The Vintage Cinema Club

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘I take it you aren’t happy?’ Luce pushed back a strand of hair. ‘It’s not a cultural holiday then?’

  Dida shook her head. Talk about a bloody understatement. ‘The sod texted me the link as I came out on the school run.’ She flashed her phone at Luce, who blinked as she took it in.

  Candi, holiday deets, get yourself some kit, AD

  www.Fit-Italy/cycling/UndulatingUmbria

  ‘Oh my…’ A bewildered expression spread across Luce’s face, as Dida clicked on the link. ‘But you don’t ride a bike…do you?’

  Dida had kept a lid on it for the last hour during the school pickup and the swim change, but now her voice rose to a hissing growl. ‘Exactly. I’m the least likely person in the world to ride a bike, and I thought Aidie was too, until he started on his totally ridiculous fitness kick last weekend. As for the kit, I refuse to put my bum and Lycra in the same sentence.’

  ‘It’s not all bad…’ Luce was reading from the web page now. ‘Sun-drenched terracotta, mediaeval Montefalco, private pools, and apricot orchards. Those bits sound nice.’

  ‘If it was bike riding anywhere else in the world, I’d definitely stay home.’ As Dida’s hiss rose to a wail, the woman further along the row turned her head sharply towards them. Dida gritted her teeth, in an effort to keep the volume down, knowing deep down that Luce was the last person she should be grumbling to about luxury holidays. ‘It sounds great until you realise it’s all done on a bloody bike. We’re supposed to ride from hotel to hotel for god sake. I have no idea how I’m going to handle this.’ The thing was, Luce was always understanding about Aidie, and so sympathetic.

  As for the other first, no way could Dida risk broaching that on the public balcony. No way she even wanted to think about it herself, until she’d worked out what was going on. There had to be some mistake, some sensible explanation, because yet again today, for the fifth day in a row, her regular trawl through Aidie’s trash hadn’t yielded the huge list of women’s names she usually found. It was ironic that the first time she didn’t find great lists of women’s names her alarm bells were clanging. More than likely someone had told him he should be emptying his trash. Because as things stood, the happy hookers had gone, and the only name figuring in Aidie’s emails was Elvira. And that would be Elvira the fitness instructor.

  ‘You’ve got three days to come up with a watertight plan to get out of the cycling.’ Luce sent her a calming “it’s all under control” smile. ‘We’ll get the Vintage Cinema Club on the case, don’t worry.’

  Dida gave a grateful sigh.

  ‘I love that I can always rely on you lot to help me dig my way out of a hole.’ Which took Dida neatly onto the next question which had been playing round her head for a while. ‘And talking of holes, is everything okay with Ollie?’

  Luce’s foot jumped as she went rigid, nudged her can of iced tea, and sent it clattering down to the tier below, where the liquid began to glug out over the floor.

  Dida watched Luce scrabbling to retrieve the escaping can, and was ready for her when her face bobbed back to head height.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’ Dida bowled Luce a reassuring smile of her own.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Luce was opting to breeze her way through.

  ‘Sixteen cards seems like quite a lot.’ Dida did her best to sound unconvinced. ‘And you can’t really talk to Izzy about this can you?’

  Luce sank lower in her seat, and gave a loud sniff. ‘Okay, I give in, I’ve really stuffed up. It’s my fault Ollie left.’

  So there was a problem. ‘Sweetie, it can’t be that bad…’ Dida hadn’t expected Luce to be this upset.

  ‘We’d been hanging out together, and getting on really well, but he wanted more, and you know I always keep Ruby away from guys I sleep with.’

  Dida sighed. ‘That’s only your way of protecting her.’

  Luce rubbed her nose with a hanky. ‘One Friday Ollie made this huge scene when I was leaving the bar to go home with a guy. And afterwards he said he couldn’t bear to stay around and watch me go out with other people, and if I didn’t go out with him properly, he was going to have to leave. And then he went, just like that.’ Luce’s bottom lip was juddering, and she swallowed hard.

  Dida clicked her tongue, and shook her head. ‘So that explains his quick exit, but it’s great he’s not letting Ruby down. Sending all those cards is Ollie all over.’

