Christmas at the Movies

by Anne Marie Ryan

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

'I adored this magical heartwarming family story with my two favourite ingredients at Christmas - movies and the Cotswolds!' Helen Rolfe

One small town. A Christmas film festival. Can this be their second shot at happily-ever-after?

Every December, Sarah and James run a festive film festival in their struggling indie cinema. But this year, Hollywood comes Plumdale when a film crew shoots a movie in the village!

Close to her breaking point, Sarah jumps at the exciting opportunity to work with the handsome and charming director on the script. Screenwriting had been her dream until she put it aside to help run the cinema and raise her children in the Cotswolds.

Worried that he took his wife for granted, James decides to put the festival together on his own, choosing films to remind her of everything they've shared and how much he cares. But with the community and Sarah enthralled by the movie production, James is going to need a Christmas miracle to save both his marriage and the cinema...

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 352

Sample

The lobby of the Plumdale Picture Palace was overrun with babies – babies in slings, babies in car seats and babies on their exhausted-looking mothers’ hips. Some of the mums were sipping coffees and chatting to each other among the vintage cinema posters. These days, there were a fair number of dads too, armed with well stocked nappy bags and bottles of milk. The cinema’s weekly Wednesday morning ‘Baby and Me’ screenings were always well-attended, even if the film was inevitably accompanied by a soundtrack of crying infants.

A baby girl with a shock of brown hair, huge blue eyes and deliciously chubby thighs gave Sarah O’Hara a gummy smile.

‘What a little cutie,’ said Sarah, making a silly face at the baby as she sold a ticket to her mother. The baby giggled and kicked her legs in delight. She reminded Sarah of her daughter, Holly, when she was a baby. She was nearly sixteen now and those days were a distant memory, as were the smiles – at least, Holly rarely bestowed them on her mother these days. Somehow, over the past year or so, Sarah had gone from being her daughter’s favourite person to Public Enemy Number One.

‘It’s just a stage,’ her best friend, Pari, Holly’s godmother, had reassured her. ‘I was horrible to my mother when I was a teenager and I bet you were too. She’ll come back to you.’

But when, Sarah couldn’t help wondering. She gazed round at the young parents cuddling their adorable infants and felt a pang of envy. It was so much easier when they were that age, despite the broken nights, sore boobs and smelly nappies. When she could make her children laugh by pulling a silly face and make everything better with a kiss. Even the terrible twos were a breeze compared with the teenaged years …

Sarah finished selling drinks and refreshments, then scuttled around to the other side of the counter to open the door to the auditorium and let the parents inside. The plush red velvet seats, ornate proscenium arch and gold fan-shaped light fittings on the stucco walls never failed to take her breath away. Nearly two decades ago, she and James had lovingly restored the Picture Palace to its former art deco glory. It had been a ruin when they’d bought it, disused since the early 70s, but eventually they had made it worthy of its name.

As the feature presentation began, she noticed that the auditorium was a bit too hot so she turned the thermostat down a touch. Then she slipped out to do some work in the office. Checking her to-do list, Sarah rubbed her temples wearily. She’d slept badly – again – and was already exhausted. The ancient sofa in the office looked very inviting, but there was no time for a nap. She needed to make a staff rota for the month ahead, order sweets and drinks for the concession stand, and schedule the programme for December. She’d once naively assumed owning a cinema would mean watching movies all day long. Ha!

The desk was cluttered with posters for upcoming attractions and catalogues from suppliers. She picked up a brochure and flicked through it. Last week, one of the speakers in the auditorium had blown during a screening. Fortunately, James had managed to rewire the system to a different speaker before the next showing. It was fortunate her husband could turn his hand to most repairs, because things were constantly breaking down in the cinema, from troublesome taps to temperamental ticket printers. Seeing the price of a new sound system, she winced and closed the brochure.

Maybe Santa will bring us a new one, thought Sarah.

That was yet another thing she needed to sort out – Christmas. She hadn’t even begun to think about shopping yet, not to mention planning the festive film festival that the cinema ran every December.

