One Night Only

by Sue Welfare

  ‘I’m not sure that Charlotte sees it that way,’ she said.

  ‘She will, eventually, when she has a chance to think about it. There is no way either of you ought to be mixed up with someone like Leon Downey. The man’s a sleaze. I was thinking when we got in last night, how about if next week I ring round the clubs and pubs and book you a few gigs locally? I know it’s not exactly the big time but it would be a start. There’s that folk club in Hamble Street, they have some decent groups; or there’s the Grapes by the station, they have live music most weekends. I bet I could get you a few bookings.’

  ‘You heard Charlotte. She said that the Wild Birds were history.’

  ‘Only because she was angry. She’ll calm down, you know she will, especially if we can get a few halfway decent bookings.’ Although she didn’t reply, something about Helen’s expression made Harry frown. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure that we’re up to it. Not really.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You sound great and you did so well last night. People loved you, you know that, Helen. You heard the crowd, they couldn’t get enough of you. You were the only act who got an encore. I can’t work out why you didn’t win.’

  Helen smiled and took the mug of tea Harry offered her. ‘Did you actually see us while we were singing?’ she asked, sipping some of the tea down to humour him.

  Harry reddened. ‘No, sorry. I was backstage, but you sounded great – and no one else got an encore, did they? You were good,’ he continued. ‘Really good.’

  Helen took another sip of tea. She didn’t want to disillusion him by telling him the real reason for their encore. The silence was broken by the toaster as the toast sprang free.

  ‘There you go,’ Harry said. ‘I told you it wouldn’t take long.’ He buttered a slice for her while she made a show of drinking the scalding tea. ‘You want some jam on that?’

  ‘No, it’s fine just as it is. I’ve really got to go,’ she said, accepting the toast.

  ‘See you later,’ Harry said. ‘I hope you have a great time.’

  Helen leant closer and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you for being such a hero, Harry. Now go back to bed, will you?’

  Harry nodded and then catching hold of her arm kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.

  Helen nodded, feeling her heart pitter-patter in her chest.

  She folded the slice of toast in half and ate it walking down the street in the cold, grey, half-light of Sunday morning. It felt as if the whole world was still fast asleep, tucked up against the chilling morning air, and she wondered if perhaps Arthur had been mistaken or worse still playing a bad practical joke on her. Helen hadn’t realised just how tired she felt. It was cold and damp and Helen was just thinking that maybe the whole thing had been a really bad idea when she turned the corner into Castle Hill and stopped dead in astonishment. It looked as if the carnival had come to town.

  The entire road was closed off with a row of metal barriers. Beyond the barriers technicians and riggers were busy setting up huge arc lights and scenery to disguise a bank of phones and sets of traffic lights. At the far end of the road, Copse Quay was dominated by a huge sailing ship, moored alongside the old Excise House; the whole place was buzzing with activity. A man was stacking barrels up on the quay, people were covering the modern road surfaces with straw and wood chippings, horses were being groomed and tacked up. Men, women and children in full historical costume were bustling around, chatting excitedly, while a man with a camera hurried backwards and forwards taking still photographs of everyone.

  All along the street on the landward side a row of stalls had been set up and were being dressed with bright colourful goods, fabrics and animals in wicker baskets. Close to the water’s edge people gathered around great braziers to keep warm. The whole place was full of noise and light and life.

  Helen stopped and stared, trying to take it all in. Lined up in one of the side streets, away from the action, was a row of modern trailers, parked well away from the clatter and buzz of the film set, while closer to the barriers stood two bright blue double-decker buses, which were currently doing a roaring trade serving breakfasts. A posse of people, all dressed in variations on parkas and moon boots, were scurrying backwards and forwards with clipboards, busily shepherding people and props around the set.

  Helen hesitated at the first barrier, not altogether sure where to go or what to do. There were a couple of policemen on security, although at this time of the morning they were more preoccupied with sipping mugs of tea and eating bacon rolls than keeping crowds at bay, but the last thing she really wanted was to attract their attention in case they sent her away again.

  Helen opened her bag, desperately trying to find the flyer Arthur had given her. She couldn’t remember if there were any instructions on it, maybe there was something on the back that she’d missed.

  ‘Hello,’ said a voice from somewhere close by. At first Helen didn’t take any notice; she didn’t think there was much chance there was anyone she knew on the set – and then she felt a tap on her shoulder, and swung round.

  ‘Well hello and good morning to you, if it isn’t my first client?’ said Arthur, all smiles. He was wrapped up against the cold in a duffle coat and woolly hat. ‘You found it all right then? I’m glad you showed up.’ He peered at her. ‘You look tired, are you okay?’ Before she could answer he continued,’ Mind you, consumptive is a good look on this shoot – if you could cough a bit maybe they’ll give you a line. Come on. Let me show you where to go and sign in.’

  He nodded a hello to the policeman who waved him through.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet. ‘As he spoke Arthur pointed out one of the girls whom Helen had seen a few minutes earlier hurrying backwards and forwards with a clipboard. ‘Gemma, Gemma,’ he called, and then as she turned towards the sound of her name he waved her over.

