The Picture House by the Sea

by Holly Hepburn

  Sarah leaned forwards. ‘See? That’s exactly what we mean. Dirty Dancing and daiquiris sounds good to me – are there any eligible men in this Polwhipple place?’

  Unbidden, an image of Ben appeared in Gina’s head. ‘One or two.’

  Tori gave Sarah a scandalised look. ‘She’s hardly going to be paying attention to anyone else – she’s got Max, remember?’

  But Sarah, who had always been the more perceptive of Gina’s friends, even before Tori had become wrapped up in motherhood, frowned. ‘There’s nothing wrong with window shopping.’

  ‘But why window shop when you already own the outfit?’ Tori argued.

  Sarah folded her arms. ‘I don’t know – maybe because it doesn’t fit you any more,’ she fired back.

  ‘Sarah!’ Gina objected, just as Tori’s mouth dropped into an O of understanding.

  She turned a wide-eyed stare upon Gina. ‘Have you met someone else?’

  ‘No,’ Gina said, willing herself not to blush. ‘I’m very happy with Max.’

  Sarah gave her a shrewd look. ‘Really? Because you don’t seem to be.’ She raised her hands to quell Gina’s indignant reply. ‘Hear me out. You used to love socialising with Max, right? All the parties and dinners with clients, all the schmoozing and boozing. But I heard from a mutual friend who was there last night that you spent most of your time with your back to Max, staring at your phone.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Gina said, and this time she felt the blood rush to her face. ‘I wasn’t on my phone all night; I was listening to some boring divorcee drone on about his ex-wife. And Max turned his back on me, if you must know.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Right. And what happened when you got back to his flat after the meal?’

  ‘We went to bed,’ Gina said, giving her friend a level stare. ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘To sleep?’

  ‘Of course to sleep,’ Gina said, exasperated. ‘What else would we be – oh.’

  Now Tori was shaking her head. ‘That’s not good, Gina. Unless you made up for it this morning.’

  Gina thought back to earlier in the day: Max had kissed her on the cheek and rolled out of bed to hit the gym before his breakfast meeting. Sex had been the last thing on either of their minds. ‘Not as such, no,’ she admitted.

  ‘It’s been how long – over a month? – since you saw each other,’ Sarah reminded her. ‘I’m not saying you should be all over him or vice versa but surely there should be some flicker of interest? He’s a good-looking guy.’

  Gina said nothing. What could she say when Sarah was right? The truth was, she should have been all over Max.

  ‘And when I talk to you back in Cornwall, you sound so different,’ her friend pressed on gently. ‘Happy and fulfilled, like you’ve won the lottery or something. I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is but I think maybe you’ve changed, Gee. And although you don’t want to hear it, maybe that means it’s time to change your outfit too.’

  ‘No,’ Gina said and she was surprised by how steady her voice was. ‘Max and I might have lost our way a bit since I’ve been down in Cornwall but it’s just a temporary blip. We’ll be fine once I move back to London and everything gets back to normal.’

  Sarah studied her for a long moment, then sat back and dug her fork into her ham terrine. ‘Okay – you know how you feel better than I do. I’m only telling you what I see.’

  An awkward silence stretched between them. Tori cleared her throat. ‘So tell us more about this screening – it sounds amazing.’

  Gina did as she asked and the three of them spent the rest of the meal avoiding any touchy subjects. As they were hugging goodbye, Sarah took Gina’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I hope you don’t think I was speaking out of turn earlier,’ she said. ‘You’re one of my oldest friends – I only want what’s best for you.’

  ‘I know,’ Gina said, returning the squeeze. ‘And I love you for it. But what’s best for me is Max.’

  Sarah looked deep into her eyes. ‘Okay. Then we’ll say no more about it.’

  But Gina couldn’t help thinking about it as she took the Tube back to Max’s apartment. Was Sarah right? Had she and Max outgrown each other? Was it really time for a new outfit?