Sarah’s phone rang and her stomach clenched when she saw that it was from Severn Valley secondary school. What was it this time? Had Holly bunked off school again? Or got yet another detention?

‘Hello, Mrs O’Hara? This is Stephen Wu, Nick’s form tutor.’

Instantly, Sarah was on red alert. ‘Is Nick ill?’ she asked, her hand scrabbling in her bag to find her car keys so she could race to the school and collect him.

‘No, don’t worry, Nick’s perfectly well. I just wanted to have a chat about how he’s settling in to secondary school.’

Ahhh …

‘Nick’s a very bright boy,’ said Mr Wu, ‘but he seems quite anxious and hasn’t made friends yet.’

Sarah’s heart clenched with worry as she thought of her twelve-year-old son, looking lost in his too-big school blazer (they’d bought it large so he could grow into it). Moving from the security of the tiny village primary school to the regional secondary school had been a difficult transition for him, unlike his outgoing older sister. Nick begged his parents not to make him go to school most mornings. Sarah’s heart broke when she sent him off to catch the bus, even though she knew it was the right thing to do.

‘You’re only ever as happy as your unhappiest child,’ her older sister, Meg, who had three kids of her own, had once told Sarah. Truer words had never been spoken.

‘Nick is highly sensitive,’ explained Sarah. ‘He finds it hard to cope in an overly stimulating environment, especially if it’s new. Noisy situations, crowded spaces, strong smells, bright lights – they can all trigger him.’

‘I see,’ murmured Mr Wu. ‘I wasn’t aware that Nick was on the special educational needs register.’

‘He’s not,’ said Sarah. ‘But his primary school made accommodations for him.’

She’d had to fight tooth and nail to get the school to do that, as Nick didn’t have a medical condition. Luckily, Mr Wu seemed much more cooperative.

‘What would help Nick?’ asked the teacher.

‘Is there somewhere quiet he could go if he’s feeling overwhelmed and needs a break?’

‘The library is usually quiet,’ suggested Mr Wu. ‘I’ll have a word with Nick and his other teachers, and see what we can arrange.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sarah.

No sooner had she ended the call, she received another one.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Sarah answered, trying – but failing – to keep the worry out of her voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Geraldine with a mother’s sixth sense.

‘It’s Nick,’ replied Sarah. ‘The school just called. They’re concerned because he’s having trouble settling in.’

‘Children are so mollycoddled these days.’ Geraldine tutted. ‘Benign neglect is good for children. You and your sister turned out just fine.’

‘These days, it’s frowned upon to let your kids raise themselves,’ said Sarah tartly.

Sarah and Meg were textbook 1980s latchkey kids, as their ambitious parents were busy furthering their academic careers. Ironically, for someone with such a hands-off approach to parenting, Geraldine’s main field of research had been community and families. When she’d had children of her own, Sarah had made a conscious decision to put them first, always. But her mum had disapproved of the fact that Sarah had given up her television career.

‘When I was still working, I would sometimes get the parents of university students phoning to query their child’s mark, or asking me to grant them an extension on an essay. Ridiculous!’ Her mum sighed deeply down the phone. ‘But I miss it so much. Teaching, being around interesting young people, being relevant.’

Geraldine had recently retired from Bristol University and moved into a community for seniors on the outskirts of Plumdale. Sarah’s mother had always been fiercely independent, but after developing health complications due to long Covid, it just wasn’t possible for her to live on her own. Moving in with Sarah wasn’t an option – there was barely enough space in the cottage for the four of them. And Meg, who’d lived in Edinburgh since university, had her hands full with her own family and thriving dental clinic. So Sarah had found Valley Vistas, a gorgeous complex with modern flats and beautiful gardens, within walking distance of the village centre. Geraldine had strenuously resisted moving there, even when they’d tried to persuade her that she’d see loads more of them. In the end, she’d had a fall and that was what had sealed the deal – she needed to live somewhere with a lift.

