One Night Only Page 2

  ‘So is spinach, but you don’t have to have it on your plate twenty-four hours a day seven days a week, do you? In my opinion he’s not as good for you as you are for him. You’re not going to marry him, are you?’

  ‘We haven’t talked about it,’ said Helen.

  ‘Well, don’t. The idea of you saddling yourself with him makes my flesh creep. Your taste in men is appalling, sweetie.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you would know.’

  ‘He’s just a phase.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that I’ll grow out of him?’

  ‘You will if you have any sense. He’s going to break your heart.’

  ‘And you didn’t? You’re only jealous, Arthur – you’ve done nothing but sulk since what’s-her-name ran off with that footballer. Besides, I need a new project.’

  ‘Then do something to the house, remodel the garden, get a dog – anything.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a bit bigger. Bon was talking about us buying a bar together, somewhere warm and sunny. Somewhere with a little stage, where we could have live music. I’m thinking about going to have a look in the Canaries. See what’s on offer.’

  Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘What’s on offer in the Canaries, sweetie, is total bloody oblivion. For God’s sake Helen, you’re so much better than that. What’s it going to take to get you to see sense?’

  ‘Bon loves me.’

  Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘So did that Pekinese my mother used to have, but I didn’t feel obliged to change my life to accommodate it.’

  ‘You loved that dog.’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. You need something new to get your teeth into. Something big –’

  She sighed. ‘Something special.’

  ‘Exactly, something special, which is why Roots is just perfect for you. This will get you right back where you belong, back out there in the public eye – give you the exposure you need, and maybe shake something interesting out of the woodwork. I’ve got a plan – I’ve been thinking we should get you out on the road again. You should be thanking Jamie, never mind whisking golden boy off on another jolly. And Roots do it so well. Have you watched any of the programmes?’

  Cautiously Helen nodded. ‘I think I have. I’m not sure. I saw the one about a ballet dancer. Some posh blonde girl with buck teeth whose family went back to Elizabeth I?’

  ‘They’re biking round a boxed set for you. Basic format – they whisk you back to your old home town in a limo, put you up in a luxury hotel, then you drive around and point out the sites, you go and see a few old friends and your family and then they whip out your family tree, along with a few black and white photos and the odd black sheep, you ooh and ahh in all the right places, cry a bit and tell them it’s been the most moving experience of your whole life.’

  Helen laughed. ‘You are such a cynic, Arthur.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ Arthur asked, rolling the cigar for added dramatic emphasis.

  ‘I didn’t used to be. I was a nice girl when I first met you.’

  He smiled gently. ‘And you still are, Helen. Appearing on Roots will be a walk in the park for someone with your talent. Now – about my other plan. I’ve been thinking, while we’re red hot and rolling, how about we reprise the one-woman show you used to do? I mean you don’t have to be a genius to see that there’s a tie-in here. You’ve got loads of material. Do a few songs, tell a few stories about the good old days, a behind-the-scenes look at Cannon Square, some jokes – and you’ve got those monologues you used to do. You know the kind of thing; An Evening With – what’s the name of the town where you grew up?’

  ‘Billingsfield.’

  ‘Okay, well there you go then, Billingsfield’s favourite daughter, Helen Redford, comes home to roost at long last. For one night only –’ He lifted his hands, fingers spread to create an imaginary billboard. ‘It shouldn’t be that hard to find a venue, somewhere intimate and not too big.’

  ‘You mean cheap.’

  Arthur grinned. ‘That isn’t what I said, and that most certainly isn’t what I meant, but I’m just thinking that that way we can test the waters; see what the response is. If it bombs then we’ve lost next to nothing and if it doesn’t and we time it right then we could maybe take it on the road. I’ll see if I can sort out a few dates – it can’t hurt. Cash in on the TV show –’

  ‘On the road?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Yes, why not? It would be just like the good old days. You used to love it, remember? Take you right back to where you started from. Where was that place in Billingsfield?’

  ‘The Carlton Rooms.’

  He laughed. ‘That’s it. There you go then, that’s where we should start the tour. You went down a storm there last time, remember?’

