Page 24 of Christmas at the Movies
James put the time on his watch back eight hours. ‘It’s still our wedding day in California – for another ten minutes.’
Sarah reached for her husband’s hand and laced her fingers between his. ‘My favourite part of our wedding day was just now – watching a movie, just the two of us.’
James pressed his lips to her hand. ‘I look forward to watching many, many more movies with you, Mrs O’Hara, even when we’re old and grey.’
Sarah gazed into his eyes, as blue as the sky outside the plane’s window. ‘James O’Hara, I take you to be my lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, through comedies and dramas, through thrillers and musicals …’
‘Through horror and romance …’
‘Through science fiction and animation …’
‘Til death do us part,’ they said together. And then they sealed their vows with a kiss.
Chapter 3
Present Day
With its original flagstone floors, bright copper pans hanging from the ceiling and a dresser crammed full of colourful, mismatched mugs and crockery, the kitchen was Sarah’s favourite room in the cottage. An Aga kept the room warm, despite the cold outside. But the kitchen’s cheer wasn’t doing much to lift Sarah’s mood as she sipped her coffee and gazed gloomily out of the window, its sill covered in plants and pots of herbs. Outside, it was a grey, drizzly day, not that it had stopped James from disappearing on his usual long Saturday-morning cycle ride.
She poured herself another cup of coffee. She was going to need it, she hadn’t slept well for the past few days, replaying Holly’s hurtful words in her head.
‘Just because you regret giving up on your dream doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on mine!’
Holly’s words rankled because Sarah knew that there was some truth in them. Ever since hanging up that movie poster – a reminder of whatcouldhave been, if she’d made different choices – Sarah had been wondering if she had given up on her writing too easily. Sure, there had been reasons: she’d been busy raising the kids and helping to run the cinema. She’d tried to make time – snatching moments here and there – but it hadn’t been easy. So she’d given up, just like Holly had said.
She could hear her daughter singing along to theWickedsoundtrack in her bedroom. Guilt prickled Sarah’s conscience as she listened to her daughter hit a high note. Had she stopped her from going to the audition because she was jealous of her talent – and the fact that she still had her whole life ahead of her?
No,thought Sarah, tightening the belt of her dressing gown.I’d never do that. She wanted her daughter to act, if that’s what she wanted to do. Sarah would support Holly however she could. But she and James both wanted Holly to get the best education possible, as a strong foundation.
‘What’s wrong, Mum?’ asked Nick.
Startled, Sarah turned around. She hadn’t heard her son come into the kitchen, his slippers silent on the flagstones, and wondered how long he had been observing her. He was wearing pyjamas with his favourite manga character on them that she’d ordered from Japan last Christmas.
‘I’m just feeling a bit down today,’ admitted Sarah. There was no point lying to her son; Nick could read her every mood.
He came over and put his arms around her. Sarah relished the fact that her youngest was still happy to give her a cuddle.
‘Thank you, my sweet, sweet boy,’ she said, stroking his sandy hair still tousled from sleep.
Sarah got a big bowl out of the cupboard and started mixing together ingredients for pancakes. Nick sat down at the scuffed oak table, reading one of his manga magazines.
Butter sizzled on the skillet as Sarah poured batter into the frying pan. She dropped in blueberries to make a smiley face.
As intended, the delicious smell of pancakes cooking lured Holly down to the kitchen.
‘Morning, Holly,’ Sarah said. ‘I made your favourite.’
Ignoring Sarah’s peace offering, Holly went to the cupboard and got out a box of cereal.
Great,thought Sarah.She’s still giving me the silent treatment.
‘I’ll have her pancake,’ said Nick.
Sarah slid it onto his plate. Twelve-year-old boys had bottomless appetites. No sooner had she restocked the fridge than it was empty again.
Just as Sarah was about to sit down and eat her own breakfast, a ginger cat came into the kitchen and meowed.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You want your breakfast too, Jonesy.’ She poured cat biscuits into his bowl.
