24. Watch ‘Milk’ first #3
‘I’ve something I’d like to show you,’ Edward said to Dylan with a wink, before insisting she join him in his study to see his DVD library; a carefully curated collection he had amassed over the years and was very proud of, much to Elaine’s amusement.
‘He’s only just moved on from VHS,’ Elaine teased with an eyeroll, helping herself to a second slice of cake, before the two disappeared upstairs.
Edward bore no shame in owning physical copies of the films he loved. “Trophy copies”, he had called them. It was something Dylan could relate to—if she listened to an amazing audiobook, she would be compelled to buy the physical copy to read and own.
Edward’s study was really just the box room, but all four walls were now hidden by floor-to-ceiling shelves, the spaces all measured to a perfect DVD height.
A small desk piled high with stacks of books and a laptop sat in front of the off-white shutters in the bay window.
Watching with a huge smile on her face, Dylan stood still as he pulled out film after film, while waxing lyrical about “cinematic masterpieces”, “clever screenplays” and “staggering performances”.
‘This one,’ Edward said softly, sliding a plastic case from the shelf. Dylan read the front as he handed it to her. His hands were old and pigmented but warm and soft when they brushed against hers.
‘Oh, this is an incredible piece of cinema, Mr Vincent,’ Dylan said, holding the case with one hand.
‘It’s Eddie,’ he corrected. ‘I won’t tell you again,’ he threatened jovially with a wink.
‘Sorry, Eddie.’ She smiled. ‘Great Freedom,’ Dylan continued, turning the DVD over. ‘This is such an important piece of filmmaking.’
‘You’re not bloody wrong, sweetheart,’ he replied.
Usually, a man calling her sweetheart would irk Dylan, but the warm, fatherly tone and the Northern enunciation sounded lovely coming from Edward.
So lovely, in fact, that she couldn't get enough of it.
‘Not many know that men, freed from the camps and horrific barbarism of the Nazis, were then rearrested and flung back into prison under Paragraph 175. Inconceivable, really,’ he said, shaking his head solemnly.
‘Yeah, absolutely dreadful, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Franz Rogowski’s performance was just—’
‘Oh, fantastic, sweetheart,’ Edward interjected excitedly. ‘It’s a shame that real films like this aren’t given the worldwide kudos they deserve, while The bloody Smurfs and such like are!’
Dylan huffed a chuckle and nodded in agreement, her eyes already landing on another spine. ‘No way!’ she said, stepping forward to hook a finger over the top of a case and slide it out. ‘You’ve seen this?’
Edward peered over the top of his frameless glasses at the DVD Dylan was clutching. ‘Ahh, Portrait de la Jeune Fille en Feu,’ he replied. His French was technically perfect, but delivered in a thick, unapologetic Bolton accent that made Dylan’s eyes widen with delight.
‘Eddie, I adore this film,’ Dylan gushed, holding the case with both hands.
‘Then you, my love, are definitely invited back.’
Edward reached out and tentatively patted Dylan’s shoulder. The gesture was not one bit awkward, and Dylan found herself warmed by the contact of his big hand.
***
‘So?’ Greta asked, her voice tight as she scrubbed at an invisible spot on the wooden kitchen counter.
‘Sooo?’ Elaine replied innocently, unfurling the word frustratingly slowly.
Leaning against the cupboards with her arms crossed over her apron, Elaine watched Greta with an unreadable expression.
‘What do you think?’ Greta urged, pulling the cloth through her hands.
‘About?’
Greta’s hands stopped as she stared at her mum, momentarily concerned she was having a vacant episode. ‘Dylan,’ she whispered-shouted. Nothing. ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, Mother? You know, the woman currently being held hostage in Dad’s study?’
‘Oh, Dylan!’ Elaine exclaimed with a giggle, as if the name had just occurred to her and she hadn’t been flirting outrageously with her since they’d arrived. She sucked her teeth, her eyes softening as she raked her gaze over her daughter’s face.
‘Mother?’ Greta pressed. ‘Are you okay? Use your human voice, if you can.’
Elaine just smiled and opened her arms, wordlessly pulling Greta toward her.
‘My goodness, she’s wonderful, Greta,’ she whispered into her hair as Greta melted into the hug.
The weight of the day—the weeks, the months, the years—finally gave way.
Greta burst into tears, the silent, racking kind that only happens in a mother’s arms. Elaine gently rocked her back and forth. ‘She’s absolutely wonderful.’
The creak of a floorboard pulled Greta’s tear-streaked face from her mum’s shoulder, her gaze landing on Edward and Dylan as they shuffled into the kitchen chatting about their favourite directors.
Dylan was carrying a precarious tower of plastic cases, her arms piled high with Edward’s film recommendations, her face dropping when her eyes landed on Greta.
‘Are you okay?’ Dylan said softly.
‘Everything's fine, darling,’ Elaine replied through her wide smile, before pressing a deep kiss to her daughter's temple.
Greta laughed through her tears. ‘Dad,’ she sniffled. ‘You do know she can stream those, don’t you?’
Dylan looked at the stack in her arms, then back at Edward, who was looking quite pleased with himself. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I prefer to watch this way.’
Edward placed an arm around Dylan’s shoulders, a wide smile on his face as he jerked her into his side.
***
Greta closed the car door as Dylan continued to wave at her parents, who had insisted they see them off from the driveway.
‘They loved you,’ Greta said softly, watching as her mum blew frantic kisses at Dylan. ‘Perhaps a little too much,’ she added with a chuckle.
Dylan huffed out a short laugh. ‘Oh my fucking God, G,’ she said quietly.
Greta’s heart plummeted as she pushed the seat belt buckle in with a click. ‘What?!’
‘They’re absolutely incredible,’ Dylan replied, her sentence ending with an emotional quiver.
For a moment, Greta watched Dylan, who was smiling and holding a thumbs-up to her dad as he mouthed, ‘watch Milk first, Sean Penn is amazing’, while giving an ok sign with his index finger and thumb.
With her head pressed into the headrest, Greta exhaled; the suffocating weight of the day’s anxiety leaving her body on every last particle of air. ‘Take me home,’ she said softly.