Brief Encounter at the Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘As in slipping-back-in-time weird, like one of those dreams you have when everything is the same but different. Do you know what I mean?’ He paused and gave his head a shake. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling. It’s been a long day.’

  So he didn’t think of it as a date either, Gina realised with relief. Phew.

  ‘No, I get it,’ she replied slowly. ‘I suppose in a way that’s exactly what’s happened. Here we are doing something we used to do all the time but we’re not the same people any more.’

  Ben considered her words. ‘And there’s the evidence that we’ve changed – I’m pretty sure our teen versions were never this deep. Do you remember the time we had a competition to see who could blow a Malteser into the air for the longest?’

  Gina grinned. ‘I swallowed one whole and thought I was going to die.’

  ‘And some greaser from Newquay offered to give you the kiss of life.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Gina said, with a slight shudder. ‘I’m not sure that’s a memory I want to relive.’

  Now it was Ben’s turn to grin. ‘Good times.’

  His smile was infectious and they stood grinning at each other for a moment, until Gina realised that Manda was watching them with avid curiosity from behind the counter at Ferrelli’s. ‘Fancy an ice-cream?’ she asked Ben.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘It would be rude not to, right?’

  Manda didn’t ask any awkward questions but Gina could see her gaze sliding back and forth between her and Ben.

  ‘I’d forgotten you two used to be friends,’ the older woman said as she piled glistening ice-cream into two small paper tubs.

  ‘We bumped into each other on the beach,’ Gina explained. ‘And I thought it might be nice to watch the film together, for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Uh huh,’ Manda said, nodding. ‘I can see how that might be more fun than sitting in an empty cinema on your own.’

  Gina stared at her. ‘Surely we’re not going to be on our own?’

  Manda shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen anyone else go in yet. Heather said there wasn’t anyone at last night’s screening. Mind you, it did start an hour and a half late.’

  Gina tried not to groan. ‘Honestly, how does Gorran expect to make any money when the business is so badly run? I’ve been to a gorgeous little independent cinema in London just like this one and it was a gold mine.’

  ‘But that’s London,’ Manda pointed out. ‘People in Polwhipple see the Palace as a bit of a joke, especially when you can get most of the films on the TV at home these days, all at the click of a button. That’s why Gorran puts on these confusing art house things – he says people are more likely to get off the sofa for something they can’t get at home.’

  Gina had to admit she could see his point, but she was fairly sure Swedish pigeons weren’t the box office draw he needed. ‘Well, his film choice last night was certainly unusual. What he needs to do is give people a night out – make more of an event out of it. Take tonight’s film – Footloose. He could have made it a fancy dress night, with pre-drinks in the foyer and an Eighties playlist.’

  Manda looked doubtful. ‘Except that the bar is closed.’

  Gina ignored the objection. ‘And maybe Ferrelli’s could sell a themed ice-cream flavour – something that totally screams 1980s.’ She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘I bet Nonna would have some great ideas.’

  Ben tilted his head. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’

  ‘It’s a great idea,’ Manda agreed, ‘but you’re forgetting one thing – Gorran couldn’t organise a Pina Colada in a pineapple factory.’

  Gina snapped her fingers. ‘Pina Colada flavour ice-cream. Perfect.’ Her eyes widened. ‘It would be brilliant – I bet people would come.’

  ‘I bet they would, too. I’d come,’ Ben said, looking impressed. ‘You’re good at this.’

  Gina felt herself start to blush. ‘Well, it is my job. I’m a freelance events planner, when I’m not taking a sabbatical as an ice-cream assistant, that is.’

  ‘You should speak to Gorran about it,’ Manda said. ‘I’m not saying he’ll go for it and I can’t see how he’d be able to pull it off, but he might just surprise us all.’

  ‘Seconded,’ Ben said, then checked his watch. ‘We should probably go in now. Unless Gorran’s running ninety minutes late again, in which case we should go to the pub.’

  ‘Let’s go and find out,’ Gina said. ‘Thanks, Manda. See you later.’

  They bought tickets at the box office, where a lanky teen with the improbable name of Bruno assured them the film was due to start on time. ‘Well, after the adverts,’ he said. ‘You could probably skip them if you wanted to, unless you’re in the market for a mobility scooter from the shop in Padstow?’

