It is a while before Malcolm stops crying, Ruth handing him tissue after tissue, Jo sitting on the arm of his chair, rubbing his back. After a while he appears more composed and then the apologies start:
‘I really shouldn’t have …
‘Spoiling this lovely evening …
‘A sentimental old fool …’
Reverend Ruth brings him up short, ‘Enough to that, Malcolm Buswell. You are amongst friends. And now, I do believe there is something that you want to tell us.’
Malcolm turns to Ruth and a look passes between them. It reminds Jo of their silent exchange in Highgate Cemetery. It comes to her that Ruth has been waiting for this moment. The good reverend knows that Malcolm has a story that one day he would want to share with them.
‘You are quite …’
Jo thinks he is going to say‘right’, but Malcolm clearly can’t find even this simple word; whatever he might want to tell them, it is beyond him. Instead he sits in silence, head bowed.
Jo suddenly remembers the supper that will be ready by now, and an idea comes to her. ‘Malcolm,’ she says, starting to rub his back again, ‘would you mind terribly if you told us about this after we eat? I think everything is ready and I’d hate the food to spoil.’
It works.
Malcolm looks up. ‘Of course, of course, Joanne.’ He draws his shoulders back and is, once more, his old solicitous self. ‘You have gone to so much effort.’
Ruth looks at Jo and nods her understanding.
Jo then continues, ‘Do you think over supper you would be able to tell Ruth and me about George Eliot and Issachar?’ It strikes Jo that in telling their tale, Malcolm will be walking side by side with his ghosts, and that they might provide him with the courage he needs to tell his own story.
Malcolm sits up straighter in his chair. ‘I could certainly do that, Joanne.’ And Jo thinks she can hear a measure of relief in his voice.
She hands Malcolm a bottle of red wine to open, directing him to the glasses on the table, and heads to the kitchen. Reverend Ruth follows close on her heels.
Once there, they stare at each other in silence. Jo is just about to say something when Reverend Ruth tilts her head on one side. ‘Good idea to bring him back to his ghosts.’
Jo smiles and remembers something that Lucy toldsher during their conversation the previous evening. It seemed that just as Jo borrows from her best friend, so Lucy borrows from her. Lucy confessed: ‘When I get stuck and need an idea to get stuff done or to solve a problem, I always think – what would Jo do?’
‘Smells wonderful,’ Ruth comments, as Jo starts to pull a large earthenware casserole from the small oven. She opens the lid and looks at it anxiously. All is well. She has cooked an old favourite: slow roasted lamb with ginger and apricot, and roasted vegetables. She puts some plates in the oven along with a dish of flat breads. ‘I’ll just warm these through.’
She looks up at Ruth. ‘By the way, how was the Advent service?’
‘It was wonderful. I think you would have enjoyed Reverend Abayomrunkoje’s sermon – it was all about the colour purple.’ Ruth opens her eyes wide.
Jo decides to confess. ‘I did come actually.’
‘You did?! I didn’t see you there.’
‘Well, the service had started, so I didn’t like to come in.’
‘Oh, Jo, you should have done.’
‘I watched and listened from outside; it sounded beautiful and looked amazing with the lights flickering across the windows.’
‘I lit a candle for your customer whose wife is dying,’ Ruth tells her. ‘And for your uncle.’
‘Thank you.’
Jo doesn’t believe in God, but she thinks there is no harm at all in having the Reverend Ruth Hamilton on your side.
36
George Eliot and Issachar Zacharie
