Page 109 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
I looked slowly along the line from start to finish before I returned to my first birthday once more. I picked up the little red teddy and held it up against my face again.
And it was then that I began to cry.
***
I must have sat there on the floor sobbing for at least twenty minutes before I was finally able to compose myself. I then packed all the gifts away as carefully as I could back into the box, quickly went to the bathroom to clean up my mascara-streaked face, then grabbed my coat and bag and headed out of the front door.
As I hurried along the pavement I rummaged in my bag for a piece of paper. Once found, I glanced at it briefly before shoving it in my coat pocket.
I walked down into the depths of Notting Hill Gate station. I found the correct line on the map up on the wall and then had to sit patiently on the tube train for a few stops, before I could alight and go back up into the fresh air once more.
I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket, glanced at it again, and then had to ask for further directions before winding my way along a few more streets, eventually arriving at a block of flats.
I looked up momentarily at the towering gray building in front of me before I hurried into its core. I had to wait while I rose up excruciatingly slowly in the lift until the light above my head lit with the number 5, and the doors jolted open.
It was after I had made my way along a dark and dingy corridor that I finally found what I was searching for.
I took a deep breath before knocking purposefully on the door of flat no. 504.
After a few seconds the door swung open and Rose stood staring at me in astonishment.
“Scarlett, what are you doing here so soon?” she said, her expression one of concern.
My voice quivered as I tried to speak.
“What on earth is wrong?” Rose asked in alarm. “What’s happened?”
Tears began to fall from my eyes. “M…Mum,” I just managed to utter before the tears cascaded down my cheeks in a tidal wave of emotion.
“Oh, Scarlett,” Rose said, clasping her hand to her mouth, as tears began to spring from her own eyes now. “What’s changed?”
“I have,” I sobbed, running toward her.
And it was then, for the first time in my life, that I hugged my mother.
Thirty-One
Mum and I spent lots of time together over the next couple of days. We visited galleries, took walks in the park, had lunch, and even managed to watch a few movies together—both at the cinema and at home on Belinda and Harry’s huge plasma screen TV.
“My shifts change next week,” Mum announced on Sunday when we were on our way back from seeing a double bill of Cary Grant films. We’d had to travel quite a way on the tube to find this particular cinema, which only showed classic movies. But it had been worth it for an afternoon ofAnAffairtoRememberandThePhiladelphiaStorythe way they were originally intended to be viewed, on the big screen. “So I won’t be able to spend so much time with you, I’m afraid. Besides, I expect you’re starting to get fed up seeing me every day.”
“Of course I’m not,” I protested, genuinely meaning it.
Mum smiled. “That’s lovely to hear, Scarlett. But unfortunately I’ll be working days next week, so I’ll only have my evenings free. Anyway, I expect you’d like to catch up with David. I bet he’s been missing you.”
“Actually, I think I have been neglecting David a bitrecently, and I wanted a chance to introduce him to my new friends, and to you, of course. So you having your evenings free is good, because I was hoping to have a dinner party next week. David has some business in London so he’s going to stay over one night.”
“Oh, I’d love to meet your fiancé,” Mum said, looking pleased.
“I thought I’d invite Oscar and Ursula too—they’re the two people who were with me the night we met at the cinema. They’re dying to meet you properly; they know about everything that’s happened.”
So did my mother now. Over the last few days I had explained not only how Sean and I had searched all over London and then Paris for her, but also the other reason I was here. And, as I thought she might, my mother had heartily approved of my plan to prove everyone wrong about the movies.
“I shall certainly look forward to your dinner party, Scarlett,” Mum said now. “But you must promise me you’ll try to get out and find some more films next week—you’ve not got long in London now, and one of us has to prove your father wrong. I certainly never managed it.”
“Stop worrying, Mum,” I assured her. “Everything will be just fine—I’m sure of it.”
***
