The Vintage Cinema Club

by Jane Linfoot

  Luce took a deep breath at that. That was pretty monumental for Dida who so far had soaked up everything Aidie threw at her, with barely a complaint. But they were in this together, and she and Izzy would support her, as best they could. Strange how Dida was the one with the massive house, stuffed with possessions, and the highest standard of living, not to mention the husband, and yet she was the one who, when you scratched the surface – in fact even when you didn’t – was most unhappy.

  Luce looked up, to see Ruby peeping round the edge of the door.

  ‘Okay Rubes?’

  Ruby came in with a beam, waving a card in her hand. ‘Look what the postman just brought, please can you help me read it?’

  A post card from Ollie? Bad timing or what? Ten minutes later, and Luce and Ruby would have been alone. Although Ollie had removed himself from Luce’s life pretty effectively, he’d made sure Ruby didn’t feel he was running out on her, and his post cards for her had been arriving every week.

  Luce had been so careful to keep the Ollie thing under wraps, what with them hanging out being so much of a big fat nothing anyway. When the three of them had gone out, they’d chosen places where they wouldn’t be noticed, or places where they might have accidentally bumped into each other. Or if Ollie had come around to the flat, he came when everyone else was busy working. And now one post card was going to bust the whole thing out into the open. Luce’s saliva ran sour at the thought.

  If she kept her cool, she might get away with it. One post card didn’t show anything. She needed to stop panicking. They didn’t even know who it was from.

  ‘How about we look at it in a minute, when it’s just the two of us.’ Luce could only hope Ruby was open to persuasion. ‘We could have juice and chocolate.’

  Luce could see Izzy and Dida were bursting to ask, but politely examining the ceiling.

  ‘Nice shorts Ruby.’ Izzy gave Ruby a grin.

  Luce picked up the lifeline, and ran with it. ‘You love those shorts don’t you, Rubes. She even insists on wearing them with tights in winter.’

  ‘Well talking of post cards and far flung places, don’t forget Aidie and I are away next week.’ Dida changed the subject again, with a neat flip, and gave a seismic groan. ‘His mum and dad are coming to look after the kids so I can’t get out of it without a diplomatic incident.’

  ‘Where are you going again?’ Luce picked that up and ran with it.

  ‘I don’t have a clue, Aidie revels in the control.’ Dida groaned again, and shook her head. ‘Although right now I’m done with Aidie and his nasty surprises.’

  Izzy gave a grunt. ‘Wherever he chooses, it can’t be anything as bad as last week’s shock.’

  Sometimes Dida’s life seemed so far removed from Luce and Ruby’s, it was strange that they were friends at all. It was the antenatal class where they’d really bonded, and somehow having their girls together, and watching them grow up transcended all their material differences. And Aidie failing to make it to the delivery room when Lolly had arrived, had made their “women doing it for themselves” bond even stronger.

  ‘Ollie’s sent another card from that Go place, Mum.’

  Damn.

  Ruby tossed it into the first open space that had cropped up in the talking, and oblivious of Luce snatching her breath, she was carrying on. ‘This one’s got palm trees on, and he’s done another funny drawing, of a man with drips coming off his head…’

  Okay. Luce was officially stuffed here. She braced herself, and waited for the fallout.

  ‘Ollie’s sending cards from Goa?’ Izzy’s mouth dropped open.

  Dida gave a shrug. ‘What a great idea, cards from round the world really help kids with their geography.’

  Luce had no idea why Dida had handed her that lifeline either, but she capitalised. ‘Yes, you put stickers on the map, don’t you Rubes?’ Luce and Ruby poured over the big map on the wall, tracing Ollie’s path with sticky blue sparkling stars. The fact that what had been Luce’s totally private vice, was now being offered up to two surprised faces, made Luce’s stomach wither.

  ‘I’ve got sixteen cards with this one.’ Ruby, was playing to the audience, lapping up all the attention.

  Izzy’s smile was uncomfortable. ‘That’s nice.’

