She grins. ‘I’ve never known anyone as reluctant to have a social life as you are.’
I do have a social life, I think to myself.I just choose to socialise indoors, alone.
CHAPTER3
There’s already a queue forming when we arrive, but it’s mainly for Tom Cruise so we get decent seats in a relatively empty screen for the latest Olivia Colman film. I buy Victoria her beer and hotdog, choosing some nachos and a Diet Coke for myself, knowing that if I drink booze in a dimly lit room, I’ll be asleep in twenty minutes. Vic also buys some popcorn and a large bag of peanut M&Ms because the woman has the metabolism of an Olympic athlete. It’s been forever since we went to the cinema and as the trailers begin, I remember why. Victoria likes to talk as much as she likes to eat.
‘Hang on, wasn’t she in the—’
‘This trailer looks terrible, who commissions this garbage?’
‘Can I have a nacho?’
‘She looks like Pauline from my hair salon. Ooh, did I tell you that—’
‘SHHHHHH!’
We turn to see a man behind us, glaring and it seems to shut Vic up for the time being. I push the button on the lazy-boy chair and settle back.
By the end of the movie, a disgruntled man behind us has moved eight rows back and I’ve learned that Pauline from the salon once mistakenly bleached a woman’s fringe clean off and now Pauline no longer works there. I’ve never met this Pauline in my life.
‘Great film,’ Vic states as we head out. ‘I would pay to watch Olivia Colman read a Domino’s menu.’
‘Yeah, it was brilliant,’ I reply, ‘Though your cinema etiquette still needs some work, my friend. You made that man move seats.’
‘I whispered!’ she insists, with a grin that says otherwise. ‘Anyway, you know I get restless in cinemas. I only came for you.’
‘And Olivia Colman.’
‘Well, obviously. Listen, I’m going to nip to the toilet, be two secs.’
Once in the foyer, I see the disgruntled shushy man. He looks miserable and much balder than he looked in the dark. I’m sure he had more hair. Did we cause that?
Then I hear a voice behind me.
‘Hello, love. I was just saying to Mary, there’s Dora and here, I was right.’
Dora. There’s only one woman who’s gotten my name wrong at least three times a week for the past six years. I turn and she greets me with the huge smile I’m so used to seeing.
‘Jean! How lovely to see you!’
Jean is one of our café regulars and must be nearly eighty but she’s still a lively old bird. Her green wool coat is buttoned to the neck, but I know that underneath she’s wearing the same set of pearls she always wears. She’s extremely well spoken, well mannered and possibly a little bit lonely. I wave hello to her friend Mary, another regular who’s heading towards the same bathroom Victoria’s currently using. Mary is far less put together than Jean, preferring a sensible short haircut to Jean’s curls and a blue waterproof coat, which is slightly too long in the arms.
‘Are you coming or going, Jean?’ I ask. ‘We’re just heading home.’
‘We’re going to see the Tom Cruise one. My son, Wilbur, recommended it. He was at the premiere in London, you know.’
‘Oh, really? Was he working on the film?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she replies, fiddling with the strap on her handbag. ‘I’m not quite sure what he does these days.’
Jean loves to talk about her son and is very proud of him, despite lumbering him with the name Wilbur. From what I’ve garnered from various conversations in the café, Wilbur was a ‘late baby’, lives in England, is married and apparently goes to film premieres. Given Jean’s very demure and proper exterior, I imagine Wilbur to be the same, only taller.
‘Great, well, I hope you enjoy the film,’ I say, spying Victoria leaving the bathrooms. ‘You can tell me all about it when I see you next.’
‘Bye, love!’
She walks across to the bar area, greeting Victoria as their paths cross.
