Chapter 10 Christmas is coming
Christmas is coming
In the Market Place the fluttering flakes are beginning to settle and the passage of hurrying feet are creating crazy criss-cross patterns in the snow.
Beside the large Christmas tree, the Salvation Army band is playing carols.
They are surrounded by quite a crowd, some listening, some singing.
Meanwhile parents with young children are being dragged backwards by the pull of small hands that would much rather be making snowballs.
Malcolm carefully makes his way along the edge of the Market Place towards the church.
He has texted Ruth but, so far, he has had no response.
He knows he should probably wait but he urgently wants to reassure her that all is well with their Christmas plans, so he decides to pop into the rectory on the off-chance that she is there.
As he nears the church, he catches the flicker of candlelight in the windows.
Maybe she is preparing for a service? There is no sound of music or singing, so Malcolm risks opening the door very gently.
All is quiet, yet he can immediately tell that there are people in the church.
He slowly makes his way forward, careful that his Lobb boot heels don’t sound on the stone.
The church is aglow with candlelight and the shimmer from the Christmas tree lights.
He spots Rev. Ruth at the front of a small congregation; she is speaking but her words do not carry.
Then comes the sound of the piano. He wonders briefly why they are not using the organ, and then the plaintive and haunting music reaches out and touches something within him.
It is at once sad and soothing. Almost without thinking, he sits in one of the pews at the back of the church, listening.
Despite this being Christmas, and a church, the festive world seems a long way away.
The noises from outside hushed by the falling snow.
Malcolm is still sitting there when the congregation leaves.
Glen, the church warden whom he knows from the Historical Society raises a hand in salute as he passes.
The rest of the people are an unlikely mix of churchgoers, some old, some young, and he suspects from a complete mix of backgrounds.
Rev. Ruth has moved forward, and each person shakes her hand, and some hold her in a brief embrace.
It is only when the last person has left that she spots Malcolm, sitting in the shadows.
Unhurriedly she comes forward and he moves along so she can join him on the pew.
Neither say anything, but she puts her arm through his.
Eventually Malcolm takes a deep breath. ‘I wanted to come and apologize to you for not being in touch, Ruth, and for not opening the door to the carol singers yesterday.’
Some of her lightness and humour seems to return to her. ‘Ha! So you were in. Were you hiding from me behind the sofa?’
‘Not quite that,’ Malcolm replies, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘But I had got myself into a bit of fuss about our Christmas plans. But before we talk about that, may I ask you what service you have just taken?’
‘Of course. There are many people who find Christmas a very difficult time. Maybe they have just lost someone, or their memories of Christmas are painful and filled with more anguish than joy.’ She tips her head to one side, as if remembering.
‘Every year I hold a service based on quiet contemplation rather than our normal rousing celebration. You can imagine if Christmas brings you grief, you don’t want to be surrounded by – what is it you call it – all that do-goodery. ’
Before Malcolm can respond, she rests her head on his arm. ‘Have I upset you, Malcolm? You know it is the last thing I would want to do.’
‘No, Ruth. I just got myself in a muddle. I wanted to give you a peaceful and restful Christmas, with lots of nice food and drink. And I made the mistake of excluding anyone else from that, forgetting that it would make you happy to include others.’
‘Oh, Malcolm, that is the kindest thing. And I will appreciate the treat …’ She strokes his arm, ‘… and having you look after me.’ She looks up at him. ‘If you really mind including more people, we can reorganize things somehow.’
‘No, absolutely not. Anyway,’ he says, with a chuckle, ‘I’ve invited the Three Disgraces now. You try and take that invitation back!’
Ruth sits a little straighter, ‘Oh how fabulous. I love those three. We really are in for a bit of a party. And you’re sure you don’t mind?’ she finishes, anxiously.
‘Not at all.’ He pauses, ‘Joanne came to see me and she made me realize that, of course, at Christmas you would want to gather people about you who might be alone or missing out in some way.’
