Last Reels - 7. Rewind

1986

Cat

Five years had passed since the Gaumont closed. Cat reflected how strange it was that she could recall events from that year more vividly than things that happened just a few months ago. Her life had become a dull routine; there was no doubt about that.

Back then, she had been naïve enough to believe that if you had genuine talent, opportunities would open up before you. Now she knew it didn’t work that way. People who had left college with far worse grades had become successful through being better at self-promotion and having the knack of being in the right place at the right time. It rankled sometimes. There they were landing interesting jobs, standing around smugly at exhibitions in expensive little galleries drinking the obligatory champagne. She suspected the only reason she ever received an invitation to these events was just so that they could show off their success to someone who had started from the same point but who had been left behind on the upward trek.

When she’d got the job with Danbrook Designs, she’d thought it would be interesting and creative, but in reality it had ended up boring and repetitive. It paid the bills though and had enabled her to find somewhere to live away from the increasingly bitter quarrels between her mother and father.

Lately though, there had been rumours flying around at work. A merger was about to happen, although any details were being kept quiet. Naturally, this meant that everyone came up with their own outlandish theories. Cat listened without adding anything to fuel the fire. She had always been a believer that if you just got on with your work, you would be all right.

When the whole department was summoned to a meeting on a Wednesday morning and it was announced that the merger was officially under way, she didn’t worry too much. But then they received letters from Personnel Department informing them that their offices would be relocating to a new green field development in the New Year. She looked the place up on a map and realised it would mean a seventy mile round trip every day. Given the price of petrol and the unreliability of her old Austin Allegro, it wasn’t an option. She toyed with the idea of moving, but she liked her flat and she’d lived in Fairham all of her life. Why move away from your familiar haunts and the people you’d grown up with to keep working in a job that was boring at best? The offer of a decent redundancy package for those who decided not to relocate made her mind up.

The beginning of nineteen eighty-six saw her unemployed, but with money in the bank and an optimistic outlook. It was a chance to change her life. She spent her days revisiting old projects she’d put aside and starting new ones. Each week, she checked the situations vacant section of the local paper, but nothing really caught her eye. To be honest, she didn’t really know what she wanted to do, just that she didn’t want to end up in another office. However, as time went by and her bank balance dwindled, she started to think about applying for jobs that would simply pay the bills for the time being; bar work, waitressing and the like.

She went out for lunch with Amanda. They’d met in college and somehow become friends despite having very different outlooks on life. It had been Amanda who approached her, of course, interested in a stained glass project she’d been working on. Initially, Cat had wondered if Amanda was like her, but it soon became clear her ambition was to marry a rich man. It was part of her life plan.

‘If you’re going for jobs like that you’ll need to re-write your CV,’ she said, once Cat revealed her intentions. ‘You’re over qualified. They’ll take one look and know you’re not in it for the long term.’

‘Oh come on. No one does those jobs for the long term. And I don’t believe in lying.’

‘It’s not lying. Just editing. Everyone does it. You have to play the game. Or marry well.’ She smiled smugly, having recently ticked that box. Expensive diamonds twinkled in her ears. The engagement ring had apparently cost as much as Cat earned in six months, back when she still had a job.

‘How is Robert?’ Amanda’s new husband did something in the City. Cat had asked him once what it involved and regretted the question for the next forty minutes.

‘Poor darling works far too hard. He’s on the train at seven every morning and not home until eight or nine at night. But he should be getting a good bonus this year.’

If he doesn’t drop dead first, she thought. ‘That’s nice,’ she said.

‘We’re going to book a holiday in Thailand. Five star resort, the works.’

‘Thailand? James is there at the moment. Or he was three weeks ago when I got his last postcard.’

Amanda looked blank. ‘James?’

‘He was at college same time as us. We went out together for a few months. Remember?’

‘Oh, that James.’

That James, yes. He’d been her final attempt to try and have the kind of relationship other people found normal and satisfying. He’d been friendly and easy to talk to. Sex had happened after someone’s boozy birthday party and although it hadn't been very good, it was what other people did. Normal people. Plus, a lot of girls she knew had said they didn't enjoy it very much either, so maybe she wasn't so different?

After a few months, they’d moved in together. That had been when she finally realised she wasn't cut out for the ordinary life. It had been hard to explain to him. He'd assumed they'd get engaged, then married, like his parents had done. Cat had made excuses, saying he wasn't to blame, it was just that she needed her own space. Oddly, he still kept in touch. Every few months she'd get a postcard from somewhere far flung, with a few scrawled lines. ‘Well, anyway, he’s been off travelling for quite a while now. Works in bars, does portraits of the tourists, you know the kind of thing.’