It was so unlike Geraldine – who had marched for women’s rights and reclaimed her life after a bitter divorce – to sound defeated. ‘Of course you’re still relevant,’ Sarah reassured her.

‘I’m just so lonely,’ said Geraldine, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself all day.’

‘Why don’t you get to know some of the other residents at Valley Vistas?’ suggested Sarah. ‘There are lots of activities you can get involved with.’ It wasn’t the first time she’d made the suggestions, and she could predict what her mother was going to say next. They’d had a similar conversation nearly every day since her mother had moved in.

‘I don’t want to hang around with boring old people,’ moaned Geraldine. ‘All they do is talk about their medical conditions.’

Sarah stifled a frustrated sigh. ‘Well, how about you come over to dinner tomorrow night?’

‘That would be lovely.’ The speed with which she accepted the invitation and rang off made Sarah suspect it had been her mother’s main reason for phoning.

I should have Mum over more often, she thought guiltily, even though her mother joined them for dinner at least twice a week.

She jotted down a reminder to pick up something from the butcher’s for dinner tomorrow, and to tidy the house. Then she slid the rubber band off a rolled-up film poster. She stretched the elastic between her thumb and her forefinger, pulling it taut. That’s how she felt these days – like a rubber band, about to snap. Between the cinema and home, her mum and the kids, she was stretched to breaking point. From remembering birthdays, making doctor’s appointments and finding missing socks, to filling out school forms, ironing uniforms and keeping the fridge filled, everything to do with running the family seemed to land on Sarah’s plate. She worked less hours at the cinema than James did, but the emotional labour of running the family was never-ending.

Suddenly, Sarah felt a wave of anxiety engulf her like a riptide. Intense heat crept up her torso, rising to her face. In seconds, her arms and chest were drenched in sweat.

Here we go again …

Grabbing the poster, she hurried outside. The cold air felt blissful as it blasted her overheated body. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths and waited for her internal thermometer to stop thinking she was in a sauna. Sarah rested her damp forehead against the glass door.

Opening her eyes again, she saw her reflection in the glass – a tall woman in jeans, a striped sweater and white trainers. Her brown hair was in a messy bun, there were bags under her eyes and a groove between her eyebrows even when she wasn’t frowning. Her sister’s dental practice offered Botox, and Meg had encouraged her to try it, but Sarah had so far resisted.

Maybe I should, she thought, smoothing the groove with her finger. I look so old.

Turning away from her reflection, she unfurled the poster and hung it in a glass case outside the cinema. As she did so, a name jumped out at her. The screenwriter was Jack Greenstreet, someone she’d worked with at the BBC.

Sarah stared at the poster, amazed that her former colleague had penned a blockbuster starring Eddie Redmayne.

Good for him, thought Sarah, trying not to feel envious.

How long had it been since she’d done any writing herself? Years and years. Could she even legitimately call herself a writer any more?

When they’d quit their jobs in London to buy the cinema, the plan had been to hire a full-time manager so Sarah would be able to finish her screenplay. But somehow that had never happened. Then the kids had arrived, and in between running the cinema and raising a young family, there was never any time to write. The kids weren’t little any more, but there still wasn’t any time to write. Not now that she had her mum to look after as well.

Sarah didn’t regret the time she’d devoted to her family; her kids were her most important – and rewarding – creation. But a tiny part of her wondered if it could have been her name on a movie poster, if only she had kept at it. If only she had made the time to write.

Sarah shook her head. There was no point dwelling on the past. She’d ended up working in movies, just not quite in the way she’d imagined.

Shutting the glass case, she turned and saw that volunteers from the Plumdale Beautification Society were busy decorating the market square for Christmas. Not that the village needed much beautification. The perfectly preserved buildings lining the high street were made of golden Cotswold stone and nestled in a picturesque valley of rolling hills. Plumdale had just about everything you could want – two nice pubs at either end of the high street, an organic butcher’s, a baker’s, and, yes, even a candlestick maker’s. Cotswold Candles, a few doors down from the cinema, had recently opened, selling tapers made of locally sourced beeswax and other overpriced knick-knacks. Even the postboxes in the village were well turned out, sporting knitted toppers made by members of the local craft circle. The one outside the cinema was jauntily adorned with knitted snowmen.

