From Notting Hill with Love Actually

by Ali McNamara

  When at last we screeched to a halt in the station, Sean released my hand while we quickly climbed out of the train, allowing the next group of fools waiting to ride to take our places.

  “So, how bad was that?” Sean asked, grinning at me.

  “Bad enough.”

  “Hey, you’re shaking,” he said. “Goodness, you really don’t like rides, do you?”

  It was true, I was shaking, but that may have been more to do with Sean’s hand-holding than the actual ride itself.

  “Here,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. “Try some of this.” He pulled out a hip flask and poured a tot of something into the lid. “It’s whiskey. Go on, get it down you.”

  “How have you got this? I thought Maddie said we weren’t allowed alcohol in here.”

  “All the stags have them. Felix’s best man passed them out earlier.”

  “You mean Will?”

  “Yes, that’s the chap.”

  I opened my bag and pulled out a mini bottle of champagne. “And all us hens have got these!” I laughed. “Want to swap?”

  “Nah, but you can still have the whiskey. I already had a fair bit to drink in the bar earlier.”

  I’d noticed. But I swigged the whiskey back anyway and gasped as it caught the back of my throat.

  “Where to now?” Sean asked.

  “What about that house thing over there?”

  “You mean Phantom Manor? You sure you won’t be scaaarrred?” he tried to say in a spooky voice.

  “As long as it doesn’t loop the loop at a hundred miles an hour, I’ll be just fine, thank you.”

  There were a number of us “visiting” the manor, and the hospitality was very good as even more secret bottles were passed around in the waiting room before the main journey began around the supposedly haunted mansion. The purpose of this ride, I quickly discovered, was to unravel the mystery of a ghost bride who waited for her groom in vain. The spooky walls and pictures were supposed to recount their grisly tale, as you rode along in carriages called “Doombuggies.”

  Can I count this as my third wedding? I wondered, watching the story of a marriage ceremony that never took place slowly unfold.

  Sean and I had somehow got split up in the haunted house at the start of the ride, so I ended up sitting next to one of the girls Maddie worked with. But as we spun around the manor in our two-person Doombuggy, in between the ghosts and ghouls that popped up in our faces, I managed to catch sight of him a few times, and on one occasion he saw me watching him and winked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the girl sitting next to me said. “I didn’t realize that was your boyfriend or I’d have let the two of you sit together.”

  “No, not at all, please don’t worry,” I said a bit too hastily. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Is he anyone’s boyfriend, do you know?” she asked, as the ride came to an end and we prepared to hop off. “He’s quite good looking.”

  I pretended I hadn’t heard her and hurried over to join Sean again as soon as I’d freed myself from the ride. “Let’s go this way,” I said, swiftly steering him in the opposite direction to my traveling companion.

  We found ourselves walking toward Fantasyland. “This is the kiddies’ bit,” Sean said, and I noticed he was having trouble walking in a straight line. “Although after seeing you on Big Thunder Mountain back there, this might be more up your street.”

  “Stop with the teasing, you,” I said, pleased we seemed to have lost Sean’s admirer. “This is what Disney is all about.”

  “You are not getting me on one of those elephants,” Sean exclaimed as we approached the flying Dumbo ride. “No way!”

  “I wouldn’t want to—strange as it may seem, flying elephants aren’t really my scene either.”

  “Ah, I know what you’d like,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Come with me.”

  Sean, for the second time tonight, grabbed hold of my hand, and I willingly let him lead me toward a sign that declared It’s a Small World.

  “Now this ride isn’t scary at all,” Sean said as we walked together along a pastel-colored path toward the entrance. “Unless you’ve seen the Child’s Play movies—which I very much doubt you have—because then the dolls can take on a whole different light.”

  “We can’t go on this,” I protested. “We’re too old.”

