Chapter 9 A change in the weather
A change in the weather
His sanctuary knocker is being banged for all it is worth. Malcolm hurries from the kitchen, drying his hands on the tea towel as he goes. He has just finished breakfast and is washing up.
Jo is standing on the doorstep.
‘Joanne!’ he exclaims, stating the obvious.
‘Can I come in?’ she asks, ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he says stepping backwards, and nearly falling over in his haste.
‘Is everything all right?’ As she steps into the hallway and takes off her coat, he glances down at her bump.
It is proud and splendid under a multicoloured, striped woollen dress.
She hands him her coat, ‘I’m fine, Malcolm. It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘Me?’ he queries.
Even he can detect the defensive note in his voice.
‘Yes, you! What is going on between you and Ruth? She says you’re not answering her texts, and she is worried she’s upset you.’
Where does he even begin? Most of all he doesn’t want this lovely young woman to think badly of him. He hadn’t realized he had hung his head until he sees Jo has bent down to look up at him from below.
‘Come on, Malcolm, it can’t be that bad. Do you have any herbal teas?’
‘Why yes, I can offer you mango and lemon; peppermint; cranberry and orange; winter berry; or lemon and ginger.’
Jo smiles at him. ‘Of course you can,’ she says fondly. ‘Lead the way.’
Malcolm makes his way to the kitchen and sets about making them drinks while Jo settles herself on a kitchen chair, like a hen about to lay. She picks up the book that he has been reading over breakfast.
‘The Wind in the Willows. I haven’t seen this in years.’
She flicks through the pages not speaking, and it is only when they both have their hands clasped about their steaming mugs that she breaks the silence. ‘Tell me all about it, Malcolm.’
Malcolm looks up at her and realizes he could never refuse this woman anything.
So he does. He explains about how he wanted to give Ruth a wonderful Christmas meal, but most of all give her a rest and a break from all her responsibilities and protect her from all the people who constantly call upon her for her help.
He had hoped Jo would understand. But he hadn’t expected her to laugh. He turns away, feeling hurt.
Jo immediately reaches out and catches his hand in hers. ‘Oh, Malcolm, I’m not laughing at you. It is such a lovely thing to do. But you know what Ruth is like, she just can’t help herself. She always wants to look after other people. I guess she’s not so good at being helped herself.’
‘I can see that,’ Malcolm admits, ‘but I did want her to have some time off.’
Jo smiles, ‘I think the other problem is that it is Christmas.’
‘I know, and she will have worked herself to the bone and be totally exhausted.’
Jo shakes her head. ‘No, what I meant is, it is Christmas: the time, more than any other, when Ruth will want to reach out and help people.’ Unconsciously she rubs her bump.
Malcolm inclines his head. It is a gesture of disappointment, but it also acknowledges the truth of what Jo is saying.
‘Look, I know God is not your thing. I’m not sure it’s mine either. But you know Ruth, she’s not trying to convert us all, but she is all about the love.’
‘I know,’ Malcolm sighs. ‘I am just going to have to rethink things. But it is hard.’
‘Who’ve you got coming?’
Malcolm explains and this generates a real shout of laughter from Jo.
‘Mrs Appleby? You’re kidding. I’ve met her. I don’t think even Jesus would turn up to lunch with her.’
They are both laughing now.
‘You’ll just have to get her drunk,’ Jo suggests.
‘Yana is bringing plum vodka,’ Malcolm recalls, perking up.
‘That’ll do it,’ Jo says, grinning. ‘Look, I’ve got to go now; I’ve got a check-up with the midwife.
’ She leans across the table and grasps both of his hands, ‘Malcolm, I know you. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Being with Ruth can sometimes be like being caught up in a whirlwind, but I’ve learnt it is much easier to give into it.
Things with Ruth have a way of working out. ’
Malcolm is surprised to find he is so cheered that he can even make a joke. ‘Well, she does have God on her side.’
Jo struggles to her feet. ‘You once said that you don’t believe in God, but you do believe in the Reverend Ruth Hamilton. I think that’s a pretty good place to start.’