  ‘Do you know how many years ago that was?’ Helen laughed. ‘Those rose-tinted spectacles are going to be the death of you, Arthur.’

  ‘I thought I’d maybe have a chat with Ruth at Roots about it. See what we can organise. It would give their show a real focus too. And you never know, maybe we can work out a book deal on the back of the TV programme?’

  Helen looked sceptical.

  ‘What?’ said Arthur.

  ‘It’s a bit late for all that, isn’t it? Maybe ten years ago, when I was strapped to a gurney fighting for life, I might have swung it, but now? Memoirs of a has-been? The public have got a horribly short memory, Arthur.’

  He pulled a face. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t be so bloody hard on yourself, Helen; not if you’re up there all over again, babe – and you could be. And let’s face it, you’ve had an interesting life. Kids who’re still wet behind the ears are writing bloody autobiographies these days – that little fat bird who got married to that footballer, and the one with the –’ he mimed a pair of pantomime breasts. ‘Kiss and tell, reality TV, it’s all the go now, sweetie – and you’d be a natural. Everybody’s doing it.’

  ‘Doing what?’ said a voice from the stairs. Helen looked up as Bon jogged into view. She could hear by the rhythm that he was taking the steps two at a time, which for some reason made her smile. Arthur rolled his eyes and looked heavenwards.

  Bon was tall and blond with broad shoulders and a body that reflected all the hours of work he put in at the gym and in the studio. They’d met while she was doing pantomime in Croydon. She was playing the fairy godmother. He was in the chorus. Well, that’s what they told people. Actually he had been doing the choreography for the show and had been standing in one night when one of the dancers was off sick, but it made a good story for the tabloids. He was somewhere in his late thirties but looked younger, while Helen was in her early fifties and looked well preserved.

  She had never imagined ending up with a younger man.

  When they were alone together those things didn’t matter; he made Helen laugh and she adored what they had, but in company the cliché sometimes made her defensive. It was obvious that Bon was younger than she was. She didn’t dwell on exactly how many years but it was enough to be notable in the gossip columns. On the plus side, Bon was beautiful and kind, warm and funny, and he made up for all those men along the way who hadn’t been, and – Helen kept telling herself – if it didn’t turn out to be forever then as far as she was concerned what they had had was still worth it.

  He smiled at her.

  Sometimes, Helen knew, it was better to have a little drop of something wonderful than a whole lifetime of something ordinary. Two years on they were still together, although she often wondered if he saw her as a stopgap, a place marker to hold the page until the right woman came along, someone young whom he could have a family with – although she kept those thoughts to herself.

  Even as the idea rolled through her head, Bon’s smile broadened, and leaning closer he kissed her.

  ‘Hiya honey,’ he purred, his body language freezing Arthur out. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you look lovely, and you smell divine? I really love that perfume.’

  Helen looked up at him. ‘Birt
hday present from my lover,’ she said.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Arthur mime retching, and laughed, breaking the intimate connection between her and Bon. Bon glanced round and grinned. ‘A bit too much for you at your age, Arthur?’

  ‘Bit too much for anyone at any age,’ huffed Arthur miserably.

  ‘You’re only jealous,’ said Bon. ‘So, what is it that you’re up to?’

  ‘Arthur was talking about people, more specifically me, writing their memoirs,’ said Helen, as she pulled away.

  ‘I think that you should do it,’ Bon said. ‘I’ve told you that before – you’re a natural and I’m sure Arthur could get you a bit of help if you needed it, couldn’t you Arthur? A ghost – I’m not saying you couldn’t do it yourself –’

  Helen laughed, ‘Which I couldn’t. But I know what you mean.’

  ‘And how did the rest of the day go?’

  ‘Arthur wants me to take my old show on the road.’

  The words caught Bon’s attention. ‘Really? The one-woman show? But I thought you were talking to a television production company today, weren’t you? I mean going on the road, that’s great too – but it’s not TV.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Helen. ‘Arthur was saying we should think about touring again if the TV thing comes off – cash in on the exposure.’

  Bon nodded. ‘Sounds like a good idea. Okay, well if there is anything I can do to help – you know that I’d be really happy to help you rehearse.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Helen smiled. ‘But never mind me. How did your meeting go?’