  Sean paused by the entrance, his eyes wide in mock horror as he turned to look at me. “No one’s too old for Disney, Red—as you so rightly pointed out back there. Come on, it’ll be fun,” he said, holding out his hand to me again. “There’s no one riding it just now.”

  “No, because they’re all over ten years old, that’s why.”

  But I took Sean’s hand and we climbed onto one of the small boats that was trundling along in the water and allowed ourselves to be transported into the magical miniature world.

  Inside the ride was split into countries, and in each country there were displays of animatronic dolls. The dolls were dressed in their national costumes performing activities fitting to their native country, and they were singing the intensely catchy theme tune of “It’s a Small World After All.”

  “How much did you say you’d had to drink?” I asked Sean, as he began to hum the tune quietly to himself as we rode along. This was shortly after he’d downed the remains of his hip flask.

  “Not that much, why?”

  “Nothing.” I smirked.

  “Look here,” Sean said, putting on an intensely serious face. “Just because this isn’t one of your big budget Hollywood movies entertaining you doesn’t mean you can be snooty.” He waved his hand in the direction of the passing display. “Those poor dolls are singing their hearts out up there.”

  I bit my lip and tried not to laugh. Sean was quite funny when he was drunk.

  “Right, if they aren’t enough entertainment for you, let’s create our own movie moment, right here and right now.” Sean tried to stand up in the boat.

  “Sean, sit down—you might fall.”

  “No—I’m fine,” he said, steadying himself. “Hey, Red, come to the front with me, and we’ll act out that scene from Titanic—you know the one, where Leo holds on to Kate.”

  Tempting as it was to see myself as Kate Winslet and add to my tally of films, my better sense kicked in. “We’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down, Sean, or you’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

  Sean clambered right up on the front of the boat, then, wobbling with his arms outstretched, he shouted, “I’m king of the world! Look, Red, I’ve done a movie for your collection.”

  “Yes, you certainly have. But I’m afraid it’s much more Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones than Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. Now get down from there before you—”

  Too late. As we passed under a low bridge, Sean’s head collided with it and he was knocked sideways into the water.

  The line of boats continued on their merry way.

  “Sean!” I shouted when he didn’t immediately reappear. “Oh my God, where are you?”

  I clambered back along all the boats until I came to the last one in the line. As we passed under the bridge where Sean had fallen, I looked helplessly down into the water.

  “Sean!” I called again.

  Just then a head bobbed up, and Sean emerged blowing a fountain of water from his mouth.

  “Oh my God, Sean, I thought you’d passed out under the water. Quick,” I said, holding out my hand. “Climb back on.”

  Sean shook his head, pushed his hair back off his face, and waded along through the water until he’d caught the boat up again. Then somehow while the boat was still moving, I managed to help him climb back aboard.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, moving one seat ahead of him as he dripped water everywhere.

  “I got caught in between the rails. I had to stay under the water while the boats went over the top of me.” He looked embarrassed.

  “Jesus, Sean, that could have been dangerous. What the hell were you thinking?�
�

  “I didn’t plan to fall in.” He rubbed the back of his head and winced.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “What do you reckon?”

  “All right, it wasn’t me that was stupid enough to injure myself at Disneyland Paris on ‘It’s a Small World.’” My mouth twitched with amusement. “And when you think of all the ways you could get hurt on the more dangerous rides too. Your heroic story will now always be—‘I nearly drowned in a three-foot-deep dolls’ lake.’”

  Sean pulled a wry face as I held my hand over my mouth in a vain attempt not to laugh.

  “Do we have to tell anyone about this?” he asked. “I mean, no one need know.”

  “I think people might notice when you turn up soaking wet for the party later.”

  “I’ll just go back and change at the hotel.”

  “You’ve got to get there first without anyone seeing you.”

  The ride came to an end and I began to climb out.

  “Scarlett,” Sean pleaded, still sitting in the boat with water pouring off him. “Help me, please!”

  “Oh, so I’m not Red now then?” I asked, standing on the side looking down at him with my arms folded.

