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

space. Mind you, having come close to death last month, he probably isn’t looking his best at the moment.
    Damn! She had promised herself that she wouldn’t think about Nelson. Now she remembers the time when she saw him Christmas-shopping, in this very mall, three years ago. She had hardly known him then but remembers watching the family – grumpy dad, glamorous wife, surly teenage daughters – and thinking what a cliché they were. But, even then, lurking behind a rack of novelty calendars, she had felt oddly drawn to Nelson, weighed down as he was by family and designer carrier bags. He had looked different, more substantial than the academic types that surrounded her, more serious, somehow more dangerous. And he had certainly proved dangerous to her peace of mind. A brief affair resulted in the birth of Kate, and now Ruth is stuck with him for ever whilst Nelson – Nelson is still safe in the bosom of his nuclear family.
    In desperation she buys a book about the Romans for Max, aware that, as an archaeology professor, he probably possesses every known work on the subject. Still, this one has some nice pictures of Fishbourne Roman palace, where she knows Max has done some digging. She adds some Christmas socks and a novelty dog calendar. Might as well tick all the festive boxes, and her only serious rival for Max’s affection is his dog, Claudia. She also buys some crackers – two boxes for the price of one – and a red tablecloth decorated with snowflakes. As she heads back out into the crowd, Cliff Richard is blaring from the loudspeakers. Christmas Time. Mistletoe and wine. Ruth once found the body of an Iron Age girl with mistletoe berries in her stomach. Mistletoe was sacred to the druids, who believed that the plant gave protection against illness and witchcraft. It was also linked to fertility. In fact, Cathbad once told Ruth that the juice from the berries represented the sperm of the gods. Gives a whole new perspective on kissing under the mistletoe. But mistletoe is also highly poisonous, and Ruth’s Iron Age girl was probably destined for a horrible death. It’s a long way from Cliff’s jolly Christian rhyme. Sod it, she can’t be bothered to go clothes-shopping. She’ll just wear her black trousers and a vaguely sparkly top. Nobody will look at her anyway.
    ‘Ruth!’
    A blonde woman in a red coat is coming towards her. She is followed by a dark man, rather thinner than the vision of three years ago, but still recognizable as DCI Harry Nelson.
    ‘Hi Michelle,’ says Ruth. ‘Hi Nelson.’
    ‘Isn’t this crazy?’ says Michelle. ‘I always vow I’ll have all my shopping done by the end of November but there are always a few bits you forget, aren’t there?’
    ‘That’s because you never stop buying things,’ says Nelson. ‘You’ve bought about a hundred presents for the girls.’
    ‘Well, they still need their stocking presents even though they’re grown-up,’ says Michelle, flicking back her hair.
    Ruth stares at her. Michelle knows about Kate but the knowledge is too recent for anyone to feel comfortable with it. Ruth doesn’t feel that she can mention either Michelle’s daughters or her own. But, standing there in the shadow of the monstrous reindeer, she suddenly feels a great affection for Michelle. In fact, she almost wishes that she could spend Christmas with her. Michelle would cook for her and buy her stocking presents. She suddenly wonders if anyone will buy her a present. Her parents, born-again Christians, sent her a card informing her that, in lieu of gifts, they have purchased a donkey for the Sudan in her name. Her brother occasionally obliges with the latest Rebus book, but there’s been nothing from him in the post. Will Max get her something?
    Nelson looks anxious to be off but Michelle seems to feel something of the Dickensy spirit.
    ‘Why don’t we have a cup of tea?’ she says. ‘Or something stronger. It is Christmas after all.’
    ‘I’d love to,’ says Ruth, ‘but I’ve got to pick up a Christmas tree.’
    ‘Oh, we always have an artificial tree,’ says Michelle, ‘that way you don’t get pine needles everywhere.’
    *
    But when Ruth returns to the parking lot, there is no sign of Leaf, the caravan or any Christmas trees. There is only a police car containing a man eating a burger. Ruth taps on the car’s window.
    ‘Clough!’
    The man, DS Dave Clough, swallows the last of his bun and gets out of the car. He’s dressed in jeans and