The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘Still pizen down, then,’ Jory commented now, appearing with an insulated silver jug to top up her coffee.

  Gina held out her cup, nodding. It was hard to believe it right then but the forecast for the next few days was better; blue skies and unseasonal highs of fourteen degrees, if the Met Office was to be believed. And if Polwhipple was to be blessed with sunshine, the demand for Ferrelli’s ice-cream would increase too. Gina planned to spend the rest of the week in her grandfather’s converted dairy, whisking and churning and freezing so that the restaurants and paying public of Polwhipple were not disappointed when the sun finally showed its face and they felt a craving for gelato.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said to Jory, adding a splash of milk from the little jug on the table beside her. ‘I imagine rain is bad for your business too.’

  The landlord shrugged. ‘It takes more than a downpour to keep our regulars away. But we’re only proper busy during the summer. Even then, Polwhipple ent as heaving as Newquay or Padstow.’ He stared out at the rain-lashed beach. ‘There’s not much to come here for, save the scenery, and there’s plenty of that elsewhere.’

  Gina opened her mouth to argue; as a teenager, she’d spent several idyllic summers in Polwhipple and, from what she could remember, the beach had always been packed with families. There was a small surfing contest in August, nothing like the international tournaments held elsewhere on the Cornish coast, but well regarded enough to draw a good crowd of visitors to the town. But she knew what Jory meant – in the warmer months, there were parts of Cornwall where it felt as though you couldn’t move for tourists. Unfortunately for the local businesses, Polwhipple wasn’t one of those parts. What they needed was an irresistible attraction – something that would draw visitors in and encourage them to see what the sleepy seaside town had to offer. Gina glanced down at her laptop and the funding application that sat on the screen; what they needed was money.

  The door creaked open and a petite brown-haired woman stepped into the snug. She glanced around and beamed when she saw Gina.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ she said, hurrying over. She glanced up at Jory. ‘A pot of tea, please. Got any warm pasties left? I’m starving.’

  Jory smiled. ‘Afternoon, Carrie. I’ll see what I can do.’

  He threaded his way behind the narrow bar and disappeared into the door that Gina imagined led to the kitchens. Carrie tugged off her coat and hung it next to Gina’s, then pulled up a chair at her table.

  ‘Thanks for giving me an excuse to escape,’ she said, warming her hands against the fire. ‘The shop is so dead this morning that I thought I might actually die of boredom. There are only so many times I can pretend I’m Elizabeth Taylor winning an Oscar.’

  Gina grinned, picturing her friend standing among the silk- and satin-covered clothes rails of her vintage boutique further along the promenade, graciously accepting an award from an imaginary host. ‘I know what you mean. I needed a change of scene too and Jory makes a mean cup of coffee.’

  ‘Not to mention the food,’ Carrie said, patting her stomach. She nodded at the open laptop resting on Gina’s knees. ‘What are you working on? Please tell me it’s another awesome movie extravaganza.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Gina told Carrie, pulling a face. ‘But it is to do with the Palace. I’m due to meet Ben tomorrow night to go through a few things and I want to make sure I’ve got most of the details worked out before then.’

  Carrie gave her a sideways look. ‘And has he got you doing the paperwork for the train line too?’

  ‘No,’ Gina said thankfully. ‘He’s doing that himself, which is a good thing because you could fit what I know about steam trains and heritage lines on a very small Post-it note.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Carrie observed. ‘Although I could probably find him a very fetching station master’s outfit if he needs one.’

  Gina tried to picture sandy-haired, surf-loving Ben in a smart uniform and failed. ‘I’ll be sure to mention it to him,’ she promised, as Jory appeared with a Cornish pasty that was bigger than the plate on which it rested. The smell was amazing, and breakfast suddenly seemed like a long time ago; Gina felt her mouth begin to water. ‘I don’t suppose—’

  Jory grinned. ‘Had a feeling ’ee might say that. Hang on, I’ll go and fetch another.’

  Carrie glanced at her own pasty and hesitated, as though she wasn’t sure whether she should wait. Gina waved her on. ‘Get started before it gets cold. Mine won’t be long.’