  Sean just looked up at me with big puppy-dog eyes. “Please, Scarlett,” he said again. “I need you.”

  Seventeen

  “Nearly there,” I whispered to Sean, as I guided him out of the lift and along the corridor. “Where’s your key?” I asked as we reached his room.

  “In my jeans pocket,” came back his muffled reply.

  I felt inside his wet denims that I’d been carrying in my arms across the park, pulled out the key card, and let us both into his room.

  “Phew,” I said, dropping his damp clothes on the floor. “I didn’t think we’d make it.”

  “Do you think anyone noticed?” Sean asked, pulling off Goofy’s head.

  I laughed. “Of course they noticed—you’re just lucky no one stopped and asked you for a photo.”

  “I mean they didn’t know it was me?”

  “I doubt it. But you have to get this costume back to that guy first thing tomorrow or he’ll lose his job.”

  “But gain €300!”

  “You’re getting €100 of that back on safe return of his costume, that was the deal.”

  “Hmm, about that, couldn’t you have found something a bit cooler for me to disguise myself in than a seven-foot Goofy costume?”

  “Are you kidding?” I said, flopping on the bed. “It was Goofy or nothing. You’re just lucky he was still on site; all the other characters have gone home.”

  “Yeah I know. Thanks for helping me.”

  “It’s OK. It was worth it just to see you dressed like that.” I grinned. “Who would have thought it, Mr. Sean ‘I hate movies’ Bond dressed as Goofy! What would your dad say if he knew? After all the stick you gave him at the wedding for dressing as Chewbacca too!”

  Sean struggled with the suit. “Are you just going to lie there mocking me all night, or are you going to help unzip me from this thing?”

  I tilted my head to one side as if I was considering it. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” I said when Goofy’s paws rested on his hips. I stood up again and undid the hidden zip at the back of the costume. “There you go, free again.”

  Sean stepped out of Goofy’s body wearing just his underpants—I’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing anything else. Maurice—who had originally been wearing Goofy when we found him—had been wearing leggings and a T-shirt when he’d stepped out of the suit. I’d been keeping watch outside the men’s toilets while Maurice helped Sean zip himself back inside Goofy before we made our escape across the park.

  I looked away—but not before I noticed what an extremely fine body Sean had. I’d realized he wasn’t exactly overweight when I’d seen him wearing T-shirts and jeans. But in the flesh—boy, did he scrub up well. He wasn’t overly muscular, but he was toned, and there were reasonably-sized bulges in all the places there should be.

  “So what sort of view do you get from your window?” I hastily asked, going over to it and looking outside.

  “Er, probably one much like yours,” Sean said as he went into the bathroom. “I’ll just take a shower to warm me up a bit—that water was bloody freezing.”

  “It’s a good job you fell in near Australia, then,” I called, “and not the North Pole!”

  “Yes, yes, very funny!”

  I turned away from the window now that it was safe to look back in the room again and sat down on the bed. I thought about what had happened tonight. Sean had been lucky; the accident could have been much more serious. He should probably put something cold on his head, or he’d have a huge bump in the morning.

  I picked up the phone and called down to reception, asking if we could have either an ice pack or a bowl of ice. The receptionist said she’d see what she could do.

  “Calling us some room service?” Sean asked, emerging from the bathroom. This time he had only a white towel wrapped around his middle and his damp skin glistened with tiny droplets of water.

  I swallowed hard.

  Sean opened up his wardrobe and pulled out a white shirt and blue jeans.

  “Well?” he asked, turning to face me.

  “Oh…er, no…I was just asking if they had an ice pack we could use. You should put something cold on your head—where you banged it.”

  “Are you worried about me, then?” he asked, grinning.

  My stomach had long ago given up its gymnastic routine. It had now moved up a gear—to another Olympic sport—and was currently involved in a thrill-providing, super-fast bobsled race.

