Page 33 of Christmas at the Movies

Sarah wasn’t sure why she felt so uncomfortable about Holly having a boyfriend, if indeed that’s what Aaron was.

James was right – he was a lovely boy. She just didn’t want her to get hurt when Aaron went off to uni.

And she certainly didn’t want her daughter to sacrifice her dreams for the sake of a boy.

Stop making this about you, said a voice in her head.

‘Come on,’ said James, rounding up the family. ‘It’s time for the film.’

They settled into their seats. Sarah felt a shiver of anticipation as the curtains drew back. It was fun not to know what movie she was about to see, to experience the surprise along with the rest of the audience for a change.

Sleigh bells rang out and a black-and-white image of a storybook filled the screen.

Aaahhh! Sarah smiled knowingly before the title even appeared. It’s a Wonderful Life had a special place in her heart, not just because the Frank Capra classic was a masterpiece – which of course it was – but also because it was what they had chosen to launch their very first film festival.

It was a movie about thwarted ambitions and the weight of family obligations. It took a visit from an angel to show the main character, played by Jimmy Stewart, that those sacrifices were worthwhile.

As always, the film wove its heart-warming spell over her.

It made her want to go ice skating and carol singing, to bake cookies and drink hot cocoa.

Sarah hoped that the words she was writing would have the same effect on audiences.

Ex-mas Eve probably wouldn’t be a masterpiece – even with Noa at the helm and a starry cast – but hopefully it would fill viewers with a sense of warmth and wellbeing.

At least, that’s what she was aiming for.

And so far, Noa seemed happy with her work.

Noa was her Christmas angel. It felt like he’d been heaven-sent to give her a second chance at making something of her life. To finally revive her long-lost ambitions.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ asked James after the closing credits played and the house lights came back on.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Sarah, her eyes glowing with pleasure. ‘It was … wonderful.’

14th February 2011

‘Happy Valentine’s Day, beautiful,’ James said, handing Sarah a card he’d bought at the corner shop that morning when he’d gone out to buy milk. The selection had been pretty poor; he’d chosen one with two grey teddy bears hugging, surrounded by pink hearts.

‘Oh, honey, I can’t believe you remembered, what with everything else happening today.’ She opened the card, propped it up on the kitchen counter and gave him a kiss.

‘I know I usually get you flowers too,’ he said. ‘But that seemed unnecessary, given the circumstances.’

Every available surface held a flower arrangement. It was like the Chelsea Flower Show in his father’s tiny flat.

Sean had passed away three weeks previously.

He’d been receiving treatment for COPD, but a bout of pneumonia over the winter had finished him off.

His weakened lungs hadn’t been able to cope with the infection.

After several weeks in hospital, he had passed away, with James and Sarah at his bedside.

He’d received last rites from Father Anthony and had been at peace, unlike James.

He was furious that his father had been taken from him so soon.

Sarah unscrewed the lid on a jar of mayonnaise and started making sandwiches for the funeral.

Nothing had changed in the kitchen of the former council flat since James had grown up there – the smoke-stained floral wallpaper, the speckled linoleum countertop, the dark wooden cupboards all remained as they’d been when it had been his mother making sandwiches for his packed lunches.

The doorbell rang and James went downstairs to answer it. Flowers or casserole? he wondered. A steady stream of neighbours had been dropping off bouquets and meals since Sean’s passing.

It was Mrs Gilligan from two doors down. She thrust a casserole dish at him. ‘I’ve made you a spicy tuna bake. It’s my own recipe.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Gilligan.’

‘Sure your da was a very nice man. We’ll miss him.’

Me too, thought James.

‘Are you waking him at home?’ she asked, peering around the door.

‘No,’ said James. ‘There will be a reception after the mass in the church hall. You’re welcome to join us.’

‘I’ll be there,’ promised Mrs Gilligan, patting his arm. ‘You’re all in my prayers.’

James put the tuna bake in the fridge. He appreciated the neighbours’ kindness, but most of their offerings had gone uneaten. Neither of them had much of an appetite – even for Mrs Khan from downstairs’ delicious chicken curry.

No sooner had James shut the fridge door than the front bell went again.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Sarah.