‘He’ll come back with some dreadful tropical disease.’

‘Don’t be so negative. I might do the same with my redundancy.’ What was left of it, anyway. Maybe that was the reason she’d not found work easily; fate pushing her to get off her ass and do something daring for once in her life. She imagined lying on a sun drenched beach, holding hands with a young woman who wouldn’t quite come into focus.

‘Oh Cat, you can’t. It’s not safe. You could get raped, or murdered. Or both.’

‘Or I might just live happily ever after somewhere warm and tropical. Tell you what, if I don’t find anything in the next few weeks, I’m going.’

‘You’ll regret it,’ Amanda warned. ‘Anyway, how’s your love life these days?’

She always asked that. ‘Non-existent.’

‘Oh, Cat. I’m sure I could help you meet someone nice. Robert and I could throw a party and invite plenty of suitable single men.’

Cat wished she could just brazen it out and say she wasn’t interested in men. But that would lead to all sorts of other questions and quite possibly, Amanda trying to find her a girlfriend. But she wasn’t attracted to people on first sight. She needed to get to know someone for a while before anything else developed. ‘Well, maybe,’ she said. ‘But I’m quite content with my own company right now.’

‘You be careful. Youth is fleeting and looks don’t last forever. Before you know it, you’ll be thirty and have ten cats for company instead of a husband and family.’

‘Or I’ll be in Thailand, living on a beach.’

Having said it out loud made her vague ideas turn into a definite plan. She started thinking about what she’d need to take and where to start. She woke in the night, imagining herself getting off a plane carrying a huge rucksack, feeling lonely and vulnerable. Finding a room in a cheap hotel where cockroaches climbed the walls and you had to check for snakes under the bed. Having to be suspicious of people’s motives because you couldn’t be sure if they were trying to help you or rip you off. Could she really do it? Did she really want to?

Then salvation came in the shape of an advert in the local paper. ‘Fairham Cinema requires full and part-time staff.’ After the Gaumont closed, she’d taken the opportunity to transfer to Fairham, and had worked there for the remainder of her college course. It had been a much busier cinema and she’d enjoyed the experience, although it had never been quite as much fun as the wacky world of the Gaumont.

A little voice - sounding like her mother - nagged at her, saying that career-wise it was a retrograde step. Fair enough, she argued back, but at least it will pay the bills and it’s the kind of job I can forget about when I’m not there, so I have the creative space to get on with my own projects. Plus, I’ve worked there before, so I have a good chance of getting back in. And if I don’t then I promise I’ll take off and travel the world.

She dialled the number, gave a few details and was asked to go along for an interview the next day.

As soon as she walked in, she recognised the cashier, Gina. They chatted for a short while.

‘Mr Jessop has gone, you know. He works in the West End now.’

The former manager had always been a bit of a showman, so it didn’t surprise her. ‘So who’s in charge these days?’

‘His name’s Garner.’ She leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I think he’s too young to be a manager. He needs a few more years in this game first.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He came in here and started changing everything. A company man, they say. Ambitious.’

Mr Garner was tall, very thin and although not much older than she was, totally bald. Cat imagined him as a cartoon hot dog, singing and dancing on the big screen and had to suppress a giggle.

Unlike her first cinema interview, this one asked the kind of questions that made her mind go blank. Questions such as ‘What do you see as your strengths and weaknesses?’ and ‘What skills can you bring to the role of customer service assistant at this cinema?’ His pen scratched as he wrote down her answers, most of which she’d cribbed from a library book called How to Impress at Interviews. She became more and more convinced that she was going to end up backpacking to the Far East after all.

Eventually, he said, ‘I see you’ve worked in the cinema business before. Why do you want to come back?’

She thought for a moment, decided to forget the textbook answers and just be honest. ‘Well… I don’t mind working evenings and weekends. I’ve been floor staff, ice-cream sales and on the kiosk.’

He nodded encouragingly.

She went on. ‘There’s something about the cinema that you don’t find anywhere else. I love the atmosphere and the way films can make people forget their everyday lives for a few hours. It’s great to be a part of that.’

Mr Garner smiled. ‘When can you start?’

So that was it. No need to uproot, to sleep in mud huts and eat insects as James had done somewhere or other on his travels. Back to safe regular employment. Back to the cinema business.