‘Hiya, Sarah,’ called a man in jeans, scuffed work boots and a plaid shirt. He was halfway up a ladder, putting lights on the Christmas tree.

Sarah crossed the road to say hello. ‘The market square looks good, Ian.’ The volunteers had hung wreaths with red bows on every lamp post. She could still remember what she’d said to James their first Christmas in the village: ‘It looks like the set of a Hallmark movie!’

‘We can’t let Stowford win the Cotswolds Christmas Village title again,’ he said, glancing at the cinema pointedly.

Plumdale and its neighbour, Stowford, were perennial rivals for the crown of prettiest village in the Cotswolds. Sarah thought both villages were equally beautiful – not that she’d admit it to Ian, who had lived in Plumdale his entire life and would consider it tantamount to treason.

‘We haven’t got around to decorating the cinema yet,’ Sarah said. ‘But we will. I promise.’

Christmas was yet another thing to add to her bottomless to-do list.

Just then, Ian dropped the star he was putting on the top of the tree. Sarah went to pick it up, but Hermione de la Mere – the candle shop’s owner – got there first. She had just stepped out of the beauty salon, where her long blonde hair had been blow-dried into a cascade of bouncy waves. Sarah was pretty sure they were both in their late forties, but Hermione, in her tan cashmere poncho, white jeans and Barbour wellies, looked much younger.

Botox, she could hear Meg’s voice saying in her head. That, and not having kids.

‘Here you are.’ Hermione handed the star up to Ian.

‘Make a wish,’ he teased.

‘Pardon?’ said Hermione, sounding confused.

‘On the star,’ replied Ian, placing it on top of the tree. He came down and smiled at Hermione, his elbow resting on one of the ladder’s rungs. ‘It’s good luck to wish upon a star.’

‘Do you two know each other?’ asked Sarah.

They both shook their heads.

‘Ian, this is Hermione, owner of Cotswold Candles.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Ian shook his finger in playful admonishment. ‘Your shop’s not decorated for Christmas either.’

‘Ian owns the antique shop and is the president of the Plumdale Beautification Society.’ Sarah lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘He takes his responsibilities very seriously.’

‘I’m afraid I’m just not feeling very Christmassy this year,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s my first since getting divorced. I’m dreading being alone.’

Although Hermione had lived in the village nearly as long as Sarah, they’d always mixed with different crowds. Hermione had been married to a wealthy banker – a stalwart of the local polo set. According to village gossip, he’d left Hermione for one of the grooms at the stable. In the aftermath, they’d sold their house and Hermione had opened her shop, moving into the flat above it.

‘Maybe the Twelve Films of Christmas will help you find your festive spirit,’ said Ian.

‘Oh, yes! Good idea. What movies are you showing this year?’ asked Hermione.

‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,’ said Sarah, smiling mysteriously.

Over the month of December, the Picture Palace screened a festival of surprise Christmas films. It was like a cinematic advent calendar – the audience didn’t know what they were going to see until the movie started. But with only two weeks to go until December, Sarah and James still hadn’t picked the twelve movies – they hadn’t even had a moment to discuss it.

‘It’s such a lovely tradition,’ said Hermione.

Tickets for the Christmas films were free, with an optional donation to a different charity at every screening. For some local families, it was the only time they could afford to go to the cinema. The Christmas film festival was Sarah and her husband’s way of giving back to the community that had embraced them so warmly from the cinema’s very beginning.

Ian climbed down the ladder. ‘I’ve got some spare wreaths.’ He pointed at a pile of greenery. ‘Shall I hang one on your shop’s door?’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Hermione.