  The girl, who had a shock of bright red curly hair poking out from under a woollen beret, waved back and headed towards them. ‘Arthur,’ she said, all smiles. ‘How’s it going? You’re about bright and early.’

  ‘Morning, honey, you look cute as ever. This is a friend of mine,’ he paused.

  ‘Helen Redford,’ said Helen brightly, holding out a hand.

  ‘One of yours, I presume?’ asked the girl, raising an eyebrow.

  Arthur nodded. ‘She’s going to be my first client. The girl’s a natural.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Gemma with a laugh, while shaking Helen’s hand. ‘Well, if you’d like to come with me, Helen, I’ll need you to fill in a form and then I’ll take you down to costume and makeup. Have you done period stuff before?’

  ‘No –’ Helen began, but Arthur was on a roll.

  ‘I was hoping to get Colin to see her. You know, for the thing we were talking about.’

  Gemma glanced at him and laughed. ‘The thing you were talking about? Have you any idea how many things you pair talk about during the course of a day? I lost track after the thing with the deep-sea trawler. Or was it the thing about the spaceship?’

  ‘The staff are getting really uppity round here,’ Arthur sighed. ‘The other thing. Remember?’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ she said, holding her hands up in surrender. ‘I’ll make sure Colin sees her. Now can you just bugger off out of my way? You may notice that you and your thing is not the only thing I’ve got to deal with at the moment.’

  Arthur bowed. ‘You are an angel.’

  Gemma rolled her eyes and indicated Helen should follow her. ‘Mad,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘So, have you ever done any period work before?’

  ‘No,’ Helen said, staying close as they made their way through the crowds. ‘I’m a singer.’ She didn’t add that she had never been on a film set or done any acting since school. She could see Arthur drifting off towards the double-decker buses.

  ‘There’s not a lot of call for singing around here,’ said the girl over her should
er as she pushed her way between a dozen soldiers in full period costume. ‘Just stay low, don’t get yourself noticed.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Helen, running now to catch up.

  ‘If you want more work as an extra they want atmosphere, not standouts – they don’t want people, faces, that catch the camera. Mind you, if Arthur’s got his eye on you maybe that’s exactly what he does want.’

  Helen smiled and nodded; the girl might as well have been speaking in tongues.

  ‘What about the thing?’ she asked.

  Gemma snorted. ‘Arthur and his bloody thing. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Colin sees you and knows who you are.’

  Helen smiled; she had rather hoped that Gemma might tell her what the thing was. ‘Here we are,’ said Gemma as they reached one of the trailers where a queue of people was waiting. ‘If you’d like to fill in the forms then someone will take you down to wardrobe and makeup. Have you got a pen?’

  ‘And then,’ said Helen, through a mouthful of noodles, ‘we had to all run away from this boat that was going to crash into the dock. I mean you couldn’t actually see the boat crashing. I think they must be going to put it in afterwards; you know how they do stuff with the film. You should have come as well, Harry; it was really good fun. And I met some amazing people. They’re there all next week too but I said I couldn’t do anything until next weekend – you know, what with working in the shop and everything – and then I met this man, he’s called Colin and –’ She looked at Harry, who was staring at her. ‘What?’ she asked, suddenly feeling horribly self-conscious. ‘What are you looking at? Don’t tell me, I’ve got sweet and sour sauce on my face, haven’t I? Or noodles in my hair.’

  ‘No, no,’ he laughed. ‘I was just wondering how you were managing to breathe and eat and talk. You’re glowing. You really enjoyed it, didn’t you?’

  Helen nodded. ‘And the money,’ she said, pointing to the takeaway cartons with her fork. ‘I wanted to pay you back for being so brilliant last night. Thank you –’

  ‘It was nothing,’ he said.

  ‘It was everything. You were totally and utterly brilliant with Charlotte. She paused. ‘And me.’

  As she watched, Harry reddened. Helen giggled. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ she said, taking a bite out of a prawn cracker.

  ‘While I remember,’ said Harry, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘I made a list of all the pubs and places in town that have live music. Do you want to take a look and see if you can think of anywhere else?’

  Helen took the proffered piece of paper. ‘Did you show this to Charlotte?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t get a chance to. I went out to get the Sunday papers about ten and when I got back she was gone.’

  Helen took a long look at the list. ‘You know what she said about the Wild Birds.’

  ‘You were good.’

  ‘She said that she never wanted to speak to me again.’

  ‘We all say things in the heat of the moment that we regret. I was thinking I could ring her later and see if I can smooth things over.’

  Helen hesitated for a moment, and then put the fork back onto the plate. ‘Harry, I really appreciate what you’ve done, but I don’t want to sing with Charlotte. I hated what she said to me and how she behaved, and how cruel she was, and besides –’ Helen paused, thinking about the business card Arthur’s friend, Colin, had given her before leaving the film set. ‘I’m not sure that I want to be a singer.’

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell Harry yet but she had agreed to go to London the following Wednesday afternoon – which was half day closing – for an audition with Arthur.

  Harry stared at her. ‘How can you not want to be a singer, Helen? You’ve got the most amazing voice. Are you serious?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘If you don’t want to sing with Charlotte you could have a solo career. We could find someone to record you some backing tapes –’

  ‘Harry, it’s a great idea but it won’t work. Not here, not in Billingsfield, not with Charlotte around.’

