It Only Happens in the Movies

by Holly Bourne

Trouble trouble trouble. I’d been there with trouble. Been there, done that, bought the I-lost-my-virginity-to-an-attractive-but-morallybankrupt-arsehole T-shirt.

We’d met through Drama Club but became friends when he found me sobbing behind the stage curtains. I knew he was everything I needed in a friend when he said, “No offence, but you’re the fugliest crier I’ve ever seen.” Somehow, though my heart was throbbing with pain and humiliation, that had made me laugh.

“Romance films ruin people’s real-life relationships. They offer this idea of love that isn’t sustainable in normal life. It’s dan…” I was about to say “dangerous” before I looked up to see literally the whole class listening in. My fists clenched. I reached for a lesser word. “It’s…pathetic?”

I’d forgotten how quickly she could flip between fine and drama – it had been months since she was like this. I couldn’t believe Dad had set her off again. In a burst of parental obligation, Mum even asked me how school was going and I told her about my Media Studies project.

“Tell me, Audrey. How are they not real?” I blew my hair up and thought back to all the films I’d watched with Mum and Dad on our family film nights. “Well, they never have any real insecurities, just like – cute ones! Like, ‘Oh, I’m really neat and tidy’, or ‘I’m mildly clumsy’. Where are the woman saying, ‘Why the hell haven’t you replied to my messages after shagging me?’ or ‘Do you mind if we take things slow because I was raped in college?’” LouLou pointed at me. “This is true.” “Plus” – I was still warming up – “they’re always crazy perfect skinny, even though they’re supposedly always munching down burgers and chocolate. That’s not real. You can’t have thighs that don’t rub at the top but also looooove hot dogs and beer. Those two things don’t coexist. You have to do squats every single moment of your life and only have one slither of cake, like, once a year, and probably eat it whilst still doing squats.” Harry’s smile was so wide. He waved his arm like he was conducting me. “Go on.” “Well” – I sat down next to him – “they always look amazing in the morning. They never have stinky breath or hair all over the place, or boogers in their eyes. And they sleep in, like, tiny pyjama short things instead of an ugly oversized T-shirt with jammy bottoms. I mean, AREN’T THEY COLD? Also” – I began to list them off on my fingers – “they never pick fights with the guy’s friends about the fact they’re sexist slobs. They never fart, let alone fanny fart, or get their period and a...

I leaned against the bonnet as the car filled with flowery fug. Harry didn’t hold back now filming was finished. He lit a joint and took several deep drags before finally passing it around. That was all I really saw before the fog of smoke eclipsed my vision. The tiredness hit me then. I was in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of druggies I didn’t even know, wearing a wedding dress. I’d never seen anyone do drugs before. The closest anyone in Drama Club got to living hedonistically was doing improv. I found it mildly disgusting and then worried that made me uncool.

“This isn’t a great time to talk about it.” “It’s just a simple question, Dad.” “Did she send you?” “No,” I lied. “I overheard her talking to the lawyers on the phone and I just wanted to hear it from you.” Is it madness that I still wanted Dad to find Mum attractive? That I protected him from the worst of her just in case it put him off her even more? Even though I was holding his new child? With another woman? I just didn’t want him to see Mum as a bitter, angry, terrified, pathetic, spurned mess…even though she was.

“Anyway, explain please why romance films are a menace to society?” My eyes filled up as I thought of earlier. I thought of what Dad must’ve believed when he got down on one knee, in Rome, and proposed to Mum even though they’d only known each other six months. I thought of how happy they had been to tell everyone that story. Their story, over the years. So pleased they had their own narrative – one that matched the movies. Love at first sight. Beautiful backdrop. Whirlwinds and grand gestures. I thought of all the films we’d watched together on Saturday nights, the messages always the same. Love conquers all. Love is happiness. Love is fireworks. Love is giving you the feels. Love means never having to say you’re sorry. Love is easy. Love is unwavering. Love is for ever. We watched no films where couples yelled at each other in the kitchen. No films where, ten years after kissing on top of the Eiffel Tower, the couple didn’t even sit on the same sofa. No films showing how…bored Dad would look whenever Mum said anything – glazing over, like she was the shipping forecast, rather than the woman he adored so much he pawned half his stuff for a diamond ring…one he tried to get in the divorce. When my parents’ love soured, Dad didn’t try to resuscitate it. Because there was no one telling him that was possible. Instead he jumped ship and started all over again with someone who gave him new feels. “They’re dangerous because they’re not real,” I said. “Not really.” I chewed my li...