The uniform had changed. Out had gone the awful overalls. On her first day she was issued with two yellow and white striped blouses, a bright blue skirt and jacket and the standard torch, which gave out very little light and ate batteries. Apart from Gina, and Mrs Thomas, the assistant manager, all the other staff she met had only started working there after she had left the last time.

Jimmy, her appointed mentor, took his training duties very seriously. ‘This here’s the ticket needle,’ he said, peering up at her from beneath his raggedly cut fringe as he showed her the implement. ‘You have to thread the torn halves on, like this…’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve done this job before. I know about having to keep the tickets so they can be checked. And I know not to shine a torch in people’s faces when I’m showing them to their seats and that they can smoke on the left side of the auditorium.’

He continued regardless ‘…And then, at the end of the night, you hang it up in the office, I’ll show you where, later.’

It was a quiet Monday afternoon. They stood in the upper foyer, leaning over the decorative railing. From below rose the smell of popcorn, hot dogs and some sort of lemony-fresh floor cleaner. Gina was knitting behind her Automaticket machine. Watery spring sunshine spilled through the windows.

A door to her right opened. From her past experience, Cat knew it led to the projection box for screen one. She had never been up there. The Chief, a miserable old man, had kept it firmly locked and she had only rarely seen him when he came out to shout at someone. He had gone too; retired at last, Gina had told her.

A young man emerged, a large bunch of keys jingling from his belt. He walked quickly towards them. ‘All right, Paul,’ Jimmy said cheerily.

Paul nodded to acknowledge him and then was gone, bounding down the stairs.

‘He’s a projectionist,’ Jimmy told her. ‘He puts the films on, like.’

‘How many projectionists are there here?’

‘Just Paul and Alfie. There used to be another one, but he left a coupla months ago.’ He cleaned under his grimy nails with the point of the ticket needle. ‘Why did you leave your last job?’

‘They moved the office and I didn’t want to travel.’

‘Bet you can’t guess why I left my last job?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Because you always wanted to work in a cinema and the chance came up?’

‘Nah. I hit the boss. Knocked him down with one blow!’ And he mimed the move, punching the air so forcefully it spun him round until he nearly fell over.

Cat helped to steady him. ‘Why?’ she asked.

‘He was trying to chat up me girlfriend.’

‘That’s not good,’ she sympathised. ‘Does she still work there?’

‘Nah. She went off to join the circus.’

‘Wow. So I suppose you don’t see her so often now, if she’s on the road?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m going to join her, soon as I’ve saved enough money.’

The jingle of keys signalled the approach of Paul the projectionist and sure enough, he came into view, running up two stairs at a time. ‘You look busy,’ Cat commented as he approached.

‘These bloody timesheets,’ he said. ‘Up and down like a bloody yoyo. Start screen one, then five minutes later it’s screen three and now I’ve got to go back upstairs to shut it down for the sales break.’ He disappeared through the door.

Jimmy squinted at his watch. ‘If it’s nearly time for the sales break, I’ve got to get the tray out. Come on.’

He led the way downstairs to the ice room, slid open the lid of one of the chest freezers and lifted out a tray ready stocked up with tubs, Cornettos and plastic cartons of Kia-Ora. ‘I’ll do this one. You can watch me and have a go next time.’

She thought of mentioning that she’d sold ice creams before, but after the ticket needle incident, realised it would make no difference.

So, for the remainder of the day she dutifully followed him around the screens, listening to his instructions and trying not to yawn. When he wasn’t telling her how to perform a particular aspect of the job, he kept on talking about his colourful life. As most of his stories ended with how he’d knocked someone out ‘with a single blow’ she decided that given his diminutive stature they were probably all wishful thinking.

During her next few shifts, she discovered that Fairham had almost been closed down the previous year, but had been given a temporary reprieve along with a new manager. If Mr Garner could manage to increase admissions and cut costs, the cinema would continue to stay open. Because of the cuts, it was now impossible for staff to watch a whole film in one sitting. Once the last show was running, only one member of floor staff stayed on until the end and they were supposed to check inside each screen every fifteen minutes.

Being conscientious, Cat kept to this schedule. When she wasn’t doing her rounds, she generally sat on one of the well-worn Lloyd Loom settees in the upper foyer, drawing or reading a book, glancing at her watch occasionally to see if it was time yet to make another check.

Paul often stopped for a chat during that last hour; once he had all the shows running he was able to relax.

‘I don’t like sitting up there.’ He gestured up toward the projection box. ‘Not now we’re single manning. Once everything’s on, there’s nothing to do and no-one to talk to.’ It turned out that Paul had been a projectionist for four years and had worked for the previous chief.

