Love, Unscripted
Page 27
We looked on as the drunken couple reached the end of the path. They stopped, kissed, and then turned their backs on each other to vomit in perfect synchronicity. Afterward they walked off in completely different directions.
“So.” Ellie turned to me. “You sure you don’t want to leave it at one special night?”
I pretended to contemplate the question with an elongated “err” that fully justified her punching me in the arm. I’d need to get used to those punches, I thought. Or stop making bad jokes.
“Someone told me they’re showing Cinema Paradiso at the Prince Charles on Sunday,” I said with a wink.
“Oh really?” she replied, seeing my wink and raising me an eyebrow. “And who was this someone?”
“I don’t think you know her. I mean, she’s pretty special. Funny, gorgeous, talented. The kind of person you don’t meet very often. But when you do, you make every moment count.”
I paused.
“On second thought, I’m not really sure I have much to offer her.”
She blinked twice.
“You should have a little more faith in yourself.”
My best day with Ellie involved a house party hosted by a libertarian, a shoe filled with vomit, an angry ex-lover outside a Chicken Cottage, a joke I can’t remember, a view I’ll never forget, and the unapologetic wonder of potential.
If the first letter I drafted to Ellie was an email, it would have been sent and I wouldn’t be here. I wonder how many bad decisions have been made that could have been avoided if not for instant communication. When I got to the counter at the post office, I knew it was time. Time to—in the words of Ewan McGregor in the worst of all the Star Wars films—rethink my life.
I’ve come to a decision on the two big questions I have to answer. With the first, as much as I would love to turn back time, I can’t. It was a huge part of my life, but it’s over now. In the past, where it belongs. And so I delivered a “no” to the good people of the Edinburgh film festival, declining their invitation to be a projectionist again.
I’m all about forward steps now. I have more patience for them now. I have more patience for a lot of things. I’ve finally branched out. Even though I’d only been in the job with Jim and Paula for a couple of months, they were happy to write me a fantastic reference and put me in touch with some of their friends in faraway places. Sometimes it pays to do things that don’t appear perfect, to get to where you need to go. Ellie taught me that.
She taught me a lot.
She also taught me that love is changeable. It’s exciting and it’s boring. It’s head over heels and it’s dependable. It’s happy and it’s sad. Sometimes it’s like the movies. And mostly it’s not. And I deserve every type of it as much as the next guy.
I’m not supposed to be half of a whole.
One and one makes two.
The key is to pay attention.
Pay attention to your family. To the people you work with. Pay attention to the one who shares your sofa. The one who shares your bed. Pay attention.
Pay attention to the safety instructions. They might just save your life.
* * *
—
I’M STRUGGLING TO decide between watching The Bourne Legacy, which had iffy reviews, or rewatching In Bruges.
In Bruges was one of the first films Ellie and I watched together. I know it shouldn’t have, but it mattered to me that we both liked it. I really adored the ending. It was one of the few films where the credits ran at the perfect moment. No more. No less.
I might just watch some TV shows instead, or listen to music. I’m really loving the Kishi Bashi album Ellie told me about. The second track, “Manchester,” is sublime, with just the kind of self-obsessed lyrics I can’t get enough of. It even includes lines about wanting to be in a movie.
The third track, “Bright Whites,” is probably the most infectious piece of pop I’ve heard in a decade. It makes me happy and reminds me that I like being happy. And thanks to my friends and family and the people around me, I know that I can be.
I suppose I could watch another film, but it feels wrong to me to watch something meant for the big screen on a monitor mounted to the back of someone else’s chair. But then it also feels wrong to be hurtling through the sky in a metal tube at 39,000 feet.
This decision, though, this decision feels right.
TO NINA—MY REAL LOVE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the following people, and you’d just be staring at your hands.
First and most importantly, the biggest thank-you goes to my partner, Nina. There are a million quotes I could steal to sum up what you mean to me (most of them said by Billy Crystal). Instead, I’ll just say, you made this possible and you make every day better. Here’s to the next ten years.
To Oscar and Isaac. I was only pretending to be a writer before you came along. You give me a reason to write every day.
To Hayley Steed, my Wonder Agent. Have I ever said “Thank you”? Well, here’s another three. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My advice to any aspiring authors is, get yourself an agent who looks at your words like Hayley looks at mine. And to the amazing team at the Madeleine Milburn Agency. I don’t know how you do it, but you really do.
To my brilliant editor, Jess Whitlum-Cooper, who has so far been right about everything. Long may that continue. And to all at Headline who made this experience an absolute delight.
To my mum and dad, Julie and Keith. And to my brother and sister, Gareth and Hannah. I am who I am because of you. This could be taken as a wonderful way to blame you for my shortcomings, but is meant as a thank-you for all you’ve done and continue to do.
To my first, best reader, Jake Marcet. You not only let me steal your surname but called me a “Wonderful Shitass” when you read the first draft. That was all the affirmation I needed to keep going.
To my next-in-line readers Suzanne Sharman, Lewis Swift, Rob Perry, and Sarah Courtauld. For helping me when I wasn’t sure if Jake’s praise was solely due to him seeing his own surname in print.
As George Bailey must remember, “No man is a failure who has friends.” I’m lucky to have the ones I have. Get yourself all the choc ices.
To all at the National Center for Writing, starting with whoever picked the first few chapters of this book out of their submissions pile and passed it on for the Escalator Scheme. A big thank you to my Escalator mentor Benjamin Johncock, for your time and words of advice. To Laura Stimson, for organizing every aspect of the scheme and to Cathy Rentzenbrink, for a single breakfast that made me feel like a writer. And of course, a big shout-out to my fellow Escalatees. Thankfully you’re now my friends and not just these amazing writers that make me feel slightly intimidated by their ridiculously great work.
Like many dreaming of publication, I had to pay the bills with an office job and was lucky to spend the past few years with the great Studio Team of Discovery House. Inside the Studio Team was the ever-supportive Copy Team of Rich Skelton, Rob Perry, and Becky Done. A special thanks to my lunchtime writing buddy and first editor, Hannah Harper. Balloon room forever. Or, until just after one thirty.
Finally, I’d like to thank all the UCI/Odeon alumni who, in big or little ways, influenced this book, especially the booth team of Mark, Joe, Lewis, Rob, Tony, Jodie, Andy, Matt, Jon, The Johns, Clara, Roger, and Chris. My last thank-you is to Amanda, who in many ways started all this by giving me a job all those years ago. I hope I love my new job as much as I loved working with you all, when I was a little squirt.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OWEN NICHOLLS is a screenwriter with a master’s degree in script writing. He lives in Norwich, England, with his partner and their two sons.
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