“I mean, if I want to kiss someone, it’s like fighting an addiction not getting to kiss them. When I finally get the chance, I would never waste time gently stroking their face.” He laughed. “No, my kisses would probably look horrid on camera, but they feel great.”

“is the more you’re trying to prove to people you’re happy, the less happy you actually feel.”

“If you get a call from me later tonight, it’s because I killed Ma and I need help burying the body.” “Torture her first!” Harry called after her. “Tie her up and show her spreadsheets that don’t quite balance.”

“Cinema Paradiso?” I muttered. “What?” Harry scuttled down the aisle. He picked the seat right next to me, and grabbed the chocolate buttons out of my hand. I felt like if I hadn’t had a huge go at him, he would’ve made a joke here, like the age-old yawn-and-put-your-arm-around, while I batted him off. But he didn’t. He just chucked some chocolates into his mouth. “You ready?” “I’ve never heard of it.” “Prepare for an education, Winters.” I was about to ask more questions when the opening music started. So I settled back in my seat. The film was subtitled, which I didn’t like at first. I kept trying to look at both the movie AND the words at the bottom but found I couldn’t. I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable and slightly ashamed. I’d never watched a subtitled movie before, and Harry certainly didn’t comment on it. It was set in Italy, years and years ago and, from what I could make out, it was about this young boy who was obsessed with the local cinema and became friends with the old projectionist who worked there. Then, after ten minutes or so, something just clicked in my head and I found I didn’t notice I was reading subtitles. The movie was amazing. It was beautifully shot, and charming, and so, so funny. The cinema was how I imagined cinemas to be before I started working at Flicker. The projectionist worked with giant reels of old film, where the new releases were biked in, often being carried miles and miles. There was this hilarious scene at the beginning, where ...

“Let me guess? He prodded at you like he was a farmer shoving his arm up the backside of a cow to pull out a baby calf, and you’re wondering why you didn’t come?” I turned to her, my mouth open. “You could say that.” I wasn’t sure if I could handle saying any more. But this was Alice. Alice. And she seemed to understand. And I’d been carrying it with me for so long. Maybe I should let it out. “He couldn’t really get high up. It hurt too much.” I chewed my lip. “I’m not sure what happened but it was like my vagina sort of…sort of…rejected him…” Alice smiled, ever so slightly. “So, when he tried with his…you know.” I nodded, astonished at how she got it. “You know that bit in the first Lord of the Rings film? Where Gandalf stands up to that fire demon on the bridge and yells, ‘YOU SHALL NOT PASS’? Well…” I paused, feeling so ashamed. “Essentially my vagina had a Gandalf standing at the entrance, and he thought Milo’s dick was a fire demon.” Alice snorted so hard, the hot chocolate she’d been drinking shot out her nose, dribbling over her perfectly made-up face. “Oh God! Audrey!” I couldn’t laugh with her, it still felt so wrong. “You see why I’m upset now? It was bad enough as it was, and then Milo dumps me because of it. And then, for some reason I don’t even understand, I try to kiss Harry and can’t even do that. I’m sexually defunct. I should just have sex with myself, like potatoes do.”

“We want to go on the log flume. How do we make this happen?” The man raised his eyebrows. Well, I think he did. He had so many hats on it was hard to tell. “Ha ha, very funny.” “Seriously,” Harry said. “It’s only 6 p.m. The rides are still open for an hour, right?” “Mate, it’s minus two degrees. And you want us to start up the log flume?” I pulled on Harry’s sleeve. “Harry, come on.” He shrugged me off. “Is it closed?” “Not technically.” “So, we can go on it?” “Well, yes, technically.” “Well then, two rides, please.” Harry turned back to me, beaming. “You ready?” My delayed onset of emotional whiplash was catching up on me fast. What was happening? This time yesterday, Harry was just a work colleague. Now he was kissing me, groping at me, whisking me off to Brighton and demanding I get on a log flume in the middle of winter. He took my silence as a yes. And before I knew it, he had grabbed my hand and tugged me over to the ride. While the guy followed us, muttering and, yes, actually swearing under his breath. “Fookin’ youth of today. Have to get the whole ride going…almost home time.” I felt so embarrassed as we waited for the ride to start up. It looked dormant in the dark – sleepy and lurching and just plain creepy really – all the logs stood clogged up along it, like a constipated intestine. There was a crank and the ring of a bell and then, slowly, the sound of water gushing. The logs began to move. “It’s happening, Audrey.” Harry pulled me into him, trying to get me...

