Page 15 of Christmas at the Movies

‘Well, I wouldn’t mind doing that again …’ James tugged at the tie on her bathrobe.

‘Later,’ said Sarah, laughing. ‘We have a whole city to explore and we only have three days before we head home.’

James groaned. ‘Don’t remind me. I wish I didn’t have to go back to work’

Sarah didn’t relish the thought of going back to work, either.

Budget cuts and redundancies at the BBC meant that the script-editing team was severely overstretched.

She still loved working with screenwriters and nurturing new talent, but she felt frustrated by the organisation’s resistance to change.

Rupert remained the head of drama commissioning and routinely blocked the programmes she championed – preferring to play it safe with crime serials and costume dramas.

As much as Sarah adored Jane Austen, if she had to adapt another one of her novels, she thought she might scream.

The BBC’s licence payers deserved programming that was as diverse as Britain was, not just petticoats and posh people.

‘We need stuff we can sell to the Yanks,’ Rupert was always telling her. ‘They can’t get enough of our corsets.’ He’d leered at Sarah, eyeing up her chest as he said it.

Pushing thoughts of work out of her mind, Sarah went over to the window and opened the blinds to an incredible view of skyscrapers. Far below, the Star Ferry chugged across Victoria Harbour.

‘How about we take the cable car to the top of Victoria Peak?’ suggested James.

‘Sounds good to me. I’d like to visit a few temples, too,’ said Sarah, flipping through the pages of their Rough Guide.

They took a long shower together, sampling all of the complimentary toiletries. James washed Sarah’s long hair with divine-smelling jasmine-scented shampoo.

‘Oh, that feels so good,’ murmured Sarah, as her husband’s fingers lovingly massaged her scalp.

Once they’d dressed, they set off to explore the city, crossing the harbour by ferry and taking the old-fashioned tram up to the top of Victoria Peak.

‘This was considered a marvel of modern engineering when it was first built,’ James read from the guidebook. ‘All the equipment and construction materials had to be hauled up the mountain by workers. It used to be powered by steam.’

Sarah was more impressed with the view of the city beneath them than the cable car’s inner workings as they climbed to the peak’s leafy summit. They weren’t the only people with the same idea; it was the Harvest Moon Festival, and families were enjoying the holiday together.

James used the camera on his new phone to take pictures of the view. ‘It’s so handy not to have to lug a camera around.’

Sarah shook her head affectionately. ‘You and your gadgets.’

Rather than taking the cable car back down, they hiked to the base along a winding path.

By the time they reached the bottom, the sky was growing overcast. They took the ferry back across the harbour, then wandered down Tung Choi Street, browsing through market stalls selling counterfeit DVDS, designer knock-offs, sunglasses, tourist souvenirs and jade trinkets.

Sarah bought replica designer bags for Pari and her sister, and a pale blue cheongsam for herself. She had no idea if it would fit, but she loved the silky fabric with its delicate flower print.

‘These look so real,’ said James, admiring a tray of fake Rolexes. He held one up to his ear to hear it ticking. ‘And they actually work.’

‘Let me get you one for your birthday,’ said Sarah. The whole trip was James’s birthday celebration, but she wanted to get him a present too. ‘A successful thirty-year-old needs a fancy watch. Or at least a replica fancy watch …’

James strapped his new watch around his wrist and checked the time. ‘It says it’s time for lunch.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m starving.’

‘It’s probably from all the exercise this morning.’ James winked at her.

They sampled snacks from the market’s food vendors, walking along, eating deliciously spicy fish balls and soy-braised cuttlefish off bamboo skewers. Food had been a highlight of their trip; they’d sought out local delicacies wherever they had gone.

‘Ugh. What’s that smell?’ asked Sarah as she caught a whiff of something pungent.

A moment later, the odour’s source revealed itself to be a stall selling the appropriately named stinky tofu.

‘It’s meant to be really tasty.’ James ordered two squares of the fermented beancurd and held one out to her. ‘Go on – I think you’ll like it.’

Sarah took a cautious bite. The outside was crisp, but the inside was meltingly soft and creamy. ‘Yum.’ Despite its off-putting name, stinky tofu was delicious.

‘It’s even better with chilli sauce,’ said the vendor, offering them a bottle.

Sarah squeezed a dollop on her tofu. The vendor was right – the spicy tang perfectly complemented the fried snack.

‘Try some of this,’ said James, ordering a round, bright orange delicacy from the next vendor.