  Luce’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘The thing is, since he left I’ve missed him more and more. I thought it would get easier, but it just gets worse. And now he’s in Thailand, and we all know what happens there. I can’t bear to think of him with anyone else.’

  Dida, seeing Luce’s shoulders shaking, slid her arm around her friend. ‘Ollie’s not like that.’ As far as Dida knew. She hoped for Luce’s sake he wasn’t.

  ‘It serves me right. It’s karma. Now I know how he felt with me, and it’s awful.’ Luce was mumbling into her tissue now.

  Poor Luce. Dida struggled to find something comforting to say. ‘At least it’s good that the break has showed you how you really feel.’

  Luce blew her nose loudly. ‘Izzy would be beside herself if she knew Ollie went away because of me. And I’ve got to be strong, because he’s only been away five months. He isn’t coming back until next February, and who knows what will have happened by then.’

  And who knew where they’d be with the cinema by next February too? Dida wiped a slick of perspiration off her forehead, and tried to ignore the way that thought made her chest implode.

  She took back her arm, and gave Luce a pat on the leg. ‘Remember, I’m always here if you want to talk about it.’ Dida gave Luce a nudge. ‘Hey, from the way Tilly, the instructor, is filling in forms, it looks like they’re getting another badge. More sewing, if they get many more badges there won’t be any room for them on their swimsuits.’

  And then the kids were piling out of the pool, and next thing Luce and Dida were on the stairs, in the crush of mums, jostling down to the changing rooms.

  25

  Wednesday Afternoon, 11th June

  XANDER & IZZY

  The Pink House

  Natural breaks and crazy invitations

  Izzy pulled a bow into shape, tried it against the curtains, and squinted at Xander over her shoulder. ‘So why don’t you get a home sorted out? You could easily rent a flat?’

  Xander let out a sigh, and let go of the chandelier he’d been told to rub. What was it with women and their home obsession? ‘You sound just like Christina. She’s the reason I bought the house with the skips.’

  ‘Because you wanted a home?’

  ‘No.’ His reply to that question was filled with the scorn it deserved. ‘Because I wanted to get Christina off my back.’

  Izzy’s wide eyes suggested she couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  ‘Having that house renovated will give me a few months respite from Christina’s nagging. I’ll most probably sell it once it’s finished.’ He’d settled on the biggest wreck he could find, counting on years of building work, but thanks to a scarily efficient builder, even if it still looked like a disaster on the outside, the inside was all coming together scarily fast.

  ‘It looked like an amazing place, although I’m not sure you needed to rip the guts out of it as much as you obviously have.’ Her brows descended into a dark frown.

  ‘It’s a load of trouble I don’t have time for. I’ll be pleased when it’s over. End of.’ That about summed up his thoughts on the matter.

  ‘Sometimes rebuilding can be very cathartic.’ She gave him a loaded stare.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘When we did up our house after…’ She stopped, shaking her head. ‘I mean, once, we had to start over again with nothing, and that taught us a lot along the way…if you let yourself, you might find the same.’

  Xander snorted. ‘Thanks for the analysis.’

  She was fiddling with her hair again. Unknotting her bun, throwing her cur
ls forward, before she regathered them. One escaping tress hung messily over her forehead, tempting him to reach out and tug it gently.

  ‘You could always come and have a look round the site. See what you think.’

  One random, ridiculous thought, and the words had tumbled out before he could stop them. From her sideways stare, it looked like she thought he’d gone mad, and she might not be wrong there.

  She didn’t reply, just went on fixing her bow on the curtains, and when she’d done she stood back, hands on her hips, assessing the room. ‘Right.’

  Xander put down the duster and stepped away from the chandelier. He’d had enough of crystals for one day, quite apart from not having spent so long in a bedroom with a woman since he couldn’t remember when. Maybe that’s why he was coming out with the crazy invitations. Maybe he needed to get out of here, and fast. No way did he want a rerun of earlier on, when he’d somehow fucked up on the personal space thing entirely. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened back there with her, and he definitely wasn’t as innocent as he’d protested, given that he’d probably have liked nothing better than to grab her and kiss her. Something about her made him leap in, every time, overruling his better judgement. Her underlying vulnerability switched on the caveman in him. It certainly had nothing to do with how pleasant she was, because let’s face it, at times she couldn’t have been more truculent. Even when she was acting all sweet and amenable, stroppy and difficult was only ever a breath away, bubbling under, waiting to break out. He glanced pointedly at his watch.

