Page 14 of Christmas at the Movies
‘Yes,’ she said, throwing her arms around him. ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’
James hugged her tightly. ‘I love you, Sarah.’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘I have an actual ring for you,’ he said. ‘I was going to wait until Christmas to propose, but that movie really got to me. I just didn’t want to wait a second longer to tell you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
Their lips came together and Sarah knew without a doubt that whatever the twenty-first century held, James would be by her side, driving along in their flying car or taking a holiday on the moon. Or even just watching movies together until they got old.
James was her person and she was his. Always and forever.
Chapter 2
Present Day
‘Help yourself to tea and biscuits in the café,’ said James, holding the cinema door open for the pensioners slowly making their way out of the auditorium. The cinema’s discounted Thursday afternoon Golden Oldies screenings were always well attended. This week’s film had been the Fellini masterpiece,La Dolce Vita.
‘Are you sure about that?’ Sarah had asked him when he’d told her what he was showing. ‘It’s a pretty racy film – we don’t want anyone having a heart attack.’
James had chuckled. ‘This lot lived through the swinging sixties; I think they can handle it. Besides, we have a defibrillator in the lobby.’
When everyone was out of the auditorium, James fetched his toolbox and made his way to the café. After the Golden Oldies screenings, he ran a weekly repair shop. People could bring along anything they needed mending, and James did his best to fix it.
Three elderly woman made a beeline for the free biscuits that James had set out.
A woman with a grey bob rubbed her hands together in delight. ‘Ooh, goodie, there are chocolate digestives this week.’ Olwyn Powell was a former primary school teacher from the neighbouring village.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t,’ said Pam Cusack, a short, plump woman with white hair. She was pushing a walker and wearing a sweatshirt that saidI’d Rather Be Reading. Now retired, she had been Plumdale’s librarian for decades. ‘The doctor says I need to get my blood sugar down.’ She watched as her friend helped herself to a biscuit. ‘But maybe just one won’t hurt …’
Olwyn munched her chocolate biscuit. ‘Your paintings look great, Vi.’
Vivian Georgitis – Vi for short – was a petite woman with a hot-pink pixie cut. From a distance, in her skinny jeans and trainers, she looked like a teenager. Only her deeply lined face, from summers sunbathing in her husband’s native Greece, made it evident that she was well into her eighties. Vi’s boldly coloured abstract paintings were currently on display in the café this month. ‘Thanks. I hope I sell a few. That will pay for the grandkids’ Christmas presents,’ said Vi.
A spry little man in his seventies came over to James. He had a tonsure of white hair and a moustache that called to mind an emperor tamarin. His shoes were perfectly polished and he wore a waistcoat and bow tie. The only incongruous aspect of his dapper appearance was the tape wrapped around the arm of his spectacles.
‘Shall I mend your glasses for you, Roger?’ James offered.
‘Oh, that would be splendid, dear boy,’ said Roger, handing them over. ‘I’d do it myself, except I’m blind as a bat without them.’
James put on his own reading glasses first, then got to work replacing the tiny screw. ‘Did you enjoy the film?’
‘Oh, yes. I remember the first time I saw it,’ replied Roger. ‘I was so smitten with Marcello Mastroianni that I booked a holiday to Rome in hopes that I’d meet him – or at least someone who looked like him.’
Pam giggled. ‘And did you?’
‘No, but I hung around Cinecittà Studios and had a fling with a rather gorgeous gaffer named Antonio,’ said Roger, winking at his friends. ‘I didn’t speak a word of Italian and he didn’t speak any English, but after a bottle or two of Chianti we understood each other perfectly.’
Vi gave a throaty laugh. ‘Wine – the international language of love!’
Tittering, the three ladies went to sit down at a table.
‘Now, James, I thought you should know that the picture was ever so slightly off-kilter,’ Roger confided.
‘Oh, dear, I’ll have to adjust the aspect ratio on the projector,’ said James. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
Roger had been the cinema’s first employee. He had been the head projectionist at a cinema in London’s Leicester Square, but had followed his partner to the Cotswolds when Omar had taken a job teaching maths at the local secondary school. Roger had taught James how to operate the projector, which they’d nicknamed Groucho Marx, when the cinema had first opened. James understood the science behind movies, but the way the projector transformed a series of still images into moving pictures had always seemed to him a type of magic. Roger had taught him how to change reels of film smoothly, so the optical illusion wasn’t spoiled mid-film.
Roger had retired when the cinema had switched to a digital projection system.
