Ruth once more stops her pacing. ‘Oh, we don’t have time for that. And I have no desire for a fight, which I know is what I would get from you, Malcolm Buswell.’ Before Malcolm can respond, Ruth steps towards them.‘Okay. Budge up then,’ and she pushes in between Malcolm and Jo. Ruth grabs Malcolm’s arm, linking her other arm with Jo’s, pulling them both close. ‘Now this is cosier. My goodness,’ she says, looking around, ‘it is beautiful here. And to think London is going on all around us.’
They sit in companionable silence for a moment. Jo catches a wisp of gardenia scent in the still, cold air (Ruth’s fragrance); she thinks of being on a stage and of friends coming and going. Instinctively, she holds Ruth’s arm a little snugger. She doesn’t want to lose this. But what is the alternative? Jo knows she will soon be going home; she is only a visitor in London, in this borrowed life of hers. Perhaps they will write letters to each other after she leaves – but it won’t be quite the same.
She catches once more the sweet smell of gardenia. Whatever happens next, she knows that meeting Ruth and Malcolm has changed her, and maybe experiencing their friendship is like imbibing a bit of their fragrance – you breathe it in and then they become part of you.
Ruth lets out a long sigh. ‘I would like to tell you about Karl and Hutch and what I think they would talk about, but I have something I need to do now. Maybe this evening?’
‘In which case, may I invite you ladies to come to my house for drinks and nibbles later,’ Malcolm suggests. ‘My goodness, it has been a long time since I did Christmas drinks for anyone. I would very much like it if you would both join me.’
‘Of course,’ Jo replies. This is followed by, ‘That would be lovely,’ from Ruth.
As they rise from the bench, Malcolm turns to Ruth, ‘I am so sorry that you did not enjoy your ghosts, Reverend Ruth, and I am sad that they did not bring you comfort.’ He bows his head slightly towards her.
‘Oh, Malcolm, I didn’t warm to them, that’s certainly true, but wasn’t I the one who said that who we meet is often random? So you mustn’t think it’s your fault. And in the end, I do think they challenged me, and who knows …’ She stares around her. ‘… maybe that’s what I needed.’
Jo feels as if Reverend Ruth’s anxiety is back, and this time it is mixed with sadness.
‘Oh, dear,’ Malcolm cannot help muttering.
They are about to turn to leave, when Malcolm plucks at Reverend Ruth’s sleeve. ‘One moment – there is something I need to show you.’ In response to her hesitation he adds, ‘Really, it will be worth it. It’s only over here.’ He nods in the direction of Karl Marx’s tomb.
They follow him to a plain rectangular plaque, set in the ground to the left of Karl Marx’s monument. On it is inscribed:
Claudia Vera Jones
Born Trinidad 1915
Died London 1964
‘Who is she?’ Jo asks, realizing she now often refers to those in the cemetery in the present tense.
‘I give you Claudia Jones,’ he turns to Ruth, ‘I know perhaps Karl and Hutch were not people with whom you had a natural affinity, but please let me at least introduce you to Claudia. And now let me tell you about this astonishing woman …’
With this he links arms with Ruth and Jo, andon the way back to the cemetery gates he tells them the story of Claudia Jones – the woman who helped start the Notting Hill Carnival and who fought for justice for so many people.
As they part, Ruth thanks him and he smiles at her, saying formally, ‘Please consider Claudia a Christmas gift.’
Jo cannot help wondering if it is also a parting gift.
Back in the shop, Jo is kept busy, and it is mid-afternoon before there is a lull. Over a cup of tea she reaches for her phone and starts to look up more about Claudia Jones. During their walk through the cemetery, Malcolm explained that it was very fitting that Claudia was laid to rest to theleftof Karl Marx. Claudia was a writer, journalist and protester (she was sent to prison several times). She was an inspirational leader, a Communist and a black woman. Jo is certain that she terrified those in authority. She wonders if she would have scared Karl Marx too.
Scrolling through her screen, Jo reads snippets from her writing. One particular passage catches her eye. It is from one of her last letters. It is melancholy in tone, and in it Claudia reflects that, with her constant campaigning, she fears she is boring – and confesses that she even bores herself. She died not long after writing this, and Jo is saddened that at the end of her days this magnificent woman was filled with such self-doubt.
Her thoughts turn to her friend, the vicar, who also displays moments of anxiety and self-doubt, and she wonders whether she will ever know the reason the Runaway Vicar ran away.
40
Karl Marx and Hutch
They are back in the woodland sitting room, but this time it is a woodland lit by fairy lights and candles. These add to the soft glow from the pale green table lamps and Jo feels like she has wandered into an enchanted forest. They are sitting in their normal seats around the fire and a tray of drinks is resting, ready, on the ottoman.
Malcolm watches as Jo and Ruth survey the room. There are candles in mini-lanterns arranged on each shelf of the bookcases, and fairy lights strung over the fireplace. In the bay window to the left of the front door is a Christmas tree, also decorated in twinkling lights. On the branches are hung clear glass baubles etched with winter scenes. These seem to draw the light into them, and then in turn send it out into the room in a sprinkling of tiny stars that dance around the walls.
‘This is so beautiful, Malcolm,’ Jo says, feeling for the first time the anticipatory tingle of Christmas.
‘I must admit it has been very pleasant to think about Christmas. Mother and I used to love decorating this room, and yet since her death I have made very little effort.’
Jo notices Malcolm has also made an effort with his appearance. He is wearing a pair of aubergine velvet trousers (flared), his Moroccan slippers, and a raspberry pink jumper covered in white reindeers.