  The other woman bit into the golden pastry and the scent of beef and vegetables with a tantalising hint of pepper wafted towards Gina. ‘Sorry,’ she said indistinctly, round a mouthful. ‘Skipped breakfast.’

  Jory was as good as his word and Gina soon had a crisp pasty of her own to tuck into. It was every bit as mouthwatering as she’d anticipated. Carrie finished first. ‘I needed that,’ she said, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. ‘So, what else have you been up to?’

  Gina popped the last piece of curved crust into her mouth and crunched. ‘Arguing with Gorran over the film choice for our next event, mostly,’ she said, once she’d washed the pastry down with some water. ‘He’s determined we should show The Shining.’

  Carrie tipped her head. ‘It is a great movie.’

  ‘But not a timeless romantic classic,’ Gina countered. ‘And I can’t see it having quite the same appeal as Brief Encounter. I’m not sure the cosplay would be quite as classy either.’

  ‘Good point,’ Carrie said, who’d supplied half the town with costumes to match the chic 1930s theme at the last event. ‘Maybe save the horror for Halloween. So, what’s your preference?’

  That was half the problem, Gina thought ruefully; she didn’t really have one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just Gorran who had strong views about what the next film should be – Ferrelli’s had produced a themed ice-cream flavour last time and it had proved extremely popular. That meant Ferdie thought he had a say in choosing the theme for the next event, and Gina’s nonna, Elena, had her own ideas. And none of them agreed.

  ‘I was wondering whether we should do a musical,’ she told Carrie, who looked instantly enthused.

  ‘Brilliant idea – what about The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Plenty of cosplay opportunities there.’

  Gina smiled as she pictured the basque and suspenders outfit Dr Frank-N-Furter wore in the film. ‘I’m not sure Polwhipple is ready for that yet. I was thinking more High Society or My Fair Lady.’

  Carrie pursed her lips. ‘Both great movies, but not what I’d call true classics. Have you thought about Singin’ in the Rain? That’s definitely one of the greats.’

  It was, Gina thought, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself. It also contained one of the most iconic scenes in movie history, where Gene Kelly danced through raindrops and puddles, which seemed even more apt considering how wet Polwhipple had been over the last few days. It was a movie about making movies too, meaning the glamour of cinema was at the heart of the story, and gave plenty of opportunities for dressing up. Gina felt a shiver of excitement as she considered the possibilities; it was the perfect choice for an event. They might even sell out.

  ‘You are a genius,’ she told Carrie, beaming at her. ‘I can’t think of anything better.’

  Carrie grinned back. ‘Let me know if Gorran agrees and I’ll start looking for props. Did you know that Debbie Reynolds kept a lot of the costumes from the film? She sold them at auction years later so they’re out there somewhere.’ Her expression became wistful. ‘Imagine wearing the actual dress she danced in for Good Morning.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d be a good Kathy Selden,’ Gina said, thinking of Debbie Reynolds’ short brown hair and luminous on-screen beauty.

  Carrie eyed Gina’s long black hair thoughtfully. ‘I think you’d make a fantastic Cyd Charisse.’

  Gina laughed as she pictured the lithe, beautiful dancer who’d run rings around Gene Kelly in one of the scenes. ‘As long as no one expects me to dance like
her, then we won’t have a problem.’

  The rain hadn’t abated by the time Gina left the Mermaid’s Tail and made her way back to the car park at the end of the promenade. The Palace was in darkness as she passed and the shutters were down on the window of the Ferrelli’s concession: no one was buying ice-cream today. She glanced at the glossy Brief Encounter posters in the holders on the wall – Gorran really should update them but there hadn’t been any posters at all previously, and something was definitely better than nothing. Some Singin’ in the Rain posters would look great – bright and eye-catching; she made a mental note to suggest to Gorran that he order some. Assuming he agreed to the film choice, that was . . .

  She was so deep in thought as she crossed the almost-empty car park, that she wasn’t really paying attention, just dodging the puddles absent-mindedly as she headed for her grandmother’s little Fiat. She needed to buy a car of her own, except that she would only be in Cornwall for another two months and neither she nor her boyfriend, Max, had need of a car to get around London. Elena’s powder-blue Fiat was doing a very good job at getting her from A to B, especially when the rain seemed to be never-ending.

