Chapter 7 Another invitation
Another invitation
He is also doing as much as he can to help Padam.
This is the shop’s busiest time of year, and it is important that they make the most of this seasonal business opportunity.
He has the grace to acknowledge this is nothing compared to the desire he feels to spend as much time as possible with Padam, acutely aware of the pleasure of pottering around the shop with him, discussing books and chatting about local news.
There is still no definitive view of whether it will be a white Christmas.
They have also talked about Malcolm’s next book.
And something seems to have changed. It really does feel like he might write this one.
He must ask Rev. Ruth about the woman who used to be a proofreader.
He would be more than happy to pay for her to type up his manuscript and for her professional advice.
The editor he worked with before has since left his publisher, but an initial email has resulted in a new contact and a request for more information.
The tone was friendly, and Malcolm has promised to get back to them after Christmas.
Rev. Ruth arrives wearing a red jumper with a galloping reindeer on the front.
Her clerical collar, looking a little incongruous, is peeking out the top.
Then it occurs to Malcolm that those who are so ill that they cannot leave home might appreciate a visit from a festive vicar, rather than a crow in black that reminds them of death.
A crow?
No, definitely not. But Malcolm still thinks Ruth resembles a bird.
He draws a chair out for her and hands her a menu. ‘Now, what can I get you, Ruth? I know you don’t have long.’
‘I’ll have a non-alcoholic Guinness. Makes me feel like I’m drinking the real thing, but I don’t have to worry about driving.’
Malcolm organizes the drinks and, after a few more minutes, takes their order for food to the bar. ‘How was the carol service at the care home?’ he asks, returning to his seat.
‘Pretty jolly. A few hecklers, but I’m used to that.’ Ruth grins, ‘One old chap got a bit shirty as he didn’t like the carols we were singing. He wanted something quite different.’
‘What did he want?’
‘“We Plough the Fields and Scatter”,’ Ruth laughs. ‘So we sang that one too.’ She sips her Guinness. ‘One of the women who used to be in the church choir had made me a tapestry cushion as a present. It’s really lovely, covered in purple hellebores.’
‘I remember how you like purple. The colour of advent, if I recall,’ Malcolm chuckles, reminded of something Ruth once told them about the colour she wore under her cassock at this time of year.
‘Malcolm Buswell. You shouldn’t talk to a vicar about her underwear.’ She shakes her head, ‘Anyway, that is a thing of the past.’
‘I think that is rather a shame. I don’t think age should be a barrier to nice er …’
‘Knickers?’ Rev. Ruth provides.
Malcolm blushes, ‘Quite.’
‘No, the fancy stuff will come back soon. But Malcolm, this last week is an absolute marathon. I just don’t stop. Comfort is key. It’s Sloggis for me from now on.’
‘Too much information,’ Malcolm laughs. Although in reality it is too little information. He has absolutely no idea what Sloggis are.
Their food arrives and they eat in contented silence, both grateful for a moment of peace amongst their teeming schedules, before Ruth asks him how he got on with Yana.
‘She was excellent company. It would be nice to meet her again. Our conversation was a bit hit and miss as we were so busy.’ He continues thoughtfully, ‘She seems to be settling in here and making friends. I hope she enjoys the farm work.’ His voice holds an uncertain note.
‘I think it was kind of the farmer to take her on.’
Rev. Ruth looks at him over her final forkful of cottage pie.
‘Kind, was it? Yes, I suppose so.’ Before he can ask her why she appears to find this amusing, she puts her fork down and declares, ‘That was just what I needed, Malcolm. Thank you!’ She slumps a little in her seat, blowing out a long breath, ‘How I wish I could stay longer. I can’t think of anything nicer than sitting here with you for the evening, chatting.
I hardly feel I see you these days.’ She glances wistfully at the log fire, then looks up at him, ‘But we will have Christmas,’ she says more brightly.
‘The thought of that keeps me going.’ She grins, ‘It has to. I really have no choice this time of year. Being busy rather comes with the job.’ She gets up, gathering her coat and bag, ‘You’re sure I can’t pay my half? ’
‘Not at all. You go and do your vicarly stuff. I will sort everything out.’
She leans over and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and then she is gone.
The next day, Malcolm is in the shop just turning the till on and sorting the post when Ruth rushes in.
‘Thank you so much for last evening, Malcolm. It was just what I needed. And I’ve done something for you that I hope you will like.
You know you said you wanted to be able to chat to Yana properly and that, as far as you were concerned, “the more the merrier” for Christmas day.
Well, the good news is, Yana is joining us for Christmas lunch.
’ She leans forward and says more softly, ‘I thought you would like me to ask, as I know you find all this sort of thing a bit daunting.’ She straightens up, ‘And Yana has promised to bring plum vodka.’ She beams at him, ‘Now I have to dash.’ She gives a wave that takes in Padam as well and, with that, she is out of the door and jumping into her car.
Malcolm has to turn away from Padam to hide his consternation. Polly Poole was one thing, but now Yana! It was his idea for the lunch, his gift to Ruth. Now it seems to be turning into a bun fight.
‘Do you mind about Yana?’ Padam asks quietly.
‘Of course not!’ Malcolm says more sharply than he intended. ‘No, it’s fine,’ he says. ‘It will be fun.’
He wonders who he is trying to convince.
For the rest of the day, Malcolm cannot settle.
Should he buy Yana a gift? What does she like to eat?
Are there special Christmas dishes in Ukraine?
Instead of feeling excited to find out, he feels despondent and disappointed.
