by Sue Welfare
Helen laughed. ‘It seemed such an odd thing to say. At the time I thought he’d been drinking. It makes more sense now.’
‘You mean you think that they got married because of Adam?’ said Natalia. ‘Did you talk to Charlotte about it?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t spoken to her since the night we did the talent show together in the Carlton Rooms.’
Natalia stared at her in amazement. ‘Really?’
‘By the time Harry told me they were getting married we’d all moved on, we were different people with different lives. I’d just got the part in Cannon Square,’ said Helen. How could she tell Natalia that there was a big part of her that never wanted to see or speak to Charlotte again?
‘And Charlotte?’ Natalia said. ‘Do you know what she was doing?’
‘Not really. I suppose I thought she had moved back home.’
‘And you didn’t think to get in touch?’
‘No.’
‘I know Harry said that you had some sort of falling out before you left, but you were both very young – I mean we all say things that we don’t mean.’
Helen smiled. ‘Not Charlotte. She meant every word.’
Natalia tipped her head to one side. ‘Seriously?’
She hesitated before replying. ‘When I knew that Charlotte was getting married to Harry I did try to ring her –’
‘And how was she?’
Helen smiled. ‘I don’t know. In the end I didn’t talk to her. Do you think we could wrap this up soon? I’d really like to get back to the hotel. I’ve still got things to sort out for the show tomorrow and I really need to talk to my agent.’
‘But you’re okay?’ Natalia genuinely looked concerned.
‘A bit shaken by everything, but don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’
Natalia nodded. ‘Great. Okay, well I was hoping we could just run-through what you know about your mum, and also if we could talk about what life was like living here – maybe upstairs in your old room – before we go back?’
On the easy chair Mrs Handley nodded. ‘Help yourself. Would anyone like more tea?’
NINETEEN
‘Is that you, Charlotte?’ Helen could hear breathing at the far end of the line. She waited. Whoever it was hadn’t put the receiver down. ‘I know you’re there. I know it’s you, Charlie. Please don’t hang up on me. I really need to talk to you.’ Helen said into the dead air.
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you,’ snapped Charlotte after a second or two more. ‘Remember? I don’t want to talk to you ever again. I told you –’
‘I know what you told me, and if you don’t want to talk that’s fine, I just need you to listen. I spoke to Harry this evening, Charlotte. He said –’
‘Kate,’ Charlotte interrupted. ‘No one calls me Charlotte any more, everyone calls me Kate. Understand?’
‘Harry told me that you’re going to be get married.’
‘That’s right. Next month. Why, were you hoping for an invitation?’
‘Do you love him?’
Charlotte didn’t reply.
‘Charlotte – Kate – please say something. I need to know –’
‘Why do you need to know?’ Charlotte growled. ‘What has it got to do with you?’
It had been the very last time they had spoken. Helen was ringing from the hotel the actors and crew on Cannon Square used when they were on location. Everyone else was downstairs in the bar having supper; she could hear the sounds of their laughter and conversation even with the door to her room closed.
‘You’re right. It’s none of my business, but please just tell me that you love Harry, tell me that you really love him, Charlotte, and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him, and I’ll be truly happy for you both – because if there is anyone who deserves to be loved it’s Harry. He’s one of life’s good guys. You know how much I think of him,’ said Helen.
‘Oh I know,’ said Charlotte. ‘He never stops telling me how bloody amazing you are, Helen. And every time he says it I have to point out that you loved him so much that the first thing you did as soon as you got a chance was to run away. To abandon him. Like mother, like daughter.’
The words stung. ‘How can you say that?’ Helen gasped. ‘There is no comparison.’
‘I can say it because it’s true. You led Harry on, all the while sneaking around getting yourself an agent, fixing up auditions – all without telling either one of us. You knew exactly what you were doing, Helen Heel; lying to me, lying to Harry, leaving us all behind just because it suited you. You ruined my life, Helen, you can’t deny it – you knew exactly what you were doing – to both of us.’
Helen struggled to grab her breath. ‘How can you say that, Charlotte? Stop being so melodramatic. That’s rubbish and you know it is.’
‘Really? And there was me thinking that we were a duo, but oh no, only while it suited you. Harry was going to get us some work, but oh no, you had other ideas.’
‘Stop it, Charlotte, this is nuts. You’re twisting all this round. You are the one who said you didn’t want to speak to me again; remember the night we came to get you at the Billingsfield Arms? Remember? You’re the one who didn’t want to get up early to go to the film shoot. You are reinventing the past to make out you were the one that was hard done by, when we both know nothing is further from the truth.’
Charlotte didn’t answer.
‘So why are you marrying Harry?’ asked Helen.
‘So that you never get the chance,’ growled Charlotte. And with that she hung up.
TWENTY
Helen perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed in her suite at the Billingsfield Arms. It felt just like all the other anonymous hotel rooms she had ever spent long lonely nights in when she was on the road or on location, not at all like the rest of Billingsfield. She was grateful that it didn’t feel like the rest of the town. Here everything was neutral, rather than emotionally charged. Helen lay back and stretched, letting the bed take her weight. It had been a long day.
