‘Are you … going to see her?’ Jo asks, glancing again at the case.
‘No. Not exactly.’
Which Jo thinks makes no sense at all.
Instead of asking Malcolm about this, a completely different thought comes into her mind. ‘Do you think we miss out because we don’t have so many vicars around these days? I’m not discounting other religions, but there was a time when every community had a vicar, and it struck me, Ruth didsomuch.’
‘Oh, Joanne, it’s difficult for me to answer that. My view is coloured by the harm religion has inflicted on society over the years.’ He smiles slightly. ‘And by some of the vicars I have met. But I concede, society does need people like Reverend Ruth.’
Jo smiles back. ‘Are there many like Ruth?’
Malcolm sits on the arm of the sofa. ‘Perhaps not quite in her mould – she may well be a one-off – but there are always people who are keen to help others. I strongly contend you don’t have to believe in God to have a moral code or a sense of community.’
‘But how many people actually do anything?’ Jo muses, thinking specifically of herself. Could she do more? Of course she could.
‘So, what are your plans, Joanne?’ Malcolm asks.
‘I’ll go home for Christmas, and then …’ She shrugs. ‘This has been the strangest time.’ She smiles at him, ‘Good, in so many ways.’ She looks towards his bookshelves. ‘I keep thinking of a poem. It’s my dad’s favourite. I can’t remember who wrote it but there’s a line in it:Time was away and somewhere else.I feel like everything has been on hold. But now I don’t think I know how to restart my life.’
‘Louis MacNeice.’ Malcolm nods.
‘You know it?’
‘Yes, indeed. “Meeting Point”.’
Jo thinks of the poem’s title. Has their time together, her, Malcolm and Ruth, been a meeting point in their lives?
Malcolm gets up and walks over to his bookcase. ‘I believe I have it here somewhere.’
Jo’s phone starts to ring and, pulling it from her pocket, she is about to mute it when she sees the name. Her stomach lurches. Her dad never calls her.
‘Sorry, Malcolm,’ she mutters, ‘I’ve got to get this.’
‘Dad?’
‘Sorry, JoJo …’ The use of her childhood name is a warning.‘… It’s your Uncle Wilbur. I’m afraid he died this morning. He had a stroke.’
She is holding tight to her phone, nodding. She looks up and sees Malcolm watching her intently.
‘We gave her time, Jo, but now I think your mum needs you.’
43
Lighting candles
Jo cannot think of anything except getting to her family. The place for her now is at home. (A place for everything and everything in its place.) She wants to leave for the station straight away and catch the first train, but her father persuades her to take the rest of the day and evening to sort out the flat and the shop, and to get an early train the following morning.
Then her dad passes the phone over to her mum. Jo fights the tears, not wanting to distress her mum further, but when she comes off the phone, Jo breaks down completely. Malcolm sits beside her, murmuring soothing nonsense, and she is glad that it is an old man by her side. She thinks of her craving for a baby and it comes to her that there are other relationships that are precious and that shape people. She remembers an uncle and a favourite niece. Nothing was ever said, but she always knew she was Uncle Wilbur’s favourite. This makes her cry even more.
Malcolm suggests that he puts off his trip and helps her, but Jo is adamant. There is very little she has to do. So in the end he delays his taxi for an hour and then makes them tea, hot and sweet. He also insists they let Reverend Ruth know, and texts her. Though why he feels this need – echoed in her – she isn’t sure. Ruth replies immediately and writes that she will light a candle for Uncle Wilbur and also for Jo and her family. Jo experiences a glimmer of comfort, and thinks of the times she has lit candles in churches in foreign lands, not believing in a God, but feeling she is illuminating the love she is sending to those at home – including for her Uncle Wilbur. After reading Ruth’s text, Malcolm nods several times and says, ‘Now, that’s nice. That’s good.’
Jo cannot resist saying, ‘But Malcolm, you don’t believe in God.’
He replies, defensively, ‘Neither do you.’
Has she ever told him this? Maybe he has interpreted her silence for what it is. At best ambivalence, at most a clear denial.
The taxi arrives at this point and there is a flurry of locking up and goodbyes. As he is lowering his tall frame into the car, he returns to their earlier conversation and says, ‘Joanne, I may not believe in God. But I do believe in the Reverend Ruth Hamilton.’
