Page 115 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
“Are you nervous about her coming?”
“I wasn’t. But now the moment’s getting closer I am starting to get a bit worried.”
“Finally,” Oscar gasped, breaking free from David and rushing to our side. He took a large gulp of his wine. “Oh sorry, darling, I know he’s with you, but if I have to hear one more word about his wood laminate flooring issues, I think I’ll scream!” Oscar looked from Ursula to me. “So who did I hear you say is arriving at eight?”
“Scarlett’s mother?” Ursula prompted.
“Oh, of course, your mother. Scarlett, I’m so sorry, I almost forgot. My brain’s been quite numbed.” Oscar put his hand to his forehead and took another gulp of his wine. “You know best, darling, but it sounds like a recipe for firework pie if you ask me.”
Ursula shot Oscar a warning glance.
“So,” she said brightly, turning to me. “How have you and your mother been getting on? We’ve hardly seen you since that night at the cinema.”
“Really well, actually,” I said, keen as I always was these days to talk about Mum. “We’ve spent loads of time together and had such fun. Meeting her again has made me face up to quite a few things too.”
“What sorts of things?” Oscar asked, intrigued.
“Just things like how important certain people are to me. To be grateful for what I have in life and not to keep chasing after the unattainable.” I glanced across at Sean.
“We should always be grateful for our nearest and dearest,” Ursula said softly. “But never give up on your dreams, Scarlett.”
I looked at her.
“But what if your dreams never come true, Ursula?”
“If you stop believing in them, how will you ever know if they would have?”
I was about to question her further when the shrill tone of the doorbell interrupted me. Everyone in the room froze except my father. He carried on his conversation with Sean until he realized that everyone else had stopped talking and the room was silent.
“Carry on, everyone,” I said brightly, trying to force a smile. “It’s only the doorbell, for goodness’ sake.”
As I walked out of the lounge a sudden dread about what was going to happen next began to wash over me. And as I reached the front door and slowly swung it open a huge sense of foreboding flooded through my body.
Perhaps everyonehadbeen right. I had to try to stop this now, before it went any further.
“Good evening,” my mother said cheerfully, standing on the step in front of me clutching a bottle of wine and some flowers. “How is everything going? I’m not late, am I?” As I stood staring at her, desperately trying to think of a reason for her not to come in, she walked past me into the hall.
“The thing is…it’s…” I stuttered as I closed the door behind her.
“What’s up, Scarlett?” she teased. “Surely cooking for us all hasn’t taken it out of you that badly? Actually you do look a bit pale. Are you all right?”
“Mum, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Yes?” my mother asked, looking concerned. “What is it?”
“Scarlett, where’s your corkscrew?” my father said, appearing from the lounge. “We need to open…” His voice trailed off as he saw the newest guest to join the dinner party. The bottle he was carrying slipped from his hand and crashed onto the tiled floor. The green glass smashed into what looked like a thousand tiny pieces, and the red wine inside flowed out around his feet, making him look as if he was standing in a huge pool of blood.
The crash brought everyone running from the lounge to see what had happened. But my father didn’t appear to notice; he just stood staring at my mother. His face had drained of color, just as the bottle had been of its wine.
“Hello, Tom,” Mum said, recovering from the shock much quicker than Dad. I quickly grabbed the bottle of wine from her hands—just in case. “It’s been a long time.”
My father opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a goldfish gasping for air.
“Dad, let’s get this cleaned up,” I said, moving toward him to pick up the pieces of broken glass. “Then maybe we—”
“What isshedoing here?” my father boomed, finding his voice at last.
I stopped dead in my tracks. Dad had rarely shouted at me, even when I was little.
