by Sue Welfare
On the far side of the room the camera was still rolling relentlessly.
‘Not your partner?’
‘No, not my partner. Bon’s in Dubai at the moment with his show, but if he had been in the country he’d have been here. He sent flowers –’ Helen said, nodding towards a huge bouquet of lilies and roses in a vase on a side table, ‘and a card.’
‘Don’t you worry about him being away? He’s leading a dance troupe; it’s got to be a huge temptation, all those dancers.’
Helen smiled her best smile. ‘I can’t keep him chained to the bed.’
Natalia reddened. ‘I meant wouldn’t it be nice if he was here helping you?’
‘He’s not Mr Helen Redford. Bon’s got his own career; I was never expecting him to stop work to pander to me. And besides, Arthur is my agent. We go back a long, long way.’
Natalia nodded. ‘And you were married.’
‘That’s right; and that was a long, long time ago now.’
‘But it must make him think. Doesn’t Bon worry about Arthur being here with you?’
‘No.’
Natalia rolled her eyes. ‘There is no way my boyfriend would cope with having my ex around. Especially not with things like dressing and that –’
‘It’s business.’
‘Don’t you worry, though?’ persisted Natalia. ‘Him being away on his own – I don’t want to make a big thing of it, but the press are always pointing it out.’
‘That Bon’s younger than me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It isn’t the age difference that would make him more likely to go off with someone else – it’s about who we are, not how old we are.’
‘Right,’ said Natalia, although she didn’t look convinced. ‘So you don’t worry about it? About him? I know I would. You’re getting older all the time and he is – well, he’s gorgeous.’
Helen laughed. ‘So he is, but we’re all getting older all the time. I don’t take Bon for granted, no – but that isn’t about age. And love’s a funny thing – you take it where you find it, and there is nothing more unattractive than someone who is insecure and clingy and seeking reassurance all the time. Bon’s with me because he wants to be. I’m certainly not twisting his arm, and okay, so it may not last forever, but I’d rather have a little of something wonderful than a lifetime of boredom and mediocrity.’
‘So are you saying it’s not going to last?’
Helen stared at her. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ She turned the dress again so that she could iron the skirt and try not to say something she might regret to the ever-persistent Natalia. She knew that happy people, getting on well, and doing good things, didn’t make good television. A life playing out like a slow car crash was a much easier way to push a show further up the ratings.
‘And you don’t have any other staff or anything?’
‘When I was on Cannon Square I had an assistant who used to sort things out for me, and there was obviously makeup and a hairdresser and all that, and we used the same girls regularly, but for these kind of things it’s quite often just me.’
‘I was expecting you to have an entourage, you know, like Katie Price.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
There was a knock at the door. ‘Miss Redford?’
‘Come in,’ called Helen, above the hiss of the steam iron and the sound of Natalia’s continued disappointment.
A young man peered nervously around the door. ‘We’ll be ready for your run-through in ten minutes, if that’s okay, Miss Redford?’
Helen smiled. ‘That’s great, thank you.’ She switched off the iron and glanced at Natalia. ‘Do you want to go and set up in the theatre? I really need to warm up now.’
Natalia tipped her head to one side.
‘My voice,’ said Helen, in answer to her unspoken question. ‘I need to warm up to sing and I doubt you want to film me warbling, gargling and pulling faces, do you?’
Natalia glanced at Felix who shook his head.
‘Okay,’ said Natalia. ‘We’ll cut it there.’ She glanced around at the crew. ‘Everyone happy? Okay, well in that case we’ll see you out in the theatre then, Helen.’
When they had gone Helen hung her dress up, sat down and stared into the mirror above the dressing table. Inside, the theatre looked exactly as she remembered it when she and Charlotte had turned up for the talent show. Billingsfield’s talent extravaganza.
