Jo nods.
‘Ah, you think they would have talked business?’ Malcolm asks.
‘No, that’s it. I don’t think they would have done. Or not that much.’ Her eyes flick once more towards Lando and Eric. ‘I think they would have respected each other but probably wouldn’t have admitted it. No, I think they would have taken the mick out of each other.’
She looks at Malcolm and Ruth’s faces. Ruth is nodding, but Malcolm doesn’t look convinced. She continues, ‘I think they would have felt easy in each other’s company. I’ll give you an example of what I mean. When William Foyle came to change his car, he walked into a showroom and picked out a Rolls-Royce he fancied. The salesman apparently was really sniffy, and reminded him that they would insist on a full deposit. William never lost his cockney accent, so the salesman assumed he could never afford such a car. William told the young man not to worry and came back that afternoon with a suitcase of cash for the whole amount, then drove the car away. I could imagine John Lobb doing much the same thing. He was a Cornish boy – I imagine he still had the West Country accent. He would be used to people not taking him seriously. And in a funny way, I think that would draw them together, but also give them something to tease each other about.’
She is glad to see that both Malcolm and Ruth are nodding now.
‘John would remind William he’s an East Ender, little more than a barrow boy. William could tell John exactly what he thinks of country bumpkins.’ She glances again across the room at Lando and Eric. ‘But it would be good natured. They might not discuss the similarities and hardships they shared, but they would underpin their friendship.’
She looks expectantly at Malcolm. She so doesn’t want to disappoint him.
‘This is most helpful, Joanne. Very insightful, if I may say so.’
Jo wants to hug him (again).
‘So, what would they do on Christmas Eve?’ Ruth asks.
‘They would go to the pub. For sure,’ Jo answers, with confidence. ‘William used to go home each week to the twelfth-century abbey he bought with all his money. He would get his Rolls-Royce to stop at a pub on the way home – I think the pub stayed open just for him.’
‘And John Lobb?’ Malcolm enquires.
Jo reaches for her phone and shows them both a photograph. It is black and white, and in it four men are grouped together; one is seated, the other three standing. They seem to be in front of a body of water.
‘John used to travel quite a lot with friends and colleagues, and that was taken at Niagara Falls.’
‘Which one’s John Lobb?’ Ruth asks, peering at the photo.
‘That one there, leaning back on his stick, hat on the back of his head.’
Malcolm laughs. ‘Goodness, they all look three sheets to the wind.’
He’s right. Their hats are at odd angles and, by their faces, Jo would guess the four old men have been drinking all afternoon.
Ruth is quietly laughing.
‘So, come Christmas Eve night, I think William and John would head to the nearest pub. I don’t know how much further they would get than that. I don’t think they would need a pub crawl. Just each other’s company, a few drinks, and the chance to insult one another. And, on the very odd occasion, I think they might sneak in the odd, heartfelt compliment. Neither would have any illusions about how hard their paths had been. But I don’t think either would boast to the other about their achievements. They wouldn’t need to. And that is why I think they would have such a good time.’
Malcolm has drawn out a small book and is now scribbling down notes. He glances up. ‘I can already see these two deciding to meet up again next Christmas Eve,’ Malcolm says, contentedly.
Jo sits back. It isn’t that she has experienced a friendship like the one she is envisaging for John and William, but she knows she has had friends (beyond Lucy and Sanjeev) in whose company she has felt at ease, and whose friendships have meant a lot to her. And she is also aware she has not looked after those friendships as she should have done. It was one thing to wake up to the fact James got things very much his own way, but she cannot blame him for all of it.
She smiles to herself; the ghosts of William Foyle and John Lobb have reminded her how precious friendship is. The ghosts, plus a Runaway Vicar and a man called Malcolm. Jo lets out a small, contented sigh.
As Malcolm writes, Ruth and Jo finish their coffees in silence. Jo is suddenly feeling very sleepy. She studies the wall of old library books and thinks she might take one home with her.
Something flutters onto the table in front of her. She looks up quickly. Eric is standing beside her, Lando and Sacha just behind him. Ferdy is draped over Eric’s shoulder, fast asleep. He looks very much at home there, and Jo rather envies him.
‘Sorry, Jo,’ he says, nodding towards the piece of paper that had landed in her place. ‘Ferdy drew that for you.’
Jo picks it up and turns it over. It is a drawing of a seal (or maybe a worm) with very large ears. And a bobble hat. She grins up at Eric. ‘When he wakes up, will you thank him and tell him it will have pride of place on my board in the shop.’
‘Will do,’ Eric says, adjusting the hold he has on the comatose little body, and he and the others move on.
Jo watches Eric navigate the restaurant door, carefully covering Ferdy’s head with his hand so he doesn’t get bumped by the doorframe.
‘No, definitely not a bull or a wolf,’ Ruth mutters.
