One Night Only Read online

  Anyway we really like to see how our guests live, see them in their own environment. And how they cope day to day, what they do, cooking and that kind of thing.’ It made it sound as if Natalia was doing a home visit for social services. ‘I mean this is really nice,’ she said, peering around. ‘Why do you live upstairs, is it like a flat or something?’

  ‘No, I own the whole house. It’s just that the main sitting room is on the first floor.’

  ‘Right,’ said Natalia, scribbling something down on her notepad. ‘So, what, is the downstairs for your servants?’

  Helen laughed. ‘I wish. No, the kitchen is down there, and the utility room, and there’s a gym and –’

  ‘And so your staff live out, do they?’ asked Natalia, pen poised above the pad.

  Natalia had obviously worked with far grander stars in the past; or maybe she came from a generation that thought everyone on TV had an entourage of hired help dealing with the daily grind on their behalf.

  ‘No, I don’t really have any staff. We have Audrey who comes in to clean every day, and Bert, he comes in to help me with the garden –’

  On the sofa Natalia was writing feverishly. ‘And you live up here because?’ She left the question hanging. Helen stared at her wondering what lurid possibility Natalia was considering.

  ‘Because of the view,’ said Helen, standing up and directing the young woman’s attention towards the tall windows, with their plush window seats and piles of cushions. ‘I really love the view from up here.’

  Natalia stepped up beside her to take a look. ‘The view,’ Natalia echoed.

  Denham Market was built on the hill where Norfolk began to drag itself up out of the dark rich expanse of the fenland. Situated a few minutes’ walk from the church, Helen’s house was a Gothic gem, with a fairytale turret at one corner and huge rooms with vaulted ceilings and broad oak floors. At this time of the day the sun came flooding in through the mullioned windows, casting everything in a warm glow.

  Up on the first floor, the open-plan double-aspect sitting room looked out over the gardens on one side and over the dark red pantiled rooftops of the houses in the streets below on the other, and beyond the town the glittering snake of the river Ouse, which wound its way across the flat lands of the fen. Beyond that as far as the eye could see were acres and acres of farmed fenland, flat as a billiard table, rich and fertile, lush green or black or gold, depending on the season, stretching out to Ely in the southwest and Long Sutton in the north-west.

  It had been the view and the unique appearance of the house that had attracted Helen to it in the first place; it looked for all the world like a fairytale castle up on its hill close by the church. On a clear day it really did seem as if you could see forever. Compared to the tiny terraced house she had grown up in, the view alone at High House lifted Helen’s spirits, the sense of space and freedom under the vast fenland sky finally letting her breathe.

  ‘So did you always live round here?’ asked Natalia, pen poised.

  ‘No, I was born and grew up in Billingsfield. It was a factory town. It couldn’t have been more different to Norfolk and this place. Number thirty-six Victoria Street; I’m sure I’ve probably got some photos somewhere. I remember as a little girl looking out of the front-room window of this tiny terraced house and having a horrible sense that I could easily be in the wrong one. Opposite me across the street was a house that was identical to mine, in a row of houses all identical to mine. All the doors were painted the same flat brown, all the windows had the same thick nets in the windows. Even thinking about it now after all these years it makes me shiver; it felt as if you couldn’t breathe.’

  Natalia nodded and made another note.

  Helen didn’t have that feeling living here. High House was unique, a one-off, with no twin staring back at it, no neighbours peering in, making judgements on her family, from windows that faced each other across a strip of tarmac. No one teased or tormented her here. There was no lying in bed at night hearing the frenzied scuttling and scurrying and raised angry voices from the family whose bedroom adjoined hers. No, up here in High House there was only Helen and the people she invited in, which today included Natalia, who was busy peering out of the window, probably trying to work out what all the fuss was about.

  ‘Over there on a clear day you can see Ely Cathedral,’ said Helen, pointing into the distance.

  Alongside her Natalia stifled a yawn. ‘I’m not much of a one for views,’ she said.

  ‘So,’ said Helen, now that it was obvious her audience had moved on. ‘What else would you like to know?’

  Natalia settled herself back on the sofa. ‘I’m not sure how much you know about the show but in the first segment we talk about you and what you do or did. There’s usually some film clips, some interviews with friends and colleagues, that sort of thing – and then we explore where you came from and we look around the places where you grew up and talk to people who knew you. And then we explore your roots.’

  ‘Which means what exactly?’ asked Helen.

  The girl looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure I’m with you?’

  ‘Well, which roots?’

  ‘Presumably you’ve seen the show. Your parents and any interesting ancestors we throw up when we do your family tree. We’ve got this great guy, Alan – well, when I say great; he’s a bit of an acquired taste – he doesn’t like real live people very much. He likes to stay in the office and he wears cotton gloves and a mask a lot of the time, and he’s got this whole thing about pens – but he’s brilliant when it comes to research. Anyway, you see that’s the thing with Roots; we don’t just tie ourselves to the historical, that’s the beauty of the format, we just follow our noses on the good stories. So, like with Terry Haslam – you know, the civil rights bloke? Well his dad, Jack, used to be a strongman in the circus, so we took a look at how Terry had grown up, and that whole nomadic circus culture. It was funny because most people talk about running away to join the circus, but in Terry’s case he ran away to join the Church. Terry’s heritage was amazing – his dad’s family came from Transylvania and his mum came from somewhere in Somerset.

