‘Me too,’ my sister replies in earnest. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘Only good things I hope.’ Beatrice looks to me with an enquiring glare.
‘You should see her, Liz, she’s magnificent. I think I love her.’Lizzie embarrasses me with a very well-acted recreation of my blubbery confession a couple of weeks ago. As much as I want to be irritated at her, I am too hung up on the fact she remembers. And that she’s here, in the same room as Beatrice, who stands beside me choking on her own saliva at Lizzie’s revelation.
I have never felt more complete in this moment. It’s evident that today is one of Lizzie’s better days. On her worst ones she’s unrecognisable, but for this one day, whether it only lasts an hour, or a minute more, my sister has met the only woman I have ever loved and those words sitting together in that way alone is enough to make all of the years of hurt worth it.
When the night falls and the premiere commences, with my sister on one arm, and Beatrice on my other, we walkthe red carpet together. Beatrice’s grandfather stops us to wind up his disposable camera to snap several photos, each one with a delay of at least a minute between them.
‘Come on, I haven’t seen her for decades. Stop hogging my little Lizzie.’ Gran whisks her away until it is just Beatrice and I left alone in the flashes of the New York version of the paparazzi. Though we’re stood in front of half of the village, it’s the first time all day that I’ve felt like we’ve been properly alone.
‘This is the first one of these I’ve been to where I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown,’ I confess, savouring the warmth of her body as she presses against me. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified, but a good kind of scared – the kind that reminds you you’re alive.’
‘Bill usually has that kind of effect on people.’ She winks at me then flicks her head towards the man in question. His outfit is a sight to behold as he struts the carpet in his kilt, denim jacket, and feather boa I can only assume he’s loaned off of Elton John.
‘I love you,’ I profess with a shake of my head and press my lips to her head. After battling with the cog for God knows how long, the flash from Mr Norton’s camera blinds me from behind my closed eyes and I make a mental note to ask him for a copy of that photo to have it framed.
‘Welcome, good people of New York, to the very first world exclusive premiere of our film,Two Roads.’ Beatrice stands on the little karaoke stage to speak to the adoring crowd. Even unknown faces from neighbouring villages have made the journey and stand propped up against thewalls, happy to have found any space in the bustling bar. ‘As you know, this has been a project of pure passion for so many of us, but for me in particular, this has meant more than I could ever express. Home has never felt more like home. I have lived amongst the people of this village for so long, and yet it’s only now that I come to fully appreciate every last one of you. We may be a community, but every single one of us has a story to tell. We are made up of individuals who have lived lives worthy of a spotlight and yet everyone just carries on without skipping a beat.
‘I used to think that there were no secrets in New York, but how wrong I was. Barbara, you kept your tailoring skills well and truly under wraps. Tracy, I never knew that you lived some sort of double life as a bouncer.’ The landlady flexes her muscles to roaring applause. ‘Nan, I certainly never had you down as a woman who could teach herself to use Premiere Pro, but here we are. And Jimmy. Wow. I don’t know how to put my feelings into words; that’s probably why I’ve had to put it on film.’
The man in question stands up and takes a bow to a rapturous response. He’s been loving all the attention these last few weeks; he’s even started uploading signed photos onto eBay. I don’t think he’s sold any yet though.
‘But thank you, for letting us tell your story. I always thought we were just a boring village, filled with normal people, but how wrong I was. These so-called “normal people” are some of the most interesting people I have ever known and it is a privilege to call this boring village home. Thank you all for being here. I hope you enjoy our film.’
Half of the room raise their glasses, whilst the otherhalf sweep tears from their cheeks. I’m part of the latter group. Beatrice finds her seat beside me and I wrap my arm around her chair, needing her close. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ I whisper as Tracy flicks off the lights and Cerys presses play on the old TV. Beatrice smiles at me and kisses a stray tear on my cheek before settling happily against my embrace to watch.
On almost every level, it is terrible.
