Page 19 of Christmas at the Movies

James stood outside the cinema with his wife and father, looking up at the glowing marquee with GRAND OPENING TONIGHT written in black letters.

The cream-coloured facade, which had been covered with ugly steel cladding when they’d purchased it, had been restored to its 1930s glamour.

In the classic art deco style, two elegant wings curved in above the entrance, giving the building the feel of an ocean liner.

And in a way, a cinema was like a boat, because a film could transport you to any time and place – from fantasy kingdoms populated by elves and distant planets ruled by aliens to a coliseum in ancient Rome.

‘I can’t believe it is finally happening,’ said James. ‘The Picture Palace is actually opening.’

Sarah gave him a hug. ‘I never doubted it for a minute.’

‘Oh, I did.’ Sean chuckled. ‘For instance, when we discovered that the roof had been completely corroded by damp and lichen.’

‘Or when we found that all the walls were insulated with asbestos,’ added James, wincing at the memory.

‘Not forgetting when English Heritage rejected our plan to have a café,’ said Sean.

The cinema, designed by the noted architect Reginald Dickson, was a Grade II listed building, which had added a further complication to what was already an extremely tricky renovation.

English Heritage had had to approve their designs, to ensure that they were preserving the architectural heritage of the building, while also conforming to contemporary health-and-safety regulations.

‘I couldn’t have done it without the two of you,’ admitted James.

The past two years had certainly been a wild rollercoaster ride, with twists and turns that had had James clinging on for dear life.

There was a good reason the cinema had been derelict for so long – nobody had been crazy enough to take it on.

Many people had warned him it was a fool’s errand, that even if he managed to complete the restoration, a small community like Plumdale couldn’t sustain a cinema.

James was determined to prove them wrong.

He’d ploughed all their assets into the cinema, so he didn’t really have any other option but to make it a success.

Thank God for his dad. While working on the renovations, James’s recently retired father had been living with them in their cottage on the outskirts of Plumdale, a short drive from the cinema.

From his Pinewood experience, Sean knew how to manage a team of builders.

He’d ensured that the workers adhered to their vision.

Aware of their limited budget, he’d looked for ways to save money without cutting corners or compromising on quality.

Sarah had been instrumental, too. After the first year of renovation, they’d hit a major snag when they’d knocked down some walls to construct new bathrooms and discovered major structural defects.

Water damage from the roof had caused the building’s steel frame to corrode, which would have taken them thousands of pounds over budget to repair.

When the bank had refused to lend the necessary funds to reinforce the frame, Sarah had stepped in.

She’d launched a fundraising drive, calling in favours from actors she knew from her BBC days.

The local community had been amazing as well.

The Plumdale Beautification Committee had rallied, determined to rid the village of a derelict eyesore and give it a working cinema again.

Practically overnight, James and Sean had found themselves a whole crew of volunteers.

In exchange for a lifetime membership that entitled them to discounted tickets, helpers had ripped up carpets, removed damaged plaster, painted walls and tiled the bathrooms. Neighbours who weren’t handy had helped in other ways, bringing the workers tea and home-made biscuits.

James unlocked the cinema’s doors and they stepped into the double-height foyer with its ceiling lights

shaped like stars. It bore no resemblance to how it had looked the first time he’d gone inside.

The stench had made him gag. The lobby had been filled with garbage and broken glass.

The moth-eaten seats had been ripped out of the auditorium and were piled in a heap.

Pigeons had been roosting in the balcony and a thick layer of guano had covered most surfaces.

A leaking roof and corroding pipes had meant that stagnant water had puddled on the floor.

Mice had nibbled through wires and insulation.

The place had been such a mess, James had wondered if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

Then, moments after entering the auditorium, a pigeon had pooped on his head.

‘That’s a good omen,’ Sarah had told him, laughing. ‘It means good luck.’

The pigeon poo had proved prophetic. In addition to plenty of mishaps, they had enjoyed some good luck too.

When the ugly brown 1960s carpet had been ripped up, they had discovered a pristine black-and-white marble floor underneath.