  Dida pushed herself up from the sofa, and was sweeping her iPad into her capacious bag. ‘Is that the time? Come on, we are going to have to run if we’re hoping to open up at ten.’

  Izzy didn’t get up. ‘So how many cards has Lolly got then?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Dida pretended not to hear.

  Luce’s heart sank. Izzy had always warned Ollie off a relationship with Luce, and if Izzy ever found out the whole truth about what had gone on between Luce and Ollie, she was going to go ape shit. But maybe only a part of the whole sordid tale needed to be dragged out here.

  ‘How many cards has Ollie sent Lolly, to help with her geography?’ Izzy definitely wasn’t backing off here. ‘Just out of interest.’

  Dida screwed up her face and rolled her eyes. ‘Ollie hasn’t sent Lolly any cards.’ She gave Izzy a glare. ‘Now can we go please?’

  And just for once Luce was glad that Dida, in decisive mode, was not someone that you messed with. Two minutes later Dida had swept Izzy out of the flat, and she and Ruby were left there alone, listening to the sound of Dida’s high heels clattering down the stairs, and staring at a cartoon drawing that was making Luce’s heart squish.

  20

  Early Wednesday Morning, 11th June

  XANDER

  The Pink House

  Pole vaulting, objectives and swishy dresses

  Xander leaned against the door frame, squinted down the road, and gritted his teeth against the wrench of anticipation that twisted his stomach. He slid his phone out of his pocket. Seven thirty. Izzy wouldn’t be here for at least another ten minutes, and that would be if she was early. He resisted the urge to flick the camera on. Pouring over the photos he’d taken of her standing in her bedroom was really not that healthy. Pretending he’d been studying the furniture had only cut it for so long.

  And what would she be wearing today? He tried to pretend that he hadn’t been asking himself the same question, repeatedly, since he woke up at four thirty, with the hard on of the decade. One of those swishy dresses maybe? Or those dungarees that showed the smallest patch of pale skin, where her T-shirt slipped when she lifted up her arm. He stamped on that thought, as firmly as he’d taken himself in hand earlier.

  As for the pangs of self-doubt, he knew he was putting himself in a difficult situation he might not be able to handle, but what the hell. Reckless didn’t begin to describe it. Perhaps he had allowed it to happen, engineered it even, because he had some crazy subconscious macho need to prove that he was strong enough to resist. This was the first time in eight years a woman had penetrated his defences. So much for breaking through the barriers – this woman appeared to have pole vaulted straight over them, and short circuited all his sensible brain function.

  Objectives. That was what he should focus on. So long as he reminded himself there was an objective argument for every decision he’d made, he was fine. He was here to finally get The Pink House sorted and let. It had been standing empty for years, ever since his mum had died. Before, he’d always found it too painful to come back and tackle the work that needed doing, but having decided he couldn’t put it off any longer, the builders blitzing the place had, in the end, proved cathartic. And now here he was, standing on the doorstep in the morning sun, with a rush of anticipation in his chest he hadn’t felt in years. With Christina out of action, bringing Izzy along to sort out the finishing touches, was the best way to push the project through to completion. Simple as. It was a problem-solving solution, which he’d put in place, to get the job done. And he hoped that would put the ghosts of the past to rest along the way. Having Izzy here was the best way to achieve the best results. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Except early indications told him that today was g
oing to be very hard work.

  And he hadn’t even seen her yet.

  21

  Early Wednesday Morning, 11th June

  IZZY

  On the way to The Pink House

  High hedgerows and cocktail shakers

  ‘If I didn’t need the money, I wouldn’t be doing this.’

  Izzy muttered her pacifying mantra for the day, and scowled to herself, as she drove. Possibly mantras should be more positive than this, but whatever, it was going to have to do. In her head Luce was telling her she was doing this for everyone in the crew, especially The Vintage Cinema Club, reminding her there was nothing she loved more than making homes, especially stylish ones. Both these things were, arguably, true, but, Luce and her disembodied voice needed to butt out. All in all Luce had a lot to answer for. As for whatever was going on with Ollie, Izzy still hadn’t got to the bottom of that one. She’d been rushing around so much yesterday getting the order ready, and Luce’s brushed-under-the-carpet explanation, had been given as Izzy dashed away, at a run. Sixteen cards in as many weeks. That Ollie and Ruby hit it off just wasn’t cutting it somehow.

