Page 27 of Christmas at the Movies

‘But it’s my birthday TODAY!’ shouted Holly. She knew she was acting like a baby, and she didn’t care. She wanted to pick up the rest of the cake and fling it against the wall. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this trip for ages!’

‘I’ll go to London with you,’ suggested Dad. ‘As long as you apologise to your mother.’

Holly turned to her father, frowning. ‘But you hate shopping.’

‘I’ll do my own thing. You can go off to Topshop or wherever, and have tea with Pari.’

Holly rolled her eyes. ‘Topshop doesn’t exist any more, Dad. I want to go to Carnaby Street and Covent Garden.’

‘Well, we’re not going anywhere until you apologise,’ said Dad.

Holly turned to her mother and forced her facial features into an expression of contrition, her eyes filled with remorse. Oh, I’m good, thought Holly. No wonder her drama teacher had predicted that she’d get top marks in her GCSE.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Holly cooed sweetly. ‘I’m really happy for you.’ She didn’t mean it. Not one little bit. But there was no way she was missing out on a trip to London.

‘Show me what you got,’ said Auntie Pari, pointing to the shopping bag by Holly’s feet.

They were sitting on a squishy chintz sofa in the old-fashioned tea room of Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair, which had been decorated with decadent swags of pine and holly.

There was a three-tiered silver cake stand on the table in front of them, laden with equally decadent finger sandwiches, scones and cakes.

It was the fanciest place Holly had ever been – she’d felt like a movie star as the host showed them to their table.

Holly held up the minidress she’d bought. It had spaghetti straps, a corset-style bodice and an asymmetrical hem.

‘Ooh, very sexy,’ said Pari approvingly. She leant forward. ‘By the way, are you having sex with anyone?’

‘No!’ said Holly, blushing with embarrassment. (That was another thing you could do legally when you were sixteen. Not that she wanted to discuss her non-existent sex life with her godmother.)

‘But there’s someone you like?’

‘Maybe …’ replied Holly.

‘Well, he … or she … isn’t going to be able to resist you in that.’

‘He,’ said Holly shyly.

‘Well, just remember,’ said Pari, adding a drop of milk to her cup of tea, ‘if you are going to have sex, be sure to use protection. And never let anyone pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.’

Holly’s cheeks burnt brighter than the strawberry jam on the table. Maybe it was a good idea her mum hadn’t come along. And as for Dad, he’d probably spontaneously combust at the thought of her even kissing a boy.

‘More cake?’ asked a tuxedoed waiter holding a silver tray. There were slices of chocolate Yule log, little gingerbread men and mini mince pies, in a nod to the festive season.

Holly pointed to the chocolate log, while Auntie Pari shook her head.

Using silver tongs, the waiter placed the cake on Holly’s plate. She took a bite, the sweet cream inside oozing out.

‘Oh, to have the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old again.’ Auntie Pari sighed wistfully.

‘Being sixteen sucks,’ said Holly. ‘My parents still treat me like a child.’

‘Well, I hate to point out the obvious, but you are still a child,’ said Pari, sipping her tea.

‘It’s so annoying – Mum decides she’s going to be a screenwriter again, just in time to ruin my life,’ moaned Holly, stabbing her cake in frustration. ‘This could have been my big break.’

‘She did the right thing,’ Pari said, to Holly’s disappointment. She’d been expecting Pari to be on her side. ‘You’re too young. Go to drama school, learn your craft and then you’ll be ready to work professionally.’

‘Natalie Portman was already a major film star when she was sixteen,’ Holly pointed out, adding a dollop of jam to her scone. ‘So was Saoirse Ronan. And Keira Knightley.’

‘They’re the lucky ones. The list of talented teenaged stars who burnt out is much, much longer, darling.’ Pari looked enviously at the scone Holly was eating and shrugged. ‘What the hell.’ She popped a pink macaron into her mouth. ‘YOLO – isn’t that what you kids say?’

‘Don’t you think I’m talented enough to make it?’ Her aunt had come to see her in Hairspray and said she had star quality.

‘You’re definitely talented enough,’ said Pari, brushing crumbs off her fingers.

‘But that’s no guarantee. The entertainment industry is brutal.

So many incredibly talented people don’t succeed, and sometimes less talented ones do – just because they are in the right place at the right time.

That’s why I never take on clients your age.

You need to have the resilience to deal with constant rejection – and that only comes with maturity. ’

Holly groaned. ‘Ugh, when did you get so boring, Auntie Pari? You sound just like Mum.’

