Page 27 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Anything.’
‘Did Gloria make you come here and apologise?’ I ask him, wondering for a second if he has indeed been forced or encouraged.
‘Gosh, no,’ he says, shaking his head. He goes back to taking in the pictures on the walls. ‘If Gloria knew that I was speaking to you like that in the first place she’d have me by the balls. I didn’t tell her anything about our conversation, no. She doesn’t even know we have a history.’
Yes, that history . . . I have so much that I want to ask him about that. Why and how he ended up on the streets and how he has made such a transformation in only twelve months, but that’s the nosey writer in me coming out perhaps. It’s really none of my business.
‘Come inside,’ I say to him, leading the way into the sitting room where the fire dances in the hearth. ‘I’ll get you something warm to drink.’
‘Honestly, Ruth,’ he says to me. ‘You don’t need to get me anything. I’m just here to say sorry and to tell you that if you still need me, I’d love to help you out with dinner but I understand if I was too sharp earlier and you’ve changed your mind.’
I sit down on the far end of the sofa and gesture to him to have a seat too. He does.
‘No, no I haven’t changed my mind,’ I reply. ‘You flummoxed me, I’ll give you that, and to be honest, it made me more determined to do it on my own, but if you’re up for it, it would be nice to have an extra pair of hands on board.’
‘I’m your man, then,’ he tells me with a smile. ‘Maybe we can start again. I think, despite our remarkable encounter on Hope Street, that we may have got off to a bumpy start.’
‘We can start again,’ I say to him. ‘We’ve a lot to do in a very short space of time, so it will be all systems go from now on. I need to get this place looking a bit more Christmassy for a start. It’s very – brown and grey let’s say.’
‘A Christmas tree would be a good start,’ he suggests and I get that image again of her calling me to help her which makes my blood run cold. ‘Do you have one?’
I nod, unable to get the words out.
‘We could start with that?’
I purse my lips and my eyes crease up. I try to breathe.
‘Now?’
‘Well, yes, now unless you’re busy,’ he says. ‘We don’t really have an awful lot of time to waste, do we?’
I hear her calling me to come and help her. I’m lost in my recurring dream again where I can hear her but I can’t find where she is. I can’t find her.
‘Is something wrong, Ruth?’
‘No,’ I say, straight away. ‘Well, yes I suppose my mind just drifted there but it’s very hard to explain. I’m fine.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry, Michael,’ I say to him, pulling myself together. ‘I’m just very emotional right now and I have such strong memories attached to this time of year. The thought of going up to the attic and bringing the tree down just fills me with such—’
‘Why don’t you just tell me where it is and I’ll get it?’ he says, not questioning my reaction.
‘Why are you being so nice to me now?’ I ask him, remembering the humiliation from earlier. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me just as I don’t have to for you.’
He puts his hands up in surrender.
‘I thought we were starting over,’ he says. ‘Like you say, time isn’t really on our side so let’s start with the tree and then you can explain to me exactly what this dinner party is all about.’
The elephant in the room trumpets loudly as so many unanswered questions linger in the air. How on earth did he end up living above the café and working there for Gloria, one of my closest proper friends and probably my only trusted confidante? How on earth did he get the courage to tell me who he really was?
‘I’ll tell you a bit about me soon too, if that’s what you’d like to hear,’ he says, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. ‘You don’t have to look so worried, Ruth. I’ll explain all, I promise, in time and if you change your mind about me being here, I’ll totally understand. Now, the Christmas tree?’
‘Yes, the Christmas tree,’ I say, just a little reluctantly. I don’t know what to make of this man. He’s hot and cold in the flick of a switch and I’m not sure which side of him to believe in.
I direct him to the attic door on the fourth floor and wonder as I watch him walk up the stairs what on earth I am thinking, or am I even thinking at all, by having this stranger in my house when I’m all alone and I know absolutely nothing about him except that he was once homeless, suicidal and that I somehow gave him a second chance at life through a very simple gesture.
Gloria is an excellent judge of character, I repeat to myself.Gloria would never allow me to be put in any danger, I repeat to myself.
