One Night Only

by Sue Welfare

  ‘I know where my mother is,’ said Helen, handing her the letter. ‘We have to go there.’

  ‘Are you nuts?’ said Natalia incredulously. ‘There’s only half an hour till the curtain goes up.’

  Helen stared at her. ‘This from the woman who was telling me about what makes good television. It’s a mile away, Natalia, and we’ve got half an hour. Worst-case scenario, they hold the curtain for a few minutes – I need to find her.’

  Natalia took a breath as if she was going to protest and then said, ‘Okay, if you’re sure about this.’

  Helen nodded.

  ‘Okay, Felix, get the camera, I’ll get the car.’

  ‘Why do we have to go this minute?’ said Natalia as the car pulled away. ‘Couldn’t it wait until after the show?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘No, it can’t wait – I need to go now.’

  Natalia shrugged. ‘Your call,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the letters.’

  Helen navigated while the crew filmed. The address on the envelope was on the other side of town, out in the suburbs where the urban sprawl softened and gave way to broad verges and nicely tended gardens. Evening was coming on. Time was going fast.

  Helen pressed herself to the car window watching the street names. ‘Here, here,’ she said, pointing. ‘Belmont Gardens.’

  The car swung into the street in a large arc.

  ‘What number?’ said Natalia, in a replay of the events in Victoria Street.

  ‘A hundred and twenty six,’ said Helen.

  The car slowed to a crawl. ‘Fifty, sixty …’ They read off the numbers until finally they came to a hundred and twenty six, a modern chalet bungalow tucked well back off the road with a new car in the driveway. The car had barely stopped before Helen was out and hurrying up the drive with the camera crew trailing in her wake.

  ‘What are you going to do? What are you going to say?’ asked Natalia, trying to keep up with her.

  Helen had no idea. As she reached the front door it opened. Helen stopped mid-stride as a woman, thin as a whip, with cropped grey hair, stepped out.

  Helen stared at her. ‘Are you Lillian?’ she asked.

  The woman nodded. ‘You must be Helen,’ she said. ‘You look just like your mum.’

  ‘Is my mum here?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid she’s gone. Do you want to come in?’

  Helen felt her heart sink; her shoulders slumped, the expectation and anticipation, the adrenaline that had carried her this far draining away. After a lifetime of waiting she was too late.

  ‘I can’t, I’ve got a show to do.’ Helen hesitated. ‘Do I know you?’ she said fighting back the tears as she peered at Lillian’s calm, even features.

  Lillian smiled. ‘It was a long time ago now. I used to pop by your house when you were little. Your dad wasn’t keen – he always said I was flighty.’ Lillian laughed. ‘And he was right, I suppose. I was married and used to meet his best mate at your house. We thought if your dad found out he’d go crazy.’

  Helen stared at her. ‘He thought my mum was having an affair, and all the time it was you?’

  Lillian nodded. ‘It was awful. He wouldn’t listen to her when she tried to explain, wouldn’t talk about it, even when I tried to make him see sense. It went on for months and months before she finally left – I always told your mum she ought to go back and fetch you, you know, but she thought –’ Lillian paused. ‘She was haunted, frightened, by something your dad said, before she left. She had been really low and the doctor had put her on tablets. I mean they’d call it depression now – but anyway, Gordon said that if she couldn’t cope, if she had a breakdown, that social services would come and take you away and that you’d end up in a home.’

  Helen stared at her. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Oh God yes, your mum was absolutely terrified that he’d have social services after her. Him telling them she was on tablets and carrying on with some man. Things were different back then. When she first left your dad, she was sleeping on my sofa and I said, “Go and get Helen, we’ll manage,” and she said no. Your mum was absolutely adamant. She said, “If they see me in a state like this they’ll take her away and put her in a home. I know they will – Gordon will tell them I’m not a fit mother. He will – I know he will –”

  ‘I kept trying to tell her that he’d said it to frighten her, but she wasn’t having any of it. She kept hoping that one day you’d understand and that you’d come and find her, and well, if you’re here then you know. She loved you so much – I know you’re in a hurry but just wait there for a minute.’