‘Your mum isn’t boring,’ said Pari. ‘She’s brave.’

‘Ha!’ Holly snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Name one brave thing she’s ever done.’

Pari sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘When I used to be a stand-up, I got a lot of abuse from hecklers – really nasty stuff. One time, at the Edinburgh Festival, a heckler called out something very offensive. Your mum stood up and challenged him. He was drunk and threw a bottle of beer at her head. She had to go to hospital to get stitches.’ She tapped her forehead.

‘She still has a faint scar right here.’

Holly had never asked how her mum had got that scar. She’d always assumed it was from some childhood injury. She had to grudgingly admit it would have taken a lot of courage for Mum to stick up for Pari like that.

‘And she’s one of the most creative people I’ve ever met. I always thought it was a shame she stopped writing. I’m so glad she’s got a chance to go back to it.’

‘I don’t understand why she didn’t stay at the BBC,’ said Holly.

‘It sounds like such an interesting job.’ Growing up in London would have been so cool.

Not just because of the trendy shops and fancy restaurants.

There were loads of theatres with discounted tickets for young people, where you could see famous actors on stage.

The Plumdale Players’ annual pantomime in the church hall – usually starring her parents’ friend Ian – didn’t really compare.

‘Because she loved your dad more than her job,’ said Pari. ‘She wanted to raise her family somewhere safe and be there for you and Nick.’

‘Oh, so it’s all my fault.’

Pari set down her teacup and gave Holly a stern look. ‘That’s not what I meant. When Sarah called me after giving birth to you and asked me to be your godmother, she told me she had never been so happy. So maybe stop giving her such a hard time, OK? You and Nick mean the world to her.’

Holly looked down at her heart necklace, chastened. Deep down, she knew how much her mum loved her. She showed it every day, in all the little things she did for her and Nick. Now, Holly felt guilty about how she’d acted this morning. Her mum deserved to be happy.

She got out her phone and typed out a message.

Thanks for my necklace. I love you. Xxx

‘Good girl,’ said Pari, smiling. ‘Now how about we get you a pair of new shoes to match that cute little dress of yours.’

James was waiting for Holly on the concourse at Paddington. He checked his watch – she was a few minutes late. His mind started to race – was she lost? Had she been hit by a bus? Had she got mugged?

She’s sixteen, he told himself. She can look after herself.

When he’d been sixteen, he’d been taking the Tube to school, sneaking into pubs and hanging out at Camden Market on the weekends.

But Holly hadn’t grown up in the city like him.

He couldn’t help worrying about his daughter – Holly would always be his little girl.

He’d sworn to protect her on the day she’d come into this world, and that would never change, no matter how old she was.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, hurrying over to him laden with shopping bags.

James felt his shoulders relax. ‘That’s OK. Did you have a nice day?’

Holly nodded. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I went to Ealing,’ said James. ‘Where I grew up.’

While Holly had been shopping and having tea with Pari, he’d visited his parents’ graves.

He’d placed a wreath of holly and ivy on their shared headstone, which was decorated with a simple cross.

‘Sorry I haven’t been here for a while,’ he’d said to them.

‘I wish you could see the kids. Holly is nearly grown-up now. She wants to be an actor and is so talented – I’m not sure where she gets it from. Maybe you, Mum?’

James’s mother had loved to sing and dance.

‘And Nick is an amazing artist,’ James told his dad. ‘He and I love building models together, the way you and I did, Dad.’

He shoved his hands into his pockets. The skies were a dull grey, the wind biting.

It looked like it might snow. He looked at the names and dates carved on his parents’ headstone.

They were united in death, as they had been in life.

His parents never had the privilege of growing old together; illness robbed them of the chance to enjoy their retirements.

James hoped that he and Sarah would be luckier.

He still loved Sarah with all his heart and couldn’t imagine a future without her.

But he’d been so preoccupied with the cinema that he’d neglected their relationship, and her needs.

He needed to put things right and just hoped it wasn’t too late.

An announcement blared on the loudspeaker. ‘Great Western Railway is sorry to announce that all further trains are cancelled this evening, due to poor weather conditions.’

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Holly, looking panicky.

‘Don’t worry,’ James reassured her. ‘I’ll sort it out.’ He rang Pari and explained the situation. When he got off the phone, he told Holly, ‘Pari is out at the theatre tonight – one of her clients has a premiere – but she told me where to find her spare key.’