‘I only ever saw him when he came out to shout at the manager. Sometimes at the staff, too. I kept out of his way.’ Cat said.

‘He wasn’t too bad. He just hated managers; well, pretty much everyone who worked outside the box, really. He was okay with projectionists. Once I got the hang of making his tea just the way he liked it, he was fine.’

‘So how did you get into projection?’

‘My aunt used to be an assistant manager. Not here; it was over in Plowbridge. While I was still at school I was down at the cinema every weekend, tearing tickets, selling popcorn and watching films. I soon got into the box and started learning that side of it too. Then just after I left school, there was a vacancy here for a trainee and that was it.’

It was very easy talking to Paul. It soon became part of her routine to make him a cup of tea when she had her own. Sometimes he stopped to drink it with her, other times he had to go and check the films were running as they should. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to misinterpret her interest in the cinema business for romantic interest in him. She was grateful for that.

‘If anything goes badly wrong, like a film break, an alarm goes off. But other things can happen too. A couple of months ago, the amplifier failed in screen two. No-one came out to say anything for about ten minutes, just sat there watching the film with no sound. But that’s the sort of thing that can happen when you only have one projectionist looking after three screens.’

‘Which is why you’re always rushing round,’ she said. ‘Alfie takes it a lot slower.’

‘He’s nearly sixty. Pretty fit for his age, but all those stairs take it out of you. I wouldn’t like to think how many stairs we go up and down in a day.’

After a couple of weeks, when she had proved reliable, she found that she was given more shifts on the kiosk than on the floor. She soon found out how rude customers had become since she last worked in the cinema.

‘Hot dog,’ they demanded.

‘Give me a Coke.’

‘I want one of those.’ Pointing at the popcorn boxes.

It seemed that saying please and thank you had gone out of fashion.

‘The trouble is, they think they’re better than us,’ Gina said. ‘It’s not the ordinary people, it’s those snobby types who live in the big houses and have jobs in the City. They think that if we’re working here, we’ve got no brains.’ She glanced over at Jimmy, standing at the top of the steps in his oversized uniform. ‘Well, they might be right in some cases, but being polite never did anyone any harm, did it?’

One afternoon she was in the kiosk on her own. Since opening at one-thirty, she had only sold twenty-three tickets. Many of these were to men who had gone in to watch Flesh and Blood. She’d thought it was just another historical drama and the 18 certificate due to explicit battle scenes until Jimmy said, ‘Nah. It’s got some really dirty bits.’

During the film’s run, everyone had noticed that if he couldn’t be found, he was usually in the back of screen three. ‘Just checking to make sure they all behave themselves,’ he protested.

As it was so quiet and there were only so many times you could re-arrange the After Eight mints and fluff up the bags of sweets, she was reading Cathedrals of the Movies, which she had borrowed from the library. It was a well written and beautifully illustrated history of British cinemas and their audiences, concentrating on both the architecture and social aspects of cinema going.

Her reading was disturbed by the sound of a heavy step ladder being carried through into the foyer. It was Alfie. ‘While it’s not busy, I thought I’d lamp up out here,’ he said.

She got out of the way as he manoeuvred the unwieldy steps into the kiosk, putting her book face down on the Automaticket machine so she didn’t lose her place.

He glanced at it. ‘That looks interesting.’

‘It is. I never knew some of these places existed. Well, quite a lot of them don’t any more, which is a pity.’

He set up the ladder. A couple of the spotlights over the kiosk were out. ‘Can you turn off that switch by the pillar?’ he asked her. ‘I’ve found out the hard way the wiring in this place isn’t to be trusted.’

In a few minutes he’d replaced the bulbs. Cat switched the power back on. Two of them still didn’t work.

‘Either those are dead lamps or there’s something else wrong. Best check, I suppose. Can you turn them off again?’ He replaced them a second time, still with no joy. ‘Ah well, another couple of jobs to add to the list.’

He folded the steps up. ‘You must be the girl young Paul’s been talking about. Not been here long, have you?’

‘About five weeks now. I worked here before, though, a few years ago. And I was at the Gaumont down the road until it closed.’

‘The Gaumont? Now that one deserves a place in your book. It used to be a real show place.’

‘Not when I was there. Everything was falling apart. But behind the decay, there were glimpses of splendour.’

