Page 6 of The Truth About You and Me
‘It’ll be a quiet night with the weather like this,’ she adds as a gust of wind sends a gravel-like splatter against the glass. ‘The next showing starts in an hour and a half. Colin is already in the projection room, but can you give him a nudge? Hypothetically,’ she adds. ‘Yesterday he was asleep in his Pot Noodle – not that it’ll matter. I’ve only had a handful of customers today. The Odeon has a two for one deal so…’ She trails off, nonplussed. This is a passion project for her. Despite her rather eclectic fashion sense and devil-may-care attitude, she had been a successful injury solicitor.
Heading through the foyer, I open my cleaning cupboard, take off my coat, shimmy out of my top and replace it, the black lace visibly showing my purple bra. My navy cleaning apron covers the lace, and I swap my green gloves for a straight-from-the-packet pair of Marigolds, holster my disinfectant and polish, then finish the look by hooking three black bin liners over my belt before following the gold glittered arrows that point downstairs to the cinema.
The room is dark until I flick on the overheads, the light bathing the forty flip-down seats. The walls are deep red with gold edging around the panels, and heavy deep red curtains cover the screen. It can be a bit much at first glance, but after a while, it stops feeling like you’re inside a gilded vagina.
I set to work, picking up discarded popcorn bags, empty cups and a rogue bag of dried mango – who in their right mind takes dried mango to the cinema? I shrug and add it to the bag.
An hour passes quickly and I finish polishing the taps, add fresh loo rolls, and squirt toilet duck around the rims. There. All done. I throw my plastic yellow gloves into the recycling bin, open my bag, untangle my hair, run some tinted Vaseline over my lips and add a small layer to my eyelids – a tip from Marilyn Monroe’s make-up artist. I add lemon and ginger essential oils to my wrist and neck and rub my lips together. Hardly Monroe but at least I don’t look like I’ve been pushed into a swimming pool fully clothed. I slide my fingers into my new baby-pink flip-top mittens, fix the button in place, and head to the back of the building, giving the projection room door a tap. Colin is sitting behind a small desk, dozing; the square glass window to the auditorium above. ‘It’s almost eight,’ I say, ignoring the stale smell.
‘Righto.’
He swings on his chair, runs his finger down the small leaning tower of hard drives in white boxes, tracking his finger along the names until he findsSome Kind of Wonderfulamongst the other films for the month, all John Hughes classics. Last week it wasSixteen Candles. He opens the box, takes out the drive and slots it into the player. It looks like a black stereo that could be straight from a film set in the nineties.
‘Pass me the trailers would you, love?’ I hesitate, before picking up the thumb drive with this week’s date on, quickly placing it on the desk next to him, which he slots into the USB port above the main driver slots.
The film begins to upload, the file flicking up on the computer monitor desktop. He opens an email with the authorisation code and jots it down on a piece of paper with several other codes.
‘It’s going to be a quiet one so… no worries if you’re a bit late.’ I smile at Colin but he’s already clicking on the screen, checking on the download progress.
‘No worries, it’ll be done in about twenty.’
Back in the foyer, Romy is throwing on her leather jacket.
I take off my apron – my jumper on the back of the door is still wet through – but my fake fur is dry, having been hung over the radiator. I slip my arms through, the gloves less conspicuous now.
‘I’ll hang on for another fifteen then get going,’ Romy adds. ‘Colin can take over here once the film’s rolling.’
‘Okey dokes.’ I push my arms through the jacket. ‘I… I don’t suppose you need me for any more days, do you? I’ve got more slots available, so if you need any extra hours… I’m free.’ Likereallyfree. LosingPillow Paradise!andRiz means I’ll now have more free time than I’d like.
‘Oh, Mags, I would but?—’
‘I can offer you a discount?’ I’m one step away from pushing my mittens together in prayer.
‘You know I would in a heartbeat, but I’m tied into the cleaning contract with CleanPro… Claire has three kids, and has been with me since the beginning. She would work Fridays too if she could get a sitter.’
‘Oh, no worries.’ I wave away her apologies and put on a smile.
‘But if she needs to cut her hours, you’ll be the first person I call, OK?’
‘That would be great. Now scoot! You’ve a date to get to.’
‘See you next week?’
‘Yep. I’ll be here.’
‘Don’t forget to help yourself to snacks!’
The door swings behind her, as I try to calculate if I will have enough after my final week’s pay to top up the electric meter. My reduced hours will mean budget beans on toast and cheap Super Noodles for the week. I make my way over to the snacks, undo the pearl button of my gloves so the tips of my fingers are free, grab a bag of popcorn, and pour myself a large Diet Coke from the dispenser. Henry smiles over at me.
‘Come on then,’ I say to him, arm-pitting my popcorn and picking him up with my Coke-free hand. ‘You can keep me company and be there in case I spill the popcorn.’
I slurp my Diet Coke, dipping my hand into my bag of sweet and salted. Henry is planted on the seat next to me; the rush and creak of the red curtains pulling back fills the room. Not for the first time I question if I’m losing my mind, having a portable hoover as my Friday night date. I’m thirty minutes into the film when the door opens, Colin sauntering down towards the front row. ‘Mags, I’m going to head off – you all right to close up?’
‘Yep,’ I whisper back even though there’s only us here. There is a kind of reverence to the inside of a cinema. It’s as though the rest of the world is on hold: no emails, no phone messages, no red light blinking on the electric meter. Just me and the life unfolding on screen.
‘Great. The doors will lock behind me. You’ve got the code?’
‘Mmmhmmm.’ I nod, smiling at him even though I’m desperate to land my eyes back on the screen. He’s a sweetheart and I don’t mind him knocking off early tonight. He has a wife, two teenagers and a pet iguana called Horatio. ‘And you know how to turn off the console?’ he fusses.
