One Night Only

FOUR

Before Filming Starts

‘Helen? You’re awake, aren’t you?’ Bon said, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

She could see him from under her lashes but lay very still and kept very quiet, keeping her breaths shallow and even, hoping to persuade him that she was asleep.

‘You don’t fool me, you know,’ he said, when she didn’t respond. ‘It’s no use pretending. You’ve been tossing and turning all night. What’s the matter?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Helen said, finally conceding defeat.

‘I’m not worried about being awake. I’m worried about why you’re awake,’ he said, brushing a stray tendril of hair back off her face. His touch was gentle, his fingertips cool against the warmth of her skin, his eyes glittering like jet in the half-light of the early morning. ‘I heard you wandering about in the night. Do you want to talk about it, whatever it is?’

Helen sighed. ‘Not really. Oh, I don’t know. I’m really not sure about all this.’

‘About all what? Look, if it’s about me going to Dubai, why don’t you come with me? We could shut up the house. Let’s face it, we could both do with some sun, and it’s only for six weeks. It’ll be fun. We could get a little apartment. I could talk to Libby –’

‘No, no, it’s not that,’ said Helen, cutting him short. She didn’t want Bon talking to Libby about her; she didn’t want him to make her sound needy or insecure.

‘Well, what, then?’ He let the silence open up between them until she couldn’t bear it any longer.

‘It’s this whole Roots thing.’

‘I thought you were really keen on the idea.’

‘No, no, I’m not, but Arthur is – mind you he’s keen about anything that’ll earn him a few quid. He sees it as my way back into prime time; it’s just that I’m not sure that it’s such a good idea after all.’

‘But I thought you were happy about it. Arthur seems to think that it’s the best thing that could happen to you. A new start, a ticket out – that’s what he said, and who knows what it might lead to, Helen? It’s a real showcase for you. I was looking at the viewing figures online – it’s international, you know; it goes out all over the world and then it ends up on Dave.’

Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘I know and you know as well as I do that Arthur’s got his eye fixed firmly on his ten per cent.’

Bon laughed. ‘Come on, Helen, I think you’re being way too hard on him. He wouldn’t see you doing something you weren’t happy with.’

‘How long have you known him?’ asked Helen incredulously. ‘Are we talking about the same Arthur?’

‘You know what I mean, he tempers a healthy mercenary streak with a huge heart. And he loves you; he’s always loved you.’

Helen nodded. ‘Yes, but –’

‘Well then trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Anyway what it is you’re unhappy about?’ continued Bon. ‘You know your own life story. You know where the bodies are buried, and okay so it probably will be painful and I’m sure you’ll shed a few tears –’

She bit her lip and Bon pulled her closer.

‘Sorry, that was insensitive, but that’s what Roots is good at. I think it’ll be the most fantastic opportunity for you and you’re overdue a break. You don’t know what might come out of it. Film, a book? TV?’

‘You know, you’re even beginning to sound a lot like Arthur.’

Bon smiled. ‘And I love you too, you know. But if you don’t want to do it, then don’t. It’s not too late to pull out.’

Helen smiled. ‘That’s exactly what Arthur said.’

‘Well, there you are, it’s got to be right then, hasn’t it?’

Helen glanced at the bedside clock. Another few hours and she’d have to be up and in the rehearsal room they’d booked, putting the finishing touches to the new show she was taking on the road. The costumes had arrived, the pre-publicity had gone out and ticket sales were doing well. Helen and Arthur were just putting the running order together, finalising the script, the music and the songs.

‘You’ll be perfect,’ Bon was saying. ‘Do you want me to come to Billingsfield with you? I’m really happy to cancel –’

‘No,’ Helen said emphatically, cutting him short. ‘You don’t have to cancel anything, okay? The Dubai show is important for you, and besides, I’m a big girl now. I’ll be fine. Really.’

‘You know you don’t have to be tough with me.’ He grinned. ‘Who are you trying to convince?’

Helen smiled; it felt as if Bon had been reading her mind. ‘It’s just that I haven’t been back to Billingsfield for such long time.’

‘Well, other than going home to see my mum once in a while I don’t hang out in my old home town that much either. Life moves on, we grow up and we move away. That’s how it goes. What are you so worried about?’ He didn’t say it lightly but earnestly, in a voice that made Helen turn and look at him.

The light of the new day was forcing its way between the slats of the wooden Venetian blinds, its rays creeping up and over the bed to catch the blonde in his hair, throwing his strong uncomplicated good looks into sharp relief.