  ‘Right, okay, I’d just like you to read from the bottom of page six,’ said Colin, pointing at the dog-eared script he was holding. He had a pen behind his ear and bottle-bottom lenses in his glasses. This was the man Helen had met while filming in Billingsfield and this was the thing that Arthur had been so very excited about; a bit part in a pilot for a new soap opera that Colin had written and that ITV had just commissioned.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Arthur, on the drive across London to the audition, ‘that this might not be going anywhere. But it’s got to be worth a punt. Everyone who’s had anything to do with this thinks it’s good, but it’s a tough market out there, although my feeling about Colin is that even if this one doesn’t take off there will be other things. He’s good, he’s going places.’

  Helen nodded. She had no idea whether Arthur was right or not but the adventure was almost enough. She’d spent the rest of the money she’d made from the day’s filming on her train ticket down to London. Arthur had picked her up at the station in his little car and he had talked nonstop since then, while she had listened, as they drove across the city.

  Helen was almost too excited to be nervous. Arthur had grinned at her. ‘You sure you’re up for this?’ he’d said, and Helen had nodded. And now here she was.

  Colin and three other people were sitting behind a trestle table in a draughty church hall. Helen wasn’t altogether sure who they were or what they did but they looked important – and from the number of coffee cups and the state of the ashtrays, they had obviously been there a while.

  The room was cold and Colin’s voice echoed back at her from between the rafters of the high ceilings. Helen shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her as her eyes moved down over her photocopy of the script.

  Colin nodded. ‘That’s a really good look. Right, so your character Marlene is a young single mum trying to get her life sorted out, and you really need this job – I mean you really need it, but you don’t want to let Raymond know how desperate you are.’ He glanced up to see if she was listening. ‘Rory here is going to read in the Raymond character. Okay, in your own time …’

  Helen glanced across at the other man, Rory, who was sitting at the far end of the trestle table. Arthur had said he was already attached to the project, which apparently was a good thing. Rory was tall and lean and wearing a sheepskin coat over skinny jeans. He had long hair and a tan and hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her when she had come in and taken a seat. The more she stared at him the more familiar he looked. She was certain she had seen him on the television but she couldn’t remember which programme.

  Sitting on the stage behind the table Arthur was rubbing his hands together against the chill; as Helen took a deep breath Arthur grinned at her and gave her the thumbs up. This was it, she thought. This was the moment when everything could change forever.

  ‘Would you like to take a seat?’ said Rory, his eyes down, not even bothering to look at her, reading the words off the script.

  ‘Thanks, I’ve come about the job,’ said Helen. ‘The one in the Mercury? I was wondering if you’d take me on. On a trial. I mean … I’m local and I’ve done cooking before.’

  ‘What makes you think we’d hire someone like you?’ said Rory, his voice dripping with contempt. Helen felt a great flare of indignation, unsure now whether Rory and his unnatural tan was acting, or whether he really meant it.

  ‘Because I’m good,’ she snapped back.

  From the corner of her eye Helen could see one of the women behind the table scribbling something and then nodding to Colin.

  When she had finished reading Colin smiled. ‘Righty-oh, well, that was lovely.’ And then he glanced at Arthur and then back at Helen. ‘We’ll let you know. If you’d like to just leave your script on the chair, and thanks for coming in. Nice to see you again.’

  Helen mumbled her thanks, not at all sur
e how well it had gone or what they had thought. Arthur pointed towards the door. Helen headed out into the bright afternoon sunshine while Arthur stayed behind to chat to Colin.

  She found a quiet spot in the alley that ran between the church hall and the houses next door and waited, wishing for once that she smoked – at least it would have given her something to pass the time. No one else came in or out. After around fifteen minutes Arthur wandered towards her, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched forward.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘Let’s go and grab a cup of tea,’ Arthur said. ‘There’s a café just around the corner. We can talk there.’

  Helen fell into step beside him, the sense of anticipation and excitement that had been building now rapidly draining away. They hadn’t liked her after all. She hadn’t got it. She had come all this way for nothing.

  Arthur opened the café door for her. ‘There y’go. Why don’t you go and grab a table and I’ll get us something to eat? What do you fancy? Tea and a bacon butty?’

  Helen nodded and sat down to wait while Arthur was being served. She watched him chatting to the woman behind the counter. He was nice, people liked him, and he was kind, letting her down gently. Even if she hadn’t got the part it had been worth a shot, Helen told herself. She’d lost nothing by coming to London, it had been a great way to spend an afternoon, and there was still the promise of another day’s work at the weekend on the film set in Billingsfield, but even so, Helen couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Crazy, really – it was naïve to expect she’d get a part at her first audition.

  Arthur came back carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and a plate piled high with doughnuts.

  ‘Sandwiches will be here in a few minutes,’ Arthur said, pulling out a chair and settling himself down. ‘Right, so the good news is that they’re going to start filming at the end of the month.’ He took a bite out of one of the doughnuts. ‘God, I’m hungry. These are really good – help yourself.’