  It was so early that the sun was only just slicing over the tops of the high hedgerows, but already the sky was deep blue. Last time she came she hadn’t twigged exactly where she was going, but this time she recognised it as pretty close to the most significant night of her life to date, when, at sixteen, she’d been allowed to tag along with Ollie to a house party, and they’d left their parents arguing at home. In the morning they’d gone home to find their parents were getting a divorce. Kind of figured as a big night in her history.

  No way should Izzy waste a glorious summer day like this arguing with herself, stressing, or brooding about the past. She looked around at the baskets and boxes, and the piles of fabrics, and bits and pieces, crammed into the van, and smiled at the potential. She was here to do a job, and she’d make sure it was spectacularly good. And hopefully, after this, she wouldn’t come into contact with any more guys, who made her feel like she was permanently in a cocktail shaker. She noticed the four white cut out letters, sliding around on the van floor, next to her bag. She’d grabbed them as an after-thought this morning. Now suddenly the way they spelled LOVE, made the cupcakes she’d stuffed down as breakfast, taste much less sweet.

  She edged the van up by the front of the house, yanked on the break, took a very deep breath and dug in her pocket. No way was she going to make it through today without bubble gum.

  22

  Early Wednesday Morning, 11th June

  IZZY & XANDER

  The Pink House

  Poncey excuses, and crashing and banging

  ‘Bubble gum?’ Xander stared at Izzy as if he couldn’t quite believe the audacity.

  ‘So?’ Her reply bounced along the hall, where she’d dropped her box to the floor, and was now standing, with her hands firmly on her hips. And Luce would have a fit if she knew that Izzy was thrusting out her chin before she’d even got into the house.

  ‘I’m just not sure how Christina would feel…’

  What sort of poncey excuse was that? The least he could do was to man up and admit it was him that hated her chewing.

  Izzy screwed up her face to think. She always chewed when she was nervous. Today was going to be hard enough. She couldn’t do it without gum.

  ‘Sorry, but it’s a deal breaker.’ And echoing his challenging words from the other day gave her a snarky sense of satisfaction. She hitched up her boyfriend jeans, gave a mental curse for not putting a belt on, and wrenched down the hem of her T shirt, to make sure all gaps were covered. Then she darted towards the door to carry on unloading.

  From the depth of Xander’s sigh, he knew he was onto a loser here. Result for Izzy. As for how frigging hot he was looking – same old faded jeans, ripped T-shirt – that she was going to have to blank, on every level, other than general generic admiration from a very long way off.

  In the end Izzy had largely managed to find enough pieces from the stock at the cinema, to keep her home bedroom intact, apart from the bed, of course. She was confident that she could create a room which would give a similar look, without the need to ransack her own private space. She wouldn’t usually have minded, but she simply didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of planting her personal things in this particular home.

  ‘It’s all a bit chaotic here, the builders have mainly moved out, and the furniture’s arriving bit by bit.’ Xander apologised, as he led her through the house. ‘Yesterday’s delivery guys put your things into approximate position. We may have to move things around a bit ourselves.’

  She wobbled behind him up the stairs, basket in her arms, eyes anywhere but the stretch of tanned skin on his back, where his T-shirt didn’t quite meet his low slung jeans. They pushed through a six panelled door, and arrived in a first floor room, containing the furniture she’d piled into the back of the film company van yesterday.

  ‘I really appreciate your coming to help. I’ve really no idea what to do after this point.’ Xander shot her a disarming, sideways look. Izzy, off her guard, felt her legs melt, and let her eyes slide to meet his. Her breakfast lurched dangerously, her pulse hammered in her ears, and still he didn’t look away. Yanking her gaze onto the pieces of bed, stacked in a pile on the newly laid grey wool carpet, she chewed like crazy.