‘That does include me, you know Malcolm. I am one of the ones who is sometimes lost and alone.’
He looks at her curiously. He has never viewed her in this light before. And what about him? Couldn’t he say the same about himself?
Ruth continues, ‘So, I feel it isn’t so much about someone providing a treat – although of course it will be a huge one.
I think it’s that we come together, whoever we are, and it shows that we are all part of God’s family.
All God’s children.’ She glances up at him ‘But you will tell me I’m talking nonsense, of course. ’
He smiles down at her. ‘I do believe you would be disappointed if I didn’t.’
Rev. Ruth swipes one hand like someone playing table tennis. ‘Too right,’ she proclaims. She settles back more easily in the pew. ‘But you must have your own view of Christmas, Malcolm? I gather it was important to you and your mother?’
‘Yes,’ he says slowly. ‘We had our own traditions.’ He thinks of books they read and of the cocktails they drank together. ‘Maybe we didn’t have the carols, but we certainly celebrated with food and – I suppose – words.’ He murmurs, ‘On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me …’
Ruth smiles and nods, ‘Do you remember that Christmas Eve, drinking cocktails with Karl Marx?’
‘Of course, and Joanne appearing through the snow.’ Malcolm tips his own head, so it is touching the top of Ruth’s head. ‘You had known she would come.’
‘I didn’t know, but I did hope,’ she says. ‘It was the most wonderful time.’
‘It certainly was.’
‘My father and I used to sing carols,’ Malcolm continues reflectively. ‘It isn’t that we didn’t go to church. It was just …’
‘I know,’ Ruth pats his arm, ‘When he and your brother died … I can quite understand after that …’ She leaves it unfinished.
‘I keep thinking of how my mother used to sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” to me and my brother. That was a favourite of hers. Whenever I hear the words from that, I always think of her. Oh, and she did like taking us to Hamleys on Regent Street to see the Christmas windows.’
Ruth stretches. ‘I wish I could sit here forever, reminiscing, Malcolm. But I must go, I have a thousand things to do. I’m due at a service with the Yorkshire Royal Regiment.’ She stands and looks down at him. ‘But you are sure you are fine with all of this?’
He studies her. ‘Very much so. We will be a family.’ He chuckles, ‘Even Mrs Appleby. Now tell me who is going to be pleased to see her.’
Ruth again tips her head to one side – once more, like that elusive bird. ‘You wait and see.’
Malcolm stays seated as she moves away and soon he hears the old wooden door close.
He wonders if he has been guilty of a type of conceit, wanting to be the provider of the feast. He certainly wanted to give his friend the best Christmas lunch ever, but he admits that maybe he got a bit carried away with thoughts of what Ruth would think of him for preparing it.
What was it that Jo had said? Give in to Rev.
Ruth – if you did, it usually worked out well.
Despite his own view of religion, Malcolm finds it really is rather pleasant sitting in the quiet and ancient building.
The heating seems to have been fixed, so he is comfortably warm, wrapped in a world of polished wood, surrounded by the scent of spruce and candles.
The twinkling lights of the tree cast shadows and illuminate glimpses of colour from the stained glass.
And through the greenery and festive floral colours shines the purple of advent, the altar cloth and hangings from the lectern and pulpit.
In a low and melodious voice, Malcolm begins to sing, ‘On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me …’ He pauses.
A partridge?
Was that it? No. Not quite. He shakes himself and rises. Rev. Ruth isn’t the only one who has things to do.
It is past ten o’clock, and Malcolm is standing in his dining room staring anxiously down at his table. On it are several cookery books that are open at Christmas recipes. Beside them are sheaves of paper – lists, all made out in Malcolm’s immaculate copperplate handwriting.
There is no doubt about it, whichever way he looks at it, and he has been studying a table plan for some time: nine is going to be a problem. It is a small room and eight would be a squeeze, but possible. Nine now …
He recounts. The Three Disgraces, him and Ruth, Mrs Appleby, Yana and Max, and then there was Polly Poole …
His phone sounds and he sees it is Rev. Ruth.