  Gina only became aware that there was a car speeding across the tarmac at the very last second. She heard the engine first and glanced up, startled, to see a red Audi TT heading towards her. With a yelp of alarm, she leapt for a nearby kerb, avoiding a deep puddle as she did so. The car seemed to slow a fraction, then continued onwards through the puddle. The spinning wheels sent a wave of cold, dirty water washing over Gina, drenching her from head to toe. She gasped and turned her dripping face to stare after the car, which had zoomed through the exit and turned left to vanish along the high street.

  Gina stared after it for a few shocked seconds, then shook herself down and wiped her face. Whoever had been behind the wheel of that car needed a lesson in driving skills, not to mention good manners, she decided irritably, resuming her journey towards Nonna’s car. There was no need to drive through the puddle – it could only have been done on purpose. A kid, Gina thought, as she got into the Fiat and rummaged in her bag for something to dry herself with. Someone who thought it was funny to soak other people for fun.

  If she ever found out who it had been, there would be serious trouble.

  Chapter Two

  The sun was starting to burn off the rain clouds on Tuesday morning as Gina dropped by the Palace. She found Gorran in his cluttered, chaotic office, looking as though he might drown in paperwork as usual. His shock of white hair almost quivered with anticipation when Gina passed on Carrie’s suggestion for the film. ‘Marvellous!’ he said, his ruddy cheeks glowing. ‘When can we do it?’

  ‘We’ll need a few weeks to get the word out but I can use the mailing list I built from our last event to do that,’ Gina replied. ‘How soon can you get the film?’

  The Palace’s projection room ran on old-fashioned reels, which Gorran staunchly insisted were more authentic than newer digital projectors. Gina assumed the cinema owner would need to arrange for the film to be delivered, but he surprised her. ‘I’ve already got it – it’s in our archive.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Gina said, snapping her fingers. ‘I saw it there when I was looking for the lost Brief Encounter reel.’

  The lost reel that had almost snatched disaster from the jaws of triumph, she added to herself but didn’t say. ‘Actually, it’s been a few years since I watched Singin’ in the Rain. Do you think you’d be able to run it for me one afternoon?’

  ‘Of course,’ Gorran replied. ‘Let me know which day suits you and I’ll arrange for Tash to be here.’

  Tash was the Palace’s part-time projectionist and arguably the most important person on the picture house payroll – without her to coax the aged projection system into cooperation, there would be no screenings. The trouble in the past had been that both Tash and Gorran had taken a relaxed attitude to movie start times, which had meant customers had sometimes faced a lengthy delay before their film began. Gina couldn’t help wondering whether the erratic screen times had something to do with the usually woeful ticket sales, although Gorran’s enthusiasm for showing obscure foreign language films probably didn’t help.

  ‘Do you think there’s a chance you’ll be able to persuade Ferdie to dream up another themed ice-cream flavour?’ Gorran asked, looking hopeful. ‘I gather people are still asking for the one he made for Brief Encounter and they get very disappointed when they discover it was a one-night-only flavour.’

  Gina tried not to smile. She’d been the one who’d found the perfect recipe and, together with Elena, had persuaded a reluctant Ferdie to add it to the Ferrelli’s menu. He’d spent most of the event accepting compliments about it. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she promised Gorran.

  They agreed on the last Saturday in April for their screening. On her way out, Gina stopped at the Ferrelli’s concession. The window in the foyer was closed but the one that looked out onto the promenade was open and Manda, one of Ferrelli’s longest-serving employees was there, stocking up for the day ahead.

  ‘Morning,’ she called, as Gina approached. ‘Can I tempt you with a cornet?’

  The freezer below the glass screen was already full of pastel-coloured goodies – strawberry, honeycomb, salted caramel – but Gina shook her head. The trouble with working in her grandfather’s dairy was that she tasted so much ice-cream that it had lost its appeal as a special treat. ‘It’s a bit early for me,’ she told Manda, smiling.

  ‘It’s never too early for gelato.’ Manda pointed to the Napoli tin half-filled with soft chocolate waves. ‘See? The sunshine has given some people the hunger already.’