  ‘Anyway, it was really weird; we took the crew out to this funny little village to film. I mean it was truly spooky. I’ve never been anywhere like that before – and the locals were just so peculiar, they kept pointing and laughing – and anyway Jeremy, the sound guy, bought us all these strings of garlic.’ Natalia paused to take a sip of water. ‘Transylvania was a complete doddle by comparison.’

  ‘I’m not sure that there is anything that interesting in my family,’ said Helen.

  Natalia waved the words away. ‘Oh don’t worry. Everyone I work with always says that but we usually poke around till we find something, and to be perfectly honest, if Ruth’s signed you up to do the show, then there’s something we can get our teeth into or she wouldn’t be doing it.’

  The remark caught Helen off guard. She stared at Natalia. ‘I’m sorry?’ she began. ‘What are we talking about here?’

  The girl reddened. ‘Sorry, but I don’t suppose I’m telling you anything you don’t already know, Helen. We all know that there is an elephant in the room when it comes to your past. I don’t want to be tactless about it – but it’s not exactly rocket science, is it? We’ll start off with your parents –’Helen waited.

  ‘Your mum? The whole motherhood, abandoned children thing, I mean I’m assuming you’d have realised what we’d be going for here – a sort of cherchez la femme angle. Looking at the kind of woman who leaves her child behind and the reasons why. Why? What did you think we were going to do?’

  Helen couldn’t think of anything to say, but it was fine because Natalia was firing up her laptop and had all the answers on hand. ‘You see what I’m saying here, Helen? There’s no point us dragging up some unknown Elizabethan sailor from God knows where, when we’ve got a story like that to unpick, really, is there? It’s just too good not to use –’

  ‘I’m sure you think I�
��m being naïve here, but I thought Ruth said that it would be mostly historical?’

  ‘Well, sometimes it is, but mostly –’ Natalia hesitated, ‘To be honest mostly it isn’t. The last series everything was pretty much about this generation and maybe the last one. You know, like their mums and dads – people like all that sort of stuff. And of course your mum vanished too, so realistically that is just too good a story not to go after.’

  ‘She didn’t vanish,’ said Helen, dry-mouthed. ‘It wasn’t like some sort of conjuring trick. Are you telling me that is going to be the main focus of the programme?’

  ‘We’ve got other angles too, obviously. I don’t have to tell you your own secrets, do I?’ She smiled. Helen stared at her; what did that mean?

  ‘So are you saying you’ve found my mother?’

  Totally wrong-footed Natalia stared at her, trying to compose herself. ‘No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all.’

  At which moment Bon came up from the gym, dressed in sweat pants and an indigo blue tee shirt. His tee shirt was soaked with sweat across the chest, underarms and back.

  ‘Hi,’ he said with a grin, wiping his hands on the white towel draped across his broad shoulders. He looked like a character from a wholesome-life advert. ‘I see your guest arrived then,’ he said to Helen, as he strode over and extended a hand towards Natalia. ‘I’m Bon Fisher. Great to meet you. You must be Natalia, from Roots, is that right?’

  Natalia’s mouth had dropped open. ‘Bon?’ she managed, and for a few seconds Helen caught a glimpse of what it was others saw in him. His face, though classically handsome, was still masculine and rugged, manly rather than fey; and his eyes, bright blue and clear as high summer skies, were surrounded by a corona of laughter lines. But what made him infinitely more attractive was that he had this warm sunny aura that was hard to quantify or to miss.

  ‘That’s right, I’m Helen’s lover,’ he continued, without so much as a hint of hesitation, as he shook her hand. ‘But presumably if you’re working on Helen’s life story you already know all about that. Delighted to meet you. Helen is the most amazing woman.’ He turned to look at her affectionately. ‘Amazing. I’m really lucky to share my life with her.’ He moved across the room and brushed his lips across Helen’s, which made something inside her flutter; he was gorgeous. She glanced up at him, wondering not for the first time if this was some kind of cruel trick. ‘God only knows why she puts up with me.’

  Natalia reddened and opened her mouth to say something, but Bon didn’t pause to let her catch up. ‘Anyway, I’m just going to go and grab a shower and then I’ll fix us some lunch. You are staying for lunch, aren’t you, Natalia? I realise it’s a bit late but we’ve both had a busy morning –’

  The girl glanced at Helen who nodded. ‘Please,’ Helen said. ‘You’d be more than welcome, and Bon is a superb cook.’

  ‘Well, yes then, sure, if it’s okay with you.’

  ‘Got to be better than a supermarket sandwich,’ Bon said. ‘I’m thinking hot spicy shredded chicken with avocado on baby leaves drizzled with raspberry vinaigrette. Does that sound all right to you?’

  ‘Sounds fabulous,’ said Natalia.

  Helen laughed in spite of herself. ‘Don’t encourage him,’ she said and then smiled up at Bon. ‘He thinks about food all the time he’s working out. I have no idea why he doesn’t weigh twenty stone. I keep thinking that one of these days we should open a restaurant.’