Helen smiled to herself; the staff had found a copy of the original poster and hung it up above the mirror. She had forgotten what it had been called until someone from Roots had managed to dig out some old flyers, a press release and the photos from the Billingsfield Echo. There were photocopies of the pictures in a file. The boy band, the dancers, the magician who had won – and Helen and Charlotte, picked out in grainy newsprint. Charlotte had one shoulder thrown forward provocatively, her lips caught in a full blown pout, behind her Helen smiled sheepishly, as if she was almost embarrassed to be there.
Helen was struck by how very little about the theatre seemed to have changed since the last time she had been in it. The box office was just the same; they still had the same red and gold colour scheme, and even what looked like the same tired dusty silk flowers in the alcoves in the foyer.
Once Helen got beyond the entrance and the great expanse of the theatre, and arrived backstage – into the engine of the place – it was even more obvious how very little had been updated. The rabbit warren of corridors was still there, with the service pipes slung along the ceiling in strapped bundles; there were the same scuffed painted concrete floors, even the same colour paint in the dressing rooms, and there was a smell that hung in the air that took her back to the last time that she had been there – a smell of sweat and dust and floor polish mixed with the all-pervading biscuity odour of humanity, with just a hint of Jeyes Fluid and damp.
Helen picked up her hairbrush. The face that looked back at her from the mirror above the dressing table might have aged but the eyes hadn’t changed a bit. She could still see Helen Heel in there, the girl who had longed for everything and feared that she would end up with nothing.
Helen sighed, fighting the flashes of déjà vu, and started her vocal warm-up, ignoring the ghosts that came tap-tap-tapping at her shoulders.
‘If we could sort out your mike, Miss Redford,’ said one of the assistant stage managers, as Helen stepped out onto the stage. ‘And we’re hoping to run-through the musical numbers with Oleg, is that right?’ He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke; the question was open and directed at everyone and no one rather than Helen in particular, but she nodded anyway.
‘We’ve got our sound guy up in the gallery, and then we’ll be needing to just do a run-through with the lights –’ he pressed an earpiece and gave someone somewhere a thumbs up, and then smiled at Helen. ‘We’re good to go whenever you’re ready, Miss Redford. If we can just test the mike for sound levels.’
Helen thanked him. Down in the orchestra pit a young man sat at the keyboard, waiting expectantly. He was looking up at her. He was tall and thin with sad, doleful eyes, and thankfully looked nothing like Ed.
‘Hi, Oleg,’ she said. ‘You got here okay? I thought maybe you were going to come and see me in the dressing room before we came out here.’
He smiled. ‘I was but they said that you had the TV crew in with you.’
‘You could still have come in,’ Helen said with a smile, glancing around the auditorium. ‘Did Arthur book you into somewhere nice?’
Oleg nodded.
Nothing had changed significantly since she had been there before – the tiered seats, the balcony jutting forward like a lantern jaw, the claret-red walls and floors, and the tired gold paintwork – although this time the theatre was almost empty and much quieter than when the Wild Birds had had their run-through.
Oleg coughed and flexed his fingers.
Last time she had stood on this stage Helen had been barely eighteen, with her whole life ahead o
f her, like a ribbon waiting to unroll, and now – Helen took a deep breath to steady the little flurry of emotion – and now it was three quarters over. Where had all those years gone?
In the pit Oleg waited for her to give him instructions. She could see Natalia and the film crew watching her every move. The red light on the camera was already on, gleaming like a single demon eye in the gloom, and in the wings was a second one, between them recording every step, every breath and every facial expression.
Helen didn’t plan to be rushed, giving herself a moment or two to settle down and arrive on stage before she began. When she was set, Helen turned and smiled at Oleg.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘I’m just great, just giving myself a minute, you know.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. In your own time.’
‘Can we have something just to set the levels, please?’ asked the assistant stage manager, still with his finger pressed into his ear.
Helen nodded. ‘One two, one two – how’s that? Is that okay? Can you hear me?’ she said, speaking into the darkness.
‘Fine,’ said a disembodied voice. ‘Looking good from up here.’
