One Night Only. Sue Welfare

going to be the death of you, Arthur.’

      ‘I thought I’d maybe have a chat with Ruth at Roots about it. See what we can organise. It would give their show a real focus too. And you never know, maybe we can work out a book deal on the back of the TV programme?’

      Helen looked sceptical.

      ‘What?’ said Arthur.

      ‘It’s a bit late for all that, isn’t it? Maybe ten years ago, when I was strapped to a gurney fighting for life, I might have swung it, but now? Memoirs of a has-been? The public have got a horribly short memory, Arthur.’

      He pulled a face. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t be so bloody hard on yourself, Helen; not if you’re up there all over again, babe – and you could be. And let’s face it, you’ve had an interesting life. Kids who’re still wet behind the ears are writing bloody autobiographies these days – that little fat bird who got married to that footballer, and the one with the –’ he mimed a pair of pantomime breasts. ‘Kiss and tell, reality TV, it’s all the go now, sweetie – and you’d be a natural. Everybody’s doing it.’

      ‘Doing what?’ said a voice from the stairs. Helen looked up as Bon jogged into view. She could hear by the rhythm that he was taking the steps two at a time, which for some reason made her smile. Arthur rolled his eyes and looked heavenwards.

      Bon was tall and blond with broad shoulders and a body that reflected all the hours of work he put in at the gym and in the studio. They’d met while she was doing pantomime in Croydon. She was playing the fairy godmother. He was in the chorus. Well, that’s what they told people. Actually he had been doing the choreography for the show and had been standing in one night when one of the dancers was off sick, but it made a good story for the tabloids. He was somewhere in his late thirties but looked younger, while Helen was in her early fifties and looked well preserved.

      She had never imagined ending up with a younger man.

      When they were alone together those things didn’t matter; he made Helen laugh and she adored what they had, but in company the cliché sometimes made her defensive. It was obvious that Bon was younger than she was. She didn’t dwell on exactly how many years but it was enough to be notable in the gossip columns. On the plus side, Bon was beautiful and kind, warm and funny, and he made up for all those men along the way who hadn’t been, and – Helen kept telling herself – if it didn’t turn out to be forever then as far as she was concerned what they had had was still worth it.

      He smiled at her.

      Sometimes, Helen knew, it was better to have a little drop of something wonderful than a whole lifetime of something ordinary. Two years on they were still together, although she often wondered if he saw her as a stopgap, a place marker to hold the page until the right woman came along, someone young whom he could have a family with – although she kept those thoughts to herself.

      Even as the idea rolled through her head, Bon’s smile broadened, and leaning closer he kissed her.

      ‘Hiya honey,’ he purred, his body language freezing Arthur out. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that you look lovely, and you smell divine? I really love that perfume.’

      Helen looked up at him. ‘Birthday present from my lover,’ she said.

      From the corner of her eye she saw Arthur mime retching, and laughed, breaking the intimate connection between her and Bon. Bon glanced round and grinned. ‘A bit too much for you at your age, Arthur?’

      ‘Bit too much for anyone at any age,’ huffed Arthur miserably.

      ‘You’re only jealous,’ said Bon. ‘So, what is it that you’re up to?’

      ‘Arthur was talking about people, more specifically me, writing their memoirs,’ said Helen, as she pulled away.

      ‘I think that you should do it,’ Bon said. ‘I’ve told you that before – you’re a natural and I’m sure Arthur could get you a bit of help if you needed it, couldn’t you Arthur? A ghost – I’m not saying you couldn’t do it yourself –’

      Helen laughed, ‘Which I couldn’t. But I know what you mean.’

      ‘And how did the rest of the day go?’

      ‘Arthur wants me to take my old show on the road.’

      The words caught Bon’s attention. ‘Really? The one-woman show? But I thought you were talking to a television production company today, weren’t you? I mean going on the road, that’s great too – but it’s not TV.’

      ‘That’s true,’ said Helen. ‘Arthur was saying we should think about touring again if the TV thing comes off – cash in on the exposure.’

      Bon nodded. ‘Sounds like a good idea. Okay, well if there is anything I can do to help – you know that I’d be really happy to help you rehearse.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Helen smiled. ‘But never mind me. How did your meeting go?’

      Bon opened his mouth to protest.

      ‘No,’ said Helen, stopping him with a gesture. ‘Come on, ‘fess up. I got in first. So?’

      He groaned. ‘So, nothing. Libby’s thinking I should maybe take the Dubai gig. She’s really keen to get me out there; apparently she’s got loads of really good contacts.’

      Libby, the new agent that his old agency had assigned him, five feet two in her tiny stockinged feet and blonde and gorgeous and not a day over thirty. Helen slammed the door shut on the place her thoughts were heading and tried to ignore the giggling from behind it.

      ‘Well, that’s great,’ Helen said. ‘And it’s well paid – I’d go for it.’

      ‘It’s a long way to go,’ said Bon. ‘And if you’re serious about going on tour, you’re going to need some backup. You know that I hate to leave you here on your own.’

      ‘I can almost hear the violins from here. New highlights?’ said Arthur, conversationally, elbowing his way back into the conversation.

      Helen sighed; at least Arthur had managed not to say that they had been touring while Bon was still in short trousers.

      ‘Sun-kissed,’ said Bon with a lazy grin, running long fingers back through his artfully tousled hair. ‘It goes like that in the sunshine.’

      Helen shook her head. ‘Don’t bait him, Bon, you know he hates it.’

      Bon’s grin broadened. ‘You should try it some time, Arthur – get outside, get yourself a little bit of gold in the old toupee.’

      ‘It’s real,’ Arthur growled.

      ‘Real stoat?’

      ‘Play nicely you two,’ Helen said sharply.

      ‘So how did your meeting go?’ asked Bon.

      ‘Not bad. Arthur has got me a job, haven’t you, Arthur? Roots? The TV show – apparently I’m an icon.’

      ‘Wow,’ said Bon, interest piqued. ‘God, now that is just fantastic. It’s got a real following and you’ll be great on there. When do you start shooting?’

      ‘I haven’t even signed the contract yet. I might not do it …’

      Bon grinned. ‘Why ever not? You’d be mad not to. You want anything?’ he asked, heading towards the fridge.

      ‘No, not for me, thanks. I’ve already got one.’

      ‘Arthur?’

      Arthur lifted his coffee mug instead of replying.

      Bon dropped a handful of ice into the tumbler and topped it up with fruit juice. ‘So when do you think you’re going to start?’

      ‘We’re not sure yet. We’ll be discussing dates next week,’ said Arthur.

      Helen couldn’t take her eyes