Page 22 of Christmas at the Movies

‘Thanks,’ he said, gesturing for her to sit down opposite. He picked up the coffee and inhaled deeply. ‘This smells amazing.’

‘By the way, I loved ANZAC.’ Sarah decided not to be coy and pretend that she didn’t know who he was.

‘Thanks, Sarah. I’m flattered.’ He looked into her eyes intently. His eyes were such a dark brown, Sarah could hardly make out their pupils. ‘I can tell you have good taste, or you wouldn’t be screening Fanny and Alexander – it’s one of my favourite movies.’

‘Oh, me too!’ said Sarah. ‘I’ve always thought it was about the magic of storytelling.’ Bergman’s film was like a love letter to stories and cinema.

‘The character of Alexander is based on Bergman himself. Like the boy in the movie, he received a magic lantern from an aunt when he was ten. It was what made him want to make movies.’ Noa took a sip of his coffee.

‘What made you want to make movies?’ asked Sarah. She had so many questions for him – where he got his inspiration, which actors he’d enjoyed working with most – and which he’d found difficult. She’d met a few directors in her BBC days, but nobody of Noa’s stature.

‘I got a Super Eight camera for Christmas when I was a kid. From that point onwards, I saw life through a lens.’ He formed a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and, holding it up to his right eye, trained his gaze on Sarah.

Sarah squirmed under his scrutiny. She wasn’t used to being studied like this; most of the time she felt invisible.

‘Was it hard to get your first film made?’ she asked, trying to deflect his attention.

It didn’t work.

‘Have you ever acted, Sarah?’ asked Noa, lowering his hand. ‘The camera would love those golden eyes of yours.’

Noa was acting like she was the interesting one, not him.

Is he flirting with me?

Sarah dismissed the thought immediately. Judging from the red-carpet photos she’d seen in magazines, Noa only dated stunning actresses – usually ones who appeared in his movies.

‘No, but my daughter, Holly, wants to act,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s a shame she’s not here tonight, I know she’d love to meet you. And James – my husband – too. He’s a big fan of your work.’

‘Tell me about him,’ said Noa. ‘This husband of yours. Are you happily married like the Ekdahls in the movie?’

Sarah thought about his question. How could you sum up three decades of marriage? ‘Well, yes … most of the time. I mean, he’s a great dad, he works hard—’

‘Oh, dear …’ said Noa, wincing. ‘That doesn’t sound like a glowing endorsement.’

‘Marriage is just … complicated.’ Sarah looked down at her wedding ring, thinking about the argument she and James had had earlier that evening.

He was right – they had helped each other through some very tough times.

They’d had plenty of good times, too. But somehow, recently, they’d stopped having fun together. There was just no time for it.

‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’ Noa didn’t sound convinced. ‘I’ve never been brave enough to make it down the aisle.’ He smiled at Sarah. ‘Your husband’s a lucky guy.’

Remembering her argument with James, Sarah hardly felt like a poster child for wedded bliss. Feeling self-conscious, she stood up and put their empty cups in the bin. ‘Do you want another drink?’

He came over and leant against the counter. Sarah could smell his aftershave – a woody, musky scent. ‘I don’t suppose you have anything a bit stronger back there …’

‘We don’t have a licence to serve alcohol,’ said Sarah.

‘Shame,’ said Noa. He rubbed his temples, then dragged his hands down his artfully stubbled cheeks. He had chunky silver rings on several fingers. ‘I’ve had a complete nightmare of a day.’

Sarah held up her finger. ‘Hang on a minute. I’ve just remembered something.’

She went into the office and found a bottle of whisky in a filing cabinet. It had been a gift from one of the regulars who attended the Golden Oldies screenings, who’d been grateful to James for programming her Fitbit.

Sarah returned to the lobby, waving it in the air. ‘Look what I found.’

Noa rubbed his hands together.

Sarah poured them each a generous measure. She wasn’t normally a whisky drinker, but nothing about this night was normal. ‘Cheers.’ She touched her glass to Noa’s. The whisky burnt as it slid down Sarah’s throat. ‘So tell me why your day was such a nightmare.’

‘How long do you have …’ He sighed.

‘All night,’ said Sarah, smiling.

‘I’m shooting a movie at Merricourt Manor,’ the director explained. ‘We decided to film on location here in the UK because of the tax breaks.’

‘But it’s winter,’ said Sarah. She remembered from her BBC days that location shoots – even on films set in winter – usually occurred in the summer, when the days were longer and the weather better.