‘Indeed it is,’ Malcolm replies, rising with Jo. ‘And thank you, Joanne.’ Before she can respond, he holds up his hand, ‘Now, before you go, I have your Christmas presents under the tree, let me fetch them.’
Jo follows him down the hall, fishing in her bag for a small, gift-wrapped package, ‘And this is for you,’ she says, giving him a hug. She then pulls something else from her bag, ‘Oh and Eliot made this especially for you.’ It is a Christmas card of a handprint Christmas tree.
Malcolm thinks it’s his best yet.
And he didn’t have to pay for this one.
He takes it appreciatively and wonders what Jo will think when she receives the Christmas card he posted to her and Eric yesterday.
At the door Jo gives him another hug. ‘It will be all right, Malcolm, you wait and see.’
This brings back thoughts of Rev. Ruth, and he recalls her words to him.
Someone would be happy to see Mrs Appleby.
‘Just wait and see.’ As he waves Jo off, he feels like a weight has been lifted.
But he still can’t imagine who on earth would ever be pleased to see Mrs Appleby.
He returns to the kitchen and finishes off his herbal tea.
He idly turns his book over to the place where Jo left it open.
The words jump off the page as if illuminated.
He stops dead, like Mr Tumnus turned to stone.
Poor Mole stood alone on the road, his heart torn asunder, and a big sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down inside him … But even under such a test as this his loyalty to his friend stood firm.
Maybe his prayer has been answered. By a visit from an expectant mother, and from a mole. He is clear now. He will stand firm by his friend, Rev. Ruth, and give her the best Christmas ever, whatever form that takes. Mrs Appleby and all.
But he does rather like the idea of getting her drunk.
Surely, she can’t be any worse than she is sober.
Malcolm enters the bookshop with lightness in his step, calling to Padam, as he arrives. ‘Do you know any good Christmas cocktail recipes?’
‘You seem happier,’ Padam comments, looking up from behind the counter. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. Well, everything.’ He pauses, ‘I suppose you could say I have changed my mind.’ Malcolm finds the reigniting of his Christmas spirit has made it stronger – burn even brighter. He laughs.
‘Have you been drinking?’ Padam grins.
‘No. But I certainly shall be at Christmas. It now appears I have Mrs Appleby coming for lunch too. Do you know the good lady?’
Padam’s eyes widen.
Malcolm thinks they really are the most beautiful colour hazel.
‘I do. I’m not so sure many people would call her “good”.’
‘Rev. Ruth tells me someone will be really pleased to see her.’
‘Indeed,’ Padam comments. Malcolm looks keenly at him. The hazel eyes are gleaming with mirth. ‘Well, I guess we’d better fish out some cocktail recipes worthy of Mrs Appleby,’ and with this Padam heads towards the cookery section.
They are back at the counter debating the merits of an Old-Fashioned, when one of the Three Disgraces enters the shop.
It is so unusual to see one of the Graces alone that Malcolm addresses her with some concern.
‘Is all well with you, Grace?’ Seeing her on her own it is clear to him now that this is ‘Grace’ rather than Amazing Grace or Gracey.
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Buswell, but I will have a sit-down if I may.’
‘Of course,’ he responds, pulling out the chair by the counter for her. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’ve come to collect that Richard Osman you put aside for me.’
‘Of course,’ Malcolm repeats, pulling the book out from under the counter.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Padam offers.
‘No, but thank you, dear.’
Something in her tone makes Malcolm ask again, ‘Are you sure everything is all right?’
She sighs. ‘I think I must be getting old.’
Malcolm cannot believe he is hearing this admission from one of the Three Disgraces.
‘I normally love Christmas, but this year, I have to admit I am finding it quite a struggle. I can’t somehow get into the spirit.’
‘All a bit too much?’ Padam suggests.
‘Yes, and really, there are only the three of us. We don’t even cook a turkey anymore.’
Before he can stop himself, the words are tumbling from Malcolm.