  Keen to remind herself of all the things she loved about London, Gina spent some time wandering along the South Bank, trying to untangle the jumble of thoughts in her head. She was almost tempted to stop by Tate Modern, until she remembered that Max had said there was an exhibition there that he thought they might enjoy together. So she turned away and crossed the Millennium Bridge, admiring the sparkle of the late-May sunshine on the river and the white dome of St Paul’s Cathedral silhouetted against the blue sky. London really was a beautiful city; she’d missed its majesty.

  Unexpectedly, Max was already home by the time she arrived back at the apartment. She opened the front door to be greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of roasted chicken. Max appeared in the hallway, a flute of champagne in each hand, and smiled.

  ‘This is what we should have done yesterday,’ he said, coming towards her. ‘Welcome home, Gina.’

  She took the drink he held out and sniffed the air. ‘You cooked?’

  Max nodded. ‘I did. In around fifteen minutes, we’ll be eating butter-roasted chicken with new potatoes and asparagus tips.’ He leaned closer to plant a soft kiss on her lips. ‘Unless we get distracted.’

  He led her through to the living room, where Spotify was playing her favourite album. Refusing her offer of help, Max ushered her onto the sofa and insisted she stay there. The dining table at the far end of the room had been laid for two, with a tall vase of deep red roses in the centre and ruby petals scattered all over the pristine white tablecloth. It was practically perfect in every way.

  Max himself was on good form. He asked about her day and, when she mentioned Tate Modern, reached into the jacket that was hanging on the back of a chair and pulled out two tickets for Saturday. ‘And I’ve booked dinner at the Savoy,’ he said. ‘Just us. No business talk allowed.’

  Gina tried hard not to narrow her eyes. ‘Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Max Hardy?’

  He spread his hands in a gesture of mock hurt. ‘What? Can’t a man take care of the woman he loves every once in a while?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘In almost two and a half years, I have never known you to cook anything more challenging than toast.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve changed,’ he said simply. ‘Maybe I’ve decided it’s time I grew up a bit and started to think about settling down.’

  Gina thought back to Sarah’s comment earlier that she was different too. Could it be that she and Max were both evolving into new versions of themselves at the same time? ‘Well, whatever the reason, I like it,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said gravely, topping up her glass. ‘And if all of this reminds you of everything you love about being here, then I’ll be even happier.’

  The food was delicious: the chicken was cooked to perfection and the potatoes and asparagus melted in the mouth. For dessert, he’d managed to get his hands on some Ferrelli’s Good Morning gelato, which left Gina almost speechless; the only cartons in existence were in her grandfather’s dairy so Max must have done some serious sweet-talking to get his hands on it. But he refused to explain how he’d done it, leaving Gina mystified and intrigued. She’d have to ask Nonna when she got back to Polwhipple.

  Once they’d eaten, they took their glasses out onto the balcony and watched the sun set over the city. And then they took turns spotting the stars that appeared in the darkening sky, stars that were nowhere near as bright as in Polwhipple, until Max took Gina by the hand and led her inside to the bedroom.

  By the time Saturday came around, Gina’s argument with Ben had faded to the back of her mind and she was beginning to feel as though she’d never been away from London. Getting together with a huge group of friends for drinks on Friday night had been a particular throwback to the
way things used to be and Max had been the perfect boyfriend, rarely leaving her side. They’d spent Saturday afternoon together too, exploring the new sculpture exhibition and sharing observations about the work on display.

  ‘Are you missing Cornwall?’ Max asked, as they jumped in a black cab to whisk them to the Savoy.

  Gina considered the question. She missed Nonna and Nonno, of course, and she was worried about how they would be coping without her. And she missed her apartment, and her own space more than she would have thought possible. But she didn’t miss the feeling of anxiety she’d had every time she’d thought about Ben recently. And she didn’t miss Rose Arundell.

  ‘A bit,’ she said carefully.

  ‘But not enough that you think you’ll want to stay there long-term,’ Max said, searching her face. ‘What I’m asking is – do you see yourself coming back to London permanently once your grandfather’s leg is totally healed?’

