Page 43 of Christmas at the Movies

Thursday’s visit to the war museum in Caen was the worst. The exhibition on D-Day and the Battle of Normandy was too much for Nick. He found the photographs of the battle scenes distressing and began to sob. Neither Sarah nor James could console him.

‘Why did those people have to die?’ he wailed.

‘I guess he’s just too young for this,’ Sarah said, stroking her son’s back.

James wasn’t so sure. There were plenty of other young children at the museum. None were reacting the way Nick was.

‘James!’ said Sarah, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name. ‘I said – what do you want to do today?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was miles away. How about doing a jigsaw?’

Holly groaned. ‘We’ve done all the puzzles. Most of them are missing pieces.’

‘What about playing some board games, then?’ James suggested.

‘Nick is too little,’ said Holly. ‘He can only play Candyland and Snakes and Ladders and babyish games.’

‘I’m not a baby!’ said Nick.

‘Are too!’ retorted Holly. ‘You’re always crying like a big baby. Wah! Wah! Wah!’ She pretended to cry.

Tears began to well in Nick’s eyes. His lower lip trembled.

‘See!’ shouted Holly.

James acted fast to avert another meltdown. ‘Let’s do some colouring!’ He picked Nick up and set him down at the kitchen table with paper and crayons.

‘I need more coffee,’ muttered Sarah. She shut her laptop down and poured them both another cup. ‘Looks like today is going to be another washout.’

‘How long before holidays are actually relaxing again?’ James wondered aloud, thinking back to the exciting holidays he and Sarah had taken before they’d had kids – to far-flung places like Los Angeles and Hong Kong.

When they could read books and sunbathe by the pool, instead of staying vigilant when the kids were paddling.

When they could dine on local delicacies, instead of choosing restaurants with chicken nuggets and fries on the children’s menu.

When they could browse through souvenir shops, without fear that someone was going to break something valuable.

‘You know what they say – a chance is as good as a rest,’ remarked Sarah half-heartedly.

They had been grateful to Roger and Omar for the cottage, which was comfortable, tastefully decorated and, above all, free. But so far, the holiday had been much more stressful than staying at home. Nick wasn’t coping well with the change of routine.

James glanced over at his son, completely absorbed in his drawing of an underwater scene, with tropical fish, mermaids and a castle. He obviously found it easier to exist in imaginary worlds than the real one.

‘What should we do today?’ James whispered to Sarah. ‘I’m running out of ideas here.’

She sighed in defeat. ‘Well … we could always see a movie?’

A few hours later, they bought tickets to a screening of Spider-Man: Homecoming. The Cinéma Henri Jeanson showed an eclectic programme of French cinema and arthouse classics alongside subtitled Hollywood blockbusters.

A plaque commemorated the cinema’s namesake.

‘What does it say?’ asked James, who had forgotten most of his rudimentary secondary-school French.

Sarah translated. ‘Henri Jeanson was imprisoned in World War Two for being a pacifist. He was a journalist and screenwriter.’

‘Oh, like you,’ said James.

‘Hardly,’ replied Sarah, shaking her head. ‘Not sure I can call myself a screenwriter any more. I can’t seem to finish anything.’

‘You will,’ he reassured her. Just as one day their holidays would return to being more relaxing, it would get easier for Sarah to write once the kids were older.

‘Look at this,’ said Sarah, pointing to the flyer on the noticeboard. ‘They run special screenings for senior citizens.’

‘What a great idea,’ said James. ‘We could do something like that at the Picture Palace – there are lots of retired people in the area.’

‘Daddy!’ cried Holly, rushing ahead to the concession stand. ‘Please can we get popcorn?’

‘Popcorn!’ clamoured Nick, jumping up and down.

James bought snacks, then they made their way into the auditorium.

‘Fingers crossed this wasn’t a terrible idea,’ said Sarah, as they took their seats.

The film’s rating was a 12, but it seemed worth the risk. They had some old Spider-Man comics at home from when James was a boy and Nick loved to look at the pictures.

At first, Nick seemed to be enjoying the film until a bomb blew up the Washington Monument on screen …

‘I don’t like it!’ Nick cried.

‘It’s OK,’ whispered Sarah. ‘It’s not real. It’s just a movie.’

Moments later, another explosion in the film ripped a ferry in half.

Nick promptly began to howl. He wriggled off Sarah’s lap, spilling a box of popcorn, and began to have a tantrum, thrashing around on the cinema floor.

‘Tais-toi!’ hissed someone in the row behind. James could feel angry eyes burning into his back as he stood up.

The whole family exited the cinema as quickly as if Spider-Man’s nemesis, the Green Goblin, was chasing them.

‘The big baby spoils yet another thing,’ grumbled Holly in the lobby.

‘I can take Nick back to the cottage if you and Holly want to watch the rest of the film,’ said Sarah.

‘No,’ said James. ‘This is our family holiday. We should stick together.’

He glanced over at Nick, who had squatted down to befriend a stray cat.

His son laughed when the cat rolled around on the ground.

Nick seemed fine at the moment, but it was hard to relax knowing the slightest thing could trigger a meltdown.