  Bon bent down and kissed her. ‘And how boring would that be, cooking the same thing over and over? Lunch in say, half an hour?’

  ‘Fine by me; how about you, Natalia?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Great,’ said Bon. ‘Oh and I’ve got a meeting at four. Libby and I are working on the costumes for the show we’re taking to Dubai –’ he continued, aiming his remarks at Helen. Libby. It felt like he was mentioning her a lot lately.

  ‘You’re a dancer, that’s right, isn’t it?’ Natalia was saying, pen poised over her pad.

  Bon nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right, although I’m actually more about the choreography these days, and I’ve helped produce some of the shows we take out on tour.’

  ‘We?’ said Natalia, all eagerness and enthusiasm, clutching her pen. ‘Is this something new for you, Helen?’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Helen, holding up her hands. ‘I can’t dance and have no intention of taking it up now. No, this is definitely Bon’s baby.’

  ‘Mine and Libby’s,’ Bon said. ‘Libby Sherwood, she’s my agent.’

  There she was again.

  ‘So how long have you and Helen been together?’ Natalia asked.

  Bon smiled. ‘Not long enough. Now I really have to go. I’ll give you a shout when food’s ready. You okay for drinks?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Helen.

  ‘Me too,’ said Natalia brightly, doing her little trick with the water bottle. Helen watched Natalia watch Bon cross the room and head back down the stairs.

  After a second or two Natalia turned back to Helen and realised Helen had been watching her watching him. She bit her bottom lip and looked horribly self-conscious.

  ‘He seems very nice,’ Natalia said with feigned casualness, turning her attention quickly back to her notepad.

  Helen laughed. ‘Oh, he is. And he has got the cutest arse, hasn’t he?’

  Natalia turned pillar-box red and was about to protest.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Helen with a smile. ‘You’re welcome to admire the scenery – lots of people do.’

  Natalia’s colour deepened. ‘Where were we?’ she said, faffing around with her notebook and laptop in what appeared to be a show of regaining her composure.

  ‘My mother,’ suggested Helen helpfully.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Natalia, with equal discomfort.

  ‘I’m not the only little girl whose mother walked out on her family.’

  ‘I know,’ said Natalia. ‘But it is something that a lot of people will be curious about. It must have had a profound effect on you. On your relationships; on your own views on children and families.’

  ‘I didn’t have children,’ said Helen briskly. ‘So it didn’t arise.’

  ‘Was that because of your mum?’ pressed Natalia.

  Helen shook her head. ‘No, it hadn’t got anything to do with her. I suppose it must have had an effect, but I was open to the idea of having a family. I was just never with the right person at the right time.’ She paused. Natalia was scribbling away furiously. When Helen stopped she looked up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Natalia said. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘I suppose looking back if I had wanted them enough I would have had them, but it didn’t happen.’

  ‘It didn’t happen,’ she repeated.

  ‘No,’ said Helen. ‘There was always another job, another part, always something else coming along, and then it was just too late.’

  ‘And so you don’t think that was because of your mum?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘No, quite the reverse; in some ways her leaving made me make more of my life. I probably took more chances, more risks, enjoyed all of life while it was there. Her going made me realise that nothing is as safe as it first appears. But it wasn’t just me, it affected my dad too, his work – his friends. I was very small when it happened, but I was old enough to know something was going on; old enough to miss her, but not old enough for anyone to explain it to me. In those days I’m not sure how much notice people took of children’s emotions. I think because children hadn’t got the words to express what they were feeling people just assumed they didn’t feel anything – although to be fair, no-one really talked about my mum once she was gone. No-one at all. It was like a door had opened up somewhere and she just walked through it. Some days I wonder if I imagined her and that perhaps she had never existed at all.’

  ‘Did you think she was dead?’ asked Natalia.

  Helen watched the younger woman’s face carefully, wondering what it was that Roo
ts had managed to uncover. Natalia’s body language gave nothing away.

  ‘I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. I still don’t have any idea what happened to her.’

  ‘It’s such an interesting thread. Weren’t you ever curious? I’m sure I would have been. Didn’t you try to find her?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Helen.

  Natalia looked surprised. ‘What, never?’

  ‘Like I said, no one talked about her at home and back then I was powerless to look; looking or asking would have felt like I was betraying my dad. And what if me asking too many questions made him go away too? I remember reading in the Sunday papers about people losing their memories and wondered if that was what had happened to her and that maybe one day, some day she would remember us and just come home.

  ‘I had a lady to come in and sit with me if my dad was going to be late home from work. Mrs Eades. I didn’t like her very much and I was terrified that she might end up looking after me permanently if my dad didn’t come back – but no, I didn’t look, I didn’t ask.’

  Helen glanced across; Natalia was busy making copious notes.

  ‘Please,’ she pressed, when Helen stopped speaking, ‘It’s really interesting.’

  ‘I did think when I was first on the TV that maybe my mum might show up then; you know: “Long-lost mother reunited with celebrity daughter”. It’s the kind of thing the tabloids have always loved. Real Max Clifford territory. But she didn’t.’