‘Are you all right, Ruth?’
Perhaps she is calling to say Mrs Appleby has a better offer. One can but hope.
‘Um, yes, all is good. In fact, more than good. We have Yana on the case.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Malcolm frowns in his confusion.
‘Yana. She’s taking charge …’ She seems to sense his unease, ‘Oh, not of the hosting, but she is working out who will bring and do what, so it doesn’t all fall on you. She already has colour-coded spreadsheets.’
‘Yana?’ he says uncertainly.
‘Yes, Yana.’ Ruth laughs. ‘You do know she is a superlative organizer. Ran a huge farm in Ukraine. The Willoughbys were very lucky to get her for their Holstein herd. She is looking after more than three hundred cows.’
Malcolm blinks trying to catch up. Yana had seemed so slight, so small. He somehow hadn’t pictured her at home on a farm.
‘She’s also acting as a consultant for the Thomases for the production of ice-cream from their Jerseys.’
‘My goodness,’ is all Malcolm can manage.
‘I’ve given her your number. She’ll be in touch.’
‘Quite. I mean, thank you.’
‘And I have another idea. I’m not sure I can pull it off, but leave it with me.’ With this she hangs up, and Malcolm shakes his head. Leave what with her?
In a sudden moment of panic, Malcolm forgets all about Rev. Ruth.
The turkey!
He had forgotten the turkey. It is never going to feed nine and he is pretty sure it is too late to order another.
Maybe a goose? For a mad moment he imagines himself opening his front door, grabbing the nearest small boy and instructing him to run to the poulterers to buy him the prize turkey.
He can imagine the sort of response he would get.
Malcolm heads to his study, pours himself a whisky and unearths his rarely used laptop.
Ten minutes later, Ruth is back on the phone.
‘Yes,’ he says warily, not sure what to expect now. He knows he is going to have to mention the turkey. But he feels such a failure. All the online supermarkets are no longer taking orders. And he cannot get a goose for love nor money.
‘Malcolm, I have an idea, but I don’t want you to think I am taking over.’
Malcolm wants to cry out, ‘Please take over!’ but he just makes encouraging noises and waits politely for Ruth to continue.
‘I think we might need a bigger place for the lunch, and I wondered how you would feel about us holding it in the church? We have the space, and we can set up a big table at the back after the family service.’
Malcolm thinks of sitting in the church earlier that night: of the warmth and twinkling lights and of the comfort it had unexpectedly brought him. ‘I think that is a rather lovely idea,’ he replies. ‘But what about ovens and, oh my goodness …’ His mind feels overwhelmed by all that is needed.
Rev. Ruth cuts in. ‘That’s another thing. I didn’t mention it until Jim had said he could help.’
‘Jim?’ Malcolm enquires a little weakly. Did that make it ten?
‘Yes, Jim and Roddy.’
Eleven?
‘I saw Jim earlier. He’s a sergeant major with the Royal Yorkshires and he’s happy to bring a portable oven and donate a really big turkey.’
Malcolm sits down suddenly in relief.
‘And,’ she adds, ‘he says Roddy will help, as he’s a cook and has nowhere to go at Christmas.
It seems no wants him around,’ Ruth continues just as cheerfully.
‘Jim says he’s a moody bugger, but a great cook, and that this is perfect as it will keep him out of the pubs and he won’t get called to collect him from a police station after he starts a fight. ’
‘My goodness.’
‘Jim says Roddy won’t be persuaded to sit at the table with us, no matter what. Can’t be doing with it. But we can make him up a plate and he is happy to sit at the back in the pews.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Malcolm says hesitatingly.
‘According to Jim, that’s what he’d like. So, we are all sorted!’ Ruth says with a note of triumph in her voice. With this she hangs up.
Malcolm pours himself another generous whisky and wonders what the likely effect will be of plum vodka on Roddy. And who he would put money on in a fight. The unknown Roddy or Mrs Appleby.