  Bon opened his mouth to protest.

  ‘No,’ said Helen, stopping him with a gesture. ‘Come on, ‘fess up. I got in first. So?’

  He groaned. ‘So, nothing. Libby’s thinking I should maybe take the Dubai gig. She’s really keen to get me out there; apparently she’s got loads of really good contacts.’

  Libby, the new agent that his old agency had assigned him, five feet two in her tiny stockinged feet and blonde and gorgeous and not a day over thirty. Helen slammed the door shut on the place her thoughts were heading and tried to ignore the giggling from behind it.

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ Helen said. ‘And it’s well paid – I’d go for it.’

  ‘It’s a long way to go,’ said Bon. ‘And if you’re serious about going on tour, you’re going to need some backup. You know that I hate to leave you here on your own.’

  ‘I can almost hear the violins from here. New highlights?’ said Arthur, conversationally, elbowing his way back into the conversation.

  Helen sighed; at least Arthur had managed not to say that they had been touring while Bon was still in short trousers.

  ‘Sun-kissed,’ said Bon with a lazy grin, running long fingers back through his artfully tousled hair. ‘It goes like that in the sunshine.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Don’t bait him, Bon, you know he hates it.’

  Bon’s grin broadened. ‘You should try it some time, Arthur – get outside, get yourself a little bit of gold in the old toupee.’

  ‘It’s real,’ Arthur growled.

  ‘Real stoat?’

  ‘Play nicely you two,’ Helen said sharply.

  ‘So how did your meeting go?’ asked Bon.

  ‘Not bad. Arthur has got me a job, haven’t you, Arthur? Roots? The TV show – apparently I’m an icon.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Bon, interest piqued. ‘God, now that is just fantastic. It’s got a real following and you’ll be great on there. When do you start shooting?’

  ‘I haven’t even signed the contract yet. I might not do it …’

  Bon grinned. ‘Why ever not? You’d be mad not to. You want anything?’ he asked, heading towards the fridge.

  ‘No, not for me, thanks. I’ve already got one.’

  ‘Arthur?’

  Arthur lifted his coffee mug instead of replying.

  Bon dropped a handful of ice into the tumbler and topped it up with fruit juice. ‘So when do you think you’re going to start?’

  ‘We’re not sure yet. We’ll be discussing dates next week,’ said Arthur.

  Helen couldn’t take her eyes off Bon. He moved with a fluid grace that still made her mouth water. ‘You are going to take it, aren’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Bon pulled a face. ‘Oh come on, Helen, you’d be absolutely mad not to. You’d be brilliant. They syndicate the show all over the world and then it ends up on the satellite channels.’

  Arthur sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to tell her that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me we’ve finally found something we’re agreed on,’ laughed Bon. ‘By the way, are you staying for supper, Arthur? You’re more than welcome. I thought I’d cook Thai tonight?’

  Arthur sighed ‘I really hate it when you’re nice to me,’ he said.

  Helen smiled, ignoring the banter, her mind elsewhere. She’d come a long way since the Carlton Rooms in Billingsfield. Did she really want to go back?

  TWO

  Natalia, Roots resident researcher and the person assigned to liaise – whatever that meant – with Helen for the duration of the filming, perched on the edge of one of the big red shabby-chic sofas in Helen’s sitting room, looking for all the world as if given half a chance she would be up on her toes and away. Natalia had her laptop bag balanced on her lap but so far hadn’t unpacked it.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? A cup of tea? Herbal, green? Coffee?’ asked Helen, settling herself down in the armchair opposite. ‘We’ve got juice?’

  The young woman blinked and stared at her, caught, anxious as a rabbit in the headlights. She retrieved a small plastic bottle from her handbag and waggled it to and fro, in a gesture Helen guessed was supposed to amuse.