  ‘If you’ve reached a natural break, we could call it a day here. How about we grab some tea and I’ll show you how your pink chairs look in the summer-house?’ There, another random idea that came out of nowhere.

  ‘Just to get this straight, is that a suggestion, or an order?’ Izzy studied him quizzically.

  He thought for a minute. ‘Maybe both.’ He sent her a grin, and headed for the door. ‘But I’ll definitely order more flapjack if there’s any going.’

  * * * *

  ‘Roses and honeysuckle and cornflowers, all tangled and beautiful. Walled gardens are my favourite thing, and this one’s as perfect as the house.’ Izzy, apparently having left her strop upstairs, had already kicked off her shoes, snatched the ribbon out of her pony tail to let her hair go wild, and thrown herself down on the grass.

  Xander sauntered across the lawn and stopped in his tracks, struck first, by her enthusiasm, and second, by the way she was arching her back and – worse – her boobs, right towards him. Bloody hell. He blinked for another double take. In this light that T-shirt was damn near translucent.

  ‘Aren’t you coming to see the Barbie chairs in the summer house?’ That should take care of the temptation, not to mention the full on nipples.

  She folded her legs, and scrambled to her feet, grabbing the bag she’d brought from the house. ‘Another non-negotiable suggestion?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ He walked up the steps to the summer house deck, throwing open the double doors as he reached them.

  ‘Wow, this is more of a full blown pavilion than a summer house, and the dusky pink of the chairs goes perfectly with the old brickwork on the back wall.’ Izzy stepped into the lofty space, looking around at the other horizontal plank walls. ‘I’m loving the pale grey paint, and I can see why you needed all twelve chairs now. Cushions in a mix of prints will finish it off well. I’ll check the swatches in a minute, and see if I can get onto those this evening.’

  Tonight? ‘Who’s the workaholic now? What about your action packed social life?’ He put the tray on the table, and began to pour the tea. And why was he holding his breath, waiting for her answer, to what was meant to be a throwaway comment.

  She gave an airy smile. ‘I’ve got lots on, I like to keep on top of the jobs as they come in.’

  She carried on. ‘And I won’t be able to come here tomorrow, because I’m in the shop, but I can bring a few more bits around after work, if you like?’

  ‘Yep, fine, whatever suits you.’ He felt a strange surge of disappointment that she wasn’t coming earlier.

  Izzy offered him a piece of flapjack from her plastic box, took her tea, contemplated choosing a pink chair to sit on, then at the last minute veered away to squat on the steps. He got the idea she was deliberately keeping her distance, although he might have caught her staring at his legs back there. Or had he imagined it?

  She squinted out at the garden. ‘A mixture of spots and florals would work in here, and bunting would really finish it off.’

  Xander pulled up a chair, and sat down. At least he only had to look at her back from here. He would close his eyes to the fact that despite the scarf she’d tied around the waistband, her jeans still stretched down as she leaned forwards, exposing the double indentations where her pelvis joined her spine.

  ‘Sounds great.’ He was munching, replying to something she had said that he hardly heard, and definitely ignoring the way his pulse was racing. He hesitated for a second, and then thought about casually dropping in the next question. The one he’d been itching to ask since this morning, but hadn’t got around to. If he didn’t do it soon, the opportunity would be gone altogether. He took a deep breath, and wagging his half piece of flapjack, he went for the jokiest tone he could manage. ‘So, now you know about the wife you thought I had who isn’t one, and the wife I used to have, but don’t have any more, are you going to tell me about your husbands?’

  For what seemed like forever, he cringed at the silence.

  ‘What?’ Then she screwed her head around, for another of those “is he crazy?” looks, and her face broke into an indulgent smile. ‘This conversation is way outside the line of customer service, but I’ll tell you for free, a husband is the last thing I’d have. Ever.’ By the time she said ever, she’d gone all fierce again.

