Page 7 of Christmas at the Movies
Sarah stared at the poster, amazed that her former colleague had penned a blockbuster starring Eddie Redmayne.
Good for him, thought Sarah, trying not to feel envious.
How long had it been since she’d done any writing herself? Years and years. Could she even legitimately call herself a writer any more?
When they’d quit their jobs in London to buy the cinema, the plan had been to hire a full-time manager soSarah would be able to finish her screenplay. But somehow that had never happened. Then the kids had arrived, and in between running the cinema and raising a young family, there was never any time to write. The kids weren’t little any more, but therestillwasn’t any time to write. Not now that she had her mum to look after as well.
Sarah didn’t regret the time she’d devoted to her family; her kids were her most important – and rewarding – creation. But a tiny part of her wondered if it could have been her name on a movie poster, if only she had kept at it. If only she hadmadethe time to write.
Sarah shook her head. There was no point dwelling on the past. She’d ended up working in movies, just not quite in the way she’d imagined.
Shutting the glass case, she turned and saw that volunteers from the Plumdale Beautification Society were busy decorating the market square for Christmas. Not that the village needed much beautification. The perfectly preserved buildings lining the high street were made of golden Cotswold stone and nestled in a picturesque valley of rolling hills. Plumdale had just about everything you could want – two nice pubs at either end of the high street, an organic butcher’s, a baker’s, and, yes, even a candlestick maker’s. Cotswold Candles, a few doors down from the cinema, had recently opened, selling tapers made of locally sourced beeswax and other overpriced knick-knacks. Even the postboxes in the village were well turned out, sporting knitted toppers made by members of the local craft circle. The one outside the cinema was jauntily adorned with knitted snowmen.
‘Hiya, Sarah,’ called a man in jeans, scuffed work boots and a plaid shirt. He was halfway up a ladder, putting lights on the Christmas tree.
Sarah crossed the road to say hello. ‘The market square looks good, Ian.’ The volunteers had hung wreaths with red bows on every lamp post. She could still remember what she’d said to James their first Christmas in the village: ‘It looks like the set of a Hallmark movie!’
‘We can’t let Stowford win the Cotswolds Christmas Village title again,’ he said, glancing at the cinema pointedly.
Plumdale and its neighbour, Stowford, were perennial rivals for the crown of prettiest village in the Cotswolds. Sarah thought both villages were equally beautiful – not that she’d admit it to Ian, who had lived in Plumdale his entire life and would consider it tantamount to treason.
‘We haven’t got around to decorating the cinema yet,’ Sarah said. ‘But we will. I promise.’
Christmas was yet another thing to add to her bottomless to-do list.
Just then, Ian dropped the star he was putting on the top of the tree. Sarah went to pick it up, but Hermione de la Mere – the candle shop’s owner – got there first. She had just stepped out of the beauty salon, where her long blonde hair had been blow-dried into a cascade of bouncy waves. Sarah was pretty sure they were both in their late forties, but Hermione, in her tan cashmere poncho, white jeans and Barbour wellies, looked much younger.
Botox, she could hear Meg’s voice saying in her head. That, and not having kids.
‘Here you are.’ Hermione handed the star up to Ian.
‘Make a wish,’ he teased.
‘Pardon?’ said Hermione, sounding confused.
‘On the star,’ replied Ian, placing it on top of the tree. He came down and smiled at Hermione, his elbow resting on one of the ladder’s rungs. ‘It’s good luck to wish upon a star.’
‘Do you two know each other?’ asked Sarah.
They both shook their heads.
‘Ian, this is Hermione, owner of Cotswold Candles.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Ian shook his finger in playful admonishment. ‘Your shop’s not decorated for Christmas either.’
‘Ian owns the antique shop and is the president of the Plumdale Beautification Society.’ Sarah lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘He takes his responsibilitiesveryseriously.’
‘I’m afraid I’m just not feeling very Christmassy this year,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s my first since getting divorced. I’m dreading being alone.’
Although Hermione had lived in the village nearly as long as Sarah, they’d always mixed with different crowds. Hermione had been married to a wealthy banker – a stalwart of the local polo set. According to village gossip, he’d left Hermione for one of the grooms at the stable. In the aftermath, they’d sold their house and Hermione had opened her shop, moving into the flat above it.
‘Maybe the Twelve Films of Christmas will help you find your festive spirit,’ said Ian.
‘Oh, yes! Good idea. What movies are you showing this year?’ asked Hermione.
‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,’ said Sarah, smiling mysteriously.
Over the month of December, the Picture Palace screened a festival of surprise Christmas films. It was like a cinematic advent calendar – the audience didn’t know what they were going to see until the movie started. But with only two weeks to go until December, Sarah and James still hadn’t picked the twelve movies – they hadn’t even had a moment to discuss it.