The TV set was burbling away in the background for company; Helen had had a long hot bath, and was presently wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. She had a cup of tea on the bedside cabinet alongside the book she had brought to while away the hours, and was planning to phone home, or in this case Arthur in Oxfordshire and Bon in Dubai.
And then there was the prospect of dinner alone or sharing a table with Natalia who, as Natalia had been keen to point out on the drive back to the hotel, was anxious to rebuild bridges, allay any of Helen’s fears, and discuss where they were going next with the whole Helen Redford story.
It wasn’t a particularly appealing prospect. It crossed Helen’s mind that she perhaps ought to ring Harry, but what if Adam was there with him? And what would she say if he wasn’t?
Helen curled up on the bed, took her mobile out of her handbag and pulled Arthur’s number up from the menu. His home answer machine cut in after the fourth ring, and his mobile was off. Helen glanced at her watch. It was still early but knowing Arthur he had gone to bed with a book. Helen smiled to herself. It was what she loved about him; it hadn’t always been that way but nightclubs, parties and the whole sex, drugs, and rock and roll thing had paled pretty fast for both of them. Deep down they were both people who wanted to be home. These days Arthur’s idea of a good time was to snuggle up with a good thriller and hers was an afternoon in the garden; not something she suspected that Natalia would be at all interested in.
She’d made her first real grown-up home with Arthur, choosing furniture, picking out curtains, delighted and excited that finally she had found someone who loved her and whom she loved right back. Even after they realised that the marriage was dead, even then both of them had carried on caring for each other. Loving each other. Helen hesitated, wondering if she should ring off and try again. Maybe there were things she had left unsaid to Arthur too.
Finally Helen left a message, saying how much she hoped to see him – telling him that Natalia
was worse than they had both expected, telling him that even after all these years she still loved him – not that she expected Arthur would call back before morning.
Next she rang Bon’s mobile and hearing his voice, so warm and so clear that he could have been standing next to her, Helen smiled and began to speak before she realised that it too was an answering machine.
‘I miss you,’ was all she could manage before ending the call. Helen sniffed and blinked back tears; God, this wouldn’t do at all. She hated that he hadn’t called or texted her. Where was he, and who was he with? Feeling sorry for herself was the last thing Helen needed, all alone and this far from home.
Picking up the phone beside the bed Helen tapped in the number for reception. ‘Hello,’ she said, when the girl picked up the receiver. ‘I was wondering if you could help me. Is Christov the porter still on duty?’
There was a moment’s pause and then the girl said, ‘One moment please, I’ll try and find out for you. Who should I say is calling?’
Helen smiled, ‘Tell him it’s the big TV star. I wanted to know the name of the restaurant that he recommended.’
There was a little pause. ‘If you’d like to hold the line madam, I think he might still be here –’
A moment later Christov came on the line. ‘Hello?’ he said, warily.
‘Hello,’ said Helen. ‘This afternoon you told me about a great restaurant, good food, great music? Not too far away?’
‘Oh yes, I know, you are the film lady – that’s right, I did. It’s the Belafonte. It’s in Porter Street – my cousin Gregori, he runs it.’
‘I was just wondering if you would care to join me for dinner there?’
There was a brief pause. ‘I have to let you know that I am very flattered and that I am also very married.’
Helen laughed. ‘Me too – after a fashion – and I want to stay that way. Don’t worry, I just want some company and some good food, maybe some music, no strings.’
‘No strings?’
‘It means without the promise of anything else – just dinner.’
There was silence. She could almost hear Christov turning the idea over in his head.
‘If I’ve offended you,’ Helen began.
‘No, no, not at all. I was just thinking if I should maybe phone ahead and get us a table near the stage. I am thinking I will do my Dean Martin – I will bring the hat.’
‘Don’t you usually have an assistant or a PA or someone to help you with things like that?’ asked Natalia, who was sitting on the floor across the dressing room from Helen. Helen had an ironing board out and was busy very carefully pressing the first of her costumes for the evening’s performance.
‘No, not always – and besides, I enjoy it. It relaxes me.’
Natalia pulled a face. ‘Really?’
It was the following afternoon and they were at the Carlton Rooms getting ready for Helen’s show. During the morning – after a late start – Helen had done a series of pieces to camera about what it was like working on annon Square, which seemed a waste given that they planned to film on the set of the soap, and filmed a series of short pieces about Helen’s memories of working in TV in the eighties and nineties, which Natalia was adamant would work better with the theatre as a backdrop.
‘I came by your room last night,’ said Natalia casually, picking at one of the sandwiches that they had had sent in.
Helen let the iron slide over the soft cotton lining of her outfit. ‘I was out,’ she said, not looking up.
‘I know. I had the concierge come up and let me in, just to see that you were okay. I was worried about you. I mean it was a tricky day and I had been hoping that maybe we could’ve talked about how yesterday went over dinner. I mean you’re not under surveillance or anything but our guests don’t usually skip out on us.’
