by Ali McNamara
My father shuffled some papers about on his desk like a newsreader at the end of a bulletin, and then he placed them back down in exactly the same spot they’d started out in. “David did come to see me on Saturday. He seemed awfully worried about things.”
“What sort of things?” I asked in a tight voice.
“Now, Scarlett, don’t get wound up just because David is showing some concern for your relationship.”
“I’m not getting wound up,” I said, while under my desk my hands began to form tight fists in my lap. “I just don’t see why David came to see you, that’s all. What goes on between us is our business.”
“Because he’s worried about you, that’s why.” Dad removed his glasses and walked the short distance across the office toward me. He perched awkwardly on the corner of my desk. “He says you don’t seem yourself these days. And like I said earlier, I’ve noticed the same.”
I was surprised to hear this. I thought I’d done quite a good job of hiding everything. And in the space of a weekend I’d got David giving me grief about a bit of daydreaming, Maddie about my love of films, and now Dad about…well, what had Dad noticed exactly?
“You do still love David, don’t you?” Dad continued after a few moments’ thought. “I mean, things aren’t that bad, are they?”
As he looked down at me, awaiting my answer, his face was filled with concern.
“Yes, Dad,” I replied automatically without thinking, more to put him out of his misery than anything else. “I do still love David…at least, I think I do.”
Dad looked relieved for a split second before anxiety filled his face once again. “What do you mean think? Oh, Scarlett, why on earth have you agreed to marry the poor chap if you’re not sure you still love him?”
“I’ve nothing better to do this spring?” I shrugged, not wanting to tell him the real reason. And David was hardly a poor chap.
“Scarlett!” Dad said, running his hands in exasperation through his graying hair.
“Well, it’s true. A wedding is the most excitement I’m going to have for a while.”
My father shook his head and got up from my desk. “But I thought you loved David,” he said, pacing across the office floor. “I mean you’ve got the house together and everything now.”
Yeah, like a bit of DIY was going to make a difference. The way I felt about David right now it would take all the super-glue in the world to bond us together. But Dad looked so upset at the thought of all this that I felt I needed to go easy on him.
“I didn’t say I didn’t love him—just that I wasn’t sure anymore.” I paused for a moment. “I mean how do you know when you really love someone? What happens to let you know you’re doing the right thing when you commit to spending the rest of your life with them?”
My father considered this. “You never know for definite, Scarlett. It’s just a feeling you have that this is the right person for you.”
“Did you have that feeling with Mum?” I said without thinking. I rose from my chair and approached my father carefully. “Did it feel like…” I hesitated. “…magic when the two of you first met?”
I saw my father’s body stiffen, and the gentleness and understanding of the last few minutes visibly drained from him. I could have let loose a torrent of obscene swear words and I’d have offended him less. I’d broken the cardinal O’Brien rule.
I’d mentioned my mother.
“I would prefer to keep your mother out of this discussion,” he said, retreating across the office floor to the shelter of his own desk.
“I know you would; you always do.” I could feel hot blood beginning to pump into my cheeks and my hands were curling up into fists again. “But I might want to talk about her once in a while. She was my mother as well as your wife!”
“I am quite aware of that fact, thank you, Scarlett,” my father said coolly, not rising to my anger. “But your mother chose to remove herself from our lives twenty-three and a half years ago. So I see no reason why she should have any part to play in them now.”
“I don’t want her to play a part—I just want to talk about her occasionally—maybe learn something about her. I don’t even know what she looked like, for heaven’s sake!” I stared accusingly at my father. “You must have destroyed all evidence of her existence when she left because I was never able to find any in the house. While most kids were searching for where their Christmas or birthday presents were hidden, I was searching for photos of my mother!” I flounced back into my own chair, and for a moment we surveyed each other over our desks like warring armies waiting to see what the other’s next move might be.
My father gave first. “Scarlett, I’m sorry.” I felt his genuine distress as he spoke. “I didn’t realize it bothered you that much.”
“It didn’t when I was little,” I said, my voice softening too. Dad and I could never stay mad at each other for long. “Only having a father at home seemed normal to me then. But as I got older, I wanted to know who I was, and where I came from. I mean, I know she must have loved the movies like I do, or I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been christened Scarlett. You’re not likely to have chosen my name, are you—you seem to hate films.” I looked at my father, but as usual he gave nothing away. “But am I like her apart from that?”
“Oh, if only you knew just how much you are.”
“You mean the way I look?” I asked hopefully. This was more than I’d ever got before.
“Partly,” my father said, coming over to my desk again. This time he knelt down next to my chair so I looked down at him. “Your green eyes…” he said, gently cupping my face in his hand. “Yes, they’re definitely hers. I remember the day you were born, your mother’s complete joy that you had the same coloring as Vivien Leigh. Everyone else was shocked at the mop of black hair you were born with, but not your mother; she said you were her perfect Scarlett. Gone with the Wind was her favorite film.”