  Lillian went inside and moments later came back out with a framed publicity shot that Helen had had taken way back when. It was in black and white and scrawled across the bottom were the words Happy Christmas Amy, with love and all best wishes from Helen Redford.

  The woman handed it to her. Helen stared at the studio portrait of her younger self.

  ‘She used to write in to the show and send a Christmas card every year when you were on Cannon Square,’ Lillian said. ‘She’s still got all your thank you letters somewhere. I know she was upset but she understood why you didn’t want to meet her – you must think that she just abandoned you, but it was much, much more complicated than that.’ The woman laughed and shook her head. ‘She’s very proud of you, you know. And I always knew you’d be back one day.’

  Helen, clutching the framed photo, felt the tears trickling down her face. The handwriting wasn’t even hers. She had never seen any of the letters or the cards. Someone in the publicity department had sent the photo and the letters. Someone who had no idea who Amy Heel was.

  ‘She will be really upset that she missed you,’ said the woman.

  ‘She lives here?’ said Helen. ‘But I thought you said she’d gone – She’s not dead –’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Lillian, her hand flying up to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, pet, is that what you thought? No, she’s fine – she’s going to your show tonight. She left about five minutes ago; you most probably passed her on the way.’

  Helen looked at Natalia.

  ‘Let’s get back in the car,’ said Natalia. ‘Now.’

  ‘Tell her that the cards were lovely,’ whispered Helen. ‘Tell her that I’ve read the letters. Tell her –’ The words caught like dust in her throat.

  Lillian grabbed her hand. ‘Go, you’ll be able to tell her yourself.’

  They were no sooner back in the car than Natalia was on the phone. The crew filmed as the car pulled hurriedly away from the curb. Helen stared out of the window. She felt strangely numb. Her mother was alive, and she was on her way to see Helen in her show – and more than that she loved her and always had, in fact she loved her enough to leave her behind. It was such a strange place to find herself. Helen sat very, very still, praying that she wouldn’t wake up and find out that it was all a dream.

  As the car pulled up at the stage door Arthur came running out of the back of the theatre, red-faced and looking anxious.

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ he said, throwing open the car door and practically dragging Helen out. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. The theatre manager is going ballistic. He’s been talking about suing if you don’t show.’

  Helen took hold of his hands. ‘It’s all right, Arthur, I’m here now. And I’m fine. I just need to nip into the dressing room, check on my hair and makeup. I won’t be a minute. And don’t worry, I’m all ready to rock and roll.’

  Arthur didn’t look convinced. ‘So where the hell have you been?’ he pressed, glaring at Natalia. ‘Is this down to you? I’m going to go and ring the executive producer of Roots. Did this lot drag you off somewhere to see someone? Ruth what’s-her-name, I’ll have her arse in the shredder – we’ve got a bloody contract.’

  ‘It’s my mum,’ Helen said quietly, hardly daring to trust herself to say the words aloud.

  Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘What about h
er?’

  ‘She’s alive, and she’s going to be here tonight, at the show.’

  Arthur’s mouth opened but no sounds came out, and without waiting for him to get his act together and reply, Helen hurried past him down the corridor and threw open the dressing-room door, the thought rising up every single step of the way – her mum was alive. Here in the theatre. Finally the thought took hold and bubbled up like champagne, threatening to drown her in emotion. She grinned, closing the door behind her, and turned round.

  Standing by the dressing table, in amongst the debris of the letters, the presents, the packages and the envelopes was a small, slim, grey-haired woman with tiny hands. Her hair was short and curly, framing a warm lively face; a face soft with lines and good humour. Helen stared.

  It was the face Helen remembered from her long-distant childhood. It was the face she had seen at her father’s funeral. The one she had seen on one of the staff from her father’s nursing home. The one she had assumed was just another carer. Looking at her now, seeing the family resemblance, Helen wondered how she could have been so stupid, so very short-sighted.