“I’m sure your parents don’t hate you,” I ventured. He gave me this look then, a warning one. “They’re Catholic, Audrey. And I’m…well…where do I even start? I don’t believe in God for one. And I smoke, drink, get stoned, failed my exams, hang around with the people I do, work where I work, and, well, date enough girls that other girls get warned about me.” “Is that why you don’t live with them?” I asked. I’d always wondered why he lived with Tad and Jay. “Yeah. They hate me. I only ever see my parents at Christmas and Easter. I don’t know if you’re religious, but those two days are kind of a big deal.” I smiled at his attempt at a joke, and opened my mouth in faux-shock. “No way, really?” “Oh yeah. This guy called Jesus did some stuff. Those were the days he did the biggest stuff.” “Harry, if it doesn’t work out for you with the film-making then I really think you should consider becoming a priest. No one’s ever explained Christianity to me like that before.”

I tipped my head back and finished my wine. “Okay, okay, vulnerabilities.” I took another deep breath. “My dad left my mum,” I said, staring determinedly at the beer mat, picking it apart with my fingers. “You know when I told you stuff was going on with my family? Well, that’s what it is. They were, like, the most romantic couple ever. I’m even named after Audrey Hepburn because he proposed in Rome. And then…then, well, he fell madly in love with someone else. Jessie. He just left. Not just Mum, us.” I gulped. “He left us. Started a new family with Jessie. He’s just…not that into us any more. My own dad.” Harry leaned back and put his fingers together. “Woah, that explains most of Dougie’s fits of rage in college last year then, I guess.” I looked up. “Dougie had fits of rage?” Harry nodded, his face solemn. “Yeah, he punched a locker. He wrote all these weird songs in music…” I shook my head, to dislodge the bad thoughts. “Anyway, that’s why I’m so down on love, I guess. Because I’ve seen what happens when you fall for charm, or the promise of a happily-ever-after. I think there’s this huge void between what people think love is, what they want it to be, and what it actually is. I can’t…” I stuttered and Harry reached out and enlaced his fingers through mine. His raggedy eyebrows raised upwards in serious concern. This moment was real. This Harry was real. And he was holding my hand. I felt like I’d started to remove all the bandages wrapped up around my wounds from the ...

“It’s just…well…I can’t believe I’m going to say this but…I’m nervous. About kissing you.” My stomach felt like I’d just necked a whole tube of Berocca, fizzing and exploding like fireworks. “You? Nervous?” He pushed a hand through his hair, standing it all on end. “I’m just as confused as you are. I don’t get nervous about things like this.” “You don’t have to kiss me.” It was true, but I’d probably explode if he didn’t. “No…” He reached out and put his thumb on my cheek, in exactly the way he claimed was so hard to do in real life. His hands shook. “I guess I don’t have to.” I looked up at him, taking in his face. The lines around his eyes, the shadowy curves of his cheekbones, the dimples that seemed to be permanently stapled into his face. “Well, don’t then. We can just shake hands and…” Harry leaned in and kissed me. Gently. His mouth closed, his other hand pulling around my neck, gently tugging me into it. It was different from the earlier kisses. Better. The sort of kiss where time slows, the rest of the universe fading around the edges. I didn’t feel nervous. I didn’t worry or stress about him or his other kisses, or LouLou’s and Dougie’s and Leroy’s warnings. This kiss erased it all. His kiss told me everything I needed to know. His kiss told me it was time to open up my heart again. I kissed him back. My hands running up into his hair. I got lost in the feeling. And we only stopped when we both heard the actual loud chattering of my teeth. Harry pulled away reluc...

“Hey, Audrey,” he called, just as I’d pushed the door open. Harry leaned out the car window, his hat back on, the edges of his huge smile vanishing into its lining. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I just wanted to say that. I have no plans of doing anything to hurt you.” And he drove off, music blaring, tyres screeching round the tight corner. I stood on the threshold, sinking into the door frame. Every part of me felt full. Every part of me felt good. And, you know what? I’m sure he meant it when he said it.