James sighed, hoping they could get through the rest of the day without another tantrum.

They picked up some seabass at the fish market, then walked back to the cottage. By then, the rain had petered out. Nick returned to his drawing of the underwater kingdom, while Holly played games on the family iPad.

They usually restricted her screen time – but desperate times called for desperate measures: unlimited Roblox.

James opened one of the remaining bottles of wine and poured himself and Sarah each a large glass. He wiped down the garden furniture and they took their wine outside.

‘To this holiday almost being over,’ he said.

They touched glasses and sipped their wine, savouring the rich, fruity notes – and the peace and quiet.

‘This is delicious,’ said Sarah.

‘At least one thing about today isn’t a complete disaster,’ remarked James. ‘I guess Nick was too young for that movie.’

Sarah set her wine glass down. ‘It’s not about his age, James, and you know it. We can’t go on ignoring what we’ve known ever since Nick was a baby. That he’s different.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being different,’ replied James.

‘I didn’t say there was. But I think we should have him tested, like the school suggested. My mum knows an educational psychologist at the university who can do it for us.’

Before school had broken up, Nick’s teacher had suggested that they might want to consider having him tested for autism, or some other form of sensory processing disorder.

James had been avoiding this conversation, shutting it down every time Sarah brought it up.

He was annoyed that she’d got her mum involved – Geraldine had a way of taking charge.

‘No way,’ said James, shaking his head vigorously.

‘What are you so afraid of, honey?’ Sarah asked. ‘You know we’ll love him just the same, no matter what the results are.’

‘I don’t want him to be labelled,’ said James.

He knew first-hand how horrible boys could be to other boys, how any sign of difference or weakness could get you bullied in the playground.

He’d cried a few times at school after his mother’s death and been mocked relentlessly for it. He wanted to spare Nick that torment.

‘Labels don’t have to be negative,’ said Sarah. ‘They can be empowering.’

‘Whatever this is, he might just grow out of it.’ James knew he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince his wife.

‘Maybe,’ replied Sarah doubtfully. ‘But if there’s something wrong, a diagnosis will help us know how to support him. When I was suffering from anxiety, finding out what was wrong was the first step in me getting better. You encouraged me to get a diagnosis.’

‘Look what I found in the wardrobe upstairs,’ called Holly, coming into the garden holding a cardboard box of DVDs. ‘We can watch one of these.’

James was grateful for the interruption, though he knew Sarah wouldn’t let it drop. He rooted through the French films and classic movies, looking for something suitable for the kids.

‘What about this?’ asked Holly, holding up a copy of Last Tango in Paris. ‘I love dancing.’

‘Nope!’ James quickly took the DVD off her. ‘It’s too, ah—’

‘French,’ supplied Sarah, coming to his rescue.

‘Here we go!’ said James, discovering a copy of Elf. ‘This is the perfect thing. It’s about a human raised by elves in Santa’s workshop.’

‘But it’s not Christmas,’ said Holly.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ replied James. ‘It’s a great movie.’

And, unlike Last Tango in Paris, it wasn’t an erotic drama!

They went inside and he loaded the disc into the machine, hoping it still worked. To his relief, the movie began to play.

Sprawled on the living-room sofa next to Sarah and Holly, with Nick snuggled up on his lap, James let the film transport him to Manhattan at Christmastime.

‘Come on, everyone,’ Holly urged them, as Buddy the elf encouraged everyone to sing loudly to spread Christmas cheer. ‘Sing!’

They all sang along and cheered as Santa’s sled rose into the sky.

Nick clapped his hands when the movie finished. ‘I love Buddy the elf! Daddy, can we have spaghetti with maple syrup for dinner?’

‘No,’ said James, laughing.

‘Why not?’ said Nick. ‘That’s Buddy’s favourite meal.’

‘Because we have some lovely fish to grill,’ said Sarah.

James went outside to fire up the barbecue.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Sarah, coming out to join him and lifting her face to the sky. ‘Is that the sun? I hardly recognise it.’

The sun was indeed peeking out from behind the clouds.

‘Tag – you’re it!’ squealed Holly, running across the wet grass in bare feet as her little brother chased after her, giggling.

As James grilled the seabass, he thought about the film they’d just seen. Buddy the elf stayed true to himself and eventually saved the day.

James watched his sweet, sensitive, artistic son playing with his sister. Why should Nick have to change to fit in? Or hide his true self?

He took a deep breath. ‘OK,’ he said, turning to Sarah. ‘Let’s get Nick assessed.’

‘Really?’ she said, her face lighting up. ‘What made you change your mind?’

James laughed. ‘Believe it or not, the movie. It made me realise that I need to stop being scared of the fact that Nick is different. He is who he is – and always has been.’

Sarah put her arms around him. ‘Whatever the outcome of the assessment, we’ll make sure Nick knows it’s OK to be different. That he can be himself.’

James nodded. ‘You’re right. He’ll be fine. Because we love him no matter what.’

They stood with their arms around each other, watching the sun begin to set as the children laughed and played together on the lawn.

Thanks, Buddy, thought James. For bringing a little Christmas magic to their summer holiday.