  ‘No, you’re fine, really. I’ve got water, but really, thank you,’ she said in her breathy little-girl voice. ‘Now how we do it at Roots is that I’ll be working with you all the way through, right through the filming and everything, so we can build up a relationship and you’ll know the score. And you’ll know that I know what I’m talking about because I’ll have been here right from day one. So, I thought we’d just start with a few basics – get those out of the way first – and then maybe if you’ve got any photos? Did Ruth ask you about photos? Don’t worry if she didn’t, we can always get them later and we don’t take them away or anything. I’ve brought a scanner with me.’ She tapped her bag. ‘And I’ve brought some cuttings and things for you to take a look at, you know, from the good old days.’ She tipped her head down towards the bag again. ‘Usually I’ve got this guy who comes with me and does all the technical stuff while we’re talking, but he’s got this bug. Jamie, you might have met him?’

  Helen nodded. ‘He thought I was an icon.’

  The young woman smiled. ‘Right, well he rang in to say he’s got flu, well he thinks it’s flu, but then again he is a man: probably just a sniffle. He usually does the driving too – you know if it’s like somewhere off the beaten track, or the country or something –’ Natalia carried on smiling; it was clear she meant a trip like this one.

  Natalia, all turned out in her leather jacket, hand-knitted beanie hat, and a floral mini-dress worn over black leggings and twenty-eye black patent DMs had arrived two hours late, not so much fashionably late as horribly lost late, and from her colourful account of finally having tracked down Helen’s house, she seemed to view rural Norfolk as if it was just a step away from the Amazon basin or the African veldt.

  ‘How on earth do you manage out here?’ she asked conversationally, taking a swig from her water bottle as she made an effort to slough off her oversized biker jacket. ‘I mean it’s so isolated; so far from anywhere.’

  Helen raised an eyebrow. She lived in a handsome Victorian house in the middle of Denham Market, five minutes’ walk from the town centre and two major supermarkets. It was hardly the Serengeti.

  ‘It’s an hour and a half from Kings Cross,’ Helen said, pouring herself a mug of tea.


  ‘Really?’ The girl looked genuinely surprised. ‘You mean like the trains come right out here?’ she said.

  Helen suppressed the desire to sigh and shake her head. ‘Every hour.’

  ‘Really?’ repeated Natalia, unable to conceal her amazement, as she finally shrugged the jacket off. ‘Well, wow – I mean that is really impressive. Anyway, as I said, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m so looking forward to working with you on your story,’ she gushed. ‘Jamie was really gutted that he’s not here today. When I told my mum I was coming to talk to you today she was just so envious. My mum said that you were a legend. She used to watch you every week on Cannon Square. Right from the first episode. And Jamie’s got them all on DVD right from episode one.’ Natalia grinned. ‘I think that the two of them were more excited than I was about me coming to meet you. Anyway, let’s get down to business.’

  Helen smiled at her; Natalia, twenty-six, had been best in show on her degree course, according to Ruth’s latest email, which made Helen wonder whether there was anyone on the Roots production team who had just wandered in on the off chance of a job and got in on the strength of being nice, making good tea and being shit-hot with the filing.

  ‘We always like to come out and see people in their own homes if we possibly can,’ Natalia was saying earnestly. ‘It’s always nicer and makes it more intimate. I’m sure you read in the contract that we’ll probably want to come and do some of the filming here too, you know, like background; give people an idea of how you live now. People are always fascinated by other people’s houses, aren’t they?’ And then Natalia paused and looked anxiously over her shoulder. ‘Do you think my car will be all right out there?’

  ‘On my drive?’

  Natalia nodded. ‘I mean like it’s locked and everything, but I was just wondering. You know.’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I was just wondering –’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Whereabouts do you live?’

  ‘Hackney,’ Natalia said. ‘We’ve got a flat, nowhere near as grand as this, obviously, but it’s nice and really handy for work. My boyfriend and I keep saying once we have children we might like to move out – you know, to the country. Like Epping or Chadwell Heath or somewhere. His mum and dad come from Cheshunt. I quite fancy Brighton myself.’ She paused. ‘It’s the dark out here that would worry me; that and the quiet. And then you get the animals.’ She shuddered. ‘Me and my boyfriend went camping once, to the proper country. I wouldn’t want to do it again; there were all these really weird snuffling noises in the night and then you had to go to the loo in a shed. With a torch. I still get flashbacks.