I watched my father closely: there was a fondness in his eyes and in his voice while he talked. He had never spoken like this to me about my mother—there had always been coldness in his eyes and hate in his voice when her name was mentioned.
But again he snapped out of this reverie just as quickly as he’d slipped into it. “But no, it’s not your looks so much as your attitude.” He sprang to his feet again. “Your mother was always watching nonsense at the cinema just as you seem to do all the time. The films filled her head with unrealistic hopes and dreams of how life should be so she wasn’t satisfied with what we’d got. And she always had her head in the clouds just like you do! When David came to me on Saturday, I could quite understand how he felt. It took me back to the situation I found myself in over twenty years ago.”
“That’s not fair,” I said, determined to defend myself but at the same time trying to digest all this new information Dad was feeding me. I’d found out more in the last two minutes about my mother than I’d ever known before. But it was all clashing with this stupid nonsense David was dreaming up. “I do not go around with my head in the clouds. Sometimes my life can be a bit boring, that’s all, and I find ways of passing the time—and yes, sometimes those ways do involve the movies, and that does make me start to wonder if there might be more to life out there for me than here in Stratford. Is that such a crime?”
My father rolled his eyes. “Do you mean is there a life out there for you that’s more like one of these soppy films you’re always watching? With a handsome prince waiting at the top of a tall tower to give you a happy ending? And I’m pretty sure it’ll be that type of movie you go to see. I bet there’s not any blood, guts, or gore in anything you watch.”
“No, but why would I want to see that? I go to the cinema to be entertained, not to be scared and repulsed by what I see.”
“But that’s real life, Scarlett. Life is not a heart-shaped box of chocolates.”
“You never know what you’re gonna get?” I suggested helpfully.
“What?” my father asked.
&n
bsp; I guess Forrest Gump must have passed him by. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter, Dad. It’s from a movie.”
“You see, you’re even talking like them now. Scarlett, life is not a movie, and you can’t go around trying to live your life as if you’re in one—especially not the sort that seem to be filling your head with silly ideas.” My father ran his hand through his hair in exasperation and turned his back to me.
“Ah!” I said, banging my hand on the desk. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me all the time? How do you all know that, eh?” I demanded. “How do you all really know? Take you, for instance, Dad, you’ve never been anywhere or done anything with your life. There could be a mountain of exciting things just waiting to happen to you out there—just the same as the sort of things that happen in the movies.”
My father spun round. “You seem to forget that the main reason I’ve never been anywhere or done anything is because I was bringing you up—alone. I was a single parent trying to build a business that I hoped would provide us with a decent living. And was doing all this before it ever became trendy—as it seems to be these days—to be a single dad with a young child. I worked hard for you to give you a decent future, not so I could go swanning off around the world having adventures, as you think I should have.”
The silence that filled the room was only broken by the gentle tap tap tap of Mrs. J’s fingers running over her old keyboard in the next-door office.
My father looked hurt, angry, and confused as he stood there, and there was sadness in his eyes that I just couldn’t bear to see.
“I’m really sorry, Dad,” I said in a small voice as I looked up at him from my desk. “I do appreciate everything you did for me when I was young—you know I do.”
My father looked at me, and his face softened. “And I’m sorry too, Scarlett—for shouting at you.” He held out his arms. “Are you too big now to give your old dad a hug?”
I got up and moved over to him, burying myself in his warm embrace. “Never.”
“You know I was only trying to help?”
I nodded, my head still buried in the comfort of his familiar scent.
“It’s just that I’ve seen you grow up watching movies, reading about movies, pretending to be in the movies. There’s nothing wrong with the cinema—for heaven’s sake, without it we wouldn’t have a business—but I want to make sure you understand that you have to live in the real world, with real people and real situations. I don’t want you to end up like…”
My father didn’t finish his sentence.
“Like who, Dad?”
“Er…just one of these people that dream their life away and never really do anything with it.” Dad held me back and looked at me. “Scarlett, you can’t continue to pretend your life is a movie script. And after what David said to me last night, if you continue like this, you’re going to risk losing him—along with your mind.”
I was about to say that might not be such a bad thing when I remembered one of the reasons I’d agreed to marry David and I stopped myself just in time.
My father let go of me and walked to the window. After a moment’s consideration he turned to face me again. “Scarlett, I’m going to tell you what I told David yesterday. I think you need some time away, to get your head together and to think about things. What do you say?”
I tried not to look too overjoyed. Hadn’t that been just what I’d wanted when I’d walked into the office this morning? But I hadn’t expected my father to hand it to me served up on a silver salver like this, all wrapped up with a big red bow.
“Er…yes that sounds like a good idea,” I said cautiously, in case Dad’s idea of time away wasn’t the same as mine.
“How about a couple of weeks off work?” Dad suggested.
“How about we make it a month? Then I’ll have plenty of time to do lots of thinking about my life. I’m bound to come to the right decisions then, aren’t I?”
My father considered this for a moment. “Well, if you think you need that long?”
I nodded.
“All right then, I’m sure Dorothy and I will be able to manage on our own for a while. Any idea of where you might like to go?”