The gilded framing around the proscenium arch had gleamed as good as new once the layer of bird droppings had been removed.

Best of all, hidden under the floor at the front of the theatre, had been a magnificent organ.

The instrument was housed within a console, made up of curving geometrical panes of green glass.

It was a work of art, evoking the bygone days of silent movies.

James had taken great pains to ensure that the cinema closely matched its former appearance.

He and Sarah had spent hours in the Plumdale library, where Pam Cusack, the librarian, had found them old photographs of the cinema’s interior.

From door handles to light switches, every choice had been carefully considered.

They had retained the original features wherever possible, while modernising the plumbing, electrics and ventilation systems.

Now, the curved chrome counter gleamed. Rather than just selling tickets and the usual cinema snacks, they had installed an Italian coffee machine and had delicious cakes supplied by a local baker.

They had added tables and chairs, creating a café area.

There was a well-stocked bookcase with books about cinema, and the walls had been hung with paintings by local artists.

A noticeboard announced upcoming events at the cinema, a carol concert, an amateur dramatic society’s pantomime and a Christmas craft fair at the village hall.

James’s vision was that the cinema would be a hub for the whole community.

‘I’m going to make a coffee,’ said Sarah. ‘I need all the practice I can get. That machine is more complicated to operate than the control deck of a spacecraft.’

James chuckled. ‘It’s worth it, though – it’s the best coffee in the Cotswolds.’

‘Let’s go do one final check,’ said Sean.

James and his father walked through the cinema.

In the bathrooms, which they had decorated with black-and-white tiles, they checked the taps.

James spotted a smudge on the chrome-framed mirror and polished it with his sleeve.

He saw his father’s reflection next to him – the facial resemblance between the two men was unmistakeable, with their blue eyes, strong noses and prominent cheekbones.

Over the past two years, Sean’s hair had turned white, the ageing process no doubt accelerated by the stress of the renovations.

‘Sorry your retirement hasn’t been very relaxing so far, Dad,’ said James.

‘I’ve enjoyed every second of it, son,’ replied Sean.

Going into the auditorium, they admired the fruits of their labour.

James gazed up at the ceiling, with its elegant geometric patterns.

The cream-coloured walls undulated gently with stucco waves, and they had managed to restore the original scallop-shell-shaped lights.

The ornate proscenium arch gleamed and red curtains covered the screen.

‘Ah,’ said Sean, sitting down and reclining back. ‘These seats are so comfortable.’

The three hundred seats had been upholstered in plush red velvet. Some had small brass plaques on the armrests, bearing the name of a donor who had contributed to the fundraising campaign.

‘I wish Mum was here to see this,’ confessed James. His mum’s favourite films had been musicals; she had always hummed show tunes while doing chores around the house.

‘Oh, she’s looking down on us and smiling,’ said Sean. ‘In fact, I’m convinced she had a word with the big man upstairs when things were looking bad for us.’

After his mother had died, James and his dad had struggled to talk about their feelings.

Mary had been a chatterbox, and, after her passing, a pall of silence had fallen over the flat in Ealing.

Each lost in their grief, James and his father had numbly haunted the rooms, as if they’d been ghosts themselves.

Things had changed when they had started to go to the cinema together every weekend.

It didn’t matter what was. For an hour or two, lost in the story showing on the screen, they could escape from their sadness together.

Movies had given them something to talk about, to fill the silence.

After watching a movie, they would discuss the film over a pub lunch.

Cinema had been their comfort and salvation.

Movies had helped them connect to each other during that dark time.

James’s hair flopped in front of his eyes and he pushed it back. ‘If Mum was here, she would tell me I need a haircut.’

Sean chuckled, which turned into a chesty cough. He braced himself on the armrests as he caught his breath.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ said James, patting his dad’s back. ‘You should get that checked out.’

Sean waved away his son’s concerns. ‘No need. It’s probably just a cold – there’s always one going around at this time of year.’

The auditorium door opened and Roger came in. ‘Sarah sent me to fetch you. Coffee’s ready.’