  She gazed out of the window, watching the streets whizz by. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d wondered whether her future lay in Polwhipple; now she was wondering how she could ever have considered leaving London for good. ‘Perhaps not right away,’ she said, hedging her bets. ‘But yes – I feel like there’s more for me here so I’ll definitely be coming back.’

  Max nodded, evidently satisfied. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’

  The food at the Savoy was excellent, although Max didn’t eat much and was less talkative than usual. Gina put it down to tiredness and made more of an effort to fill the silences. By the time their after-dinner coffees arrived, Max looked pale and clammy.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gina asked in concern, as the waiter placed a plate of chocolates in front of her.

  Max cleared his throat. ‘I’m fine.’

  Gina peered at him more closely, her sense of disquiet only growing. ‘Are you sure? You look very pale.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m perfectly okay,’ he said, nodding at her plate. ‘Eat your chocolates.’

  She gave the dish a cursory glance; chocolate was the last thing on her mind. But something shiny caught her eye; whatever it was, it glistened among the delicate milky-brown arrangement. Frowning, Gina pushed the chocolates aside and then let out a tiny gasp. Nestled among the caramels, pralines and noisettes was a diamond ring.

  Max took her hand and when he spoke, his voice only shook a little bit. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to go down on one knee. Gina Callaway, will you marry me?’

  Sunday train journeys always seemed to take longer than those taken on other days of the week, but for once, Gina didn’t care. She kept replaying over and over in her mind the moment when Max had proposed: her own stunned reaction and his anxious, hopeful expression as he’d waited for her to answer. And her own unexpected wave of happiness when the word ‘Yes!’ popped out of her mouth before she’d even really worked out how she felt.

  The waiters had applauded and the Michelin-starred head chef had left his kitchen to come and congratulate them. The sommelier had presented them with champagne and then had left them alone to gaze at each other and get used to the feeling that everything had suddenly shifted underneath them. Even now, a sense of newness seemed to pervade everything; the unfamiliar weight on her ring finger, the sparkle that caught her by surprise each time she moved her hand. She wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get used to the idea that she was going to spend the rest of her life being married to Max but for now, she hugged the knowledge to herself like the best kind of secret.

  They hadn’t made any plans, beyond how they would tell their families. Gina suspected Nonna would notice something was different almost immediately, even if Gina removed the ring, and it made sense for her to share the news with them sooner rather than later. But Max wanted them to see his parents together and that would have to wait until they both had a clear weekend, so they’d agreed to keep things under wraps with their London friends, too. It was quite a nice feeling, Gina decided as she watched the Devonshire sea roll past the train window, having something that only she and Max knew.

  She toyed with the idea of going to see Nonna and Nonno that evening but decided she had more chance of fooling Elena in the morning. So she was at home, watching Working Girl, when the bell of her apartment buzzed.

  Frowning, she got to her feet. Who could be bothering her at nine o’clock on a Sunday evening? No one even knew she was back in Polwhipple.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, into the intercom. ‘Who is this?’

  There was a loud, static-filled crackle and a low mumbling escaped the speaker. ‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,’ Gina said, her frown deepening. ‘Who is it?’

  This time the mumbling was clearer and she recognised the name Ben. Pressing the button to open the communal door, she gave the speaker an experimental tap. Was it broken? And what on earth was Ben playing at, coming round uninvited at this time of night?

  Moments later, she had her answer: Ben was drunk. She realised the moment she opened her door and he almost fell through it, but if that hadn’t been a big enough clue, the smell would have given him away. Nose wrinkling, Gina stared at him as he leaned against the door frame. This was exactly what she didn’t need.

  ‘You’re back, then?’ he said, the words slurring slightly.

  Gina folded her arms, unsure whether to be furious or amused. ‘Obviously.’

  Ben’s eyes slipped out of focus for a second, then he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Good. Because I bleddy missed you.’

  His Cornish accent, usually soft enough that Gina barely even noticed it any more, had grown more pronounced; he sounded more like Jory than the Ben she knew. He leaned towards her and hiccoughed. She stepped back, waving away the strong scent of apples.

  ‘We need to talk. Can I –’ he paused and hiccoughed again. ‘Can I come in?’