‘What is it?’ asked Sarah suspiciously.

‘Deep-fried pig’s intestine.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’ She liked to try new foods, but she drew the line at pig’s intestine.

‘All the more for me,’ he said, enthusiastically taking a big bite. ‘Mmm. Chewy.’

James was a much more adventurous eater than she was. It was as if he was making up for the years after his mum passed away when he and his dad had existed mostly on jacket potatoes and beans on toast.

‘You’d be a shoo-in for that new show where celebrities go to the jungle and have to eat bugs and sheep’s testicles.

’ Sarah laughed. One of her former colleagues from the BBC was working on the popular programme.

Sarah had thought about leaving as well, to write her own scripts.

But the thought of making that jump was scary.

For dessert, they joined a long queue to buy mooncakes at a bakery. The sweet cakes came with all different fillings – from red bean paste to duck’s egg yolk – and had beautiful decorative patterns stamped on the top.

‘They all look so good,’ said Sarah when they got to the front of the line.

‘Lotus seed is very nice,’ suggested the man working behind the counter.

Munching their mooncakes, they wandered through Kowloon, through a walled park where children flew kites, old women practised tai chi and men played mahjong, their jade tiles clacking.

At the edge of the park, nestled among ultra-modern tower blocks, they came across a little temple.

Stone steps, flanked by dragons, led up to a pagoda with a green-tiled roof.

As James snapped photos of the dragons, Sarah wandered into the temple courtyard. There was a large bowl with sticks of incense burning. Two women were leaving offerings of fruit on an altar, around a statue of a rabbit.

‘It’s a tradition for Harvest Moon Festival. We are making offerings to the Moon Rabbit,’ explained the smartly dressed younger woman, seeing the curious expression on Sarah’s face. ‘In Chinese mythology, he belongs to the Moon Goddess.’

‘Brings good luck,’ said the older woman, reaching into her bag and handing Sarah a melon. ‘For you to make offering too.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sarah. She placed the fruit carefully on the table with the rest of the array.

‘Now you will have a baby,’ said the older woman, grinning at Sarah.

Sarah felt her cheeks flame. She and James hadn’t discussed having kids yet.

‘Stop, Ma,’ scolded the younger woman. ‘You are embarrassing her.’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Sarah assured her. Having an embarrassing mother was a universal phenomenon.

Post-divorce, Geraldine had thrown herself into dating and liked to overshare details of her sex life with Sarah and Meg.

Her most recent fling had been with a bucket drummer she’d met at a climate-change protest. Her career was thriving too – she’d just been appointed Head of the Anthropology department at the University of Bristol.

‘The Moon Rabbit symbolises fertility,’ explained the younger woman.

Sarah wasn’t worried about that – she was still in her twenties.

But just to be on the safe side, she bought a packet of incense sticks inside the temple.

She waved James over, then they lit the incense sticks and added them to the burner in front of a gold statue of Buddha.

Watching the smoke drift upwards to the top of the temple, Sarah said, ‘Apparently, this will bring us prosperity, fertility and good luck.’

‘I’m already the luckiest man alive.’ James pulled her close for a kiss.

Their luck ran out on the walk back to the hotel. The heavens opened and rain poured down in sheets, gushing down gutters in torrents.

‘Come on,’ said James, tugging Sarah under the awning of a convenience store to shelter from the downpour. Rain hammered at the fabric over their heads.

A taxi drove past and James tried to flag it down, but it didn’t stop, just splashed them as it went through a puddle.

‘I guess we’ll just have to wait it out,’ he said.

Pushing her sopping hair out of her face, Sarah glanced up at the sky.

The rain didn’t show any sign of abating.

As her eyes travelled down again, they landed on the building across the street.

There were Chinese characters above the doorway, and, next to them, in much smaller words, it said: Lux Theatre.

‘Look, James!’ Sarah said, pointing. ‘There’s a cinema. We can watch a movie until the rain stops.’ She felt excited at the prospect of an afternoon at the movies. They hadn’t seen a film since their flight over to Asia.

They darted across the street and ran into the lobby. It was like stepping back in time. There were ushers in smart red jackets, classic martial arts movies on the walls and an old-fashioned weighing machine.

James approached the ticket booth. ‘Can we please have two tickets to whatever is showing next, please?’

‘2046 starts in twenty minutes,’ said the man selling tickets. Hong Kong had been handed back to China a few years previously, but most people in the former British colony spoke excellent English.