Malcolm interrupts her thoughts. ‘I am also reminded of something else. Some words written by George Eliot that resonate with me.’
Ruth and Jo look at him expectantly.
‘George Eliot once wrote these words: “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”’
38
The mashed potato
The clearing up isn’t going quite to plan.
What started as some background music for washing up (Ruth and Malcolm insisting they help, rather than leaving it all to Jo) has become a shuffle through songs of the Sixties and Seventies, until they are now playing (loudly) all their favourite dance tracks.
Plates are washed and dried as they shimmy to The Supremes and The Kinks. Then tea towels are put aside as Malcolm demonstrates the mashed potato and Reverend Ruth does the twist. After that it is but a short step to Jo teaching them her Beyoncémoves. When Jo catches the reflection in the window of the three of them strutting in a line, heads down, fists pumping, she thinks she might choke from laughing.
Half an hour later, they are sitting, exhausted, with their feet up on the coffee table, coffee and chocolates set out in front of them. Conversation has turned to causes dear to Malcolm’s heart that Ruth is encouraging him to embrace and fight for. It is not going well.
‘Campaigning for the preservation of ancient choral music is not going to cut it, Malcolm.’ (Swipe)
‘But it really is most important that …’
‘No Malcolm! Think again.’ (Swipe)
‘Now wildlife conservation is something I could certainly campaign for. The nightingale is just one of many British birds that are now endangered.’
Ruth pauses. ‘Maybe …’ but she doesn’t sound convinced and Jo thinks she has images of Malcolm the Hippy marching on Number Ten for a much more radical cause. Ruth’s next words convince her that she is right.
‘But would you really chain yourself to the railings outside Number Ten for a nightingale?’ (Smaller swipe)
‘Maybe not, but perhaps the railings of Berkeley Square?’ Jo suggests.
‘Oh, indeed, Joanne,’ Malcolm says, apparently struck by this idea, and a faraway look comes into his eyes.
Jo notices that even Ruth is nodding.
They fall silent as they sip their coffees and pass around the chocolates. Jo wonders what is going to happen to the three of them. Ruth’s words about leaving come back to her. She feels an ache within her.
‘Do you think friendships can last for ever?’ she asks of no one in particular. Maybe the drink is making her melancholy.
‘Oh, I think some can,’ Ruth replies, ‘but others … no.’
Jo wonders if she is thinking of her best friend, Julie.
Over the past week or so, Jo has started reaching out to old friends on social media. Many of the responses have been friendly (much more friendly than she thinks she deserves) but there have been silences from two or three people and she has felt her guilt pierce her anew.
Ruth continues, her voice low and reflective, ‘Sometimes we try to hold on to friendships when really they were there for that particular part of our lives.’
Jo wonders if Ruth is thinking of the three of them.
‘I have come to think of it as being on a stage. Sometimes other people are on that stage with you, and sometimes they leave. And like in a play, I suppose, that feels right. They were there for that act or scene in your life. Trying to pull them back on stage would be wrong.’ She looks at Jo. ‘Better to let them go and recall the joy of being on the stage with them for that glorious scene.’
Jo will never forget tonight: the three of them dancing around her Uncle Wilbur’s kitchen. Is she wrong to want to make these people a permanent part of her life? Another thought comes to her. With the friends she is contacting again, those who are not replying to her, maybe it is better to let them go and just remember what they did have. She thinks of the database crowd at the bank. An odd assortment of characters, good friends who’d been fun to work with. At that time.
‘A place for everything and everything in its place,’ she says, softly, something easing within her.
Ruth leans closer as if to hear better.
From Malcolm comes the sound of a gentle snore.
