From Notting Hill with Love...Actually (6 page)

“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.

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.

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 now.

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.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have—really, there was no need for either. But do come in, won’t you, I can’t wait for you to meet everybody. Do come along, Sean,” Oscar called down the path. “The gang’s all here!”

Once inside, Oscar took our jackets and we followed him through to the lounge. There were five people already sitting on two settees and a chaise longue, drinking wine and chatting.

“Now then, everyone, I’d like to introduce Scarlett,” Oscar announced, clapping his hands to gain their attention. “Oh, you all know Sean, of course,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Wish we didn’t sometimes.” A woman with extremely short black hair, and an alarming amount of colored beads strung around her neck, spoke. I was relieved to see she was only joking when everyone laughed.

“We’ll start with you then, Vanessa. Scarlett, this is Vanessa, she owns the shop next door to mine.”

“Hi,” I said. “What does your shop sell—clothes, like Oscar’s?”

“Erotic lesbian fiction mostly,” she replied, looking me up and down. “You should come in and take a look some time.”

I cleared my throat and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll do that one day.”

“Vanessa, do stop teasing,” Oscar insisted. “Now then, next to Vanessa we have Lucian and Patrick; they own one of the antique shops just off the market.”

“Hi,” they said in unison. Then they giggled at each other like little children.

“Over on the chaise longue we have Brooke. Brooke’s a model.”

Brooke looked like she was a model for appetite suppressants. If she eats anything tonight it will only be the garnish, I thought sourly.

Brooke waved casually.

“And finally next to her we have Ursula—my best and dearest friend.”

Ursula smiled warmly at Oscar, then equally warmly at me. She had sandy-colored shoulder-length hair, pale blue eyes that were just as warm as her smile, and she was wearing a dress covered in daisies that looked like it was from the 1950s. But what really made me take an instant shine to her was the fact that Ursula looked like a delightful combination of a young Emma Thompson and, my all-time favorite, Kate Winslet.

“Hi, how are you?” she asked. “I’m also an interior designer—since everyone else got their full title. Not just a professional friend to Oscar.”

There were a few chuckles around the room, so gratefully I returned her smile while trying not to stare at her too much.

“Well, that’s everyone,” Oscar sang.

“Ahem.” Sean cleared his throat behind us.

“Scarlett’s met
you
already, hasn’t she? Oh, very well,” Oscar sighed, when Sean silently raised his eyebrows at him. “Scarlett, this is Sean. Sean is only here because he’s Ursula’s brother, and I needed someone at short notice to make up the numbers.”

Sean grinned. “Thank you for that kind introduction, Oscar; the feeling is mutual, as you know.”

Oscar tossed his head and made a “hmph” sort of noise.

I found myself smiling at Sean.

He grinned back as Oscar flounced off into the kitchen calling something about more wine being needed.

***

I had wondered, after I’d been introduced to everyone at the start of the evening, just what I’d let myself in for, having dinner with this eclectic bunch of people. But I needn’t have worried because the evening turned out to be full of thought-provoking conversation, lots of laughter, and extremely good food. (Which Oscar later admitted he’d had catered in, because of the short notice.)

The chocolate brownies were particularly mouth-watering.

“Oh no!” Oscar cried when he noticed they’d all been eaten. “There’s none left; we can’t do it now!”

“Do what, Oscar?” Brooke asked. I’d been quite wrong about Brooke—she ate just like everyone else did, even tucking into the brownies with lashings of vanilla ice cream on top.

Oscar looked at me. “Can I tell them, Scarlett?”

“About the brownies?” I asked, bemused.

“No, about why you’re
really
here?”

I looked at the others listening expectantly around the table. All except Sean, who lolled back in his chair drinking red wine.

“I don’t see why not.”

My plan to let people think I was house-sitting for a month just didn’t seem to be working out. But after meeting Oscar, and hearing everybody else’s life stories tonight, my little “obsession,” as everyone at home seemed to think it was, seemed quite normal.

“Oh, are you some sort of secret agent?” Ursula asked excitedly.

I laughed. “No.”

“Ooh, ooh, I like guessing games,” Brooke said. “An undercover police officer?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“On the run from gangsters then?” Patrick called from across the table.