Helen sighed and shook her head. ‘You know, the usual stuff – there are just so many reasons: the people, the places, the ghosts from the past, all the things that made me leave in the first place. I’m not sure that I want to go back to all that again.’

This time Bon laughed. ‘You should have thought about that before you said you’d do it. Where did you think they’d go back to look at your roots? Another town, another life, another Helen Redford?’

‘I know you’re right. I suppose I just didn’t really think it through. It seemed like such a good thing and I was really flattered to be asked out of the blue like that, and Arthur was so bloody keen and persuasive, you know what he can be like – a real dog with a bone when he gets an idea into his head. And now it’s almost here I’m starting to think I’ve made the most terrible mistake. I’m not sure that I can go back,’ she said, annoyed by the emotion crackling in her voice.

His expression softened. ‘Because?’

‘Because I just can’t, Bon, that’s why. I’m going to have to talk to Arthur, ring them up, and explain. I’ve come a long way since Billingsfield. It’s not that I’m ashamed of where I came from but it wasn’t as if I lived this fabulous life there, and then went on to fame and fortune, things were – were –’ She hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

‘Things were what? Hard? Complicated? Difficult? You know as well as I do that’s exactly what people like about those shows. They like to see how you dragged yourself up from nothing. It makes other people think that they can do it too. Inspirational, aspirational; TV audiences love that kind of thing. And then there are some of them looking at where you came from and thinking their life is damned good compared to what you had to go through and they’re glad they didn’t have to go through it to get where they are.’

Helen stared at him. ‘And what exactly have I been through, Bon? I wasn’t going to say hard. I was going to say boring. Okay, so I grew up without a mother but so do lots of other people. Being poor and working hard to get out of where you are is boring and tedious, and that’s not what people want to hear. They want to believe in some romanticised version. They want to think it happens in the blink of an eye, some fairy godmother moment, one zap of the magic wand and everything changes forever. Well it wasn’t like that –’

‘I’m talking hypothetically here, Helen – I meant one – not you specifically.’

‘I know but that’s the trouble, it isn’t one, it is me, Bon.’

‘And we both know that there are moments, chances taken, people you meet, things you do that do change your life forever –’

‘Of course there are, but my experience of life is the harder you work the luckier you get. Up until now I’ve always kept all those things to myself, all those years. I had the chance to write about all this when I left Cannon Square; my life, where I came from; and I didn’t –’ Helen paused and then said more gently, ‘I didn’t. And for a good reason, because it’s boring.

‘People have got these ideas in their head about what my life was like; what it is like. They make assumptions, they want to romanticise it all, make it all into a fairy story and it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all. It was grim and cold and I was afraid and scared all the time –’ She rolled over. ‘I’m just not sure, even after all these years, that I’m ready to go home.’ The words were out before Helen realised exactly what she’d said.

Bon stroked her back, his touch offering comfort. ‘It’s okay. This is your home now, baby, not Billingsfield. You and me. We’re home. You’re not going home, you’re just going back to a place, a town where you grew up, which you left. This is your home now,’ he said, moving closer and curling up around her.

If it ever was my home, Helen thought miserably, closing her eyes and squeezing them tight to hold back the tears. There were so many emotions she felt about going back to Billingsfield that it was hard to unpick them all. One was the irrational fear that if she went back, somehow she might find that everything she had done so far – her escape, her career, her whole life, had all been a trick of the light, smoke and mirrors, and that she would never be able to get away; that somewhere back beyond the docks and the factories, down past Market Street, tucked between Jean the florist’s and Ross’s camera shop, she would find her real self still working at Finton’s Finest Toys, still unpacking the new deliveries out in the stockroom while Harry checked them off the delivery note. And then there were Charlotte and Harry.

Bon, not privy to her thoughts, put an arm around her waist and pulled her tight up against him. She could feel the fingers of his other hand brushing her hair; feel the warmth of his strong muscular body; and she lay so still that she could pick out the beat of his heart. Whatever happened, whatever Arthur said, and even if it all ended tomorrow, being with Bon in that moment was the best thing that had ever happened to her; she had never felt so loved or so wanted in her whole life.

‘I love you,’ he murmured into her neck, as if he had read her thoughts.

Safe with Bon’s arms around her, lulled by the gentle rhythmic sounds of his breathing, Helen realised just how tired she was. She closed her eyes, finally letting sleep wash over her like a warm sea, and did not fight it as she sank into unconsciousness.

FIVE

The Talent Contest

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Carlton Rooms this busy. We’re never going to get parked in their car park, it’s heaving. Look at it –’ said Harry, throwing his arm casually over the passenger seat so he could look back over his shoulder to reverse his Mini back out into the road. ‘We’ll have to go round again – or maybe it would be easier if I just parked down on the quay and we walked back?’