  “You did bang your head pretty hard.”

  Sean gently touched the back of his head. “Ouch.” He winced. “Yep, it’s still there.”

  “Let me take a look. You didn’t cut it open, did you? I haven’t seen any blood. But you never know.”

  I wished I’d waited until after he got dressed to ask him that, as Sean sat down beside me on the bed, still wearing only the towel.

  I stood up and very gently moved his damp hair about on the back of his head. A small moan escaped from Sean’s mouth.

  “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

  “No…no, not at all.” Sean tilted his head back to look up at me. He had that look in his eyes again—the same one he had on the first day we met and sat on the park bench in Notting Hill. The same one he had when he came to ask me to go to the opera with him and found me in my bathrobe. And the same one he had outside Bill’s house, just before he was going to tell me something.

  My hand still rested on the top of his head. But it was now stroking, rather than just moving Sean’s hair around.

  Sean took hold of my hand—he looked at it for a moment before he gently began to trace the lines along my palm with his finger.

  “Scarlett,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. “Oh, Scarlett,” he sighed. Then he looked up at me again, his eyes telling me everything his voice could not.

  There was a knock at the door and we both jumped. “That will be your ice!” I said in an overly bright voice, quickly pulling my hand away.

  I don’t think the night porter had ever seen anyone quite so pleased to hear him knocking at their door, as I grinned inanely at him like a bizarre mix of Jack Nicholson in Batman and the Cheshire Cat on speed.

  “Your ice pack, madam,” he said.

  “Thank you…” I looked at Sean; he was already up and producing a note from his wallet.

  “Much obliged, Joseph,” he said, handing the porter the money.

  “If there’s anything else, sir…madam, don’t hesitate to call, will you?” He glanced briefly at the bed, and I realized Goofy’s head was still lying there. Quickly I moved in front of it.

  “We will,” Sean said. “Thank you again, Joseph. Good night.”

  “Good evening, Sir.”

  Sean closed the door and turned to look at me. “I guess I’d better use this,” he said, holdin
g up the ice pack. “It’s suddenly got extremely hot in here—I could do with cooling off a bit.”

  You’re not the only one, Sean, I thought as I tried to steady my breathing again. Believe me, you’re not the only one.

  Eighteen

  By the time Sean had held the ice pack on his head for a while and had finally put on some clothes, it was 9 p.m. and time to meet up with the others again. There had been no mention of what had nearly happened on the bed earlier, and I was relieved.

  We split up into two parties and departed to our allotted venues to spend the rest of the night participating in activities deemed suitable only for persons of our own gender.

  I was happily sitting at a table alone downing the last of a bottle of champagne while the other girls were doing some sort of boat dance on the floor, when Maddie swayed over in my direction. She was wearing Minnie Mouse ears, a veil, and L-plates pinned to her front and back.

  “Why are you sitting on your own up here?” she asked, slurring her words slightly.

  “Because I’ve seen enough boats for one night.”

  Maddie furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? I didn’t go on any boats. Oh, the paddle steamer wasn’t running, was it? Did they start it up and I missed it?”

  “No, not the paddle steamer, don’t worry about it, Mad—it’s nothing.”

  Maddie draped her arm around me. “I can’t be having my chief bridesmaid sitting up here all alone moping, can I? Now tell me how you’re getting on house-sitting for Belinda—I’ve barely heard from you since you left for London.”

  I told Maddie as much as I thought her sozzled brain could take on board about what I’d been up to since I arrived in Notting Hill. I was deliberately selective in what I chose to tell her—mainly about the new friends I’d met, and how “coincidentally” and “maybe it was something to do with living in Notting Hill,” things that happened in movies just seemed to keep happening to me. I left out the part about my mother—that was too complicated to explain to someone who’d had as much to drink as Maddie had tonight. I was glad the wedding wasn’t until Saturday evening—at least she would have enough time to sleep off her hangover tomorrow.