“They’re not drugs barons, are they?” Lucian added eagerly.

“Er no, look, I really don’t think you—”

“You’re a Martian from outer space?” Vanessa mocked.

“Look, it’s really not that exciting,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed now.

“Oh it is—it is!” Oscar enthused. “Well, I think it is anyway. It’s a shame more people don’t stand up for what they believe in. Do let me tell, Scarlett?”

“Sure, go ahead,” I said, more out of relief than anything else now Oscar had made me sound like some sort of saint.

“Well,” Oscar began, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Scarlett is really here under false pretenses…”

I glanced around the table while Oscar eagerly explained everything. Everyone listened intently to what he was saying—he was a born storyteller and made it sound much more interesting than I would have done. Even Sean seemed to be taking it all in. He glanced across at me while I was watching him, and I quickly averted my gaze.

“…so that is why Scarlett has moved in across the road—why I’m holding this dinner party—
and
why I wanted the last brownie!” Oscar finished triumphantly.

“Oh, like in
Notting
Hill
?’ Ursula said. “I love that movie.”

“Me too,” Patrick agreed. “Hugh Grant is divine in it.”

A conversation then followed about the joys of
Notting
Hill
, and this quickly moved on to a rather heated debate about the rest of Hugh Grant’s films. Sean was strangely silent throughout all of this.

“What’s up, Sean—nothing to contribute to our conversation?” Oscar teased. “That makes a change.”

“I can’t talk about something I know nothing about,” Sean responded coolly.

“You’ve never seen
Notting
Hill
?” Brooke asked in astonishment.

“Nope, nor any other of this Grant fella’s films.”

“You must have seen
Four
Weddings
?” Vanessa asked. “Everyone’s seen that one.”

“Nope.”

“But why not?”

“Sean hates the cinema,” Ursula answered for him. “Don’t you, Sean?”

“I don’t hate it—just can’t see the point. I’d rather read a good book or go to the theater.”

“But a good movie is just another extension to the art of storytelling,” I suggested, joining in. “If you like both of the mediums you mentioned, why not the cinema too?”

Sean shrugged.

“It’s Dad,” Ursula said, nodding matter-of-factly. “He’s put him off it.”

“But why?” I was enjoying the apparently self-assured and confident Sean becoming decidedly uncomfortable for once.

Sean shrugged again.

Ursula tutted. “Oh, he can be so rude sometimes, Scarlett. Dad’s crazy about James Bond, always has been since before we were born. Drove our mother mad—that’s one of the reasons they got divorced in the end. But our stepmother, Diana, she’s different, absolutely adores movies like Dad. We sometimes laugh that the only reason Dad married her was because of her name.”

We all looked blankly at Ursula.

“Oh sorry, when you’ve lived with James Bond as long as we have, you assume everyone knows the history. Diana Rigg played the only Bond girl 007 ever married.”

“Oh I remember that one,” Lucian piped up. “
On
Her
Majesty’s Secret Service
, right?”

Ursula nodded. “So that is why Sean hates movies, because we’ve had to live with them as part of the family since we were small. Well, he says he does. Knowing all about 007 didn’t do him any harm when he was younger though, eh, Sean? Go on, tell them your chat-up line.”

“This,” said Sean, rolling his eyes, “is just why you don’t go out for dinner with your sister in tow.”

“Oh, do tell us, Ursula,” Oscar insisted. He was obviously enjoying Sean’s embarrassment as much as me.

Sean fired an
I’ll get you for this later
look at Ursula, but she happily ignored him.

“When Sean was just beginning to find out about the joys of the opposite sex,” Ursula said, looking gleefully around the table, “he used to try chatting up girls by using this line.” Ursula put on her best Sean Connery voice: “‘My name is Bond…’ and then the girl was supposed to say, ‘What, James Bond?’ and Sean would say, ‘No, I’m Sean, but you can be my Bond girl any time.’”

Everyone laughed. Sean drained the last of his glass of wine and lifted the bottle to pour himself some more.

“May I just point out that I was at school then,” he protested. “I was hardly going to use a Shakespeare sonnet!”