  Helen didn’t move, barely daring to breathe in case she vanished. ‘Mum?’ she whispered.

  Amy Heel nodded. ‘I thought I’d –’ she stopped. ‘I mean –’ her eyes began to glisten. ‘I don’t know where to start, Helen,’ she said.

  The sound of her voice made Helen’s heart hurt. Helen didn’t move. ‘We can start from here,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘From right now. And we can take all the time we need, but right now I’ve got to get ready to go out on stage.’

  Amy nodded. ‘I know,’ she paused, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much,’ she said, and with that Helen stepped into her open arms.

  ‘You found her then,’ said a voice from behind her.

  Helen swung round and was amazed to see Bon standing in the doorway and was even more amazed when she realised his comment was being made not to her, but to her mother.

  ‘I thought you were in Dubai,’ she said.

  ‘I was, but there was no way I could let you go through all this on your own. I know how much you were struggling with the whole idea of coming back here.’

  ‘I met him at the stage door,’ said Amy, by way of explanation. ‘He made them let me in.’

  Bon grinned. ‘She was trying to persuade them to let her through and I took one look at her and knew exactly who she was – same eyes, same mouth –’ He grinned. ‘I was telling your mum before you got here how we’re going to be get married.’ He laughed. ‘Once I’ve asked you that is, and assuming that’ll you have me.’

  Helen stared at him. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never more so,’ he said. ‘I was going to wait till my tour ended but I couldn’t wait.’

  ‘What about Libby?’

  Bon smiled at her. ‘What about her? She’s fine, she sends her love. The show’s going really well. She can manage without me for a few days.’

  Helen reddened. ‘I just thought –’ she stopped. What she didn’t say was that Libby was gorgeous and young and he seemed to be spending a lot of time with her. To her surprise Bon sighed. ‘Actually it was seeing Libby that made me want to come back even more. She’s out there with her husband, Marco, celebrating their wedding anniversary – and I kept thinking this is mad – we should be doing this. You and me.’

  There was a sharp tap on the door. Helen stared at Bon.

  ‘On stage, Ms Redford, please,’ said a disembodied voice.

  ‘Just coming,’ said Helen, taking one last look at the two of them before heading out into the corridor. ‘You’ll both be here when I get back, won’t you?’ she said.

  Bon grinned at Amy.

  ‘Of course we will,’ he said. ‘I’m hoping you’ll say you’ll marry me.’

  Helen smiled at him. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ she said taking one last look in the mirror before opening the dressing-room door.

  Felix was waiting outside. He gave her the thumbs up from behind the camera as the assistant stage manager smiled at her. ‘All set, Ms Redford?’

  Helen nodded and followed her up onto the back of the stage.

  Slowly – almost unnoticed at first – the lights in the theatre began to dim. Tucked out of sight in the wings Helen could sense the growing anticipation and expectation in the audience. The seconds ticked by. Part of the magic of good showmanship is to make an audience wait, to hold them there a few seconds longer than feels quite comfortable, so that every eye is focused on stage. That growing sense of what is about to happen pushes aside all the thoughts about the drive there, the queue to get in, the day they had had before the show began. And so Helen waited.

  In the auditorium someone coughed; there were the sounds of people settling back in their seats, their conversation changing from a noisy cheerful babble to an altogether lower, denser hum. There was a crackle of excitement in the air, an electric charge as tangible as a coming storm. It made Helen’s skin prickle.

  ‘Okay, Miss Redford?’ mouthed the assistant stage manager, giving Helen the thumbs up. She smiled and nodded, all the while aware of every breath, every movement, every sound around her.

  As the music began to play Helen closed her eyes, making an effort to control the panic that bubbled up inside. There was a peculiar fluttering fear that started somewhere down low in the pit of her stomach and rose up into her throat, closing it down, stealing her breath away and making her heart race. She knew that once she was out on stage it would be fine, but for now the panic crowded in on her, making her tremble, making the sound of her pulse ricochet around inside her skull like a drumroll. Deep breaths, calm thoughts; any second now the curtains would open and everything would be all right.

