Chapter 9 #2
Owen gave him an affronted look. “Every one of those films earned its place.”
Matt chuckled. “There’ll come a day when nobody even makes DVDs anymore.”
“And there’ll come a day when a streaming service loses the rights to your favourite film.” Owen shrugged. “Mine will still be sitting on that shelf.”
Matt paused. “Okay.” He gave a reluctant nod. “That’s actually a solid argument.”
“It usually is.”
“So what have we got?”
Owen’s eyes lit up in a way Matt hadn’t seen before.
“Now that is an excellent question.”
Owen watched as Matt pulled cases from the box, his face lighting up with each discovery.
“Look at this. The Great Escape. Kind Hearts and Coronets. Zulu. The Third Man. A Matter of Life and Death. Lawrence of Arabia. The Dam Busters. The Bridge on the River Kwai.” He paused. “Oh. You’ve got Cinema Paradiso.” Matt’s smile reached his eyes.
“Everyone talks about the ending, but my favourite scene is—”
“—when Alfredo tells Toto to leave.”
Owen gazed at him. “And never look back.”
Matt stared. “You noticed that too?”
Owen’s smile showed no signs of quitting today. “It’s the heart of the whole film.”
He’d assumed this would be another conversation where he recommended old films to someone who’d politely promise to watch them one day.
And up until this moment I thought we simply enjoyed each other’s company.
Now he realised they shared a language. Films clearly weren’t just entertainment to Matt. They were old friends—stories worth returning to, people worth meeting again.
Suddenly, unpacking God knows how many boxes of DVDs didn’t feel like a chore.
Matt’s breathing hitched, and he glanced up. “You’ve got Local Hero?”
Owen stilled. “Of course.”
“I love that film.”
“You do?” It wasn’t the sort of film he’d expected a twenty-five-year-old to know, let alone love. It wasn’t even the sort of film most people got excited about, and yet Matt looked as though he’d just found buried treasure.
Matt nodded. “It shouldn’t work.”
“Tiny story. No real villain. Half the time it feels as though nothing’s happening.”
“Exactly. And then somehow…” Matt breathed a sigh. “You don’t want it to end.”
“That’s exactly why I love it. It’s a film where the plot is almost beside the point.”
“Yes!”
Owen nodded. “It’s all about how it makes you feel.” He cocked his head. “What do you think is the greatest British film ever made?”
Matt didn’t answer immediately. “Depends what you mean by greatest.”
Owen laughed. “Sensible answer.”
“If we’re talking influence…” Matt shrugged. “The Third Man.”
He nodded again. “Hard to argue with.”
“But if we’re talking the one I’d actually rewatch countless times…”
Owen grinned. “That’s a different question.”
Matt picked up a case. “A Matter of Life and Death.”
He blinked. “You have got to be kidding.”
Matt frowned. “What?”
“That’s exactly what I was about to say.”
He laughed. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“The colour…”
“…when Heaven suddenly appears in Technicolor,” Owen finished.
Matt’s eyes widened.
“And the staircase,” they said together.
They both stopped.
Owen laughed first. “This is getting ridiculous.”
“The courtroom,” Matt added.
“Roger Livesey.”
“Marius Goring.”
Owen pointed at him. “You’re cheating. Nobody your age is supposed to know this stuff.”
Matt grinned. “History degree. We get a lot of homework.” Then he gazed at the cases. “Now, do you want these on the shelves alphabetically, or random, so it’s more of an adventure when you come to search for one?”
He laughed. “Random. It could take us hours to alphabetise them.”
Owen watched as Matt began slotting the DVDs onto the shelves with surprising care.
He’s twenty-five. Where on earth did Jeff’s son acquire a taste for Powell and Pressburger?
Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. What had Jeff said the day he came round with the casserole? Something about Matt having an old head on young shoulders?
Owen smiled. It wasn’t that Matt was interesting.
It was that he kept becoming more interesting.
“I’ve never had anyone to talk films with like this.”
Matt appeared surprised. “What about your husband?”
Owen gazed at the boxes. “Ben enjoyed films. But he mostly enjoyed watching me enjoy them.”
“I like him already.” Matt pulled another box to him and broke the tape seal. Then he frowned. “What’s in here?”
Owen peered into the box and caught sight of the handwritten titles. “Oh. I forgot about those.”
“What are they?”
“Home movies.” He lifted one. “Holidays.” Another. “Christmas.” Yet another. “Our honeymoon. Ben bought himself a camcorder, and then he transferred the movies from tape to disc.”
Matt took the cases from him, replaced them in the box, and carefully resealed it.
“I’ll leave those packed for now.” He grabbed another box, opened it, and in a heartbeat, a flush crawled up his neck and stained his cheeks. “Oh.”
Intrigued, Owen looked over. Then he remembered.
“Ah. Those.” The artwork on the covers featured a great deal of muscle and a notable lack of clothing, the titles almost as lurid as the images.
Matt handed him the box, eyebrows arched. “Those are… definitely not Hitchcock.”
Of all the boxes he could have opened…
Owen laughed so hard, he nearly dropped it.
Matt’s stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble.
Talk about timing.
Owen got to his feet. “I think I’d better feed you.” He glanced at the DVDs. “These can wait.”
Matt grinned. “Probably for the best.”
As they headed for the kitchen, Owen shook his head. Somehow, in the space of one morning, they’d gone from discussing Powell and Pressburger to laughing over a box of porn.
The DVDs would still be there after lunch.
So, he suspected, would the questions Matt hadn’t asked.