indicating the restive queue. ‘Or perhaps step aside while you’re deciding.’
‘No. Not happening. There’s no way I’m queuing all over again.’ Jade turned to the girl. ‘What tickets are left for anything that’s not totally shite?’
‘Well there are two screens showing An Unsuitable Man, which is pretty popular.’
‘Done.’ Jade gave Alan an unapologetic smile. ‘Sorry Al, it’s a chick flick.’
‘That’s fine, I think I’ll cope,’ replied Alan, amusement glinting in his eyes.
Carrie shot him a grateful smile and got her purse out. ‘Four tickets for that, then.’
‘Does anyone know what it’s about?’ asked Angela.
‘Not a clue, but it’s got Mr Delicious Arse in it, so if all else fails we’ve got man candy. Sorry, again Al.’
All was right again in Jade’s world.
‘Isn’t that a tad sexist?’ teased Carrie, on safer ground now.
‘Sue me.’ Jade grinned. ‘But I bet you agree. Sorry Al, again, but the man with the oh-so-yum butt is serious sex on legs.’
‘Jade!’ said Angela with a half-hearted exclamation of consternation, before adding, ‘But we still don’t know what it’s about.’
‘I’m guessing,’ said Carrie, paying for the tickets and tucking away her purse, ‘there’s a clue in the title, which probably contravenes the trade descriptions act. Cute unsuitable man reforms to become cute suitable man.’
‘And there speaks the scriptwriter,’ said Alan, wrapping his arm around her as they walked towards screen seven.
‘Then it sounds like a very good alternative,’ said Angela. ‘Although perhaps a bit unfair on the sole male in the party.’
‘Well Al would prefer that to a shoot ‘em, beat ‘em and kill ‘em, fast and furious thing, wouldn’t you? You’re used to all that Pride and Prejudice, Far From the Madding Crowd stuff.’ Jade shuddered. ‘I’m so glad, once this year is finished, I never ever ever, have to do English Literature again.’
‘So too, I suspect, is your teacher,’ said Al with a wink. ‘And no, I’m quite happy to watch something undemanding. I’m sure there’ll be some lady candy for me.’ His hand resting on Carrie’s shoulder squeezed her.
Thank goodness he was used to teenagers. Carrie lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing him back. Being a teacher at the same school as where she taught drama part-time meant Jade’s behaviour, thankfully, didn’t faze him or put him off.
They shuffled into their seats and sat down in the semi-darkness. The ads had already started but the audience, blasé and indifferent to the stylish mini-films, paid no attention. Jade’s phone glowed as she scrolled through pages on the internet, reminding Carrie to switch hers off. Next to her, Alan did the same.
‘Richard Maddox,’ announced Jade, showing her phone to her mother.
Carrie heard Angela’s quick, sharp gasp.
Her stomach flipped. In the dark she saw the light from the phone reflected in Angela’s wide-eyed expression.
Angela grabbed her arm on the rest between them.
‘He’s Mr Delicious Arse,’ explained Jade, leaning over her mother to show Carrie a picture of Richard Maddox’s naked backside.
All the air whooshed out of Carrie’s lungs and someone had removed the bones in her legs. Thank goodness for Angela’s grip on her arm, otherwise she might have slipped out of her seat like a slick of jelly, sliding right out under the seat in front of her all the way to the bottom.
‘It’s a YouTube vid. Him buck-naked on a beach in California. All you can see is his butt.’
An image of a tiny heart-shaped mole wormed like a determined maggot into Carrie’s head, and no matter how hard she blinked, she couldn’t dispel it.
‘Not the meat and two veg, thank you. That would just be vile. Don’t look, Al.’ Jade waved the phone at him.
‘Thanks, Jade, I won’t.’
A sudden burst of music, ebbing from left to right of the cinema in a cacophonous wave, silenced the chatter and Jade snapped her phone off.
Angela’s hand crept into hers with a limp grip. Carrie clung on to it, her heart leaping about in her chest like a bucking bronco on acid. Her stupid brain insisted on replaying an image of a finger tracing that blinking mole, the tip of her index fingernail a perfect fit for each side of the heart, which nestled on the top left side of a right buttock. She squirmed slightly in her seat and stiffened when she realised what she was doing.
‘You okay?’ whispered Angela.
In the darkness Carrie shook her head, unable to speak. A sense of dread and anticipation rolled around in her stomach. She sat straighter. It seemed a miracle she could keep her body still when inside it felt like someone had switched on a blender.
It was bound to happen one day. A miracle that she’d managed this long. Richard Maddox starred in one block-buster after another.
Sickness and curiosity warred. It had been a long time. She’d been good. Not stalking him. Not Googling. Managing to avert her gaze from the front of Hello magazine at the checkout in Marks and Spencer, training herself not to flinch when someone in the staff room talked about his latest movie or when his name was linked with yet another blonde bombshell of dubious intelligence. Okay, that was her being a bitch. They might be very intelligent, but couldn’t they give everyone else a break and not be completely gorgeous as well?
Maybe she’d built it all up in her head and seeing him on screen wouldn’t affect her at all. She hadn’t seen him for years. Eight years, ten months, give or take a day or two. And she only knew that because it was July 1st and he’d left on the August bank holiday. No other reason.
Why the hell hadn’t she done this before? Put her demon to rest? Except he wasn’t a demon. Or even a bad person. Just someone from her past. She should have done this ages ago.
She squeezed Angela’s hand back to show she was fine. Absolutely fine.
Carrie approved of the sassy character of the female lead, a willowy blonde, who kept the hero on his toes. The well-written screenplay had lots going for it. Entertaining. Good snappy dialogue. Gorgeous location. New York without the traffic, the noise or the humidity. She liked the conflicts that kept him and the heroine apart, and the will-they-ever-get-together moment, where he cast a wistful backward look at her sitting alone on the Highline. Carrie was doing really, really well. Focusing on the film. The mechanics of it. Stoic and impassive. She was doing well, right up to the point when on the Staten Island Ferry, Richard Maddox’s character removed the suitcase from the heroine’s hand, turned her to him, cupped her face in his hands, pushing her long windswept curls out of the way, and leaned in. The camera homed in on the wistful, longing expression on his face, his lips centre-screen as he uttered the words, ‘I love you,’ before leaning in to bestow a kiss of heart-rending intensity.
He