  In the auditorium beyond the curtains, the audience was still and quiet now. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

  ‘Miss Redford?’ someone whispered. Helen opened her eyes and looked up. One of the crew adjusted the radio mike onto the front of her dress and leaning closer flicked it on before tucking the wire down in amongst the embroidery. One of the spotlights reflected in the facets of the jewellery she was wearing, projecting a great arc of rainbows into the wings. It felt like an omen.

  Helen smiled her thanks and she pressed her lips together, blotting her lipstick, and then ran a hand back over her hair checking it was all in place, her heart still racing, anxiety edging out all sensible thoughts.

  The technician grinned. ‘You look fabulous,’ he whispered. Her smile held. On the far side of the stage, behind a cameraman, Arthur, her agent, raised a hand in salute, his fingers crossed. He winked at her. Behind him, deep in the shadows, Helen could just pick out Bon, with her mother standing alongside him.

  A moment later the music changed to the signature tune for Cannon Square and as the curtains slowly opened, the deep inviting voice of the theatre’s resident compere rolled out over the PA.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening’s show. Tonight, for one night only, we would like you put your hands together and give a great big Carlton Rooms welcome to star of stage, screen and television, our very own homespun diva, Miss Helen Redford!’ His voice rose to a crescendo in the darkness.

  It was as if someone had thrown a switch. From the auditorium came a sound like heavy rain and then thunder as people clapped, cheered and stamped their feet, the sound filling the theatre; a sound so loud that Helen could feel it pressing on her chest as much as she could hear the noise. The assistant stage manager waved her on and as Helen stepped out into the glare of the spotlight the volume of the applause rose.

  She waited for the noise to ebb and then smiled out into the expectant darkness.

  ‘Well, hello there,’ she said, pulling up the stool that was there waiting for her centre stage. ‘It’s been a long time coming, but it’s great to be back here at the Carlton Rooms. I don’t want to think about how many years it’s been since I stood right here on this stage. I’ve been away too lon
g.’ And as she spoke the audience roared its appreciation and Helen’s nerves melted away like snow in sunshine.

  It had been a long time coming, but finally Helen was home.

  Extra scenes and commentary from Sue

  Sue: In the book Helen tells us that she met Bon when she was in Pantomime and he was in the chorus. I quite liked the idea that they had met before, when Helen was out of her comfort zone and not the glamorous TV star, and Bon was the one in charge.

  ‘I’m dreading this,’ hissed Helen, as they headed into the rehearsal room.

  Arthur sighed. ‘We’ve already talked about it. It’s not Strictly, Helen. If I thought you could do that I’d have had you on there like a shot. This is a pantomime, not one expects you to get it right. It’s meant to be funny. You’re the fairy godmother not Darcy Bussell. And this guy is brilliant –’

  ‘Brilliant?’ said Helen sceptically.

  ‘And I’ve already told him you’ve got two left feet, so anything you can manage to pull off is going to surprise him,’ Arthur said with a grin.

  Helen slapped him playfully.

  Arthur opened the door into the dance studio and guided her inside.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and pick you up when you’ve finished.’

  ‘I hope you’ve booked me in with a chiropractor,’ Helen said, under her breath. She glanced around the large room and inwardly groaned. It was everything she had been dreading. This was the real deal. A long high ceilinged room with sprung wooden floors, and one wall covered with mirrors from floor to ceiling. No hiding place.

  In one corner sat a woman at a piano. She was sorting through a pile of sheet music, while up against the bar a man, dressed in sweatpants and a faded grey tee shirt, was busy warming up.

  Helen stopped in her tracks and took in the view. He was tall with broad shoulders and a muddle of thick blonde hair pushed back off a tanned face. No two ways about it, he was gorgeous. Not the kind of man you wanted to meet when you were in gym gear, with your hair scraped back off your face and wearing barely a hint of make-up.