“Er…no. But probably not too far away.”
“Well, make sure it’s far enough. Because I want you to come back in a month, Scarlett, able to prove you’ve made some sensible decisions about how you want your life to be in the future. That’s the only way David will agree to you going: if he thinks it will make your relationship stronger.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, thinking about David for a moment. “And don’t worry, Dad,” I promised. “I’ll return in a month with loads of proof that I’ve done plenty of thinking about my life.”
And more importantly, I’m going to come back with lots of proof for you and David, and Maddie for that matter, that I’m not just spending my life daydreaming. Life can be just like a movie, and it doesn’t just happen occasionally by accident; it happens every day, over and over again.
***
I didn’t know what my father had said to David that weekend about me going away on my own for a while (maybe he’d agreed to help him with his wallpapering or something?) but David didn’t lodge a single complaint. It was most unlike him. I suppose the fact that I was going to house-sit for a month, and wasn’t going to spend any money on a fancy hotel or a cottage in the country, softened the blow quite a bit.
Six
As I set out that night for Oscar’s dinner party, it was on my third attempt to leave the house that I was finally able to step outside into the cold night air.
I’d had a few “minor” altercations with the house’s alarm system before we’d reached a compromise: the alarm would behave, accept the code I was pushing into it, and obediently set itself, ready to bravely protect the contents of Belinda and Harry’s home from intruders. And in exchange, I wouldn’t rip it down from the wall and stomp on it until all its insides would be good for were the inner workings of a toaster.
Eventually, happy that we were each sticking to our side of the agreement, I pulled the door firmly shut behind me and set off down the steps to the pavement below. As I did so, I heard the front door next to me open and close.
Oh no, I thought, trying not to look up. This was all I needed.
“Evening,” he called.
“Hello again,” I called back, forced to turn around. “I’m just off out.”
“I can see that,” he said, nonchalantly descending his own steps.
Clever sod.
“Which way are you headed?” he asked as he reached my side.
Please don’t let it be your way. “Er, this way,” I said, pointing in the direction of Oscar’s house.
“Me too—should we walk together?”
Do we have to? “Sure,” I said, forcing a smile to appear on my face.
As we set off side by side along Lansdowne Road, I was glad Oscar’s house was just around the corner; at least I knew I wouldn’t have to be in this idiot’s company for too long. I felt quite self-conscious walking alongside him. While he was still dressed in his casual attire from earlier of a light jacket and T-shirt, I was wrapped up against the cold February evening like something from an upmarket ski-wear catalogue, in my warm winter coat, hat, and scarf.
“I guess if we’re going to be neighbors, we should introduce ourselves properly,” he said after a few paces. “I’m Sean.” He held out his hand.
“Scarlett,” I said, briefly shaking it with my gloved hand as we walked.
“That’s an unusual name.”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. Wait for it, here comes the next question…The next question usually depended on the person’s age. Looking at Sean I guessed he’d go for the obvious—and he did.
“Is it from Gone with the Wind?”
Bingo! If only I had a pound for every time someone had asked me that.
“Yes, it was my mother’s favorite film.” At least I was able to answer that truthfully no
w.
If Sean had been a few years younger or trying to chat me up he’d have probably gone for “Oh, like Scarlett Johansson—the actress?”
Sean smiled knowingly.
“What?” I asked.
“Ah, nothing. It’s a cool name, that’s all.”
“Thanks.”
We walked along together a bit further. “I have to turn here,” I said, stopping to cross the road.
“That’s fine,” Sean said, standing on the edge of the pavement next to me, “so do I.”
We stood silently like two schoolchildren carefully crossing the street together. Look left, look right, and look left again. Then we looked at each other for mutual agreement, before stepping out into the road.
“So where are you off to this evening?” Sean asked. “Anywhere exciting?”
“A dinner party, actually.”
“Really? How odd. Me too.”
No, it couldn’t be, could it? I thought as we reached Oscar’s house.
“It wouldn’t be here by any chance?” I asked, positive I already knew the answer to my own question.
“Well, actually…”
“Scarlett, you made it!” Oscar called, holding Delilah in his arms as he flung open the front door. “And I see you’ve already met Sean.”
I looked across at my fellow dinner guest.
He grinned. “Looks like I could be learning just a little bit more about you tonight than only your name, Scarlett.”
We both made a move to go up the narrow path at the same time. Sean stood back to let me pass. “Ladies first.”
“Thank you.”
I walked toward Oscar, who was looking quite resplendent in a deep-purple shirt and matching shade of tartan trousers. But I was still having problems with who he reminded me of. Most people I could usually match up with a movie actor or character, or at the worst a mix of two. Currently I was getting vibes of both John Hannah in Four Weddings and Tom, one of Bridget Jones’s gang of oddball friends, for Oscar.
“I brought you this,” I said, holding up a bottle of wine. “And”—emphasizing my gesture to Sean, as I held up a shopping bag in my other hand—“I’m returning your T-shirt you lent me earlier today.”
