53. AN AFTERNOON AT THE CINEMA

Ursula wrote the book and now there's a film of the book....

When the train pulled into its final station in the City there never was such a commotion. At least, that’s what Ursula thought. There were bustling crowds, all right, she was expecting them, but the air of expectation that was everywhere surprised her.

She led Primrose off the train and looked around to see whether Ian Brougham was anywhere in sight because he’d said he’d meet her there.

(“Look out for the sharp fellow in a new suit,” he'd said, “I’ll be there, but you’ll have to spot me in the crowds...”)

So she looked out for a sharp fellow in a new suit and she heard the triumphal crow of a brass ensemble blasting out an almost familiar melody. No, scratch that: it was a familiar melody. She had a tape at home, one that she’d played more times than made sense, and it was the same melody

“What’s that?” she asked Primrose, alarmed.

Primrose shook her head. “Someone must be having a birthday,” she suggested, “maybe a big birthday, maybe a hundred and whoever’s arranged the music wants to make sure the birthday boy or girl wants to know they’re being serenaded before they die! It could happen!”

“But that’s my tune,” shouted Ursula over the cacophony, “it’s the same melody that I was sent of the theme tune to the film! I’ve got the tape at home!”

“And isn’t that your Inspector?” asked Primrose, pointing towards where a trio of musicians was giving three brass intruments their all.

And it was.

“Talk about a sharp fellow in a new suit,” sighed Ursula, blushing, because not only was the fellow sharp, so was the suit. And behind him in a flash red and gold uniform a trio of brass musicians were pouring their hearts into shining instruments and creating quite a stir as other passengers stopped in little groups and stared and wondered what fine person was coming their way, to be ogled at, perhaps, and maybe even touched clandestinely.

“There’s my Graham too!” gasped Primrose, pointing a wavering finger at an equally sharp suited gentleman standing slightly to one side of Ian Brougham, “I thought he was at work,” she added, accusingly. “He went off as normal this morning after taking David to his mother’s.”

“So did I,” added Ursula, wanting to remove any suggestion that she might be complicit in the charade being enacted on the station platform.

Then her Detective Inspector, smiling like he did after the successful arrest of a dire villain, walked towards her, took her by one arm, and led her off. Graham did the same with Primrose, who looked up at him questioningly.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“We’re going to the pictures, darling,” grinned Graham.

“You don’t think I’d want you to play gooseberry,” said Ian to Primrose, and he winked at her in a fatherly sort of way.

So the four of them walked off, two by two, and the trio of instrumentalists followed, still blasting the tune of Ursula’s film at all and sundry. And all and sundry appreciated it, for there was a great cheering and clapping of hands when they stopped, and even a few coins were thrown in their direction.

Outside the station there was a limousine waiting, and the men ushered the women into it and it moved sedately off through the streets of the city.

“What’s going on?” demanded Ursula.

“It’s a premiere, and its prime mover is being treated with the respect she deserves,” said Ian.

“But all I did was write the book!” protested Ursula, “and Primrose typed it up for me,” she added.

“And that contribution is being recognised,” promised Ian. “Come on, darling, enjoy!”

“You called me darling!”

“So I did.”

“I’m old enough to be your mother!”

“Or granny,” he smiled, “just about.”

“So I’m not and never could be your darling!”

“I call my mother darling when I see her,” mused Ian, still smiling, “and I don’t fancy her like I fancy you!”

“You fancy me! I’m all saggy bits and wrinkles!”

“You like writing stories, don’t you? You must do because you wrote The Bedroom Bonanza, and it’s grown and grown until it’s a film that everyone wants to see.”

“Everyone? I doubt that very much.”

“Anyway, as I said, you like writing stories and to me you are a story. Not words on a page but lines on a face, and I find those lines both fascinating and beautiful, because they tell me everything I need to know about you.”

She was flummoxed. She had never been more flummoxed as she sat in the back of a limousine moving majestically through the streets of the city with a man who…

A man who...?

Who what?

She liked. Yes, he was a man that she liked. He was no Greendale because…

He was better than that!

And he was no Cardew because…

Yes, because he was better than that!

“I like you,” she said simply because, hell, the proper word might have been love but how on Earth could a seventyish year old woman turn to a man thirty years her junior and say she loved him? But when she looked at him, smiling ruggedly next to her in the back of that car, she had a feeling that she might, just might, have the sort of feelings for him that she told herself she was too old to have. What was age anyway, but a number growing ever closer to the grave as its pendulum made its annual swing.

“Mum, you’re quiet all of a sudden,” said Primrose.

“She’s sorting through the chaos of her mind,” Ian told her, “she’s trying to work out if there’s any way at all that she can shave thirty years off her life, and she’s coming to the conclusion that she doesn’t have to because, hell, she’s who she is because of all those years, so she’d better damned well keep them.”

“You’re too clever for your own good,” murmured Ursula.

And they were there, at the cinema where the film was to be premiered. It wasn’t one of the main theatres, not one of those that have vast supplies of red carpet to trundle out week after week. The film adapted from her book wasn’t big enough or expensive enough or even anticipated enough for one of those.

But there was a small crowd waiting to see the stars arrive. The cast, Bubbles Brastrap along with her co-star Justin Bodyline, were smiling and waving when they weren’t holding each other’s hands in a show of mutual adoration that was about as false as the make-up they wore. But their smiles were real. This was perhaps their last shot at the big time, the last expedition into the world of thespian pretence. And they wanted to give it every chance they could. Let the world see how much they needed each other. Smile, damn you, smile!

It was as if she was in a dream that Ursula waved at the small (really small) crowd that had gathered to see what they might see. And the dream continued as she was led into the cinema and offered a seat comfortably near the front.

And it was in that same dream that she sat down and prepared to watch The Bedroom Bonanza.

And it was as the film started with a blast of the tune that had greeted them at the station that the nightmare began.

“Goodness,” sighed Ursula to Primrose after ten minutes or so, “they’ve turned it into a porno film!”

Primrose looked at her mother and sighed. “And not a very good one at that,” she whispered.

© Peter Rogerson 01.09.18

Reviews

[barleygirl]

As usual, you come up with interesting storylines told with effective dialogue that reveals your characters well & sounds authentic. Usually your stories have great pacing, but I found this one to be a bit sluggish at the start on the platform before the ladies connect with the guys. The best part is toward the end, paragraph starting with: “She’s sorting through the chaos of her mind . . ." -- this is a great life lesson revealed thru your realistic renditions of uncertainty (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie