Last Reels - 3. The Gaumont

1979

Cat

‘Studying art? Where’s that ever going to get you in life?’ Cat’s mum obviously didn’t think much of her choices.

‘She could become an art teacher.’ Dad always stood up for her.

Cat didn’t like to mention that being a teacher was her idea of living hell. ‘Art’s the only thing I’m any good at,’ she mumbled.

‘Well, if you’re going to carry on living at home you’ll have to pay your way. College isn’t going to take up all your time, so you can get a job.’

She leafed through the pages of vacancies in the local paper. They were mostly full time, which was no good to her as it clashed with her course. There were supermarkets, of course; they were open late, so would have evening shifts available. But she envisioned herself trapped behind a till as the queues got longer and longer, being snapped at by irritable office workers on the way home from their own boring jobs. It didn’t appeal.

A lot of employers asked for prior experience. All she’d ever done, work wise, was a paper round when she was younger, and a Saturday job in a small, independent clothes shop during her ‘A’ level years. She’d enjoyed it, but it hadn’t paid much. Anyway, the shop had closed last Easter, driven out of business by a couple of bigger stores opening locally.

Then something caught her eye. ‘Part time staff required for evening and weekend shifts. Apply to the Manager, Gaumont Cinema.’ It sounded promising. Cinema had been her refuge during those difficult years at school. Sitting in the darkness was an escape from her life; from the taunts she suffered daily at school.

‘Caroline fancies girls.’

They’d follow her, sometimes trying to trip her up. Lezzie lesbian was the nickname they gave her. There was no physical violence; it wasn’t necessary.

The voices stayed in her head long after the bullies had gone home. She tried to conform, growing her hair out and wearing makeup, flirting with the boys like the others did. It never felt right. Thankfully, none of the boys found her attractive.

At college, she was afraid of the same happening again, particularly as some of her oppressors had followed her there too. She hid her feelings carefully.

Hands trembling slightly, she dialled the number. The ringing went on and on. There’s no one there, she thought, or they’re too busy to answer. All the vacancies are filled by now (the paper was three days old, after all).

‘Gaumont Cinema,’ said a female voice, ‘Can I help you?’

She was taken by surprise. Must stop daydreaming. ‘Er, yes. Can I speak to the manager? Please,’ she added.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Um, the job? I saw the advert in the paper for part time staff.’

‘Oh, that. Hang on, I’ll put you through.’

She could hear muffled speech, as if a hand had been put over the receiver, then a man spoke. ‘You’re interested in the job?’

‘Er, yes.’ She expected to be asked all sorts of questions and took a deep breath.

‘Excellent. Could you come down for an interview?’

‘Of course. When?’

‘Later today?’

‘Yes, that would be fine.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Cat Taylor.’

‘Cat?’

‘Well, it’s Caroline really, but everyone calls me Cat.’ Slight lie there. It was the name she’d chosen for herself.

‘Can you make it for six-fifteen, Cat?

‘Yes, sure.’

‘See you later. Just ask at the paybox for Mr Watkins.’

Less than a week later she got off the bus next to the Gaumont. It was her first evening at work. The cinema towered above her, each grey windowsill stained with bird droppings. She walked slowly round to the front, feeling nervous. What would her co-workers be like? Would she like them? Would they like her? Would they sense her deep, dark secret?

The interview had been much more casual than she’d expected. The manager had reminisced wistfully about the ‘good old days’ of the nineteen-sixties when Summer Holiday was full for every show and there had been queues around the block. All she’d done, it seemed, was to nod in the right places and mention a few recent films she had enjoyed. After about twenty minutes of this, Mr Watkins had asked her, ‘So, when would you be able to start?’ Landing a job so easily felt weird. Deep down inside, she wondered if maybe she’d got it because she was the only one to apply who had, as her dad put it ‘more than half a brain’.

Low-angled sunlight reflected off the glass panes of the front doors. Nothing of the interior was visible until she pushed the door open. The foyer was cool and empty. The scrape of her shoes on the hard flooring broke the silence. A woman was sitting inside the island kiosk. She looked to be in her forties or fifties, Cat thought. Her hair was bleached blonde and an imposing bust strained against her striped blouse and tightly buttoned purple uniform jacket. She looked up from the magazine she had been reading as if annoyed by the intrusion.

Eye contact, thought Cat. Look her straight in the eye.

‘Um...’ don’t hum and hah. Get on with it. She’s not going to eat you. She only works here, and so do you. ‘My name’s Cat Taylor. I’m supposed to start work here tonight.’

‘Oh, right. Another new one. Just go in the office.’ She pointed at a recessed door. ‘Miss Baines will sort you out.’ Her eyes flicked back down to the page.

Cat knocked and went inside. Miss Baines was younger than she had imagined, with her feet up on the desk, phone in one hand and a smouldering cigarette in the other. Her white blouse was unbuttoned a long way, showing off gold jewellery and an intriguing cleavage. Cat forced herself to look away and surveyed the office as Miss Baines continued her phone call.

Directly behind the desk was a poster of the Rank Gongman. Another wall held shelves filled with box files, below which were two safes; a large one with flaking green paint and a smaller one in a faded maroon shade. A battered electric kettle stood on a tray on top of the smaller safe, together with several mugs, an almost empty jar of instant coffee and a stained brown spoon.

‘I don’t care if he does top himself. I want him out of that room when I get back, or there’ll be trouble.’ With her free hand Miss Baines jabbed at the air until the ash from her smouldering cigarette threatened to fall. She flicked it quickly into the large chrome ash tray. ‘He knew what the rent was, and if he can’t be bothered to pay on time we’ll find someone else.’

Cat stood, feeling slightly awkward. Miss Baines ignored her and went on with the conversation, if it could be called that, as the person on the other end didn’t seem to be able to get a word in edgeways.

After an interminable few minutes of threat and bluster, Miss Baines slammed the phone down. ‘Useless, useless,’ she muttered. ‘Never share a house with blokes.’ She ground the cigarette to death and stood up. ‘So you’re one of the new starters?’

‘Er, yes. Cat Taylor.’

‘Just sign in here, Cat.’ She took down a large brown book off one of the shelves. ‘We don’t have enough uniforms for all the part timers, so you’ll have to make do with an overall for now.’

While Cat signed, she left the room and returned shortly with a pink and purple striped object draped over one arm. ‘Not the most fetching garment, as you can see, but at least it stops your clothes getting dirty. If you stay, then we’ll get you something more permanent.’

Why wouldn’t she stay, she wanted to ask. Was it that bad, working in the cinema?

Miss Baines seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Lots of people think working here means they do nothing but watch films all the time. Then they find they don’t like having to be at work when their friends are out enjoying themselves. Or they can’t take the boredom. Cinema’s like that, you see. All or nothing. Twenty people through the doors all day, or hundreds queuing up and every show packed. It just depends what’s on each week.’

‘So this is a quiet week?’ Cat ventured.

‘Dead as a dodo. We haven’t been busy since Moonraker finished. Anyway, come on. Let’s find Geoff. He’ll show you what you have to do. Put your overall on first.’

Cat was glad she didn’t have a mirror handy to see what she looked like. The overall felt shapeless and unflattering and was made of a cheap, synthetic material. There was a short zip at the back that was awkward to reach, and a pouch pocket on the right hand side. She wondered if some people left through the embarrassment of having to wear such a thing.

She followed Miss Baines through the foyer. It was still empty, the cashier engrossed in her magazine just as before.

‘How many do you think we’ll have in this evening, Elsie?’ Miss Baines called across.

Elsie barely raised her eyes. ‘I reckon forty-eight tonight.’

‘I’ll say sixty-two. Usual rules?’

Elsie nodded. ‘You’ll be buying me a drink later, then.’

She led the way up the steps behind the kiosk, stopping outside the heavy doors leading to the Stalls. ‘Wait here. Geoff’s probably inside.’ She pushed open the door. Cat heard an amplified scream and dramatic music from the film’s soundtrack, muted as the door swung shut behind her. After a few seconds, she re-emerged with a middle-aged man. He looked a bit like her Uncle Joe; balding, rotund and cheery.

‘This is Cat. Show her the ropes.’ Miss Baines returned to the office, high-heels echoing across the foyer.

‘Have you got a torch?’ he asked.

‘Er, no. Should I have?’

‘You’re supposed to be issued with one, but they’re probably all broken. Or those thieving buggers went off with them.’

‘Who?’

‘The ones who got sacked. Couple of weeks back. They were all on the fiddle together. That’s why the jobs came up. Anyway, you can borrow mine for tonight. I’ll tear the tickets, you can seat. Remember, don’t shine it in their eyes or on the screen. Always point it at the floor.’

‘Okay.’ She took the torch. It was too big to fit in the tiny pocket of her overall.

‘This show’s ending soon. Come on.’ As he held open the door for her, he put a finger to his lips. ‘Mustn’t talk once we’re inside,’ he whispered.

As she walked in, the darkness enveloped her. They were in a curved walkway at the rear of the stalls. It smelled of old wood, dust and the years of cigarette smoke absorbed by the fabric of the building. Geoff leaned against the rail and they watched the last five minutes of Phantasm. The posters warned, ‘If this one doesn’t scare you, you’re already dead.’ It wasn’t the sort of film she would normally watch, but this was work, not pleasure. And already it had proved far more interesting than any of the alternatives she had considered.

As the credits began to roll, Geoff propped open the doors. They stood to either side and said goodbye to the few audience members. An elderly couple came out.

