Chapter 2 A host of angels #2
‘Oh no, you’ve started her off now,’ Amazing Grace grumbles as she and Gracey emerge from the back of the shop, each clutching a bundle of books. ‘There will be no living with her now.’
Gracey adds. ‘It will be “Sir John this”, “Sir John that”.’
‘Oh, fuck off you two,’ the third Disgrace responds, surprising a cough of laughter from Malcolm.
Yes, it was always a pleasure to serve the Three Disgraces.
Malcolm arrives at the church in plenty of time and, after hugging him, Ruth ushers him to the piano.
At first the old building is blissfully quiet.
The click of Rev. Ruth’s heels on the stone and the occasional creaking of radiators are the only sounds echoing through the old building.
Malcolm settles down with a sigh. Perhaps this will go well and get him in the Christmas mood.
Despite the seasonal delights within the bookshop, Malcolm can’t quite get into the Christmas spirit.
He has a sense of something missing, but he is not sure what.
Ten minutes later, Malcolm is yearning for the quiet of earlier.
He lifts his feet as he perches on the piano stool, as if protecting himself from a flood.
Although in this case it isn’t water, but four and five-year-olds swirling and milling around him.
Relief comes in the form of Rev. Ruth, accompanied by Miss Poole, who today is wearing her signature red lipstick and a Christmas jumper depicting robins eating a Christmas pudding.
Together they surge forward, still unconcernedly chatting, like a pair of experienced plumbers, clearly confident they can control this flow.
Miss Poole greets him with a friendly wave.
She is a woman in her mid-thirties, with wavy hair the colour of a conker.
Today it is held back with a sparkly Christmas tree clip.
He may be struggling to find his Christmas spirit, but Miss Poole clearly has it in abundance.
She steps towards the children, the swell of her stomach enhancing the roundness of the Christmas pudding that the festive robins are pecking.
‘Now, then,’ Rev. Ruth booms, coming up beside her, ‘who wants to be a star?’
The swirling movement of small bodies stills.
Into the slither of silence, Miss Poole inserts a firm but friendly, ‘Gather around Rev. Ruth. And Ruben, give Shanaya back her hairband.’ This is quickly followed by, ‘Leo, come down from the pulpit. NOW.’
Malcolm is impressed by how soon the chaos settles, the children looking expectantly up at Ruth, who is telling them how pleased she is to see them all. Well, all apart from Leo, who is now staring at him.
‘Who’s he?’ Leo interrupts.
‘That is my friend Malcolm, who is going to be playing the piano for us as Miss Poole has hurt her finger.’
Leo stops staring at Malcolm and looks with concentrated fascination at Miss Poole’s bandaged hand.
‘I hear you have all been practising the song you are singing for your part in the nativity. Miss Poole tells me you are very good. Now we just need to decide who is going to be the donkey and who is going to be the angel. The rest of you will be lovely sparkly stars.’
‘I don’t want to be a star.’
Malcolm is not surprised to hear this from Leo. He is beginning to get his measure.
Miss Poole turns to Ruth, ‘Oh, that’s a shame, I would say being a star is one of the best parts. Wouldn’t you, Rev. Ruth?’
‘Definitely. Everyone always looks at things that are shiny and bright. I always think being a star would be fantastic. I mean, the name says it all. A star.’
It is well done. Malcolm feels he would quite like to be a star. But Leo is made of sterner stuff.
‘I want to be the angel.’
‘Great!’ Miss Poole says, with only a small degree of forced jollity. ‘We have our angel.’
Not typecasting then.
‘Now Shanaya, I’m sure you would love to be a star,’ Miss Poole beams.
Shanaya stops trying to twist one leg around the other as far as it can go, before casting a quick glance at Leo. ‘I want to be the angel.’ This is said with a slight tremor, a hint of the tears that might follow.
The rest is inevitable. Malcolm is soon accompanying one donkey, one star and a positive host of angels as they sing a jolly Christmas song, which from the words he can decipher tells of the donkey finding its way to the stable to meet baby Jesus.
Which Malcolm considers is about as likely as anything else he has read in the Bible.