And worse, when Padam suggests that they look at some recipes together, he snaps at him.
He hadn’t meant to and he apologizes, but – instead of their normal ebb and flow of conversation – the silence hangs heavy.
Towards the end of the day, when the shop is quiet, Padam makes them both a cup of masala chai. He doesn’t say anything put places the tea down beside Malcolm, who is sitting moodily by the till. As he tidies the shop, Padam begins to speak.
‘My father was a difficult man. He did not know how to show his love for his children and would spend many hours away from home. Other fathers in our village were not dissimilar, but when these men returned I sensed that my friends’ and classmates’ lives were lifted in some way by their presence.
While I, even as a small boy, could sense my mother’s fear.
While many of these other fathers seemed to be strong but gentle men, my father wore his anger like a second skin. ’
Malcolm sits perfectly still, breathing in the scent of the masala chai, not wishing to break the moment by reaching for his drink. He knows that Padam is sharing something precious with him, even though he does not know why.
‘My father’s great love was archery. His father had also been an archer.
And it was to please my father that I too took up the sport, although once the bow was in my hands I understood that this was also in my blood.
My father was not a natural teacher, and he could be cruel and brutal when I made mistakes, but still I strived to please him.
I think when I was picked for our national team, it was one of the only times I knew my father was proud of me.
My younger brother did not have the same aptitude as me and he suffered more at my father’s hands, and I will always feel shame that I did not protect him. ’
The silence that follows prompts Malcolm to ask, ‘What happened to your father?’
‘He was killed in a fall out on the mountain. There were questions asked about it at the time. Who was he with, and even if either of his sons had been with him. But it remained a mystery.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Malcolm is moved to ask.
Padam half smiles. ‘To be honest, Malcolm, I have no idea.’ The smile grows, ‘Maybe to fill the silence.’
Malcolm runs a hand distractedly through his hair, ‘I do apologize for my behaviour today. It was unwarranted.’
Padam continues as if Malcolm hasn’t spoken, ‘And maybe I told you because sometimes people see much more than you think. Like the people in my village. I think they realized what my father was like.’ Padam looks down at his hands.
‘If you mind about Yana coming for Christmas, I think you should talk to Rev. Ruth.’
Malcolm stares back at him helplessly. How can he tell the woman who tries to help everyone that when he said, ‘the more the merrier’, he hadn’t really meant it? How selfish does that make him? Instead, he asks Padam, ‘Where is your brother now?’
‘He lives in Nepal, but I try to make it up to him by keeping an eye on his son and his family. Although, these days, it may be fairer to say Dawa keeps an eye on his old uncle.’
Then Padam does a strange thing; he rubs the underside of his wrist and then starts to unbutton his shirt cuff. ‘I wanted to tell you a bit more about my archery when we spoke the other day, but I admit to being embarrassed—’
He is interrupted by the entrance of a late customer, and Malcolm is left wondering what Padam was about to show him. An old archery injury?
The customer is a woman that Malcolm knows has just joined the church PCC. ‘I’m sorry, are you closed? It’s just I need a bit of help.’
‘Of course,’ Malcolm gets up, polite and attentive, keen to make up for what the locals would call his ‘mardiness’.
‘You know Rev. Ruth, don’t you?’ the woman says, brightening.
‘I do indeed,’ Malcolm inclines his head.
‘She holds a drinks party every Christmas to thank all the volunteers, and someone has just told me she gives us all presents as a thank you, and I’d like to get her something, and I thought maybe a book. Only the party is this evening. Can you think of one she’d like?’
Malcolm can, and for an instant he doesn’t want to tell this woman, as he has imagined having a pile of choice books stacked by Rev. Ruth’s bed with a big ribbon around them and a tag saying, ‘Read Me’, like a variation on Alice in Wonderland.
He catches Padam watching him and he wonders if he can guess what is going through his mind. If so, he is determined to prove him wrong.
‘I know Ruth enjoys Jenny Colgan books, being Scottish herself, and she never got around to reading The Christmas Bookshop. Or I have seen her with a whodunnit, so there is Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, which I know she would enjoy.’
‘Perfect, I’ll take both. She really has been so kind helping me find my way on the PCC. I would have left if it hadn’t been for her.’
Malcolm is smiling as he gift-wraps the books for her, but he can’t help wishing he had only mentioned one of the titles.
‘There you go, that wasn’t so hard,’ Padam comments as the woman leaves the shop, with waved thanks and wishes for a very Merry Christmas.
Malcolm almost returns to his mardy self, but manages an ironic bow. He is about to say more when the door bursts open again and he thinks the woman may be back for another book. Well, if so, she’ll have to choose her own this time.
It’s Yana.
‘Ah, Malcolm, I am so glad you are still here. Rev. Ruth said I might find you in the shop. I wanted to ask you this thing …’ she pauses uncertainly, ‘It is my friend Max. He is also stuck here over Christmas too, and I wondered if I could bring him on Christmas Day. But Rev. Ruth said I had to ask you.’ She is smiling hopefully, but Malcolm can tell she is anxious, and it suddenly strikes him that Yana really likes this Canadian Max.
‘Of course!’ Malcolm exclaims, breezily.
When the door closes behind a jubilant Yana, Padam screws up his nose and says, ‘You could have said no.’
‘Could I?’
Padam returns his helpless look.
‘No, I don’t suppose you could.’
It is only when Malcolm is walking home that he remembers Padam’s strange gesture, rubbing his wrist, and wonders what it was he had been about to say.