He nodded. ‘It was a shame. That’s what happened to my old show, as well. Too big for modern audiences and not worth tripling, so they shut it down.’ He gathered up his box of lamps. ‘Paul says you’re an artist.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘So how did you end up here?’

She told him the story, in brief. ‘When I saw there was a vacancy here I remembered how happy I’d been in the cinema. How it always makes me feel like I’m… home. That sounds stupid, I know.’

‘No it doesn’t. You’ve just got the bug.’

‘The bug?’

‘Not everyone gets it. Some people come and go. But the ones who stay, stay for good. And it’s because whatever else you do, nothing gives you that same feeling.’

She nodded. ‘No one’s ever put it like that. I just thought I was weird. Well, a lot of people say that about me anyway.’

‘Don’t take any notice of them. And if you ever want to come up and have a look round the box, you’re welcome.’

‘Thanks. I will. I bet it’s nothing like the Gaumont.’

Now if it had been Clive making an offer like that, it would have felt creepy and she would never have taken him up on it. But she didn’t sense anything odd about Alfie’s offer. He was just a nice old guy who felt the same way as she did about cinema.

Her opportunity to have a look round came quite soon. Some of the ice tray lights weren’t working and she volunteered to take them up to the box. The projectionists seemed to fix everything in the cinema, not just the equipment in their own domain.

She detached the light mechanisms from the rest of the tray and carried them up the narrow, winding stairs. Alfie met her half way down and she wondered how he had known she was there. Later, she discovered he had rigged up a micro switch on the lower door connected to a buzzer in the staff room. ‘So that we know if anyone’s on the way up. It’s good to have a bit of warning.’ But such confidences were in the future.

‘They asked me to bring these up. They’re not working.’ she said, offering the parts.

‘The others usually bring the whole tray.’

‘Well, this bit comes off easily and it’s the only electrical part.’ She wondered if she had done something wrong. ‘I can get the rest if you want.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re right. This is all I need. Most of that lot downstairs don’t have the sense of a louse.’

‘And… if you’ve time now, could I have a quick look round?’

‘Of course. This way.’ He climbed up the rest of the stairs then turned left. As the door opened she heard the unmistakeable noise of film travelling through the machine; the sound that had first guided her to the Gaumont box. Inside, she saw two metallic grey projectors facing the auditorium. Beside the nearest stood a large piece of equipment with shiny horizontal discs. As the discs rotated, a ribbon of film travelled over rollers fixed to the wall, catching the light as it moved.

‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen one of those before.’

‘It’s called a cakestand. That’s how we show film these days.’

Compared to the Gaumont, it seemed futuristic. ‘The projectors look different than I remember.’

‘These are Victoria 8’s. The Gaumont had Kalee 21’s running twenty minute changeovers.’ He was clearly warming to the subject.

‘I used to think it looked a bit like you’d imagine Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory.’

He chuckled. ‘I suppose it did. I used to do relief work there sometimes. When the amplifiers misbehaved…’

‘You had to hit them with the broom handle,’ she finished. ‘I once saw Steve, the senior, doing that.’

She walked toward the projector. For a little while she watched the film moving through the mechanism. Each tiny frame was illuminated then magnified; transformed into memorable images. The constant mechanical purr made a hypnotic background noise. It was fascinating, magical; a fundamental part of the cinema experience. She wondered what it would be like to stand up here and put on the show for an expectant audience.

‘I remember coming here when I was small,’ she said. ‘I used to look back toward the porthole and if I saw anyone up there, I waved at them. That was when it was just one screen. There used to be this amazing light display that changed colours like a rainbow during the interval.’

‘They took all that out when it was tripled.’ He sighed. ‘Back then, we took a real pride in the job. Nowadays they just want it on screen slap, bang, wallop. No finesse. Then at the end of the film, it’s get ‘em out as quickly as possible and shunt the next load of punters in. There’s no sense of occasion anymore.’

‘Some people still want a good show. I always enjoyed it and I was just a kid.’

‘It’s not what the patrons’ want that counts. It’s whatever costs the least money. They could have kept all the dimmers up here, but the system needed work doing to it. It wouldn’t have been cheap. Plus it was manually operated, so you needed more men in the box to run it. It wouldn’t have worked with single manning.’

‘Paul’s always on about single manning, too. But it’s not new, surely? At the Gaumont, there was only ever one projectionist working at a time.’

‘With a single screen, though. When twins and triples first came along, there were always two on duty. It’s only recently they cut the manning levels. Now we’re only allowed to have two people on together when we change the films on a Thursday.’