  Ben’s lips quirked as he glanced at Gina. ‘No, I think mine’s got a few years left.’

  ‘Have you sold many tickets?’ Gina asked. ‘Had any online orders?’

  Bruno frowned. ‘We don’t do online tickets; you can only get them on the door, and we’ve sold a grand total of –’ He made a big show of consulting the notebook on the desk in front of him. ‘– Two. To you, just now.’

  ‘Right,’ Gina said, not daring to look at Ben. ‘Good. So we’ll make our way into the screen then, shall we?’

  ‘Please do,’ Bruno said, nodding. ‘Seats A1 and A2, although I expect you could sit somewhere else if you wanted to. Just be prepared to move if a crowd shows up and you’re in someone else’s seat.’

  Ben’s shoulders were shaking as he and Gina pushed through the double doors to the screen. ‘Ever get the feeling you’re in a sitcom?’ he said. ‘I kept expecting Ricky Gervais to appear.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Gina replied. ‘It’s too tragic to be funny. In fact—’

  She stopped and gazed around her, taking in the ugly woodchip-covered walls, the threadbare red curtain covering the screen and row after row of faded velvet seats. ‘What the hell has happened in here? Where’s all the Art Deco gone?’

  Ben walked over to one of the walls and tapped it. ‘Plywood,’ he said. ‘Or maybe MDF. I imagine all the decoration is behind it, anyway. If it hasn’t been pulled down.’

  Gina gasped. ‘But why? I know I didn’t really appreciate it as a teenager but from what I remember, the décor in here was pretty special.’ She glanced up at the ceiling and saw that the ornate golden swirls had been painted over in dull white. ‘Why would they hide it away?’

  ‘You’d be surprised at what people do,’ Ben said, running a hand over the gloss-painted woodchip. ‘Gilt paint needs to be maintained in order to look good and it doesn’t come cheap – maybe they were trying to save money.’

  She frowned. ‘How do you know how much gilt paint costs?’

  He smiled. ‘I’m a builder. Renovations of listed buildings, mostly, but I do a bit of painting and decorating from time to time. So I know exactly how much things like gilt paint cost.’

  A builder? Gina thought, trying to remember if they’d ever talked about what they wanted to be when they grew up. All Ben had ever wanted to do was surf – maybe he’d given it a go and it hadn’t worked out? Then again, she doubted she’d ever mentioned wanting to become an events planner when she was a teenager, so maybe Ben’s career wasn’t such a surprise. ‘What kind of listed buildings?’ she asked. ‘Anything famous?’

  ‘I’ve done a fair bit for the National Trust,’ he said. ‘I’m actually working on the abandoned station building in Polwhipple right now, although it’s more of a hobby than a paying job.’

  There was a loud hum and the curtain began to open. Ben nodded towards the seats. ‘Looks like the show’s about to start. We should take our seats.’

  They’d always sat at the back in the old days, Gina recalled, underneath the projectionist’s booth so that they had more freedom to chatter and laugh without annoying the people around them. But now they took seats in the dead centre of the rows.

  Gina shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Is it me or do these cushions have rocks in the
m?’

  ‘I think it’s the springs,’ Ben said, shifting around. ‘They look like the original seats – who knows how many bottoms they’ve supported before us?’

  Gina glanced down at the lopsided popcorn holder on her right. ‘And that’s another thing that’s missing – there’s no popcorn for sale! What kind of cinema doesn’t sell popcorn?’

  Ben gave her an amused look. ‘I think your expectations are too high, Gina. We’ve already established that this place has had quite a fall from grace.’

  The speakers crackled and Gorran’s broad accent echoed over their heads. ‘Welcome to the Polwhipple Palace, Cornwall’s premier picture house by the sea. We hope you enjoy tonight’s film.’

  Gina inched sideways, wincing as a spring pinged against the thin fabric of her chair. ‘Enjoy isn’t the word I’d choose,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that bad,’ Ben said, his eyes dancing. ‘At least the company is good.’

