One Night Only Page 5

‘Too long for the billboards,’ said Charlotte. ‘And it’s way too fussy. People won’t know how to spell it. No, we need something catchy and memorable.’

  ‘Hang on a minute then,’ said Harry, picking up the evening paper from the bedside table.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Helen. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re looking at births, deaths and marriages?’

  Harry laughed. ‘No, I just thought I’d see what was on at the Odeon.’

  ‘You planning a trip to the pictures?’ asked Helen incredulously.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I was just thinking we could look to see what’s on and who’s in it; see if any of the names go with Helen.’

  ‘I’m not sure I even like Helen, not really,’ Helen began, not that either Harry or Charlotte were taking any notice of her.

  ‘How about Helen McQueen?’ said Charlotte, reading over Harry’s shoulder and pointing. ‘Oh or how about Helen Brando, or Helen Eastwood?’

  ‘No,’ said Harry. ‘You need to take this seriously. We’ve only got another ten minutes and then we really have to be going or we’re not going to be there in time for the run-through.’

  If Charlotte had any other opinion about how much time it would take to get to the theatre, this time she kept it to herself, and instead she took a long hard look at the cinema programme. ‘Okay. There we are. I’ve got it. The Sting. Helen Redford or Helen Newman. What do you reckon?’

  Harry nodded. ‘They both sound good to me. Classy but of the people.’

  Helen stared at him. ‘Of the people? What on earth is that supposed to mean, Harry?’

  Neither of them appeared to be listening to her; instead Charlotte nodded. ‘I just knew you were the man for the job, Harry. I’ve been thinking – if we get discovered tonight we’re going to need a manager to handle all this sort of stuff for us. You know, doing the forms and the booking and sorting out the transport, and working the money out, and all that sort of thing. What do you reckon, do you think you’d be up to it?’

  Helen stared at her in amazement while Harry, pulling back his shoulders and coming over all manly, appeared genuinely flattered. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’m not sure – I suppose I could always give it a go –’

  ‘Wait,’ said Helen. ‘Charlotte, stop it. You know what your dad said about not saying anything or signing anything?’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Which is why we’re here getting changed and not over at my place. And anyway this is different. This is our business. What do you say, Harry?’

  ‘Harry, don’t say anything,’ Helen said quickly. ‘Charlotte, Harry doesn’t know anything about show business,’ she protested. It sounded disloyal but she was trying hard to protect Harry from Charlotte – not that it appeared to be doing any good.

  ‘Oh, come on, Helen, he’s a natural, aren’t you, Harry?’ said Charlotte. ‘He’d be perfect. And we both know him and we trust him, and he manages his dad’s shop, doesn’t he? And you’re always saying what a good job he does.’ Charlotte gave Helen a great big pantomime wink.

  ‘Stop it,’ Helen said, but Charlotte was on a roll.

  ‘You can do it, can’t you, Harry? I reckon you’d be ideal for the job.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure about that,’ Harry said, wriggling uncomfortably under Charlotte’s attention. Even so, Helen could see he was being persuaded by her flattery.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Charlotte, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Anyway we can talk about all that later. Back to business. Names. What do you think? Helen Redford or Helen Newman?’

  Harry was busy pulling a coin out of his trouser pocket. ‘Heads for Redford, tails for Newman. Okay, Helen?’

  Before Helen could reply he had flipped the coin up into the air. It spun over and over, catching the light as it peaked and then began to fall. She watched it with an odd detachment as Harry caught it, slapped it down onto the back of his hand and then peeled away his fingers to reveal the coin.

  ‘Heads,’ he said. ‘It’s heads.’

  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 ticke
t 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.’