Beatrice’s nan seemingly found all of the animated transitions on the editing software so almost every shot fades to black, with some dissolving, and one even dances across the screen at a rather pivotal, supposedly emotional, moment. Though we all try our best to watch it with the seriousness of the judges of the Academy, after Bill waves at the camera for the third time, we all relax a little and watch it for exactly what it is. A hilariously unserious serious film that sums up this whole village so perfectly that even if every shot had been perfect, it wouldn’t have captured it half as closely as this. The pub is filled with laughter, tears, and even a gasp or two, and this is what family feels like.
When the short credits roll, the whole pub is on their feet in an electric standing ovation. Beatrice nudges me, her face glowing with a sort of happiness she hardly ever allows to break through her tough exterior. ‘You should go up and say something.’ And who am I to say no to her? I couldn’t if I tried.
As I make my way to that tiny karaoke stage, the whole room feels a thousand times bigger than it did before. This is my BAFTAs. This is a goal I never knew I had, and lookingdown at the woman I love from this height, flushed with pride, surrounded by clamouring and adoration, I feel like I have achieved a feeling I’ve never known before. When I take the stage, the excitement of the room climbs again until all I can do is stand there and accept their praise, and find myself holding back tears once again.
When the commotion finally dies down, I speak. ‘Thank you. All of you, thank you. These last few months where you accepted an arrogant city boy into your hearts and gave him a home have been the happiest of my life. Beatrice,’ I address her directly though she’s been the only person I’ve had my eyes on this whole time, ‘I know you will hate me for such a public spectacle, but I love you. You have changed me in so many ways and yet I’ve never felt more myself. You are everything I want to be, and I cannot picture a future without you in it. You’ve taught me so much, given me so much, and the privilege of getting to love you is worth more to me than any awards, any acclaim. You’ve given me a purpose. Thank you for finding me and for helping me find myself.’
She cries quietly in the crowd but every other face aside from hers is a blur. In a world that has passed by so quickly that it feels like a smudge on a camera lens, she is the only object in focus and that’s more than enough for me.
When I finally pull my gaze from her, there’s another face in the crowd that stands out as though lit by a spotlight. My father, in his full suit and bow tie, is tucked amongst the bodies of the village, smiling. I choke for a moment, unable to do anything but stare at him, dumbfounded. Noticing me noticing him, Dad waves. It’s a shy, nervoussort of wave, as though he’s the one with something to prove; he’s the one intimidated, not me for a change.
Clearing my throat, I try and continue my ad-libbed speech. ‘New York may not be a place of blinding lights and bustling streets, but by God is it better than I could have ever imagined. I confess, I was disappointed that I wasn’t sent to the concrete jungle at first, but the drama of this place rivals anything on Broadway. Herding sheep isn’t too dissimilar to trying to squeeze through Times Square, and there is more heart in this little hamlet than I have ever known.’ I wink at Barbara and she lets out a little ‘woop’ that makes the room burst into laughter. ‘There is one more person I have to thank though, and that’s my father, the famed Edward Cavendish.’ I point to my father and every head in the vicinity turns so quickly I’m surprised there are no injuries. ‘Thank you and welcome home.’
Jumping down from the stage, I cut through the crowd, who are in such shock that for once in their lives, they hardly even make a noise, to embrace my father. This moment, like this in his arms, I’m a child again. I’m safe, and the world is so wide that anything is possible.
‘Proud of you, son.’
Epilogue
Two Years Later
‘And next up to introduce their brand-new film to the sixty-sixth annual New York Film Festival: Beatrice and Arthur Norton.’ The announcement floods the Lincoln Center, New York, New York. The ‘proper’ New York.
The couple walk together across the stage, Arthur always making sure to let his wife go first. It’s his own little thing that he has done the whole way around the film festival circuit. He hasn’t told Beatrice why, but in his head it’s as though with her going first, she absorbs the majority of the applause.She deserves it most,he tells himself as he hangs back a little, taking in her smiles and waves as though he too is one of her adoring fans.
The loudest of their fans aren’t cheering them on in the United States, however. No, they’re three and a half thousand miles away, and five hours ahead in the BigApple, in the other New York, Lincolnshire. Though it isn’t called that any more.
To avoid any more confusion with their transatlantic cousins, and now they have something a little more exciting happening than an overgrown apple, the single pub, in the village of a single road, is renamed ‘The Farmer and Filmmaker’. After their pride and joy.