  She gazed at him and felt the corners of her mouth start to lift. He always had been able to make her smile. ‘You’re right. I’ll stop moaning.’

  The film, when it finally started after a torrent of terrible local adverts, was actually good. The picture was a little fuzzy and there was a slight sound delay which meant the characters’ lips were a fraction behind their voices, but Gina was able to lose herself in the story all the same and her toes were definitely tapping along to the tunes. If she’d been alone, she might even have got up and danced. As the final credits rolled, Ben sighed and stretched. ‘That wasn’t half bad.’

  Gina nodded. ‘Kevin Bacon can show me some moves any time.’

  Ferrelli’s was closed and in darkness by the time they made their way out of the screen. Bruno was waiting by the double doors; he wished them a goodnight as he ushered them out and locked up behind them.

  ‘Well, in spite of everything, I actually enjoyed myself,’ Ben said. ‘Next time I’d probably bring my own cushion—’

  ‘And some popcorn,’ Gina put in.

  ‘And some popcorn,’ he agreed. He raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Want to do it again sometime?’

  She did want to, Gina realised; it was fun having someone who enjoyed going to the cinema as much as she did, although obviously the Palace had tried its hardest to make their visit a dismal night out. But again, she found herself wondering why Ben didn’t have better things to do with his Saturday nights. She could understand why he might not want to bring a girlfriend to the Palace, but there were other places to go in Polwhipple. Unless he didn’t have a girlfriend . . . not that it was any of her business anyway.

  ‘Yes, that would be great,’ she said, pushing the thought of his relationship status firmly out of her head. ‘We should probably wait and see what Gorran plans to show next week before we make concrete plans, though. I’m not spending two and a half hours watching some unintelligible dirge about the washing lines of Prague.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Ben gave her a scandalised look. ‘I love the washing lines of Prague.’

  Gina felt her forehead crease. ‘Really?’

  ‘No. You should talk to Gorran; pitch him your idea about a special screening. I’d be happy to spread the word if it goes ahead.’

  She hesitated. Her trip to Polwhipple was meant to be a break from her events management work; she really ought to be focusing on helping Nonno. Then again, a successful event at the Palace would increase ice-cream sales. ‘Okay, maybe I will. Thanks.’

  Ben smiled. ‘How are you getting back? Want me to walk you to your grandparents’ place?’

  She shook her head. ‘Then we really would have gone back sixteen years. No, I’m staying at the Tawny holiday complex, in Mawgan Porth, so I’ve borrowed Nonna’s car for the night.’

  Recognition flashed in his eyes. ‘The one overlooking the beach? I know it. Great view.’

  ‘That’s pretty much what sold it to me,’ Gina admitted. ‘So . . . I’ll drop you a message, shall I? Once Gorran reveals what films he’s screening?’

  He tilted his head. ‘Or any time you feel like saying hello,’ he said, gazing down at her. ‘It’s good to see you again, Gina. Really good.’

  ‘You too,’ she said, returning his gaze.

  They stood smiling at each other for a few more seconds. How could he look the same as he always had, and yet so different at the same time? she wondered, gazing at him. Suddenly aware that she was staring once again, Gina pulled herself together and reached into her coat for the car keys. ‘I’d better go. Take care, Ben, and thanks for tonight.’

  She gave him a little wave and turned away, walking fast to the car. Must not look back, she told herself. Must not look back . . .

  When she reached Nonna’s Fiat, she did allow herself to glance over one shoulder: he was gone. She climbed into the car and started the engine, glancing quickly at her phone as she did so. Two missed calls, both from Max. A pang of guilt hit her when she saw his name; never mind Ben’s relationship status, she was suddenly aware that she hadn’t mentioned Max during the evening, mostly because the opportunity hadn’t arisen. But surely if she was wondering whether Ben was single, he’d be asking the same question about her? He hadn’t shown anything other than friendly interest but it made sense to clear things up as soon as possible, Gina decided, to head off any potential misunderstandings later.

  Her gaze flickered to her phone again and her hand twitched on the steering wheel; should she turn the engine off and call Max now? Then again, it was late – Max might be out on the town and she was tired after her early start with Nonno.