Helen smiled, ‘Thank God for that.’ She glanced down into the pit. ‘And you’re happy?’
Oleg nodded. ‘I’m very happy, and ready whenever you are. Where would you like to start?’
‘If we could go with the first number and just take it from the top, just the way we rehearsed. Nice and easy,’ said Helen. ‘And if we could run the introduction as it’s written?’
Oleg nodded and raised his hands above the keyboard. The sound of the intro filled the empty theatre. Helen closed her eyes and taking a steadying breath hit the first note, the song lifting her up, giving her the space to cut off the memories, and fight the almost overwhelming sense that, without ever intending to, she had come full circle. All the tension, all the thoughts, the hopes and the fears slipped away as the music filled her up.
The words and the pure quicksilver notes grew and swelled until the sound filled the dark theatre. As the first song ended Helen felt a rush of euphoria. Oleg smiled up at her, while the film crew and the theatre staff broke into a round of spontaneous applause. Helen, rather self-consciously, took a little bow.
The assistant stage manager grinned. ‘That sounded amazing,’ he said appreciatively.
‘That was just about perfect,’ agreed Oleg. ‘Would you like to run-through it again?’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, I think we’re fine with that – I’m happy to move on if you are?’ She looked up into the shadows. ‘Was that okay for you?’
‘Bang on the money,’ said a disembodied voice.
‘Okay, if we can do the second song – I’m thinking I’ll come down to the front for that …’ A single spotlight tracked her progress.
They worked on the second song and then the third, on through the programme; and as the last echoes of the last song finally faded, everyone applauded again.
Helen smiled and took another little self-conscious bow before turning her attention to Oleg. Strange how it was far harder to be applauded by half a dozen people than by a theatrefull.
‘That was great,’ Helen said. ‘But can we just slow the ending down a little on the final number?’
Oleg nodded and played the final phrase again. ‘Like that?’
‘Maybe just a little slower?’
He played it again.
‘That’s fine.’
Oleg marked the score. ‘Do you want to run through it?’
‘From the last chorus would be good,’ said Helen, all business and now well into her stride and oblivious of Natalia and the crew. It wasn’t just that she was glad to be back on stage, it felt like she had never been away. ‘I want to slow it for a bit of dramatic emphasis, kind of let it hang on that last phrase. Can you just give me my note?’
Oleg nodded.
Helen’s voice had warmed up now, and she began to relax and push the melody on. Oleg smiled as her voice soared, so that the final few notes filled the hall with a lush, heart-stopping richness.
The assistant stage manager clapped enthusiastically. ‘Wow, that really is amazing; I had no idea you could sing like that,’ he said.
Helen laughed. ‘It was where I started,’ she said. ‘Actually it was right here on this stage.’
‘Really?’ said the man.
‘Really,’ said Helen as, breathless and elated, she took another bow, acknowledging the flurry of applause from the people in the hall. This time, as she straightened up, Helen spotted a familiar figure sitting in one of the seats a few rows from the front – and felt the sense of renewed pleasure fade and die.
She was older, her long hair cut into a bob and expensively styled to frame her face, but even so Helen would have recognised Charlotte anywhere. For a moment or two neither of them spoke.
‘Hello, Charlotte,’ Helen said finally, almost in a whisper, unable to take her eyes off her or shake the chill she felt.
‘Kate,’ said Charlotte, getting to her feet and tugging her jacket tight around her. ‘Everyone calls me Kate these days.’
‘Where is Harry?’ said Helen steadily.
‘I assume that he’s back at the shop. When I got in the car at the airport I knew there was something not quite right so I rang him. To be perfectly honest I wasn’t at all surprised when I found out that you’d shown up here, making a mess of our lives. You never could keep your nose out of other people’s business, could you?’
‘That’s hardly fair, this wasn’t my idea,’ said Helen.