  ‘Okay. Sounds pretty final.’ However left field his question had been, he hadn’t quite expected a response that shouty.

  ‘I’m way too busy for all that stuff.’ Her forced laugh made it sound like she was back tracking, covering up somehow. ‘With Vintage at the Cinema and three brothers to run around after, another man is the last thing I need.’

  Xander didn’t know why he’d been compelled to ask the question in the first place, as for why relief was flooding through him, that was another mystery. He made it his business not to make moves, unless they were moves to stop the women who had him cornered. So it was nothing to him, that Izzy had just implied she was available.

  ‘Will you be dropping by the building site tomorrow?’ Another stupid question, given she’d just said she was working.

  She gave a short laugh, shooting him a smile over her shoulder. ‘Depends if that’s an offer, or an order?’

  His stomach clenched as he registered the stretch of her neck as she twisted. ‘I’d say an order…’ He watched her back, focusing on the bumps of her spine sticking through the stretch of her T shirt, crossed by the horizontal line of her bra. Not the pink one today, probably petrol blue from the shadow at a guess. A shiver zipped down his spine. He pulled himself up sharply. Waiting, he prepared himself for the answer to the invitation he hadn’t even meant to give, all ready for her to turn and say “no”.

  She raked her hair back, and let it fall again. ‘I’ll maybe have a few minutes round two. Shall I see you there?’

  He tried to ignore the fact that the football crowd, on the story board in his brain, were jumping up and down, and yelling. He tried instead to sound cool, offhand even.

  ‘Great. More flapjack might be good. If you have any…’

  26

  Wednesday Afternoon, 11th June

  New message To: The Crew @ Vintage at the Cinema…Luce, Izzy, Ollie, Lydia, Damon, Henni, Declan, Suzie, Arthur, Leighton, Magda, Thom, Allie

  Subject: Vintage at the Cinema…News and Rotas

  The rotas for week beginning June 16th and June 23rd are attached. I’m away for a week, starting Saturday. Any problems, please let me know
before I leave.

  Vintage Cinema Club Fight Back Measures so far:

  Free coffee

  Exemplary customer service – going the extra mile, and then some

  An exclusive, room by room, styling and supply service (thank you Izzy & everyone)

  Bridal (thank you Luce)

  Silent Film Projection

  NEXT PRIORITY: TO SOURCE FRENCH STOCK, AND LOTS OF IT!!!!

  Cake of the week is WALNUT AND CAPPUCCINO, the week after it’s MOROCCAN ORANGE :)

  Dida xx

  27

  Thursday Afternoon, 12th June

  XANDER & IZZY

  On the building site in Bakewell

  A thousand miles away

  Xander stood in the doorway of his house, looking across the mud towards the skips. Yet again, the builders were largely absent, rather than at work, which he was surprisingly pleased about. One electrician’s van, and the front door left ajar, was the sum of it today. He had no idea how they were making the astonishing progress when they never seemed to be here. Although the outside still resembled a bomb-site, inside things appeared dangerously close to completion. If he didn’t watch out, Christina would soon be moving him in.

  He didn’t need to look at his watch to know he was hideously early. After yet another glance down the road, to assure him Izzy wasn’t about to arrive, he wandered off up the glass staircase to the first floor bedroom, to follow up a query about the en suite, that had come through from the architect. Realistically, Izzy wouldn’t be turning up for ages yet.

  With a twist in his gut, he thought of the last time he’d sorted out a house. Years ago, with their home in Hampstead, Astrid had taken charge of everything, and all he’d had to do was sign off on the payments. Astrid, with her combination of drive, flair and efficiency, had made everything beautiful, and then he’d asked too much of her, pushed her to a place she couldn’t go. When he’d come back home again, after going to hell and back with his mum, there had been nothing left. What had seemed like the perfect partnership when the going was good, had proved to be entirely empty under pressure. He still felt guilty for being the one responsible for doing that to the relationship, by making the choices that he did. It had been totally unfair of him to ask what he had of Astrid, and she’d been entirely within her rights to make the choices she did. But once it was broken there was no way back.