Page 51 of Home This Christmas

Red Robin Cottage was originally named End Lane Cottage, and I think the name change makes it sound far more inviting.

The cottage is surrounded by rolling farmland and on a clear day you can glimpse the water on the Wirral Peninsula, the sun dancing upon it.

Living here is like having the best of both worlds as it’s also only a half-hour drive to the sands of Formby and Crosby beaches.

Turning left towards the city, the sound of a motorbike roaring around the corner startles me as I’m lost in thoughts of Christmases past. Josh Hunter, whose father runs the village pub the Penny Farthing, roars along, heading back towards the village.

Josh lives there with his father, Paul, and my friend, his stepmother, Helen.

Josh has had several brushes with the law for speeding on his motorbike, and getting himself into scrapes at the pub, that sort of thing.

He was never the same after his mother died four years ago, and it’s common knowledge that he has never enjoyed an easy relationship with Helen.

I imagine how hard it must have been for him, losing his mother at such a difficult age, and in the year following her death, his father sought comfort in a whisky bottle.

Helen came along at the right time, and is really good for Paul.

She put a stop to his drinking and I know she’s a good stepmum to Josh too, even though it isn’t always smooth between them.

There’s no denying Josh’s brooding good looks and it’s easy to see why he’s considered a bit of a heart-throb in the village, especially to the young girls, who all seem to love a bad boy.

I park up in the city, feeling the chill of the crisp night air as I step out of the car and pull my grey woollen coat tightly around me, lifting my black-and-white checked scarf up over my chin.

A few minutes later, I approach the coffee shop, and see Cassie walking towards me from the opposite direction.

‘Hi, Cassie, that’s good timing. I’m glad neither of us had to stand around waiting,’ I say as I rub my hands together to warm them up.

‘I know, me too.’ She hugs me and I smell her perfume that she’s worn since I’ve known her, and it’s like a comfort blanket, wrapping itself around me.

‘Right, where to first?’ asks Cassie, who’s wearing a quilted silver jacket and a multicoloured beanie hat that she knitted herself. Her brown curly hair is hanging down below.

‘I don’t mind. I do have to head to Boots for a few bits for Ellie, she’s into her Soap and Glory bath stuff, then maybe John Lewis. I might as well have a look for a dress for the cinema’s Christmas party while I’m here.’

‘Great, I need John Lewis to grab a voucher for the in-laws.’

Cassie told me she had given up buying gifts for her mother-in-law, as every gift she purchased was met with cool indifference, sometimes asking Cassie if she had kept the receipt.

Her father-in-law’s reaction was always completely in contrast, expressing sincere gratitude when he received a gift, whatever it might be.

My own parents passed away three years ago, within a few months of each other, so my gift to them will be a pretty, hand-made wreath that I’ve ordered from the flower shop in the village courtyard from my friend Frances.

Strangely enough, the sun always shines on the day I visit their grave and I like to look up at the clouds and imagine them smiling down on me.

We walk along chatting, before stopping and listening to a brass band play on Church Street, which really puts me in the Christmas mood.

I especially love when they play ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ and I find myself singing along.

I’ve always loved to sing, even though I never fulfilled my dream of singing on a stage in front of an audience.

‘So, how’s things at the cinema?’ Cassie asks as we walk through the streets, where the crowds seem to be out in force this evening, taking advantage of late-night shopping and soaking up the festive atmosphere.

‘To be honest, things have been really quiet lately. In fact,’ I tell her, hardly bringing myself to say the words, ‘we’ve basically been told unless we get some more bums on seats there’s a chance the cinema may be faced with closure.

I guess most people go into town for the cinema, rather than use the local one.

’ The smell of food from a nearby food hut hits my nostrils.

‘I can imagine how hard it must be competing with the huge chains,’ says Cassie. ‘Not to mention Netflix and Prime streaming films almost right away these days.’

‘You’re right, that’s the biggest issue. The big chains don’t have the romance of an old-fashioned cinema, though, do they? At least, I don’t think so.’

‘But they do have reclining leather seats, which is what most people want these days,’ she reminds me.

‘I suppose you’re right. Maybe I’m just an old romantic.’

‘Maybe you are. There’s nothing wrong with that, though.’ She links her arm through mine as we walk on.

The Roxy is such a wonderful cinema and I love working in a place that gives a glimpse of days gone by.