Anyway, do you want a present? I heard somewhere that the birth of Baby Jesus means I have to get my girlfriend a gift, one that will be judged on adequacy by everyone who asks her what her boyfriend got her.” The fact he’d just referred to me as his girlfriend was present enough. And a total shock. But I didn’t say anything about it. “Well, if Baby Jesus says so.” In true Harry style, he’d got me a giant square marshmallow, with his face printed onto it. “So you can literally eat my brains, my zombie bride.”

“People think watching some stupid film with decent acting in it is a way of showing how much they care about a certain issue. When all they’ve actually done is pay a tenner to sit on their arses, chucking popcorn down their faces, leaving us to clean it up, have a cathartic cry, and then come out feeling like they’re Mother freakin’ Teresa. Just for watching a movie.”

Harry sensed me stiffen. “Hey, don’t get mad at her. She was just asking…as a friend, you know?” I didn’t reply. I just turned and grabbed the water, shoved it at him. “You said you were thirsty?” He pushed the glass away. “Audrey, come on. Don’t be like this. It wasn’t like that…it…” I interrupted him, my voice a whisper but with a lot of venom in it. “You spoke to another girl about our sex life? One you know doesn’t like me? One you had a thing with? And now you want to talk about sex? Now? While you’re off your face? Naked? Here uninvited? In the middle of the night?” “I thought it would be romantic.” “Harry, I can feel your fucking erection sticking into my thigh.” And, at that, he burst out laughing. Proper laughing. A high-pitched hee-haw, like someone had stamped on a donkey. His face was bright red. “You’re right!” he managed to get out. “This isn’t very romantic, is it?” I shook my head, dazed from his laughter. “No, it’s not. It’s also totally unfair of you.” He was giggling too hard to listen though. I was brimming with anger and insecurity and just confusion but I let him laugh himself out, the bed rocking – not in the way he’d planned – as he eventually calmed himself down. “Will you put your boxers on?” I asked. Feeling like I was on the verge of A Big Talk, and really not wanting to do that with…that lurking underneath my duvet. Harry saluted and wiggled back into his pants, still letting out the odd small grunt of laughter, while I hit him with my pillow a...

“I really did like that documentary,” I said. He kissed the top of my head. “Good, wasn’t it?” “Yeah. I mean, that’s what love is, isn’t it? Moments like that. Not chasing someone through the airport.” I felt his smile. “Or holding a boombox outside their house.” “Or sending them a message in a bottle.” “Or standing on their doorstep with some handwritten signs.” We shared them back and forth, our voices getting sleepier and sleepier. And, just as I reached unconsciousness, I had a thought. This, right now, was one of those moments. Me sharing the Milo thing and us talking about it. Him not judging it. Not judging me. Accepting it. Taking it on. Working our way through the misunderstanding and the ill-timing and the bad behaviour and the pressure to do what you think you should do rather than what you feel ready for. And, as sleep flowed through my limbs, making them heavy one by one, Harry must’ve thought the same thing. Because as I rolled over, my back spooned up against his front, he murmured, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Audrey Winters.”

“Be careful, Jessie,” I said. “All I can say is, if he did it to Mum, he can do it to you. The years are long. See how much he loves you in ten years’ time, see if he gives you everything he’s promised.”

Tiny fragments of myself fractured all over when I broke off the kiss. And I said the truth. “I can’t forgive you, Harry,” I whispered in his ear, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Because I couldn’t forgive it. I couldn’t forget it. That’s just me. I’d seen too much pain from love. I couldn’t be with someone who had stung me so sharply so early on. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t…romantic enough to work through it. Because what I’d learned was, love isn’t just a feeling. Love is a choice too. And you may not be able to help your feelings, but you are responsible for the choices you make about what to do with them. Dad had loved Mum. He had fallen for her hard. Then they’d grown old, grown dull, and he’d developed feelings for Jessie. He chose to act on those feelings. He chose to rip our family apart. He could’ve chosen not to. So many people choose not to. And Harry…Harry…he chose to drink too much that night. He chose to betray me. Even if he was drunk, even if he regretted it, even if he was sorry. I loved Harry. I felt it so hard, so deeply, that I was sure it would never go away. A part of me would always love him. The boy with the teeth, who made me a Hollywood ending. My love was something I couldn’t help, that I felt so deeply it was a scar. But I was choosing to walk away from that. Because my heart…my heart was too fragile for someone who had chosen to break it. He looked up at me, his face filled with horror. “What! I don’t understand. I thought…” I...

Good scene. Except for the "shaking feet" which don't make sense.