As Ian and Hermione headed to the candle shop, Sarah went back inside the cinema and searched for James. She finally tracked her husband down in the projection room at the top of the cinema. The small, stuffy room housed both the projector and the sound system – a tall column of amps that controlled the speakers and their output.

James was fiddling with the controls on the projector, surrounded by bowls of ice.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked him over the noise of the projector’s fan.

James barely glanced up. ‘The extraction fan is overheating. I’m hoping the ice cools it down.’

Great, thought Sarah. Now their most expensive piece of equipment was on the fritz. Yet another thing to worry about.

‘Don’t worry – I’m dealing with it,’ said James, tinkering with the equipment.

‘Ian reminded us about decorating the cinema for Christmas,’ said Sarah.

‘I know, I know,’ replied James distractedly.

‘And the school rang.’

James looked up. ‘What’s wrong now?’

She filled him in on her conversation with Mr Wu.

James frowned, running his hand through his hair. ‘Let’s not panic. It’s early days. And it sounds like the school is being supportive.’

‘It’s been nearly a term.’ Sarah’s eyebrows knitted together with worry. ‘I hate that Nick doesn’t have any friends.’

‘We can’t always be fighting Nick’s battles for him,’ said James. ‘And I’m not sure hiding out in the library is going to help him make friends.’

‘Well, what else was I supposed to do?’ demanded Sarah, her temper flaring. James sounded like her mother. ‘Nothing?’

‘It took him a while to settle into primary school as well. He’ll make friends in his own time,’ countered James. ‘We don’t have to blow this out of proportion.’

He turned his attention back to the projector, and anger coiled inside Sarah.

It infuriated her that James was being so relaxed about this. Why did she have to always worry about everything for the both of them? Feeling herself starting to sweat again, she looked at the ice longingly.

‘If it had been up to you, we’d never have had Nick assessed in the first place.’ She glared at her husband accusingly. ‘I guess that was blowing it out of proportion too?’

James held up his hand. ‘Hey – that’s not fair.’

‘You’re right,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just in a bad mood.’ She felt ashamed that she’d raked up an old disagreement. James had resisted getting Nick for neurodiversity but had agreed when he’d realised how important it had been to her.

‘We’re on the same side, hon,’ said James. ‘We both want what’s best for Nick.’

‘I know,’ said Sarah.

‘I expect you’re just tired.’ James pushed his floppy hair out of his face, a gesture Sarah had once found beyond endearing. It was mostly grey now, and there were crow’s feet around his blue eyes, but there was still a boyish air about her husband.

Men have it easy, thought Sarah. She was fairly certain her husband had never contemplated dying his hair or getting Botox on his wrinkles.

‘You haven’t been sleeping very well, have you?’

Sarah shook her head wearily. She kept waking up in the middle of the night, pyjamas and sheets soaked through with sweat. The washing machine had never worked harder. Once she was awake, she couldn’t fall back asleep, as worries about the kids, and her mum, and the cinema spiralled through her head.

‘You don’t think it could be—’

‘No,’ said Sarah, cutting him off. ‘I’m fine. Just tired. And stressed because of, well … everything.’

Everyone felt anxious sometimes. That was normal. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

‘If you’re sure …’ said James, not sounding convinced.

‘We’d better get back downstairs,’ said Sarah, not liking where the conversation was heading. She hurried out of the projection room and arrived in the lobby just as the film ended.

Parents streamed out of the auditorium and into the lobby, which was decorated with framed film memorabilia. Sarah gathered up her dustpan and broom, bracing herself for the usual carnage after the Baby and Me screenings – teething biscuit crumbs, lost dummies, tiny socks and discarded teddies. The baby-friendly movies had been her idea – a brainwave when she’d been expecting Holly. She was proud of how popular the screenings had become.

Near the back of the cinema, a mother with a sleek bob was sound asleep. A baby in a sling, with a shock of jet-black hair, dozed against her chest, long lashes resting against his chubby cheeks. They looked so peaceful, it felt cruel to wake her, but there was another movie starting shortly.

