Page 43 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

We stood in the empty cinema staring at each other.

“Scarlett?” she said again. “Is it really you?”

I nodded helplessly.

“I…I can’t believe it. My little baby.”

Suddenly it was all too much and I burst into tears.

“Scarlett, are you still in here?” I heard Ursula call. “Oh, there you are.” She came rushing toward me. “We wondered where you’d…what on earth is wrong?”

Ursula looked between Rose and me.

“Ursula, this…” I hesitated, it sounded all wrong. “This is…my…my mother.”

“Your…but Sean told us you couldn’t find…oh my! You mean you two have just…like just now in the cinema?”

I nodded.

“But that’s incredible.”

“Isn’t it,” my mother answered for both of us. Actually, I couldn’t even think of her in that way just yet. So I decided to think of her as Rose for now—like her name badge stated. Rose looked as bewildered and disorientated as I was feeling.

“You two must have so much to talk about. Perhaps I should— ”

“No, no don’t do that, Ursula,” I said, panicking. Now I was face to face with my mother, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to say to her.

“But…” Ursula said in embarrassment.

“Scarlett, my shift finishes in about half an hour,” Rose said gently. “Maybe we could go somewhere…just for a coffee or something?”

I nodded again. I still couldn’t bring myself to speak to her properly.

“There’s a little café just up the road from here, called Kelly’s. Do you know it?”

I shook my head.

“I do,” Ursula said. “I’ll make sure she gets there OK.”

“I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” Rose said, trying to force a smile.

Again I just nodded. Ursula had to forcibly turn me around and walk me out of the cinema, as my legs, and in fact my whole body, had become incapable of functioning on their own.

“Don’t ask!” she instructed an astonished Oscar as we emerged on to the street. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Come on, we’re going this way.”

She grabbed my hand, pulled me along the street, and into the first pub we came to.

“But this isn’t a café,” I said weakly, looking around me.

“No, I know, but you need a stiff drink before you go and meet your mother properly.”

“Her what?” Oscar asked in astonishment. “But I thought…”

“So did Scarlett until about ten minutes ago. Come on, let’s get a drink first—I’ll go up to the bar, you find us some seats, Oscar. ”

Oscar looked around him, then wandered over to the other side of the pub where he spied a small table in the corner with three empty seats. “Over here,” he said, beckoning me across. When I didn’t move, he returned to my side and gently guided me in the right direction.

We sat down at the table and waited for Ursula.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Oscar asked after a minute or two of us sitting in silence.

I looked at him sitting there in his bright green shirt and purple jeans.

No one but Oscar or a Wimbledon umpire could get away with that color combination, I thought in admiration.

A man at the next table cast an appreciative glance in Oscar’s direction—so he was obviously doing something right.

“I would, Oscar—but I don’t really know what to say. ”

Ursula arrived with the drinks. “Usual for you, Oscar,” she said, plonking an energetic-looking cocktail down in front of him. The drink, with its lurid umbrellas and swizzle sticks, even seemed to match Oscar’s outfit.

“And a brandy for you, Scarlett.”

“But I don’t drink brandy,” I protested.

“You do tonight—you’ve had a shock. Go on, get it down you; it’ll do you good.”

I began to sip gently at the brandy, still in a daydream, while Ursula briefed Oscar on what had happened at the cinema.

“It’s unbelievable,” I heard Oscar saying. “What if Sean hadn’t phoned today and asked us to call on Scarlett? She might never have bumped into her!”

“I know, and if he hadn’t suggested we take her to the cinema too—it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? ”

I was fed up sipping at the rich, sweet liquid, so I picked up my glass, threw my head back, and downed the contents in two big gulps.

Oscar and Ursula stopped talking and watched me open-mouthed.

“Blimey, girl,” Oscar said. “Steady on.”

“It’s got to be done,” I said in a raspy voice after the brandy had burned the back of my throat.

“Better?” Ursula asked after a few seconds. “Are you with us again now?”

I nodded.

“So what do you think you’ll say to your mother when you see her?”

“I have no idea,” I replied truthfully. “I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me. What the hell are we going to talk about?” I hesitated. “Perhaps I just shouldn’t go after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some common ground,” Ursula said, gently putting her hand over mine. “Oh, what I’d give to have five more minutes with my own mother again.”