  Except why should he look away? She was the one who needed to feel guilty here. They were both adults, doing a professional job, and she couldn’t believe she was allowing herself to over react like this.

  ‘Christina’s very particular, she’s a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to the finishing.’

  There. That booted Izzy firmly into her place.

  ‘Really.’ Izzy knew there was a distasteful expression on her face that shouldn’t be there, but what the hell. Izzy already knew Christina insisted on quality. She’d chosen Xander hadn’t she? And this only went to underline Izzy’s theory about the impossible nature of clients.

  Xander hesitated. ‘Now the work’s completed, a lot of the character has gone…’

  Izzy stared around at the impeccable flat walls, and the perfect paintwork. ‘It does feel a bit clinical.’ A familiar problem her interior designer of a mum faced, with her loaded clients, and she couldn’t help pointing out that if he really was the successful entrepreneur he boasted about being, Xander should have known better. ‘Typical rookie developer mistake – excessive cash injections can wreck these old places. Play’s havoc with your capital extraction.’

  Izzy watched Xander’s eyes widen in shock, then a shadow passed across his face.

  ‘This isn’t a profiteering scheme.’ His stare was stony, and his tone cut her to the core. ‘This is the house my mum lived in. Before she died.’

  Shit. Izzy wished that the shiny, wide boarded, oak floor would open and swallow her up. A dead parent pretty much top trumped everything. Xander already had a height advantage as he glowered down at her, but she felt about an inch tall. How the hell was she going to claw her way back from this one?

  ‘That’s why you’re here.’ Xander gave a shake of his head, as if he didn’t get it himself and thought better of fighting with her. ‘To help bring back the magic.’ He finished softly.

  Izzy blinked, hardly believing she was off the hook. No way would she have expected him to wade in and haul her out of her chasm of embarrassment.

  ‘No pressure there then.’ Izzy gave a shrug and tried for a cover all smile, which didn’t come out properly due to nerves. ‘So, I take it this is a guest room?’

  Given they were at the back of the house, this was probably not the principal bedroom.

  ‘Yep, the master suite is at the front, it’s bigger.’

  He sounded completely at ease. She needed to make a super-human effort to get over herself.

  ‘The wardrobes look nice, and they fit well where they are. Good thing too, because they weigh a ton. They don’t completely match, but they really go with the house somehow.�
��

  ‘Yep. Good choice.’

  He’d picked himself up after her blunder about his mother, and he was staring at her again. In the most undressing kind of way. This time she knew she wasn’t imagining it. Like back in her own bedroom at home, only now it was worse. Damn that she hadn’t thrown her long sleeved shirt in the van either, because she could really do with taking cover here, given how flimsy her T-shirt was. There was only one thing she could think of to make the situation better here. She chewed harder, and as prickles bristled on the back of her neck, she dragged the scarf that was tied around her hair, and pulled it free, and rammed it through the belt loops on her jeans. Now at least one of them had their jeans firmly secured, even if his were sliding towards indecency.

  ‘I’ll go and get my spanner, then we can sort the bed out.’ She made a dash for the door, but even as she left the room she could have sworn he was checking her out.

  * * * *

  ‘Is there a reason for all the crashing and banging?’

  Xander sent Izzy a hard stare, across the scuffed metal curls of the bed head that they were propping between them. They’d already got the bed head and foot into place, and now she was struggling to get the side bars attached.

  Izzy paused, dragged the new ribbon out of her hair, grappled her hair into a pony tail again, then retied the bow.

  ‘Trying to put a bed-frame together is a balancing act at the best of times.’ When you were trying to work with a dumb ass, whose main contribution was to stare at your boobs, it was bloody impossible.

  She was bending down now, trying to twist a nut onto a bolt, and he was still staring. Damn. The nut span right out of her fingers.

  ‘Shit.’ Her spanner thudded onto the carpet after the nut.

  Grrrrrrrr…And shit for swearing too.

  ‘That’s the third time you’ve dropped your spanner.’