This time, it was a stunning bouquet of lilies. James took the card out of the envelope. It read: Our deepest condolences, Roger and Omar. x

The couple had also made a generous donation to the British Lung Foundation in Sean’s memory.

Roger had been holding down the fort at the cinema, as James had been staying in Ealing since Sean had been hospitalised.

Sarah found a space for the flowers. ‘Well, I suppose we should get dressed.’

James went to his childhood bedroom, where the model airplanes he’d built with his dad still hung from the ceiling.

Tape marks remained on the walls where he’d once displayed posters of Demi Moore, Michelle Pfeiffer and other 1980s film stars he’d fancied.

He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in what had been his parents’ bedroom, so he and Sarah had been squeezing into the single bed together.

At least it no longer had a Return of the Jedi duvet cover.

James slept with his arms wrapped tightly around Sarah, like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to a piece of driftwood.

Sarah had been his rock these past few weeks.

He wouldn’t have been able to bear it without her tireless support.

‘I miss Holly,’ said James. He longed to give his little girl a cuddle, to hear her squeal with delight when he swung her in the air.

‘Me too,’ admitted Sarah. ‘But Mum says they’re having fun.’

Geraldine was looking after their daughter for a few days, while they were in London for the funeral.

They had debated whether Holly should come, and ultimately decided she was too young.

Although they had tried to explain to their daughter that Sean had gone to heaven, Holly kept asking for Granda.

Sean had doted on Holly, taking her on walks, singing her Irish lullabies and buying her a toy workbench with little wooden tools.

It felt so unfair that they had been cheated of more time together, that Sean wouldn’t see his granddaughter grow up.

James vowed to keep Sean’s memory alive, so that Holly didn’t forget him.

‘She took Holly on an outing to Peppa Pig World today.’

‘Bet she loved that,’ said James. Three-year-old Holly was a big fan of Peppa and her little brother, George. Recently, she’d started asking for her own little brother. That was another thing that was hard to explain to her – how badly they wanted to give her a sibling too.

James put on the black suit Sarah had bought him for the funeral, as he’d been too busy with death admin to go out and look for anything.

‘I’m dreading this,’ said James, tucking his shirt into his trousers. The trousers felt loose around the waist, as he’d barely been eating.

Sarah put her arms around his shoulders. ‘It’s OK to cry if you need to, James. I know you’re trying to stay strong, but you’ve got to let it out at some point.’

He hadn’t shed a tear for his father, not even on the day they’d lost him.

It wasn’t that he was trying not to cry, it was that he couldn’t.

There was a constant tightness in his chest, an accumulation of unshed tears building up inside him.

He just hoped that the dam wouldn’t burst in the middle of his eulogy.

James wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and buried his face on her shoulder, inhaling her comfortingly familiar scent of citrus and spice. They stood like that for ages, with Sarah stroking his back reassuringly.

Eventually, the undertakers arrived to drive them to the church.

They drove past the cinema where he and his dad had gone every weekend to watch movies.

It had recently shut down, which felt like another blow.

It wasn’t surprising, though. Their own cinema was thriving, but the running costs were higher than James had ever anticipated.

At the church, the pews were full of neighbours, cousins, Sean’s former colleagues from Pinewood, and a few of James’s oldest friends and their parents.

For such a quiet, unassuming man, Sean had made his mark on everyone he’d met.

James had received cards and messages from so many people who shared stories of Sean’s kindness.

Knowing how loved his father was brought James some small comfort, but didn’t alleviate the tightness in his chest.

As the organist began to play ‘An Irish Blessing’, James and the other pallbearers carried Sean’s coffin down the aisle.

James stared straight ahead stoically as he listened to his father’s favourite hymn.

A lump was lodged in his throat and his chest felt so tight, it hurt to take a breath, but the dam held.

James’s cousin Sinead did the first reading.

As they listened to the words chosen to bring comfort, Sarah began to cry.

James put his arm around her shoulder and handed her the handkerchief in his pocket.

They weren’t just mourning Sean, they were also grieving for the baby they’d lost last year.

Their joy over Sarah’s pregnancy had turned to sorrow at their twelve-week scan, when no heartbeat could be detected.

‘Don’t lose faith, my boy.’ Sean had comforted James after hearing the news. ‘It’s all part of God’s plan.’