I was so wrapped up in myself, I’d forgotten about Ursula and Sean’s mother.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I should be grateful for this opportunity. But the difference is, Ursula, your mother didn’t choose to abandon you. When she passed away, she had no choice in the matter.”

“But she’s still your mother, Scarlett.” It was Oscar’s turn now. “I moan about mine enough, with her constant badgering and interfering in my life. But I wouldn’t be without her for the world.”

I nodded. “Thanks for your advice, guys. Of course, you’re right, I must go. I’ll just have to see what happens when I get there. After all, what do I have to lose?”

Ursula and Oscar quickly finished up their drinks, and we all left the pub together. We walked along the street until we came to a little cafe called Kelly’s. It wasn’t quite a greasy spoon, but it was getting on that way with its bright plastic chairs and easy-wipe tablecloths.

“Will you be OK?” Ursula asked as we hovered by the door. “Or do you want us to come in and wait with you until she gets here?”

“No, I’ll be fine. It’ll give me a bit of time to think about what I’m going to say to her.”

Ursula gave me a big hug. “Good luck, Scarlett. I do hope it goes well.”

Oscar did the same. “If you’re not sure about her, check out her shoes,” he instructed me in all seriousness. “You can tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wear.”

“Sure, Oscar, I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

I opened the door to the café, and a bell rang above my head, announcing my arrival. “I’ll call you later and let you know how it all goes,” I promised.

“Yes, please do, we’ll be crossing everything for you,” Ursula said with an encouraging smile. “Including our eyes!”

I gave them one last nervous smile, then I took a deep breath and walked into the café. I found myself a table in the corner by the window and sat down.

A middle-aged waitress wearing a brown uniform and a white frilly apron tied around her middle duly appeared. “Evening, what can I get you? ”

“Erm, just a cup of tea, please, milk no sugar. Actually no, I will have sugar, please.” I still felt I was in shock: maybe a sweet cup of tea would help me more than that brandy had.

“OK…” the waitress said slowly, eyeing me up and down. “Anything else?”

“No, not at the moment, thanks…Oh, if you have skim milk that would be good in the tea too, thanks.”

“Skim.” The waitress wrote on her pad. “Sure, I’ll check for you. I won’t be long.” She wandered back to the counter and spoke briefly to a man who I assumed must be the chef because he was wearing a large white apron. Well, it would originally have been white underneath all the food stains.

I sat back and surreptitiously looked around at the other diners in the cafe.

They were an odd mix of people. The youngsters that lolled about at one of the tables were obviously there to partake of their five daily food groups—chips, caffeine, ketchup, salt, and sugar.

Most of the other diners were that bit older, but still obviously felt that their day was not complete without some sort of fry-up.

And there were a few odd people like me just sitting on their own, sipping a cup of tea.

The lone people looked quite desperate and sad, and I hoped I didn’t look like that.

The dingy white walls were covered in old black and white photos. I glanced at the one closest to me and immediately recognized the handsome face of Gary Grant smiling back.

Then I realized that all the photos were of movie stars. Marilyn Monroe and Charlie Chaplin were hanging next to Clark Gable, Rita Hayworth, and who was that? I squinted to see across the room. Ah yes, Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire, and Gene Kelly. Maybe the café was named in his honor?

I picked up the laminated menu that stood on the checked plastic tablecloth and flicked casually through the pages.

Helpfully, there was a photo of every dish that Kelly’s had to offer.

This was presumably so you didn’t have to tax yourself by wading through the one-line description of each meal.

And intriguingly, all the dishes had Hollywood-inspired names, I assumed to try and inspire you into wanting to eat them.

Was this why my mother knew this place—because of all its movie connections?

I put the menu down as the waitress reappeared at the table with my tea. I was impressed that it was in a pot, and not just in a chipped cup and saucer as I’d half expected it to be.

“Would you like anything else?” the waitress asked hopefully. “I see you were just looking at our menu.”

“No, not just at the moment, thanks—maybe later though,” I added when she looked disappointed. “I’m meeting someone here.”

“Righty-ho,” she said, walking away. “I’ll pop back in a while.”

I turned my head and looked out of the window. I felt like I should have a red rose or something similar poking out of a book, so the person meeting me would know who I was. But Rose already knew what I looked like, didn’t she? Just like a younger version of her, really.

I thought about what had happened only half an hour ago in the cinema. What were the odds of that? I wondered. All that time I had been chasing across London and Paris with Sean looking for her, my mother had been right here all along—in Notting Hill.