Page 89 of Christmas at the Movies
‘No, I’ve waited too long to tell you how I feel,’ said Noa. ‘I’ve tried to fight my feelings, but it’s no use. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m in love with you.’
‘I love you, too,’ said Sarah.
‘Then we owe it to ourselves to give this thing between us another chance. Before it’s too late—’
James grimaced. He knew they were just reading the script, but he hated hearing his wife declaring her love to another man. Who had she been thinking about when she’d written those words?
‘That’s working really well now,’ said Noa.
‘It was a team effort,’ replied Sarah.
‘By the way, I readThe Ghost Writerlast night. Your script has got such potential. You really should finish it so I can direct it.’
Sarah laughed. ‘I’ve been trying to finish it for years. Somehow life always gets in the way.’
‘That’s why I’ve never had a family,’ remarked Noa. ‘It’s hard to be an artist with the distraction of family life.’
Is that what I am,thought James, feeling a stab of guilt.A distraction?
‘That’s why I usually only get involved with other people in the industry,’ continued Noa. ‘They’re the only ones who get it. Who understand that you need to be a bit selfish in order to make art.’
‘I’m starting to see that,’ said Sarah quietly.
‘You should come and work for me in LA,’ urged Noa. ‘I want you to edit the script for my passion project. You’re wasted here in this little nothing town.’
James felt like he’d just been sucker punched.
There was a long pause on the other side of the door.
‘Oh, that’s very flattering,’ said Sarah.
‘It’s not flattery,’ replied Noa. ‘You’re very good at this.’
‘I … I’d need to think about it.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short, Sarah,’ said Noa. ‘You deserve more than this. You shouldn’t be stuck here in this cinema, showing other people’s movies. You should be writing your own.’
Reeling from what he had just overheard, James staggered outside to get some air. The worst thing about what the director had said was that it was right – Sarah did deserve more than this. More than him.
Looking out at the film set being constructed in the village square, James rued the day Noa Drakos had everset foot in the cinema. What had seemed like a blessing was starting to feel like a curse.
8th August 2017
James rode his bicycle over slick cobblestones on the way back from the nearest bakery, keeping the bag of croissants andpains au chocolatunder his windbreaker to stop the pastries from getting wet. Despite the raindrops pelting his face, there was something exhilarating about being on a bike again – for the first time since he was a kid.
Maybe I’ll get a bike of my own to cycle to the cinema,he thought.
He turned down a path leading to a half-timbered cottage with a thatched roof. The cottage garden bloomed with an abundance of roses, foxgloves and sunflowers – evidence of its owners’ green fingers. James had no idea how sunflowers thrived here, since they hadn’t seen the sun emerge from behind the clouds since driving out of the tunnel at Calais.
He leant the bike against the cottage and went inside.
‘I’m back!’ James called, setting the pastries on the table. He took off his wet jacket and hung it on a hook beside the door.
‘I made coffee,’ said Sarah, who was working on her laptop at the kitchen table.
‘Thanks.’ James kissed her on the cheek then he poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver press. It smelled like heaven. ‘Did you get much done?’ he asked her. Sarah was trying to use this holiday to get back toThe Ghost Writer, the screenplay she’d been writing off and on for years.
‘Not really,’ replied Sarah. ‘It’s slow-going – I’m so out of the habit of writing.’
