The film is starting, according to an announcement, and we get up. Me, bringing my wet cardigan with me.
‘We can spread it out somewhere and it will dry,’ he says. ‘Here, give it to me.’
And he takes my cardigan and offers me his arm as we go towards the cinema.
‘Is it this place?’ I ask. ‘Or have we slipped back in time to the nineteen twenties?’
Finn looks down at me.
‘I think it’s you,’ he says and I feel that quiver inside.
He has got us an amazing seat to the back. Not the single luxurious seats further up, but curved, soft bench seats. The sort of ones all cinemas once came with, where courting couples could sit together, wrap their arms around each other and basically do things that did not involve looking at the screen. But I don’t mind, I don’t mind at all.
‘It’s a great place for a date, isn’t it?’ I say.
For a second his face is conflicted and he says, ‘Sid, I didn’t want to trick you but I thought you’d like this place and these seats were all they had. There was a cancellation.’ He looks forlorn. ‘We don’t have to do this, we can go, we can find some pub where there’s mad, loud music and people are getting happy and where we’ll have to shout all evening to be heard above the noise. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this, it just fell into place and –’
I thought of Adrienne, ‘life is full of risk’.
I haven’t risked anything for fifteen bloody years.
‘It’s perfect,’ I say. And I reach out and I take his hand. ‘Let’s go.’
And then we’re sitting in this beautiful cosy seat. The space means we naturally sit quite close to each other and Finn turns and says to me gravely, gesturing with those large hands.
‘I honestly didn’t mean to do this to you, this wasn’t my plan.’
‘So you don’t want a date?’ I say. Whatever happens, I can take it. Just because I’ve built myself up into a state of excitement doesn’t mean I’m going to crumble if he just wants to be friends.
‘I’d love this to be a date,’ he says slowly. ‘I just didn’t mean to bulldoze you.’
For the first time in forever, I reach up and touch his face and say ‘No, this is lovely, perfectly lovely.’
He smiles and I allow myself to breathe out.
‘Where is Sid and what have you done with her?’
‘Still here,’ I say lightly. ‘Settle up there. Don’t get any ideas but I want to lean back against you so I can stop shivering. Let’s watch the film.’
I hear him sigh with contentment as I lean back against his big body and feel his warmth. I am not afraid. If this feeling of happiness is a risk, then it has to be risked. Just for this.
The film is wonderful, I’d forgotten how wonderful. I can remember watching it when I was a kid on our old, tiny, hopelessblack-and-white television as Mum had never gone in for proper colour TVs or anything along those lines. But on some Saturday afternoons when Vilma was little and Mum would go back to bed for a rest, Stefan would take Vilma off to the park to wear her out, and I’d lie down on the squashy old couch in the big room and watch old movies, let myself fall into that romantic world where love conquered all. I thought that was the way life was supposed to be. I don’t know how my father had left my mother when I was only little. But there had always been so much love to go around and I don’t think I ever missed him. Stefan loved us all, we were his family, he would protect us, and I saw the way he and Mum were. I could believe in true love back then.
‘They don’t make them like that anymore,’ says Finn, when it’s over, as he unfolds his length and stands up in the cinema and stretches.
‘No,’ I say, ‘they don’t. That was wonderful, thank you. Can I go Dutch with you on the tickets?’
He looks at me assessingly.
‘Well, it wasn’t supposed to be a date, and it cost more than it should have cost for anon-datefriend-zone thing, so just let me deal with this one.’
‘I’ll do the next one,’ I say.
He beams. ‘Perfect.’
Outside, the rain has stopped but Finn insists I wear his jacket as mine is still wet through.
‘You’ll freeze,’ he says.
