on end now when she doesn’t think about James at all.
As if following part of her thoughts, Malcolm asks, ‘Is it this past relationship you were telling me about, Joanne? James, I think you said he was called?’
Jo strokes the pink fluffy pompom. ‘Not really, Malcolm. I think Iamgetting over him.’
And suddenly she is telling Malcolm all about her time with James. How it had started and how she had turned to him when Lucy left. How she thinks she let her other friends down. It all comes out (well, almost all): how they did everything he wanted to do, how she kept trying, probably a bit too much, but how it had changed when his dad died. ‘Then, I think he really needed me. It reminded me of the early days when we used to talk for hours.’
Or had they talked? Hadn’t she been the one who listened and gave support as James talked about himself –endlessly?
She tells Malcolm about Lucy. Of how close they had been, how much she had looked forward to her moving back home, and how they never seemed to get back into step. And finally of the vitriol that had poured out of Lucy about James on their last night together.
‘Ah, I can see that Lucy is at the heart of what is worrying you. Is that right?’ Malcolm asks, delving back into the details of what Jo has been telling him.
‘Yes, she is. She’s my best friend and we’re just not … oh, I don’t know. I can’t seem to … it’s just all …’ Jo feels as lost in her speech as she does in understanding what has happened between her and Lucy.
Malcolm sits very upright on his stool and appears to be reviewing the noticeboard behind her. He lowers his eyes to study Jo’s face. Slowly, he says, ‘Would you mind me saying something to you, Joanne?’
‘Of course not,’ Jo replies, wondering what is coming next.
‘I hesitate because, as you know, I am not a man who makes friends easily …’
Jo is about to say,You have us.
But Malcolm ploughs on. The words are considered and clearly taking some effort, ‘… I am reluctant to give advice. However, one thing emerges from your recital …’ he pauses again, nodding to himself. ‘Maybe I am recalling my time as an analyst. I was always trying to dig for the truth, in my own way.’ He continues, this time with more confidence, ‘My observation and conclusion is this, Joanne. James may well have been your lover,’ Malcolm colours slightly as he says this, ‘but he wasneveryour friend.’
Jo sits motionless. She feels like shehas jumped (fully clothed) into the swimming pond. The realization is like being doused with ice-cold water.
Of course he was never her friend. Why didn’t she see it? It wasn’t like she hadn’t come across people like James before: those who claimed the designation, ‘friend’ in the same way they demanded everything else from you – your time, sympathy, attention – while only ever being interested in their own lives, not yours. The truth was she did everything for James, was always there for him. When did he ever put her first or think about what she would like to do? It was always the one-way, James Beckford Street. Why would she think this unacceptable in a so-called ‘friend’, but accept it in her partner?
‘Oh, Malcolm,’ is all she can whisper.
She feels physically weak, and slightly sick. But there is also a sense of having discovered something important; a truth – however shocking.