‘Grace, I wonder if you and your friends would do me the honour of joining me for Christmas lunch at my house on Newbiggen. I am having a gathering of local friends, including Rev. Ruth. It will be quite a party, but I can’t help feeling it would be much more of a party if the Three Disgraces were to grace us with their presence. ’
He waits and watches, wondering if he has gone too far with the pun.
Then Grace turns a glowing look upon him, and it is as if someone has injected the little woman with some sort of youth serum.
Ten years seem to fall from her, and whilst it couldn’t be said that she leaps from the chair, she certainly rises with renewed vigour. ‘Why that is marvellous, Mr Buswell.’
‘Please call me Malcolm.’
‘And you can call us all Grace,’ she chortles. ‘We would be delighted to attend. I cannot wait to tell the others.’ She pauses. ‘You will be having turkey?’ she asks a little shyly.
‘There will be turkey and all the trimmings …’
‘Sprouts in lemon and parmesan,’ Padam murmurs.
‘… Christmas pudding; and as well as wine there will be my special Christmas cocktail, and I believe one of our number is bringing plum vodka.’
‘Well, that is certainly one in the eye for the wet young thing who came round and invited us to a pensioners’ lunch at the Temperance Hall,’ Grace says gleefully.
Padam seems to be enjoying this as much as Malcolm, and it is on the tip of his tongue to extend the invitation to Padam.
Afterwards Malcolm cannot think what stopped him.
Certain he would be with his nephew’s family?
Worried he might say no? Or an underlying shyness at the thought of Padam seeing his home?
As he dithers, Padam sorts out the sale of the Richard Osman and plucks his car keys from the bowl under the counter. ‘Grace, my car is just outside. I’ve just been unloading from the cash-and-carry. May I offer you a lift down the hill? It is cold out there and it looks like snow.’
This is certainly true.
‘It is not a Mercedes,’ Padam continues, ‘but it does have electric heated seats, so I hope I can offer you a comfortable ride.’
‘Lead the way, young man,’ Grace declares. ‘We are going to want to start planning what to wear.’
With this they are both gone and Malcolm is alone with his thoughts.
But not for long. With Christmas only three days away, the shop is busy with last-minute shoppers.
One of these is Yana, coming in to buy a book for her boss’s son.
She loiters for a while as she chooses, and Malcolm feels she is building up to something.
At the till she tumbles into speech. ‘Malcolm, I feel like I rushed at you the other day. You don’t really know me, and you’ve never met Max, and I feel bad about—’
He stops her there. ‘No, no, I would be delighted to meet him, and I insist you both come to lunch. I believe you said he was Canadian?’
Yana grins at him. ‘Thank you, Malcolm. Yes, he’s Canadian, but for some time he is working with the RAF.’
‘Now why did I think you said he was in mountain rescue?’ Malcolm wonders aloud.
‘I did. I mean he is,’ Yana says. ‘They have a squadron at RAF Leeming that does mountain rescue, some volunteers, some crew. They use helicopters for search and rescue for the more difficult jobs. Max is a mountain leader and has flight experience too. Although he says he was never going to be a Top Gun. This is his favourite film. He is making me watch it many times. He’s a navigator by training.
He always claims he’s more Goose than Maverick. ’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Top Gun? You have not seen this film?’
‘Now I come to think of it, I believe I have. I imagine that would make him a Canadian goose.’
Although Yana smiles, he can tell by her expression that she has heard this one far too many times before.
Rev. Ruth as a goose?
No. Not that.
Yana leaves with her book and he waves her off with a reassuring, ‘The more the merrier!’ And for the first time, Malcolm finds that he really means it.
Soon Padam returns clutching another bottle of mulled wine. ‘From the Disgraces,’ he says, showing it to Malcolm. He peers more closely at the label. ‘I think it is decades old, but I’m willing to give it a go. Do you fancy a glass?’
‘I would really very much have liked that, but I do need to go and find Rev. Ruth.’
Padam nods his understanding. ‘I’ll save it for another day.’
Malcolm collects his coat and scarf. Heading for the door, he loiters, but just as he is about to ask Padam if he would also like to join them for Christmas, Padam disappears into the stock room.
As Malcolm closes the shop door behind him and steps out into the street, the snow begins to fall.