  Putting the car into gear, Gina set off for home. She had nothing to tell him that couldn’t wait until the morning.

  Chapter Six

  Gina gave herself the luxury of a lie-in on Sunday morning. There was no point in hurrying over to Nonna and Nonno’s – they’d be attending Mass at St Peter’s until gone midday – and there was nothing else to get up for, other than her overdue conversation with Max. She was sure he’d mentioned a party last time they’d spoken, so he probably wouldn’t be in the mood to talk yet, anyway. Instead, she made herself a coffee and drank it on the balcony, watching the leaden clouds roll over the moody blue-grey sea. The waves were quite high, meaning the surfers were out; Gina squinted at them for a moment but she couldn’t tell if Ben was among them. After a few minutes, she gave up trying and went inside for a shower.

  Max called as she was drying her hair. ‘You’re a hard person to get hold of,’ he observed when she answered. ‘Been tearing up the night life in Polwhipple?’

  Gina laughed. ‘Sorry, I ran into an old friend.’ She paused, suddenly aware of a reluctance to mention Ben’s name. It was ridiculous; there was no reason not to tell Max the truth, but instead she skirted around it. ‘We watched a film in the old cinema here – you wouldn’t believe how awful the place is now.’

  When she’d finished describing the Palace to Max, he gave a thoughtful whistle. ‘Sounds like the place is on its last legs. I know it’s got sentimental value but maybe it’s time to call it a day.’

  Gina frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean close it down,’ Max said, his tone tactful. ‘Art Deco is really popular and this Gorran bloke could make a mint by selling it on for redevelopment. Enough to compensate your grandfather for the inconvenience and open a brand-new Ferrelli’s somewhere else.’

  Gina felt her jaw drop. ‘Nonno would be devastated if the Palace closed down. He wouldn’t want a new shop.’

  ‘Then you’d just make sure any redevelopment agreed to keep the concession on as a going concern,’ Max said reasonably. ‘It’s old, it might even be a listed building, so whoever bought it would need to bear that in mind. Sympathetically converted seafront apartments would be the most financially viable option, with Ferrelli’s downstairs.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Gina said, trying to imagine Polwhipple seafront without its iconic picture house. ‘Anyway, it’s still open for the moment. I was going to suggest organising
an event there, to see if I can whip up a bit of interest and bring in some trade.’

  Max sighed. ‘Sounds like a waste of time to me, but if anyone can pull something like that off, it’s you. How’s the ice-cream business going, anyway? Have you revolutionised your grandfather’s business yet?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said wryly. She opened her mouth to tell him about Nonno’s trick with the salt and sugar and then closed it again. Max had a bad enough opinion of her family already, she didn’t want to make things worse. ‘I’ve got a few ideas, you know how it is – one step at a time. What have you been up to?’

  She listened as Max described a mutual friend’s birthday celebrations in Mayfair the night before. ‘Sounds like it got messy,’ she commented once he’d finished. ‘I’m amazed you don’t have a hangover.’

  ‘I was the sensible one,’ he said, which made Gina smile. Max was always the sensible one – in the three years that she’d known him, she’d never seen him out of control, although she knew he could drink like a rugby player if the circumstances were right.

  ‘I did wish you were there, though,’ he went on. ‘It wasn’t the same without you.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Gina murmured, thinking how unappealing the night sounded. She’d been much happier tapping her toes to Footloose at the Palace. ‘The pace is quite different down here, as you can imagine,’ she said, gazing out at the gulls wheeling across the sky. ‘But I have found somewhere to live.’

  ‘Great,’ Max said, and she heard the smile in his voice. ‘So when can I come and have a nose around? I can’t wait to experience Polwhipple’s delights again.’

  Was he being sarcastic or serious? Gina wondered. It was so hard to tell over the phone. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘It’s beautiful here at the moment. I think you’ll like it.’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘I bet you fit right in.’

  It was a cheesy line but Gina couldn’t help smiling. ‘Very smooth, Max. Why don’t you come down for a weekend and see for yourself?’

  ‘I’ll make some space in my diary,’ Max assured her. ‘But not next weekend – it’s the launch party for that new restaurant on the South Bank. Maybe the weekend after?’