Page 6 of Christmas at the Movies
‘I see,’ murmured Mr Wu. ‘I wasn’t aware that Nick was on the special educational needs register.’
‘He’s not,’ said Sarah. ‘But his primary school made accommodations for him.’
She’d had to fight tooth and nail to get the school to do that, as Nick didn’t have a medical condition. Luckily, Mr Wu seemed much more cooperative.
‘What would help Nick?’ asked the teacher.
‘Is there somewhere quiet he could go if he’s feeling overwhelmed and needs a break?’
‘The library is usually quiet,’ suggested Mr Wu. ‘I’ll have a word with Nick and his other teachers, and see what we can arrange.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sarah.
No sooner had she ended the call, she received another one.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Sarah answered, trying – but failing – to keep the worry out of her voice.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Geraldine with a mother’s sixth sense.
‘It’s Nick,’ replied Sarah. ‘The school just called. They’re concerned because he’s having trouble settling in.’
‘Children are so mollycoddled these days.’ Geraldine tutted. ‘Benign neglect is good for children. You and your sister turned out just fine.’
‘These days, it’s frowned upon to let your kids raise themselves,’ said Sarah tartly.
Sarah and Meg were textbook 1980s latchkey kids, as their ambitious parents were busy furthering their academic careers. Ironically, for someone with such a hands-off approach to parenting, Geraldine’s main field of research had been community and families. When she’d had children of her own, Sarah had made a conscious decision to put them first, always. But her mum had disapproved of the fact that Sarah had given up her television career.
‘When I was still working, I would sometimes get the parents of university students phoning to query their child’s mark, or asking me to grant them an extension on an essay. Ridiculous!’ Her mum sighed deeply down the phone. ‘But I miss it so much. Teaching, being around interesting young people, being relevant.’
Geraldine had recently retired from Bristol University and moved into a community for seniors on the outskirts of Plumdale. Sarah’s mother had always been fiercely independent, but after developing health complications due to long Covid, it just wasn’t possible for her to live on her own. Moving in with Sarah wasn’t an option – there was barely enough space in the cottage for the four of them. And Meg, who’d lived in Edinburgh since university, had her hands full with her own family and thriving dental clinic. So Sarah had found Valley Vistas, a gorgeous complex with modern flats and beautiful gardens, within walking distance of the village centre. Geraldine had strenuously resisted moving there, even when they’d tried to persuade her that she’d see loads more of them. In the end, she’d had a fall and that was what had sealed the deal – she needed to live somewhere with a lift.
It was so unlike Geraldine – who had marched for women’s rights and reclaimed her life after a bitter divorce– to sound defeated. ‘Of course you’re still relevant,’ Sarah reassured her.
‘I’m just so lonely,’ said Geraldine, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself all day.’
‘Why don’t you get to know some of the other residents at Valley Vistas?’ suggested Sarah. ‘There are lots of activities you can get involved with.’ It wasn’t the first time she’d made the suggestions, and she could predict what her mother was going to say next. They’d had a similar conversation nearly every day since her mother had moved in.
‘I don’t want to hang around with boring old people,’ moaned Geraldine. ‘All they do is talk about their medical conditions.’
Sarah stifled a frustrated sigh. ‘Well, how about you come over to dinner tomorrow night?’
‘That would be lovely.’ The speed with which she accepted the invitation and rang off made Sarah suspect it had been her mother’s main reason for phoning.
I should have Mum over more often, she thought guiltily, even though her mother joined them for dinner at least twice a week.
She jotted down a reminder to pick up something from the butcher’s for dinner tomorrow, and to tidy the house. Then she slid the rubber band off a rolled-up film poster. She stretched the elastic between her thumb and her forefinger, pulling it taut. That’s how she felt these days – like a rubber band, about to snap. Between the cinema and home, her mum and the kids, she was stretched to breaking point. From remembering birthdays, making doctor’s appointments and finding missing socks, to filling out school forms, ironing uniforms and keeping the fridge filled, everything to do with running the family seemed toland on Sarah’s plate. She worked less hours at the cinema than James did, but the emotional labour of running the family was never-ending.
Suddenly, Sarah felt a wave of anxiety engulf her like a riptide. Intense heat crept up her torso, rising to her face. In seconds, her arms and chest were drenched in sweat.
Here we go again …
Grabbing the poster, she hurried outside. The cold air felt blissful as it blasted her overheated body. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths and waited for her internal thermometer to stop thinking she was in a sauna. Sarah rested her damp forehead against the glass door.
Opening her eyes again, she saw her reflection in the glass – a tall woman in jeans, a striped sweater and white trainers. Her brown hair was in a messy bun, there were bags under her eyes and a groove between her eyebrows even when she wasn’t frowning. Her sister’s dental practice offered Botox, and Meg had encouraged her to try it, but Sarah had so far resisted.
Maybe I should,she thought, smoothing the groove with her finger.I look so old.
Turning away from her reflection, she unfurled the poster and hung it in a glass case outside the cinema. As she did so, a name jumped out at her. The screenwriter was Jack Greenstreet, someone she’d worked with at the BBC.