‘How was that?’ Geoff asked them.

‘Not my sort of thing, really,’ said the wife. ‘Too much blood and gore. Give me a good Dracula film any day.’

Her husband agreed. ‘Didn’t really get the plot to be honest. These young American actors mumble so much, it’s hard to hear what they’re saying.’

Geoff nodded agreement. ‘Oh well. See you next week?’

‘I expect so, if we’re spared.’ The old lady sighed. ‘Such a pity you don’t do meals nowadays. It used to be such a lovely restaurant upstairs.’

They made their way through the foyer, stopping to chat with Elsie on their way past.

‘Regulars,’ Geoff said. ‘Here every Monday, whatever the film. Nice couple, too.’

‘I didn’t know there was a restaurant.’

‘I’ll show you some time. Bit of a mess these days, though. It’s been closed for years and the roof leaks. Anyway, we’d best check inside before the next lot come in. Just flip up any seats that are still down.’

Smoking was allowed on the left hand side of the auditorium and Geoff warned her to watch out for smouldering cigarette ends, especially last thing at night. ‘Or else we might not have a cinema to come to tomorrow.’ As they worked, he told her a bit more about the job. ‘One of us has to stay in here all through the show, just in case something happens.’

‘Like what?’

‘People disturbing other patrons. Kids trying to bunk in. Fires, floods and the like. And if Clive’s on duty up there,’ he raised his eyes heavenwards, ‘Then we need to keep an eye on the film as well.’

‘Clive’s the projectionist?’

‘The chief, God help us. Trouble is, he’s a bit of a ladies man, if you get my drift. And he’s having a fling with Laura, one of the cashiers. Every time she’s on a break, she goes upstairs and well, let’s just say he doesn’t pay much attention to what’s on screen. So if the sound goes, or he forgets to change the reel, someone needs to tell him.’

Cat frowned. She didn’t like the idea of bursting in on a couple in the throes of passion. It would be extremely embarrassing for all parties.

‘No, you don’t have to go up there,’ he chuckled. ‘He locks the door, anyway. There’s a house phone at the back of the auditorium. You dial number three, he answers, you tell him what’s up. Easy.’

When they went back out to the foyer, two couples had come in and were choosing sweets. It was beginning to get dark outside, so Geoff showed her where to turn on the canopy lights and the neon sign. Due to a fault, some of the letters didn’t light up, so it read GA M NT.

‘They’ll get it fixed one of these days, when there’s money to spare. Head office are always telling the management not to spend anything they don’t have to.’

By the time the film started, there were just forty-seven people inside an auditorium with a capacity of eight hundred and thirty. Cat watched Geoff thread the torn halves of tickets onto a long curved needle, then hang the string up on a peg in the office. There were pegs labelled with each day of the week, and the halves had to be kept so the auditors could check the number of tickets torn against those sold.

‘Which is how they caught the fiddlers,’ Geoff told her. ‘People think they’re clever, but they always get caught in the end.’

Geoff opted to sit inside and watch the last show. Cat stationed herself in the kiosk, found an old magazine and finished most of the crossword. She wondered if anyone would mind if she brought in one of her college projects to work on tomorrow evening.

The hands on the foyer clock hardly seemed to move, as if time had another dimension here. At ten past ten, Miss Baines emerged from the office and Cat helped her to recount some of the sweets. At half past, Geoff came out from the auditorium, wedged open the doors and stationed himself at the top of the stairs as people began to leave. He beckoned her to join him and together they bid goodnight to the last few patrons.

‘Now we check round to make sure no one’s asleep, or locked in one of the loos.’

Already the auditorium felt strangely silent; rows of empty seats stared blindly toward the red curtains that hid the screen. As Cat made her way down the side aisle, she felt as if she was being watched. The door to the ladies creaked ominously as she pushed it open. ‘Anyone here,’ she called, half afraid of an answer from something invisible. Thankfully, there was none and she re-joined Geoff in the foyer.

‘Almost done,’ he said. ‘We just have to lock up the exits.’ He handed her two long chains with padlocks. ‘I’ll do the left side, you do the right. Take your torch, though. He’ll put the lights off soon.’

The houselights dimmed as she was half way down. With no reflected light from the screen such as you had when a film was showing, the auditorium was very dark. The spookiness level increased a notch. On her way back to the foyer, she had to try very hard not to break into a run, convinced that something was stalking just a couple of paces behind, about to pounce.

‘It’s always worse when there’s been a horror film on,’ Geoff said. ‘Your imagination gets the better of you. Oh well, see you tomorrow.’

They went their separate ways. By the time Cat arrived home, everyone was in bed. She made a mug of tea and reflected on her first day. Now she knew that her odd interview wasn’t the only thing different about working in a cinema. How many other jobs let people read magazines, make personal phone calls and conduct passionate affairs while on duty?