The only real upset occurs when all the angels decide they would like to ride the donkey, squashing a boy called Ben flat, leaving him with arms and legs splayed out like a fallen star.
The only one who doesn’t join in is a girl called Molly.
She is the star and, while very pretty, Malcolm doesn’t like the expression on her face when she looks at Ben’s flattened form and crumpled face.
She is enjoying it a great deal too much.
An unexpected highlight for Malcolm comes when, at the end of the third and final run-through of the song, Rev. Ruth nods significantly at the children. This seems to be a prearranged sign for something.
The children glance at each other and, on Rev. Ruth’s second nod, chorus loudly, ‘We like your jumper, Miss Poole.’
Miss Poole looks around from where she has been gathering the children’s coats.
On another nod from Ruth, the children continue, confident now, their voices happy and sing-song. ‘Great lipstick, Miss Poole.’
Miss Poole is laughing as she comes towards her giggling class. ‘Why, thank you very much.’
Not for the first time, Malcolm thinks what a wonderful human being Rev. Ruth is.
Soon she is by his side. ‘You’re let off now, Malcolm. The other classes are either acting rather than singing, or their teachers can play.’
Malcolm looks up aghast, ‘You have to do more of this?’
‘Of course. There are six more classes.’
‘Good heavens!’ Malcolm exclaims.
‘It’s not that bad,’ Rev. Ruth assures him. ‘Some of the classes do their bits together. Miss Poole takes the reception class, and it is best to get them in and out first as they’re so young.’
Malcolm looks at the reception class, who are now bobbing and jumping around their teacher, chorusing, ‘Jumper jumper jumper!’
‘I had no idea,’ he says in dismay.
Ruth laughs, ‘It’s not that bad, Malcolm. I love the nativity. It’s some of the town stuff that is much more tiring. Give me children over councillors any day.’
‘But my dear friend,’ Malcolm is moved to say, ‘you will be exhausted. Please let me make supper for you tonight.’
‘Oh, Malcolm, that’s a lovely idea. But I’m due at the pub for a run-through of the pantomime.’
‘Goodness.’ Malcolm holds his hands out helplessly. ‘Is there anything else I can do to help?’
‘Let’s take a rain check on a meal, that would be wonderful.
I do find I’m just grabbing what I can here and there, this time of year.
’ Rev. Ruth shakes her head, ‘You’d think I’d lose a bit of weight, but I always seem to end up eating rubbish.
Still,’ she says, brightening, ‘only ten days to go until Christmas and then I can collapse in a heap.’
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ Malcolm asks. Last year, Ruth’s extended family had visited from Canada.
‘I have no idea,’ Ruth admits. ‘I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead.’
‘Still no word from your brother in Scotland?’ Malcolm enquires, gently. When they had first met, Ruth had tried to make peace with her brother, a Scot who thoroughly disapproved of her, especially her calling to become a priest in the Church of England.
‘No,’ Ruth admits. ‘Which is sad, but also a bit of a relief.’
‘Well, I don’t want you to think about that any more.
You have enough on your plate … so to speak.
’ Malcolm bows a little awkwardly, ‘I would be honoured if you would join me for Christmas lunch and I would be most happy for you to stay the night and I would consider it a privilege to look after you.’
Rev. Ruth’s eyes are swimming as she looks up at him.
He hurries on, not wishing to cause his friend embarrassment.
As he speaks, it occurs to him – maybe this is the Christmas spirit he has been missing?
Not ignited by the sight of baubles and fairy lights, but by the desire to look after his friend.
‘And even if all you want to do after lunch is to sleep by my fire, that would be more than acceptable and would make your old friend very happy.’
Rev. Ruth unceremoniously clasps Malcolm to her and hugs him tight, but not before he sees the tears spilling from her eyes.
He takes a big breath in, fighting the urge to join in the weeping.
Instead, he concentrates on holding the plump bird-like form to him, resisting the compulsion to step away – an instinct built up over years of not touching a soul.
Rev. Ruth gives him a final squeeze just as the doors open and a new flood of children make their noisy way into the church.
After a wave of the hand, Malcolm makes good his escape. But he moves down the aisle with a lighter step. He is going to give Rev. Ruth the best Christmas lunch she has ever had.