‘Maybe try being less aloof with the others,’ Colin had gently suggested during Beth’s last appraisal. At the time, she’d nodded eagerly and assured him she’d try, knowing full well he was asking the impossible. Beth could be on time, work extra hours, cover other people’s shifts, but one thing she couldn’t do was connect with others. She refused to.
‘Hey!’ She almost collided with Colin as she rounded a corner. He held his hands up and regarded her with mild confusion. Unlike everyone else, he wore a blue shirt and no name tag, a way to signify to outsiders that he was management, that he didn’t work out on the floor in the public arena like everyone else did.
‘Crap, Colin, sorry.’ Beth tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced beyond him, at the door to the projection booth innocuously placed in the darkened wall that she was so desperate to slide behind. There would already be people in the theatre, waiting impatiently for their film to start. Beth knew she’d have to forsake the adverts and go straight to the feature, not that any of the cinema’s patrons would complain. That would be a gripe only management would make.
‘Running a bit late, Beth?’ Colin had probably been slim as a younger man, but a comfortable adulthood had gifted him with a sizeable paunch which bulged against the buttons of his pale blue shirt. His features were soft, with round green eyes and a puckered chin. Though his blond hair was thinning, he could still be considered handsome. But he’d always remained unappealing to Beth. There was no edge to him. He drove a white BMW, had a wife and three children and gushed about the latest season of Game of Thrones the second it came out. He was predictable, safe. And whilst being with Josh made Beth feel safe, he wasn’t predictable. She’d figured out early on that he had secrets of his own.
‘I … Yeah,’ she dipped her head shamefully. ‘I lost track of time and––’
‘Just work over, okay? Stay past closing, help with the cleaning in the theatres, just half an hour or so.’ He smiled and gestured towards the door just beyond him.
‘Thanks, Colin.’ She hurried past him. ‘Thanks so much.’
Heat swells above the tarmac, warping the air. I drift along the edge of the car park, focused on my feet. Occasionally, I chance a glance into the distance, at the glass doors pulled open by giggling teenagers and excited children. I knew I’d be best coming here on a Saturday, when it’d be busy, when the car park would be almost swollen to capacity and I could lurk amongst visitors, could blend in amongst the crowds.
The signage above the glass doors is large. Bold. I crane my neck to read it, squinting against the sun. This cinema is big, new. Compared to the tattered theatre of my childhood, it seems alien and almost grotesque with its barrage of primary-coloured walls. I remember the cinema on Lomax Street crammed into an old tiling factory. The ceilings were high and the seats were stiff, but the magic on the screen, that never changed. For less than five pounds you could look up at a different world, a greater world, and get away. I lived for those days. I’d pluck a crisp fiver from my dad’s wallet, not caring if he’d notice or not. The chance to get away was worth the smack around the head I’d get later.
Is that why you’re here? To escape?
Not that I’ve seen you. It’s been almost three hours and despite the number of people pouring in and out, I don’t think you’ve been amongst them. But I can wait longer. I’m patient. I’ve always been patient. And the sun is out. It’s warming the hood of my jumper, keeping my hands from going numb. Some people who enter the cinema have completely embraced summer – they’re in tiny shorts, tops that reveal their belly buttons and podgy centres, sunglasses giving them all a mirrored gaze. Do I stand out in my jeans and hoody?
I finger the fraying edge of a cuff and keep walking. I’m so close now, I can smell the popcorn, taste the sweetness in the air. My stomach performs a somersault. When did I last eat?
My mind doesn’t present the memory willingly. I have to dig through the debris of the day, tracing my steps from my flat, to the station, to the train, to the bus. My stomach twists and, with a resigned sigh, I rummage in my jeans pocket, letting the shrapnel of change gathered there rattle together. Really, I need to eat.
I could walk into the cinema, part those glass doors as seamlessly as everyone else and cross the foyer with confidence. Would the air be cool? Would the theatrical boom of carefully edited trailers curdle in my ears along with the chatter of passers-by? Would I waltz up to the food kiosk and place my order without stuttering? What would I even have?
Now my stomach is audibly groaning. Clamping a hand to it, I turn my back on the cinema and all thoughts of eating. It’s too risky. But popcorn, it’s been so long since I had it, so long since––
Someone brushes against my shoulder. I’m being jostled out of the way as a group of five teenage boys swagger by, the stench of their cheap aftershave so thick I could choke on it. Grabbing the pointed tips of my elbows, I edge closer to the fringes of the car park, further away from the entrance to the cinema. I’m cold, but I can feel sweat gathering at the base of my neck, dripping down my spine.
Ignoring my body’s protests, I pull up my hood. I want to see her. I want so desperately to look at her, to feel the fire of recognition burn in my belly. Would she know me too? The others had. Despair had glistened in their eyes.
Fuck. I’m not supposed to think about my brother. I need to think about her. Only her.
It’s getting busy. More sweat. But I can’t take down my hood. I can’t risk someone seeing me, someone ending what I’ve started before it’s even had a chance to work.
Time. It is always my enemy, always running away from me like a horse I can’t control. What was my last meal? My thoughts are fuzzy as I try to remember.
I need to eat. To rest. And I can’t risk doing those things here. What if she saw me and she knew? Or, worse, what if she saw me and looked through me, same as everyone else?
Feeling uneasy, I retreat to the bus stop. But I’ll be back.
With the first film of the night set up, Beth had a moment to reflect. Whilst Colin had been kind about her tardiness, she knew better than to risk keeping it up. His kindness could surely only stretch so far; she needed to retain her former punctuality. She’d seen first-hand how even the kindest of people could twist into something sinister if pushed. And she needed this job, it suited her.
Beyond the little projection room, the audience sat in hushed silence as they gazed up at a vast screen and enjoyed a respite from their day-to-day problems for the next ninety minutes. Beth envied them. Sometimes she’d peer out from her perch and watch them, especially the teenagers. They were full of so much youth. So much freedom. Did they even know what they had? Or, like so many things, was it only once it was snatched away that they’d realise what was lost, long for it, spend a lifetime yearning?
‘Damn.’ Beth had let her mind drift. She packed up the first projector room and hurried into the next. Here, the audience wouldn’t be able to forgo the slew of advertisements and trailers the cinema insisted on showing. Beth uncased the latest action blockbuster from Marvel and began feeding it into the projector. It was a simple process but still one that required great care. She handled every film case with reverence.