Helen stared at her. ‘You let yourself into my room?’
‘Well, yes, under the circumstances,’ said Natalia, with her mouth full. ‘I thought you might be upset and obviously disappointed that we hadn’t been able to find your mum. This stuff is always emotionally challenging.’
Helen suspected it was a phrase Natalia had paraphrased from a self-help book. ‘This stuff? Didn’t you consider that an invasion of my privacy?’
Natalia shook her head, peeling away the crust of the sandwich. ‘Of course not. Like I said, I was worried, Helen. I thought we had agreed we’d meet for dinner. Run through the schedule. I need you to understand that we are here to support you. I rang and then I knocked and when you didn’t answer I wondered if it had all been a bit much for you, you know, what with all that business with Adam and Harry, and then going home to your old house and all that. It can be a bit overwhelming, this whole process. I appreciate that – we all appreciate it. We’ve had it happen before. I thought maybe you’d gone to bed, taken a downer or whatever it is they used to call them, popped a pill, you know –’ Natalia pulled a face.
Helen laughed. ‘Got drunk, got stoned, fallen off the wagon?’
Natalia reddened. ‘Well, something like that.’
‘I was never on it, Natalia. And actually we didn’t arrange to have dinner. You said, “Maybe we could catch up later,” and I didn’t say anything.’
Natalia sucked her teeth. ‘I thought you’d taken it as read.’
Helen said nothing.
‘So where did you go to? I rang your room two or three times. I’m supposed to be here to help you, to liaise – to mind you.’
‘To mind me? To keep an eye on me, you mean?’
‘If you want to put it that way then yes, but in a good way. So where did you go?’
‘I went out to supper with a friend.’
‘Harry?’ Natalia pressed. ‘Only I rang him and he wasn’t at home either.’
Helen sighed. ‘No, not Harry.’
‘Only, if it had been Harry,’ continued Natalia, ‘I would be really interested to know what you talked about, given all the events of yesterday. You would have a lot to talk about. I’d have really liked to have heard his take on it all.’
‘It wasn’t Harry.’
Natalia stared at her.
‘It wasn’t Harry,’ Helen repeated more forcefully. ‘I went to a restaurant about five minutes away from the hotel with one of the porters and his wife, Ewa, who works on reception.’
Natalia looked genuinely shocked. ‘Really? Seriously?’
‘Really. And we had a great night. We all sang Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and busked Rat Pack songs with four Eastern Europeans from somewhere unpronounceable until the wee small hours and shared the best paella I’ve eaten outside Spain.’
‘So you weren’t affected by yesterday?’ asked Natalia, eyes narrowing.
Helen shook her head in disbelief. ‘What do you want me to say, Natalia? That no, I wasn’t affected at all? That I was so pleased to find out about a son I hadn’t got, and a mother you can’t find, that I went out and got hammered with a gang of people I barely knew? Of course I was affected, but the last thing I wanted to do was sit in my hotel room and brood about it, or, worse still, go out to dinner with you running through a blow-by-blow postmortem of the day’s events, or worst of all, filming it.’
Natalia blanched.
Helen looked across at the camera; it was still rolling.
‘So did you get drunk?’
‘You know, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from but I think you need to get someone new in. In the late nineties I went to a gala dinner in some posh hotel in London, got food poisoning and collapsed. Some smart arse with a camera took a whole roll of film of me being manhandled into a friend’s car and taken to A&E. Next day it’s all over the red tops – not Helen Redford eats dodgy prawn and pukes all over best friend, but Soap star staggers out of gala dinner in arms of strange man. If you look more closely at the pictures you’ll see that it was Arthur – I was sick all over him and ended up spending three days in hospital on a drip. And last night I had a glass of house white with my
paella – so that’s a no, I didn’t get drunk. I need to be on top of things for the show tonight; I’m not twenty-five any more.’
Helen flipped her dress over and started to iron the other side.
‘I really can’t believe you have to do that yourself.’ Natalia’s tone was gentler now, more conciliatory.
‘I told you, I enjoy it.’
‘Like singing in bars.’
Helen nodded. ‘Like singing in bars.’
‘You know you should have said something; we could have come with you.’
‘To keep me out of trouble?’ asked Helen.
‘No, of course not. It would have given us some great footage, and it sounds like it was fun.’
‘Former soap star slumming it out in the boondocks?’
‘No, not at all. It just shows that you haven’t lost touch with your roots, that you still see yourself as one of the rest of us. You know, the common touch –’
‘I never lost touch with my roots, because in lots of ways I never had any.’ Helen turned the steam up on the iron. ‘I usually have a dresser when I’m touring,’ she said, which was obviously the kind of answer Natalia had been hoping for earlier.
‘You employ someone?’
Helen nodded. ‘And Arthur arranges for me to have a driver.’
‘But not for Billingsfield?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, not for Billingsfield, although yes, I could have had one if I’d wanted. I’m expecting Arthur to show up any time at all. He’ll give me a hand if I need anything.’