Reaching out, Sarah touched the woman’s shoulder lightly. She just murmured and nestled deeper into her seat. Sarah smiled – she’d often slept through Baby and Me screenings when her kids had been tiny. The seats were so comfy, it was hard not to nod off in the warm, dark auditorium.

‘Hey,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Time to wake up.’

The woman’s eyes opened and she sat up with a start. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, blinking. ‘I was out like a light.’

Sarah smiled. ‘It happens a lot. I’m sure some parents come to the cinema hoping their baby will sleep so they can nap too.’

‘I really wanted to see the movie,’ protested the woman. ‘But I’m just so tired. Henry is really colicky in the evenings.’ She stroked her baby’s downy head.

Sarah nodded sympathetically. ‘I’ve been there.’ Nick had been a fussy baby, too. She extended her hand, to help the woman to her feet. ‘I’m Sarah, by the way. My husband and I own the cinema. I don’t think I’ve seen you at the Baby and Me screenings before.’

‘Iris,’ said the woman. She studied Sarah intently. ‘It’s weird – I feel like we’ve met before, but I only moved here at the end of the summer.’

Sarah shrugged. ‘I guess I just have one of those faces.’

James used to say she was beautiful, but the last time she’d had a haircut he hadn’t even noticed. Sometimes Sarah felt invisible. Even when she was standing right in front of her husband, he didn’t seem to see her any more.

Iris gathered up her things, including a still-full cup of coffee. ‘I didn’t even get to drink it – I was out like a light before the trailers even finished.’

‘Let me treat you to another one.’

‘Oh, you don’t need to do that,’ said Iris.

‘I insist,’ said Sarah, as they walked into the lobby. She glanced down at the sleeping baby. ‘How old is Henry?’

‘Five months.’

James had come downstairs and was manning the concession stand, serving hot drinks to the post-movie crowd.

‘I’m taking a quick break,’ Sarah told her husband, slipping behind the counter.

He nodded distractedly, while ringing up an order.

Sarah went over to the coffee machine and made lattes for herself and Iris. The machine wheezed asthmatically as it brewed their drinks. Then she carried them over to the café area, where Iris had grabbed a free table. Most of the other tables were filled with parents chatting and feeding their babies.

‘So what brought you to Plumdale?’ asked Sarah as she sat down opposite Iris.

‘My husband,’ Iris replied. ‘We’re from Hong Kong, but he went to boarding school in the Cotswolds. A job came up in the area and he jumped at the opportunity to come back here.’

‘The Cotswolds must seem so provincial compared to Hong Kong.’ Sarah took a sip of her coffee, savouring the jolt of caffeine.

‘We wanted a change from big city life,’ explained Iris. ‘We thought it would be nice for Henry to grow up in the countryside, with fresh air and plenty of space.’

That was part of the reason she and James had moved to Plumdale too.

‘The only thing I insisted on was a village with a cinema,’ added Iris. ‘I’m a massive film buff and wouldn’t want to live anywhere I couldn’t go to the movies.’

‘Same here,’ said Sarah.

‘My parents live near an amazing vintage cinema in Kowloon.’ Iris sipped her coffee. ‘This place reminds me of it a bit.’

‘The Lux?’ asked Sarah.

‘Yes!’ said Iris, surprised. ‘You know it?’

Sarah smiled and nodded. She and James had visited the cinema on holiday, years ago. ‘I bet you miss having your family nearby.’

‘Yes,’ I haven’t met many other local mums yet. It’s been a bit lonely admitted Iris.

Henry woke up and started fussing.

‘He’s hungry,’ said Iris. ‘Do you mind if I feed him?’

‘Of course not,’ said Sarah.

Iris took the baby out of his sling and placed him on her breast. His tiny fingers clutched at his mother’s jumper as he nursed. When Henry had had his fill, Iris held him over her shoulder to burp him.

‘He looks so happy,’ said Sarah, as the baby cooed contentedly on his mother’s lap. ‘You’re obviously doing a great job.’

To Sarah’s horror, tears began to spil. . .