Page 29 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘ “Thou canst not then be false to any man”,’ we say together.
‘Hamlet,’ says Michael.
‘My favourite.’
‘Mine too.’
Michael goes back to the books. I go back to the tea.
‘Most of all he was a wonderful father and a generous, charitable soul,’ I continue, trying to fill the silence and not wanting to change the subject just yet and also trying to ignore how we just said that together. ‘I know it might sound cheesy, but I do think he was guiding me that night I saw you on Hope Street. I like to think it was his influence, at least, that gave me that split-second urge to give you the money I had on me at the time.’
I look on at Michael as he studies the spine of an old classic, his fingers running down it from top to bottom like it is precious, which essentially it is.
‘Gloria has told me of the many people you have helped with your words of wisdom,’ he says.
He looks at me fleetingly, then back to the book.
‘She did?’
‘She did,’ he repeats. ‘So I know I’m only one of many who have been guided by your actions. You’re a kind person who helps people and I’m very lucky to be one of them. No need to read into this like it’s some sort of serendipity. I’m too cynical for all that.’
‘Fair enough,’ I say to him as I bring the tea across to the table. ‘But I don’t know if I’ve helped anyone, do I? I mean, you’re the only one to actually come and tell me that I have. I don’t know if I have made any difference at all.’
‘No?’
‘No, that’s the thing,’ I explain. I set out a cup and saucer for him and he lifts the cup, cradling it as he explores the room more. ‘I hand outwordsof wisdom, yes, that’s my job, but I rarely know if those words work or help or change anything at all or even if they’ve fallen on deaf ears. With you I didn’t give outwords, I tookactionand look at the difference it made?’
He puts the cup down again. I have his attention now.
‘I suppose so, yes,’ he says. ‘Action, not just words.’
‘Totally yes,’ I say to him. ‘And now I want to keep doing that, Michael. I don’t want to justthinkof how I can help someone, orwonder, orsay– I want to actuallydosomething, and that’s why I decided to open up this big empty house and invite people who would otherwise be on their own on to dinner here on Christmas Day – on what should be, for most of us, a very happy time of year. I want it to be for people who have written to me, who for whatever reason, are lost and lonely this Christmas. People like you . . . and people like me because, believe it or not, I’m pretty lost right now too.’
I look up at him again. He is no longer examining the artwork or instruments or photos on the walls or the books on the shelves. He is looking directly at me.
‘That’s . . . that’s pretty special, Ruth,’ he says to me.
‘So now that you know what I’m up to, do you still want to help me make it happen?’
Michael smiles widely, puts his cup down and sits back in his chair.
‘Yes, of course I do. I think it’s a wonderful, very kind gesture but it has to be your gig,’ he says.
‘Sorry?’
‘It has to be from your heart, not mine,’ he tells me. ‘This was your idea, your baby. I will help, but in a very subtle way when you need me. I was a chef in a former life and a mighty good one at that, so I’ll certainly add something to the mix, but it’s your party and you call the shots. Plus, I do have one condition.’
I sit up straight, enjoying his enthusiasm, not to mention that he has a condition. I’m loving that he has boundaries and opinions already.
‘Go on?’ I say to him.
‘You have to get a new tree,’ he says and we both burst out laughing.
I look across at the Christmas tree with fresh eyes. It looks old, shabby, skinny in parts and has seen better days. It’s a bit pathetic, really, and a far cry from the big mighty tree that I remember from my childhood. In fact, it’s just another thing in this house that my mother had bought and that we were so afraid of getting rid of in the hope that one day she might come back.
‘It’s a deal,’ I tell him. ‘We’ll get a new tree. In fact, let’s go shopping.’
‘What? Now?’