  She thought about telling him to come back in the morning, sending him away to sleep it off. But she wasn’t sure how she’d manage it – he couldn’t have driven over to Mawgan Porth, not in this state, so he must have taken a taxi. And she’d be lucky to get another that would take him as he was. No, what she ought to do was try to sober him up.

  ‘I suppose you’d better,’ she said, holding open the door and beckoning him inside. ‘Shall I make you a cup of coffee?’

  He blinked like an owl that had just woken up. ‘Yeah, that would be lovely.’

  She was amazed when he made it to the sofa without knocking anything over. He slumped down with a gratified sigh and peered blearily at the television. ‘That’s Sigourney We –Weaver. What is this – Ghostbusters?’

  ‘Working Girl,’ she called from the open-plan kitchen. ‘Classic eighties stuff.’

  She left him watching the screen, hiccoughing gently, while she made an extra strong cup of coffee and placed it on the coffee table. ‘So, what do you want?’

  He took a mouthful of too-hot coffee and grimaced. ‘Don’t want nothing, really,’ he said, swallowing hard and making Gina wince in sympathy for his throat. ‘Except to say sorry.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said, taking a deep breath.

  Ben transferred his unsteady gaze from the TV and focused on Gina. ‘So, I’m sorry. I’ve been a proper idiot and you were right about everything.’

  Gina froze. What exactly did he mean when he said she was right about everything? That he had been sleeping with Rose? ‘In what way?’ she asked carefully.

  He waved one hand wildly, making Gina grateful he wasn’t holding his coffee. ‘In every way! Rose, the screening – the whole shebang. You called it all.’ He paused and fired an imaginary gun at the ceiling. ‘Shebang.’

  ‘Why don’t we take this one step at a time,’ she suggested, trying to stay patient. ‘In what way was I right about Rose?’

  ‘I needed to be honest with her,’ he said, holding up a finger. ‘I shouldn’t be using her to get – to get – what am I using her to get?’

  Gina almost smiled. It was the first time she’d seen Ben drunk since they’d bee
n teenagers and back then, she’d been equally drunk and couldn’t remember what he’d been like. He was actually quite endearing and, drunk or not, she was suddenly glad to see him. ‘Permission to show a Dirty Dancing screening on the beach,’ she said, trying to be helpful.

  ‘Which,’ Ben burst out, suddenly louder than he’d been before, ‘is one of the best ideas we have ever had.’ His eyes slid vaguely out of focus as he looked at Gina. ‘Nobody’s going to put you in a corner, baby.’

  Gina’s mouth twisted again. ‘So near and yet so far,’ she said, shaking her head in amusement. ‘Okay, that’s one thing. What else are you sorry for?’

  Ben blinked hard. ‘I’m sorry for telling you to go away. I only meant for you to go home – I didn’t think you’d go away away.’

  ‘But you didn’t try to get in touch with me to say so,’ Gina pointed out. ‘Not even one single message.’

  Ben shrugged. The movement made him almost slide off the sofa. ‘That’s true. I’m sorry for that too. But you didn’t mess – mess’ge me either.’

  ‘No,’ Gina conceded. ‘And you’re right, I probably should have.’

  His eyes widened suddenly. ‘No, you’re right. About everything. About Rose and being honest and – and –’ He tailed off to stare morosely at Melanie Griffiths and Harrison Ford. ‘She didn’t take it well.’

  Mentally spooling back through the conversation, Gina gave him a confused look. ‘Who didn’t? Rose?’

  ‘No,’ he said, nodding hard. ‘She said I’d never do better than her. She said –’ He pulled himself upright and adopted a snooty expression. ‘ “I’m the catch of the county!” ’

  This time Gina couldn’t help laughing, because his impression of Rose was actually very good, if a little blurry around the edges. ‘Really? She said that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ben said. ‘And she told me I’d be sorry, which I am, but I’m not sorry for what she thought I’d be sorry for.’

  He stared at her, wobbling a little, and Gina felt the last of her anger at him slip away. It was impossible to stay cross at someone this drunk, she decided. She might as well be angry at a puppy.