He didn’t say I told you so to Charlotte, for which Helen was grateful. The last half hour had been a nightmare – Charlotte had taken forever to finish getting ready, dithering about whether they should go to the theatre in their costumes or take their outfits along on hangers and change when they got there, whether they should wear long boots or the high-heeled sandals that they had both bought the previous week, and if they went with the sandals should they stop off and get some proper tights somewhere instead of the fishnets that Charlotte had insisted that they needed the day before. And then, just when Helen thought they were ready, Charlotte had begun a big debate with Harry about the songs they had been working on for the last few weeks. Did the look they had gone with suit the music they had chosen? And then, when they had finally squashed everything into Harry’s car they had got snarled up in late afternoon traffic, and had crept nose to tail towards the town centre – and now it had started to rain.

The whole of Billingsfield seemed much busier than was usual for a Friday – every junction was gridlocked, every set of traffic lights red – as they got closer to the town centre. There were roadworks in the High Street and a diversion running around by Railway Road that slowed the cars down to a snail’s pace – and so now they were running late, and Charlotte was getting more and more annoyed.

She was sitting in the front passenger seat, alongside Harry, her vanity case balanced on her knees, her hair perfect, her makeup immaculate, looking as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine fashion shoot, while Helen was squashed up in the back seat of the car with the costumes and bags and a cardboard box of flyers for the shop and Charlotte’s suitcase, her knees folded up to her chest. Helen had known from the outset that there was no chance she’d be sitting in the front; Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamt of sitting in the back. And there was no way they could put anything in the boot because that was packed full of stock and bits of a display stand for some sort of new doll that Harry’s dad had bought at the wholesalers.

‘Do you think we should have worn hot-pants?’ Charlotte was saying as Harry tried his best to manoeuvre his way backwards out of the car park, through the people and traffic. ‘I saw some in Swanley’s department store last week. I was thinking if we get through to the national finals that we really ought to get some. They would make more of a splash, make us stand out a bit more, wouldn’t they? What do you think?’

‘Certainly would,’ said Harry. ‘Especially with your boots,’ and then to Helen, he said, ‘Can you just tell me if anything’s coming? Only I can’t see round those people on the kerb.’

‘We can’t do anything about the costumes now,’ continued Charlotte, apparently oblivious to all the manoeuvring. ‘Although if we win tonight we could. I was thinking we could nip in on Monday and get ourselves a pair. What do you think, Helen? Could you nip in first thing?’

‘Whoa,’ shouted Helen to Harry. ‘Hang on, there’s a blue car right behind us, Harry. He looks like he wants to get into the car park too.’

‘Well, good luck to him,’ sighed Harry. ‘He can have a go if he’ll just let me out.’

‘I don’t think he’s going anywhere,’ said Helen nervously. ‘There’s another one pulled in right behind him.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Charlotte grumbled, sighing heavily. ‘We’re going to be late now …’

The cars were nose to tail. The car behind Harry honked as Harry tried to reverse out, and then honked his horn again because Harry couldn’t go forward either.

‘I’ll just have to drive in, get past these cars, and turn around. But don’t worry, we’ve still got plenty of time; it’ll be fine, there’s bound to be somewhere down on the quay.’

‘We can’t do that, we can’t park too far away,’ complained Charlotte. ‘It’s nearly half past now and it’s raining out there. My hair will be completely ruined if it gets wet. It’s taken me hours to get these curls right. And there is no way I’m going to be able to walk back from the quay in these shoes. Why can’t we just stop here?’

‘Because we can’t. I’m totally blocking the entrance.’

A stream of people were crossing the road in front of Harry, while beyond them a white Transit van had pulled up outside the back of the theatre. People started piling out of the back, carrying boxes and bags in through the stage doors, so that Harry couldn’t move forwards or backwards. Helen glanced back over her shoulder; they were well and truly stuck. The sounds of horns honking were slowly spreading further back down the queue.

‘Tell you what, why don’t I just jump out here and go in and let them know that we’ve arrived?’ said Charlotte, pushing the car door open as she spoke. ‘I’ll sign us in. Sort out where the dressing rooms are and everything.’

‘But what about all the stuff?’ protested Helen, looking around at the pile of things on the back seat.

‘Oh, you’ll be fine,’ said Charlotte casually, waving her protest away. ‘And anyway Harry will help you bring it in, won’t you, Harry? I mean it’s not like there’s that much, and I don’t want them to think we haven’t turned up or anything. I’ll see you in there in a minute, and don’t forget the costumes. Don’t be long, will you? I don’t want to be singing out there all on my own.’