‘You’re right,’ said Noa, nodding. ‘That is unusual. But Merricourt Manor is fully booked with weddings in the spring and summer. We liked the location so much we decided to wait until December. Plus, the film is set at Christmas, and the village is already decorated, so we won’t have to do much set-dressing. ’

‘Makes sense,’ remarked Sarah. Ian and the Plumdale Beautification Committee made the village look picture-perfect at Christmastime.

‘Well, it did, but the council has just withdrawn permission for us to park our crew vehicles on the grounds. Something to do with a badger sett? There was a big protest. Turns out badgers are protected. So we need a new location base – and fast – or we won’t be able to wrap the shoot before Christmas.

’ Noa ran his hand through his thick hair, looking thoroughly exasperated.

‘Oh, dear.’

‘But that’s not all.’ He leant forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially, even though they were all alone. ‘Between you and me, the script stinks. It might as well have been written by AI.’

Sarah winced. She had been following the recent Hollywood writers’ strike with interest and was glad that screenwriters protected their profession against artificial intelligence. You couldn’t replace human creativity with computers.

‘What’s it about?’

Noa grimaced. ‘It’s so cheesy. It’s about two exes, who haven’t seen each other in years. She’s left an inn by an elderly relation, and he’s the hotel handyman. The deal is that they have to spend one Christmas there together before she can sell it. The working title is Ex-mas Eve.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Sarah. ‘She’s called Eve … and they fall in love again by the end and she decides not to sell the inn.’

‘Bingo.’

‘Why are you making it? I’ve got to say, it doesn’t sound like your sort of thing.

’ Sarah secretly loved the heart-warming holiday fare churned out by streamers every year.

She and Holly had watched loads of them together.

But Noa Drakos was an auteur. His last film, shot in black and white, had flopped at the box office but had been adored by the critics.

Noa let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I need the money. I can finance a passion project with the money I’m making from directing this drivel.’

‘Oh, it can’t be that bad, I’m sure,’ said Sarah.

‘Want to bet?’ Noa pulled open his satchel and took out a script. He slapped it onto the table.

Sarah’s fingers itched to pull it towards herself. It had been so long since she’d read a script. Should I ask? Sarah wondered, trying to work up the courage.

Noa riffled through the pages, shaking his head in dismay.

Sarah poured herself another shot for Dutch courage. She gulped some down, then cleared her throat. ‘Er … would you mind if I take a look?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I, um, used to be a script editor at the BBC.’

Noa stared at her in surprise. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes – I worked in the drama department, and then as a freelancer. I used to write my own stuff too. I’ve got an unfinished screenplay in the bottom drawer of my desk.’

Noa laughed in disbelief. ‘Surely this is the sort of thing that only happens in a romcom. I’m snowed in all night with a gorgeous woman … and she just happens to be a script editor.’

Sarah blushed at Noa’s compliment. Maybe he was flirting with her. Some guys just couldn’t help themselves – they flirted with everyone. Noa was obviously one of those.

‘You really want to read it?’ he asked.

‘Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do.

’ Actually, there were plenty of things Sarah could do.

Sleep. Get started on her online Christmas shopping.

Plan the Christmas film festival. But it had been ages since she had worked on a script.

Her pulse was racing with excitement at the thought of doing something creative again. Could she still do it?

She drained the rest of her whisky, willing him to say yes.

‘Go right ahead.’ Noa slid the screenplay over to her. ‘I’d love to know what you think.’

Sarah picked up the script with trembling fingers.

‘If it’s OK with you, I might try to get some sleep,’ said Noa, yawning.

‘You can use the sofa in my office.’

‘Cheers,’ said Noa.

She led him into her office and got out a blanket and pillow from the cupboard. Then Noa kicked off his boots and lay down on the sofa.

Going back into the café, Sarah made herself another coffee, then sat down at the table and read the script from beginning to end.

When she was done, she re-read it, this time scribbling notes in the margins.

She worked feverishly through the night, fuelled by caffeine and adrenaline.

Her mind was buzzing with ideas. Yes, the script was flawed. But she knew how to make it better.

At around five in the morning, when the sky was still dark, she heard a snowplough trundling through the village. The noise woke Noa up and he came out of the office. He stretched and Sarah caught a glimpse of his taut, gym-honed stomach.

‘So, what did you think?’ asked Noa, as Sarah made him a coffee.