  Gina smiled. ‘So I see. Any messages for Nonno? I’m heading over to the dairy now.’

  Manda looked thoughtful. ‘We need some more Strawberry Sensation, if you don’t mind – I’m down to my last two tins and I reckon that’ll go today.’

  ‘Strawberry,’ Gina echoed. ‘Got it. Anything else?’

  The other woman sighed. ‘Another pair of hands for later, when it gets busy?’

  ‘Oh,’ Gina said, startled. ‘Of course, I didn’t realise you needed help—’

  ‘Relax,’ Manda said, throwing her an amused look, ‘I’ve got it covered. You just concentrate on planning our next event. Do you know what film you’re likely to be showing?’

  Gina looked quickly around, as though she expected to find Gorran listening in. ‘We’ve got an idea but it’s top secret for now. I think you’re going to love it, though.’

  She said goodbye to Manda and headed for the car. Parking outside Nonna and Nonno’s house, she tapped lightly at the door. Elena answered almost immediately and gave Gina a warm hug. ‘Come in, come in!’ she said, planting a warm kiss on each of Gina’s cheeks. She stepped back to let Gina inside. ‘Nonno is in the dairy already – he says he’s got a surprise for you.’

  Gina accepted Elena’s offer of a cappuccino, although she declined the biscotti that were offered, and took it, plus a green tea for Ferdie, out to the dairy. He much preferred coffee too, the stronger the better, but he was under doctor’s orders to reduce the amount of caffeine he drank and Elena was insisting on drastic measures to ensure he cut down.

  Ferdie was leaning against a stool in the dairy, his plaster-encased leg resting lightly on the ground and his crutches beside him as he stirred a large saucepan. As Gina pushed open the door, she saw him lift a spoonful of thin creamy liquid and examine it, his bushy grey eyebrows knotted in concentration.

  ‘Good morning, Nonno,’ she said, lowering his cup of green tea to the steel work surface. ‘I thought we agreed that making the custard was my job?’

  Dropping the spoon back into the mixture and adjusting the gas, Ferdie grunted. ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t help, does it?’

  Gina took a sip of her cappuccino, savouring the rich bitterness beneath the milk: no one made coffee like Nonna. ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ she told him equably. ‘As long as you take things easy. S
o, what’s the plan today?’

  Ferdie reached for his cup, glanced at the contents in disgust and put it back down without drinking. He eyed Gina’s coffee with obvious envy. ‘Is that a cappuccino?’

  She wrapped her hands around it. ‘Yes, and you’re not allowed it.’

  ‘Not even if I tell you I am thinking of introducing a coffee-flavoured gelato?’ he said, throwing Gina an innocent look that didn’t fool her for a second.

  ‘Not even then,’ she said firmly. ‘Although speaking of new flavours . . .’

  She told him about the proposed screening at the Palace. Ferdie frowned. ‘I still think you should persuade that old goat Gorran to show La Dolce Vita. That scene at the Trevi Fountain is a classic.’

  Gina hid a smile; the scene he referred to starred the voluptuous Anita Ekberg frolicking in the waters of the fountain in a dress that clung to every curve. No wonder Ferdie liked it. Elena, on the other hand, favoured Roman Holiday which featured a charmingly chiselled Gregory Peck. Apart from the sex appeal of the respective leads, it didn’t take a genius to work out why Gina’s grandparents had chosen their favourites; both films were set in Rome.

  ‘We’ve been over this,’ Gina said to Ferdie. ‘La Dolce Vita isn’t well-known enough – I don’t think it’s as big a box-office draw as Singin’ in the Rain. Why don’t you let me find it on Netflix?’

  Ferdie regarded her scornfully. ‘Netflix. A film like that was made to be watched on the big screen, not a laptop or a tablet.’ He stirred the vanilla custard. ‘And I suppose you want Ferrelli’s to serve another themed ice-cream.’

  Gina took a deep breath. ‘Yes. It went down so well last time and I can make it a feature of the event – an exclusive, one-night-only new gelato from Ferrelli’s.’ She hesitated and then plunged on. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if some people are more interested in the ice-cream than the film.’