Ruth's First Christmas Tree: A Ruth Galloway Short Story

windscreen now. She’s sure that she’s missed the turning.
    No. Thank God. There it is, mercifully illuminated. Ruth takes the turning wide and continues her painfully slow progress. How does that song go? Driving home for Christmas. Ruth sings a few bars and realizes that she is almost crying. She so badly wants to be back in her little cottage with Kate beside her. Why did she ever go to that stupid party? But beside her, buried in the depths of her organizer handbag, is a piece of wood that, she is almost sure, comes from a Bronze Age henge. Why had Phil taken it? To have a souvenir of the most famous find in Norfolk’s history? To say that his correspondence was weighed down by a three-thousand-year-old axle? Whatever the reason, Phil had no idea of the importance of the object, not only to the museum but to its elderly custodian, now lying dangerously ill in hospital. Ruth must get the wood back to Cathbad.
    Then, suddenly, there’s the Saltmarsh roundabout. Ruth drives round it twice before she finds her exit. Nearly there. But this is the most dangerous part of the journey. The road is raised up over the marshes; one false turn of the wheel and Ruth will be in the ditch, where she could well freeze to death and be found years later, like Ötzi the iceman, the five- thousand-year-old body found on the Italian–Austrian border. Ruth the ice woman. Frosty the snowman. Nearly there. Driving home for Christmas. Ruth is singing almost manically now. I’m coming, Kate. Mummy’s almost home. Christmas time. Mistletoe and wine. In the bleak midwinter. Now she can see the light from her cottage, its flickering glow like a beacon in the darkness. Flickering? Why the hell is it flickering? Ruth feels a new panic overtaking her as she parks by the gate. There is definitely something odd about the light. What’s happening in her house?
    She flings open the door and stands, transfixed, on the doorstep. The room is lit by dozens of candles and there, illuminated in the golden light, are Cathbad and Nelson and, hanging from the ceiling, an upside-down Christmas tree, twinkling with lights and hung with strange, glittering decorations.
    ‘It’s Yggdrasil,’ says Cathbad. ‘We thought, if it’s up high, Kate and Flint won’t be able to get at it.’
    ‘It’s amazing,’ says Ruth, coming closer. ‘How did you get it up there?’
    ‘By ropes and pulleys,’ says Nelson. ‘Took us ages.’
    ‘Lucky Nelson arrived when he did,’ says Cathbad. ‘I couldn’t have managed it by myself.’
    ‘I came to drop off some presents,’ says Nelson. He gestures towards two rather clumsily wrapped parcels. One is addressed to Kate and one to Ruth.
    ‘That’s so kind of you,’ says Ruth. She is afraid that she’s about to cry.
    ‘I made new decorations because yours got broken,’ Cathbad explains. ‘They’re mainly dried fruit and paper. We wanted to make it special because it’s your first Christmas tree.’
    ‘It is special,’ says Ruth. ‘It’s unique.’
    ‘It has turned out rather well.’ Cathbad looks modest. ‘How was the party?’
    ‘Dreadful,’ says Ruth. ‘Phil was wearing high heels.’
    ‘I always knew he was weird,’ says Nelson. ‘Bet there wasn’t even any decent beer.’
    ‘Mainly champagne,’ says Ruth. ‘Bob Bullmore brought some home-made cider.’ Nelson shudders. ‘But I only drank orange juice.’
    ‘Well, let’s have a drink now,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’ve made some more mulled wine. Do you want some?’
    ‘That would be lovely,’ says Ruth, sinking down on the sofa, still staring up at the tree. ‘And I’ve got something for you.’ She takes the piece of wood out of her bag.
    *
    Much later, when Cathbad and Nelson have gone home, Ruth is still sitting and staring at the tree. The snow has stopped but it’s still lying thick on the ground, deep and crisp and even. Nelson was confident that his heavy Mercedes could cope and he has taken Cathbad with him. Cathbad is planning to visit Driffield tomorrow, taking with him the missing piece of Bronze Age wood. ‘He’ll get better now. I’m sure of it.’ Ruth hopes so. Even if the wooden peg itself doesn’t have special powers, she is sure that Cathbad’s powerful conviction will go a long way towards healing his friend. Maybe that’s what shamanism is all about. It’s enough that someone, somewhere, genuinely believes that the magic will work.
    Will Max be able to drive up from Brighton tomorrow? Ruth doesn’t