‘Nice jumper,’ Ruth comments from her place by the fire.
Malcolm pulls a little nervously at the cuffs. ‘You don’t think it’s a bit much?’
‘Not at all, very elegant and understated,’ and with this Ruth starts fiddling with the cuff of her own jumper – a dark green affair with the faint outline of a robin on the front. Before Jo can say anything, the robin appears to spring into life, red and green lights flashing across Reverend Ruth’s ample bosom, and a squeaky rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ fills the room. Ruth stands up to enable them to enjoy the full effect of her Christmas jumper. She twirls around so they can see the emblem of a flashing Christmas tree on her back.
‘Nice. Subtle,’ Jo says, above the screeching of the jingle.
Malcolm does not seem able to speak for laughing.
‘Now, enough of that,’ Ruth says, and she fiddles with her cuff until she finds the switch, and all is quiet. ‘And this is far too hot.’ She peels off her jumper, revealing a simple navy shirt. With a shock Jo sees she is also wearing a white clerical collar.
‘You really are a vicar,’ Jo says. She wonders why she sounds so surprised.
‘Yes, I am,’ Ruth replies, softly. Jo gets the impression she isspeaking more to herself than to them. Ruth sits back down in the chair and studies them. ‘I have written to my bishop and in the New Year I hope to …’ She doesn’t finish.
Jo wants to ask – go back? Move on?
Malcolm looks like someone has punctured him and he sits, deflated, in his armchair. His eyes are fixed on Ruth’s dog collar.
Ruth turns to him. ‘Malcolm, you once said to me that we have the here and now.’ She looks around the room, ‘And this seems like a pretty special here and now to me.’ She reaches over and taps him on the knee, demanding, ‘Now what about those drinks.’ Jo notices her voice is not quite steady.
Malcolm takes a deep breath, and smiles a little sadly at her. Then he rises to his feet, ‘You are quite right, Ruth …’ It strikes Jo that this is one of the few times she has heard Malcolm drop the ‘Reverend’. ‘… I thought I would mix us the Christmas cocktail my mother and I used to drink.’ He smiles crookedly at them and then rubs his hands together briskly. ‘And then we must talk about getting a Christmas jumper for Joanne.’
His attempt at heartiness and humour tears at something within Jo and she wonders what life will be like for Malcolm when she and Ruth have left.
And she does want to leave. The anticipatory thrill of Christmas is like a keening cry from her other home. A clarion call from her family. She wants to hold them close, to sit by their firesides. Be wrapped in her mum’s huge hug. She yearns to walk out onto the fells and raise her face to an ink-black sky, studded with the pinpoints of a thousand stars; feel a wind like iced water on her cheeks.
But what about this? What about Malcolm? Will they leave any impression on his life? Will Malcolm go back to his old routines, researching a book he will never write? Or will he find something to fight for?
And Ruth? She tries to think of the three of them on a stage, just before the scene changes. There is little comfort there.
‘No! This can’t just be it!’ She is on her feet, and Ruth and Malcolm are staring at her. She sits down as suddenly as she stood.
‘What is it, Joanne?’ Malcolm is back to his solicitous self.
She cannot voice all she is thinking, but manages, ‘We will stay in touch, won’t we?’ She knows she sounds like she is pleading.
‘We will find a way.’
It is Ruth that says this. And in that instance, Jo knows what it is that Ruth brings to people. What she carries as a precious gift, along with her bottle of wine, to the sick, the dying, the bereaved, the frightened. It is not her belief in God. It ishope. And in the next blink of a second Jo understands that, for Ruth, these are the same thing.
‘It will be all right, Joanne.’ Malcolm sits on the arm of the sofa and rubs her arm. He sounds as though he is reassuring himself as much as her.
‘It has made a difference, hasn’t it?’ She knows she is not making much sense. She’s not even sure what has happened to her over the past few weeks with these people; maybe that will come to her in time. But something has changed.
‘Oh, yes,’ Ruth says, quietly.
The only sound is the gentle crackle and hiss from the fire. Then Malcolm rises to his feet once more. ‘Now how about that cocktail?’ he says, a little too heartily, as he moves towards the tray of bottles and glasses.
Malcolm and Eve’s Christmas cocktail really is excellent, and Jo is on her third. She likes it so much that Malcolm has written the recipe out for her. Over the first cocktail she told them about James’s text and was warmed by their shared outrage and laughter. ‘Dave from Scunthorpe, oh very good,’ Malcolm chuckled.
As Jo sips her third drink, she can feel a pleasant heat spreading all the way through her body to her fingertips. Malcolm has also provided a startling array of nibbles, all homemade, all delicious.
‘Oh, enough of this chitchat,’ Ruth says, suddenly. ‘I want to bitch about Karl and Hutch.’
Jo looks at her rosy cheeks above her dog collar and wants to laugh.
Malcolm settles himself back in his chair, legs stretched out. ‘Off you go then. Joanne and I are all ears.’
