Page 5 of Christmas at the Movies
James checked his watch. ‘Nearly midnight.’
Sarah started putting on her coat. ‘I should be getting back to Camden before the Tube stops running.’
Dismayed, James put notes on the table to settle the bill. He didn’t want the night to end. He couldn’t risk this beautiful, passionate, intelligent girl disappearing from his life, Cinderella-style, at the stroke of midnight. Maybe love at first sightwasn’tjust something in the movies.
‘Do you fancy seeing another movie?’ he asked her, trying not to sound desperate. ‘There’s a midnight showing ofBabette’s Feastat the Prince Charles. I can walk you back to your halls afterwards.’
It would mean a long night-bus home for him. It didn’t matter – after just one night in her company, he already knew he’d walk to the ends of the earth for this girl.
Sarah hesitated, toying with the purple strand of her hair.
‘It’s not a romcom,’ James babbled. ‘But itisheart-warming. And Christmassy, well, sort of. And there’s a rum baba in it that’s guaranteed to make you want dessert.’
Please say yes … please say yes …
Sarah zipped up her parka. ‘We’d better get going, then, if we need to buy cinema sweets.’ She grinned and held out her hand for him to take. ‘Ireallyhate missing the trailers.’
Chapter 1
Present Day
The lobby of the Plumdale Picture Palace was overrun with babies – babies in slings, babies in car seats and babies on their exhausted-looking mothers’ hips. Some of the mums were sipping coffees and chatting to each other among the vintage cinema posters. These days, there were a fair number of dads too, armed with well stocked nappy bags and bottles of milk. The cinema’s weekly Wednesday morning ‘Baby and Me’ screenings were always well-attended, even if the film was inevitably accompanied by a soundtrack of crying infants.
A baby girl with a shock of brown hair, huge blue eyes and deliciously chubby thighs gave Sarah O’Hara a gummy smile.
‘What a little cutie,’ said Sarah, making a silly face at the baby as she sold a ticket to her mother. The baby giggled and kicked her legs in delight. She reminded Sarah of her daughter, Holly, when she was a baby. She was nearly sixteen now and those days were a distant memory, as were the smiles – at least, Holly rarely bestowed them on her mother these days. Somehow, over the past year or so, Sarah had gone from being her daughter’s favourite person to Public Enemy Number One.
‘It’s just a stage,’ her best friend, Pari, Holly’s godmother, had reassured her. ‘I was horrible to my mother when I was a teenager and I bet you were too. She’ll come back to you.’
But when,Sarah couldn’t help wondering. She gazed round at the young parents cuddling their adorable infants and felt a pang of envy. It was so much easier when they were that age, despite the broken nights, sore boobs and smelly nappies. When she could make her children laugh by pulling a silly face and make everything better with a kiss. Even the terrible twos were a breeze compared with the teenaged years …
Sarah finished selling drinks and refreshments, then scuttled around to the other side of the counter to open the door to the auditorium and let the parents inside. The plush red velvet seats, ornate proscenium arch and gold fan-shaped light fittings on the stucco walls never failed to take her breath away. Nearly two decades ago, she and James had lovingly restored the Picture Palace to its former art deco glory. It had been a ruin when they’d bought it, disused since the early 70s, but eventually they had made it worthy of its name.
As the feature presentation began, she noticed that the auditorium was a bit too hot so she turned the thermostat down a touch. Then she slipped out to do some work in the office. Checking her to-do list, Sarah rubbed her temples wearily. She’d slept badly – again – and was already exhausted. The ancient sofa in the office looked very inviting, but there was no time for a nap. She needed to make a staff rota for the month ahead, order sweets and drinks for the concession stand, and schedule the programme for December. She’d once naively assumed owning a cinema would mean watching movies all day long.Ha!
The desk was cluttered with posters for upcoming attractions and catalogues from suppliers. She picked up a brochure and flicked through it. Last week, one of thespeakers in the auditorium had blown during a screening. Fortunately, James had managed to rewire the system to a different speaker before the next showing. It was fortunate her husband could turn his hand to most repairs, because things were constantly breaking down in the cinema, from troublesome taps to temperamental ticket printers. Seeing the price of a new sound system, she winced and closed the brochure.
Maybe Santa will bring us a new one,thought Sarah.
That was yet another thing she needed to sort out – Christmas. She hadn’t even begun to think about shopping yet, not to mention planning the festive film festival that the cinema ran every December.
Sarah’s phone rang and her stomach clenched when she saw that it was from Severn Valley secondary school. What was it this time? Had Holly bunked off school again? Or got yet another detention?
‘Hello, Mrs O’Hara? This is Stephen Wu, Nick’s form tutor.’
Instantly, Sarah was on red alert. ‘Is Nick ill?’ she asked, her hand scrabbling in her bag to find her car keys so she could race to the school and collect him.
‘No, don’t worry, Nick’s perfectly well. I just wanted to have a chat about how he’s settling in to secondary school.’
Ahhh …
‘Nick’s a very bright boy,’ said Mr Wu, ‘but he seems quite anxious and hasn’t made friends yet.’
Sarah’s heart clenched with worry as she thought of her twelve-year-old son, looking lost in his too-big school blazer (they’d bought it large so he could grow into it). Moving from the security of the tiny village primary school to the regional secondary school had been a difficult transition for him, unlike his outgoing older sister. Nick begged his parents not to make him go to school most mornings.Sarah’s heart broke when she sent him off to catch the bus, even though she knew it was the right thing to do.
‘You’re only ever as happy as your unhappiest child,’ her older sister, Meg, who had three kids of her own, had once told Sarah. Truer words had never been spoken.
‘Nick is highly sensitive,’ explained Sarah. ‘He finds it hard to cope in an overly stimulating environment, especially if it’s new. Noisy situations, crowded spaces, strong smells, bright lights – they can all trigger him.’