‘So Harry said,’ said Charlotte. ‘I don’t know why he couldn’t have just left things alone. The trouble with Harry is that he’s got this highly developed sense of right and wrong. I told him when that stupid woman from Roots rang. I said that he shouldn’t say anything, but off he went. Yak, yak, yak. He just couldn’t keep his big mouth shut.’ Helen could hear the crackle of emotion in Charlotte’s voice. ‘Why the hell couldn’t you have left well alone?’
‘We can’t talk out here,’ said Helen. ‘Why don’t we go to my dressing room? We can have some privacy there.’
‘You haven’t changed a bit, have you?’ Charlotte curled her lip. ‘Why don’t we go my dressing room?’ she mimicked.
Helen stared at her; Charlotte might be older but she certainly hadn’t matured. The edge and spite in her voice came straight out like the last night they had had together at the theatre – the difference was that Helen had grown up in the intervening years.
‘Stop it,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m not playing this game with you, Charlotte. I didn’t ask for any of this. I came back to Billingsfield to take a look at my own past, not yours. You either need to get Harry down here so we can sort this out once and for all, or just go home. I’m too old for all this.’
Charlotte stared at her, obviously taken by complete surprise. Helen didn’t need to point out that she had come a long way since she’d last seen Charlotte.
It didn’t take long for Charlotte to find her voice. ‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do,’ she snapped. ‘My life, my family, are my concern, not yours. Is that clear?’
Helen held up her hands. ‘Okay, it’s your call. Whatever you’ve got yourself into it’s nothing to do with me. I’m really happy for you to just go back to Harry and that’ll be it as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Charlotte.
Helen could see the look of disbelief on Natalia’s face but, ignoring it, Helen turned her attention back to Oleg. ‘Thank you, that was really great. If we can do it like that tonight. Have you got everything you need?’
Oleg nodded. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘You were better than fine; you were great,’ she said. Oleg smiled, and nodded to acknowledge his thanks.
‘And we’re okay up there?’ she said shading her eyes and looking up into the Gods. ‘Fine,’ said the voice from the darkness. ‘If you’re happy?’
Helen nodde
d and while Charlotte watched, she picked up her music and headed backstage.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ said Charlotte.
Helen kept on walking.
‘Wait,’ snapped Charlotte. ‘You can’t just walk away …’
As she reached the curtains Helen turned. ‘I can and I will. I don’t need to be part of whatever peculiar warped little game you’ve got going on here, Charlotte. This isn’t my mess, it’s yours. Bye.’ With her heart in her mouth Helen made her way towards the wings. She knew she should just keep on walking; Charlotte couldn’t have a conversation with someone who wasn’t there.
‘I’ll tell everyone about Adam,’ Charlotte called after her, her voice echoing around the auditorium. ‘The papers will love it.’
Helen laughed and shook her head, turning back to confront Charlotte. ‘Do what you like! We both know Adam’s got nothing to do with me. Do you really want to hurt him by dragging his name and his life through the press? The people who know me will know the truth, and those people who don’t can think what they like.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Charlotte
Helen paused. This had gone on quite long enough; she was far too old to be bullied by someone like Charlotte. ‘Oh but I do. And if that was genuinely some sort of threat, Charlotte, then I’ll sue you,’ she said as evenly as she could manage. ‘There’ll be DNA tests and the story doing the rounds in the national papers and the local ones. I know you’ve always wanted to be famous, but I’m not sure this is exactly the kind of fame you had in mind. Nor the kind of thing you’d want to drag Harry and Adam through.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ said Charlotte.
Helen smiled. ‘Just watch me. I don’t want to do it this way but trust me, I will, because you’re cruel and selfish, and you need to be taught that you can’t mess around with other people’s lives, thinking it’s all right. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go and get ready for the show.’
Helen caught a glimpse of Charlotte rounding on the film crew. ‘Did you hear that?’ she snapped, camera still rolling. ‘Did you? Did you get it, did you hear what she said? Are you going to show this on the TV?’