Conscious of having taken up his time and not wanting to outstay her welcome, she said quickly, ‘Well, thanks for showing me around. I suppose I’d better get back downstairs in case I’m needed.’

He checked his watch. ‘You’re right. I’ve been rambling on a bit, haven’t I?’

‘Not at all. It’s very interesting. Thanks.’

As she sat in the kiosk later on, she thought about the film steadily moving through the projector, showing its story to each audience in turn. Even those people who abruptly demanded popcorn down here were transported for a few hours as they sat in the darkened auditorium.

The trouble with working front of house - apart from the rude customers - was that the higher you progressed, the further you were separated from the essence of the business. You started off tearing tickets and seating people, but when you proved reliable and quick to learn, they put you on the kiosk. If you were good at that and decided a career in cinema was for you, the next step up was an assistant manager’s job. And then you ended up stuck in the office, counting money, ordering confectionary and filling in anywhere else when members of staff didn’t turn up. But to be up there, in the electric darkness, showing films… Up there, you were a part of the machine, the final link in the chain of film making, ensuring that the magic of cinema was kept alive.

Cat had never really considered becoming a projectionist before. For one thing, she’d never seen the job advertised, although common sense told her that sometimes it must be. Another reason was that all the projectionists she’d known so far were men. Was there perhaps some kind of superstition that for a woman to handle film was unlucky? She’d have to find out. Paul would be the best person to ask; he had, after all been through the process fairly recently.

Her opportunity came the following afternoon. It was quiet again. A few senior citizens had just gone inside. They were clearly not regular cinemagoers.

‘Please may I have one for the circle, my dear,’ an immaculately dressed old lady had asked.

‘I’m sorry, we don’t have a circle any more. What do you want to see?’ She didn’t think it would be Flesh and Blood or Jewel of the Nile, but you could never be sure.

‘The one with Robert Redford and Meryl Streep. "Out of Africa."'

‘It’s showing in screen two. That’s just through the doors over there.’ She pointed out the sign.

‘Thank you so much,’ said the lady. ‘We don’t come to the cinema much, do we?’ This last was addressed to her companions, another two ladies of similar vintage and appearance. ‘When was the last time you went to the pictures, Agnes?’

‘I think it was for "Lawrence of Arabia."'

Having paid separately, the ladies had then taken some time before deciding that to share a box of Maltesers wouldn’t be too extravagant, or spoil their appetite and had finally gone through to take their seats.

Cat settled down and continued sketching out the details for a mural a customer had requested for their daughter’s bedroom wall. She was starting to get some freelance work now and it made a welcome addition to her regular cinema income. This one was a fantastical theme; brightly plumaged birds and delicately winged fairies flitting from behind exotic flowers in the foreground. The background showed an enchanted forest giving way to hills and a moated castle that she was just beginning to realise bore a distinct resemblance to the Disney logo seen at the opening to their films. Oh well, no harm in that. Disney had taken inspiration from Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria for their design.

‘That’s looking good,’ said a voice from above. She looked up to see Paul leaning over the railing.

‘Come down and have a closer look, if you’ve time.’

He checked his watch. ‘I’ve got ten minutes until the scope change in Screen One.’

He jingled his way down the stairs. She laid out her sketches on top of the tiered rows of sweets

‘Yeah, that’s lovely. I like the Disney castle, too.’

‘This is the easy part. Once it’s complete I’ll show it to the customer, then have to set aside a day to paint it on the bedroom wall. It’s a surprise present, so it has to be done before the little girl’s birthday.’

He glanced at the foyer clock. Projectionists were always checking the time, she’d noticed.

‘I just wanted to ask you something.’ Here goes, she thought. ‘How exactly do you become a projectionist? Do they advertise, or do you have to be recommended by someone? I suppose you got to know about it because of your aunt.’

‘Well, kind of. I think they advertised it internally too. You know, in the company bulletin. A lot of the time, someone knows somebody who wants to move sites, or is after a promotion and that’s how it gets sorted.’

‘Right. So, er, how often do vacancies come up?’

‘Why? Are you interested?’

She felt herself blushing. ‘Well, I sort of wondered…’

‘It’s a great idea, but you really need to talk to Alfie. There’s been some talk about us getting a third man – ah, person – here.’

‘Okay, I will. Thanks.’

‘Right, I’d better go.’ He started to leave.

‘Paul!’ she called after him. ‘Don’t mention it to Alfie, will you. I’d like to tell him myself.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ He went off through the inner doors and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Cat felt as if she was on the verge of something new.