Watching Charlotte picking her across the cobbles towards the theatre Helen wondered if that wasn’t exactly what Charlotte wanted. As she made her way up the steps towards the foyer Charlotte didn’t even look back.

‘Do you want to get out here too?’ asked Harry. ‘I’d be happy to bring the things in once I’ve found somewhere to park. Go on, out you get. I’ll be fine.’

‘You’ll never be able to carry all this lot on your own.’

He grinned. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll make two trips if I need to. Go on, just hop out here. I really don’t mind. And Charlotte is right, you don’t want to be late for your big night, do you?’

Helen hesitated long enough for the car behind to honk again.

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Harry?’ she asked.

Ahead of them the Transit van finally moved off.

Harry nodded. ‘Of course I will. Stop fussing. Oh, hang on – just let me just pull in to the side over there so I can get out of the way of this moron behind me and then you can get out, okay? Before Charlotte decides to go solo. Oh, and you’ll need these.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the forms that he had helped them to fill in in his bedroom.

‘God, I’d forgotten all about them. You’re a total genius, Harry,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’ Behind them the car pipped again. ‘We better get going before the gorilla behind us gets really annoyed.’ He drove into the car park and pulled up in front of a row of parked cars, a little way past another knot of people unloading even more equipment.

‘It’s going to be a really big night by the look of it. Have you got everything you need?’ Harry said, as Helen pushed the seat forward and scrambled out into the car park.

She nodded. ‘I think so.’

It was raining harder now.

‘I’ll see you in a few minutes,’ Harry said, leaning across the seat to close the door. ‘I think there’s a brolly in the boot if you want one?’

‘No. I’ll be fine, thanks – I’ll run,’ Helen said.

‘Break a leg, isn’t that what they say?’ called Harry.

Helen laughed, pulling her coat up over her head so that it covered her hair. ‘In these shoes, on those cobbles there’s a really good chance you could be right. See you soon. Are you sure you don’t mind bringing all our stuff in?’

He smiled back at her. ‘No, now stop worrying and go or you’ll be late,’ he said.

‘You’re a star, Harry,’ she said. And before Helen really thought about what she was doing she leant back inside the car and kissed him.

It was only after she had slammed the car door shut that Helen thought about the kiss. It hadn’t felt awkward and Harry hadn’t blushed – in fact if anything he acted as if he deserved it. She smiled; maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

With the rain pelting down, Helen picked her way carefully across the shiny wet cobbles towards the theatre’s rear doors.

It was complete madness in the car park. Cars and vans were parked haphazardly across the bays, while a few others had pulled up in a tight semicircle outside a set of huge double doors that led into the theatre’s cavernous interior. There was a buzz of industry and excitement as people unloaded all manner of props and equipment, the drivers and helpers hurrying in and out of the pouring rain. A magician’s cabinet was being rolled in on a sack barrow, while another man pushed in a long rail full of sparkling costumes covered over with polythene, and then behind him came a man and a woman scuttling in from the car park, each carrying guitar cases and glittering cowboy hats.

Once she was inside out of the rain Helen joined the crush of people trying to make their way through to the dressing rooms. Standing behind a trestle table was a small man holding a clipboard; he was struggling to keep order and stop people pushing their way past him. He was failing miserably.

‘If I can just have your name. I need your name,’ he called after the man manhandling the costume rail along the corridor. ‘You can’t just wander in here like that,’ he bawled.’ I need to check you off my list, you know. I have a list – you can’t just go through there. Oh for God’s sake,’ he snapped as the man, apparently oblivious, just kept on walking, before pushing open the double doors at the end.

‘How am I supposed to know who’s here and who’s not?’ the little man shouted to no one in particular, and then he muttered,’ I need another bloody table and some help here,’ before turning his attention back to the queue. When he got as far as Helen he raised his eyebrows and smiled triumphantly.

‘Well, hello there,’ he said. ‘And how can we be of service today, then?’

Helen couldn’t decide whether he was being sarcastic or not. ‘I don’t know whether I should be here or round the front,’ she began.

The man looked her up and down. She suspected, from the look on his face, that he thought she was someone he could manage to control without too much trouble. ‘And you are who exactly?’ he said, pen poised.

‘Helen Heel.’

‘And you’re a performer, are you, Helen?’

Helen nodded. ‘Yes, I’m singing tonight.’

‘Right. Well, you’ve come to the right place, dear.’ He said, eyes moving down his list. ‘Only the nobs and bigwigs get to go in round the front. Soloist, are you?’