The chairs are still pink velvet with polished wooden arms, and red velvet curtains hang proudly at the front of the cinema screen.

The frontage is wonderful too – art deco in design and something new visitors to the cinema often comment on.

Okay, the chairs can’t compete with the luxurious leather recliners, and are a little cramped, but the cinema gives an old-fashioned theatre experience, unlike like the modern, homogenised buildings of today.

I love the smell as soon as I enter the building, feeling like I’m stepping into the past. I often think of the couples who must have walked through the doors on date nights in years gone by.

I imagine them snuggling in the back seats, the ladies dressed in smart dresses and pillbox hats, the men in dapper suits, the scent of the women’s perfume mixing with the men’s tobacco.

I think of all those people who met the love of their life at the Roxy.

I reckon love was a whole lot simpler back then.

Or perhaps that’s just my romanticised perception of it.

‘Pensioners’ afternoon is still popular, though,’ I tell Cassie. ‘But I think we need some ideas to get more people inside. Persuade them that local is just as good as heading into the city.’

‘Try screening Magic Mike. I bet the pensioner ladies would love that.’ Cassie giggles.

‘You could be right there,’ I say, thinking of the spirited ladies who love their cinema afternoons, laughing uproariously when we screen a particularly amusing comedy.

Occasionally, men will pop in for the matinee, but generally only when we have a special screening of a war film.

Dunkirk was very popular, despite some of the older guys grumbling that it was factually inaccurate.

I can’t bear to even think about the possibility of the cinema being under threat, so I decide to put it out of my mind, for the time being at least, and enjoy my evening with my friend. I’ve always loved Christmas and feel happy as I walk along, taking in the bright lights of the city.

We step inside John Lewis, glad to be inside away from the biting air, and where gorgeous displays greet us at every turn.

It would so easy to overspend with so many tempting things on offer, so I try and focus on what I came in here for.

My eye is drawn to a large copper pan in the kitchenware section, that I think would look good on display in my country cottage kitchen.

I momentarily consider making home-made jam, although wonder if I would ever actually get around to doing it.

In the end, I walk on as the last thing I really need in my kitchen is another pan.

There’s already a rack full of them, hanging from a Victorian airer, half of which I barely use.

I waver over a waffle maker – Ellie loves waffles – but glancing at the price tag, I’m sure I could purchase something cheaper online.

Walking through the cosmetics area, Cassie stops and sprays some perfume on her wrist from a sample. An over-eager assistant from a make-up counter approaches us asking if we would like a makeover, which we politely decline.

‘I might do when I go on the Christmas night out, though,’ I tell Cassie as we continue to explore the store. ‘I’ve never had my make-up done professionally before.’

‘Ooh good idea, I bet you would look amazing,’ says Cassie as we ascend the escalator to the first floor. ‘I maybe wouldn’t go for the sparkly eyeshadow, though. Someone at work had it done once and the falling sparkles ruined her black dress.’ She laughs.

My eyes are large and a light-green shade and people often comment on them. Robbie told me it was the first thing he noticed about me when we first met in the Empire Theatre, where I was working at the time. It’s a pity they couldn’t captivate him forever.

There are racks of gorgeous dresses on display, some in shimmering gold or covered in sequins, ideal for the party season, side by side with more classic styles. Rifling the racks, my eyes soon fall on a pretty wrap-over in shades of black and mustard.

‘I think I might go and try this on,’ I tell Cassie as she looks at handbags that are heavily discounted in a pre-Christmas sale.

‘Okay, I’ll be over in a minute to have a look,’ she says, turning over a brown leather designer bag.

Five minutes later, having regretted wearing two layers of clothes, I finally get the dress on. Opening the curtain of the changing room, and seeing Cassie waiting outside, I give her a twirl.

‘Ta da!’

‘Oh, Sarah, that’s gorgeous. It’s really flattering. You should definitely buy it,’ Cassie enthuses.

‘You don’t think it’s too low, do you?’ I ask doubtfully, although I have to admit it does look good and I feel great wearing it, as it really shows off what you might call my hourglass figure.

‘No, it’s perfect for a party and not that low-cut at all. It really shows off your waist. You have to buy it,’ she says firmly.

‘I think I will,’ I say excitedly, relieved to have found a dress. I also manage to find a pair of black suede boots to go with the outfit.

Cassie treats herself to the bag and buys the in-laws their annual gift voucher, along with some fancy chocolates, so we head off back into the cold streets.