One Night Only. Sue Welfare

nodded, ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

      Natalia scribbled something else on her pad. ‘So you thought that she was probably dead?’

      ‘Or that she had run off with someone, remarried and not told her new family about me and Dad; or that she’d emigrated or just plain didn’t care,’ said Helen, conscious of the crackle of emotion in her voice.

      ‘Didn’t you think about hiring someone? A detective or something?’ Natalia pressed, with a hint of accusation in her tone. ‘I don’t think I could have lived with not knowing, and you had the money –’

      ‘There is a lot more to my life than what happened to my mother. Not everything I’ve done is about her.’ Helen took a deep breath. ‘And it might seem like a hard thing for you to understand, Natalia, but no, I didn’t go looking for her. She rejected me once; I didn’t want to give her the chance to reject me again.’

      Natalia winced. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that,’ she said, before setting off on another tack. ‘One of the things that struck me when I was looking through the press cuttings and what we’ve got on file for you, is how little there is. There is a lot about your awards and TV roles but not very much about the woman behind the actress.’

      ‘I’ve always been very private.’

      Natalia nodded and made a note. ‘Until now,’ she said, watching Helen intently.

      ‘That’s right.’ Helen said. ‘Until now.’

      ‘Can you tell me why that is?’

      Helen looked her squarely in the eye. ‘Because you asked me – and to be honest I miss working on interesting projects with interesting people. I’m an actress. I want to work. I can’t skate, I hate ballroom dancing and I’m not cut out for roughing it in the jungle. So it’s this or –’

      ‘Celebrity Come Dine With Me?’ Natalia suggested helpfully. She pulled out a file. ‘Okay, so we’ve got some newspaper clippings, reviews and things which we’ll be using that I’d like you to take a look through. Oh and this –’ she handed Helen the photocopy of a page from the Billingsfield Echo. ‘I can’t make out the date,’ said Natalia. ‘We’ll probably need to chase that up, unless of course you can remember when it was? National talent competition, Carlton Rooms?’ She leaned across, reading over Helen’s shoulder. ‘March the something – no, it’s no good, I can’t make out the year. But here we are, look –’ she said, pointing to a grainy black and white photo of the contestants. ‘Local songbirds, Helen Redford and – hang on I’ve got a magnifying glass in my bag.’

      ‘Kate Monroe,’ said Helen, tipping the photocopy towards the light. ‘It was a Saturday – the 15^th of March, and that was the first night we’d used our stage names; before that we used to be Helen Heel and Charlotte Johnson.’

      THREE

      Then

      ‘You’ll be fine, Helen,’ snapped Charlotte. ‘For God’s sake just stop worrying, will you, and pass me the eyeliner.’ Charlotte took it and then leant forward to dab concealer on her chin. ‘You know, the light in this room is terrible. You should really get his nibs to get you a lamp or something for this dressing table.’ She turned to face Helen. ‘So what do you think? Can you still see that spot?’ She tipped her chin up towards the light. ‘It looks like Vesuvius from where I’m sitting.’

      ‘That’s because you’re three inches away from it, anything that close up is bound to look big,’ said Helen, who was sitting on the end of the bed, struggling to do her makeup in a tiny hand mirror. She felt sick.

      Charlotte was right, though, the light in the bedroom wasn’t good; but Helen was so full of nerves that she didn’t really care. Helen took a closer look at her reflection; she was so pale and drawn it looked as if she might be coming down with something. ‘And I’ve already told you, Charlotte, this is Harry’s bedroom. The light in here is nothing to do with me. All right?’

      ‘So you say,’ Charlotte teased. ‘Anyway, we could hardly get ready in your room, could we? It’s like a bloody shoebox in there. How on earth do you manage? There’s barely enough room for the bed. Where do you put all your clothes and shoes and things? It’s a good job you’re tidy; it wouldn’t suit me at all,’ Charlotte continued, turning her attention back to the mirror. ‘The whole place would be a tip in ten minutes. A bit like this place really,’ she giggled.

      Helen looked round Harry’s bedroom; Charlotte was right. There were things everywhere – shoes all over the floor, clothes and makeup spilling out of the suitcase Charlotte had brought with her; their coats were slung on the bed along with their costumes and handbags. Harry’s bedroom looked like someone was running an impromptu jumble sale.

      Getting ready for the show at Harry’s flat had been Charlotte’s idea.

      ‘Anyway, it’s your fault we’re here. I thought that we were going to get ready at your house,’ said Helen, rolling on a slick of lip gloss. ‘That’s what your dad said when he came into the shop yesterday. He said he’d come into town and pick me up if there wasn’t a bus.’

      ‘I know,’ said Charlotte. ‘There’s a lot more room at my place obviously, but Harry’s flat is so much nearer to the Carlton Rooms.’

      ‘Your dad told me he was going to drive us in.’

      ‘Yes, all right, Helen, don’t keep on about it. I know what my dad said, okay? But he can be so bossy and so narrow-minded, interfering all the time – and yes, I know he’s on my side and everything, but he’s just so over-protective. This is better; we can please ourselves here. He’s really getting on my nerves.’ Charlotte screwed up her face and dropped straight into a cruel impersonation of her father. ‘Don’t do this, don’t say that, don’t you sign anything, not so much as an autograph without me reading it first, do you hear, Charlie? It’s for your own good, young lady He treats me like I’m a complete idiot. He nearly had fifty fits when he saw the costumes I’d had made for tonight. Too short. Too low. Too clingy. God only knows what he is going to be like when I finally get discovered, or come to that when I go off to teacher training in September.’

      ‘You’re still going, then?’ said Helen, concentrating her efforts on finishing off her mascara.

      ‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte, sagely. ‘Finish my A levels and then on to teacher training, unless of course I get discovered in the meantime. Teaching will give me something to fall back on if the singing doesn’t pan out. I’m not totally daft despite what my dad thinks. And anyway, it’s more fun being here; I wanted to see where you and Harry lived. You two, all tucked up in your little love nest,’ she continued in the same teasing voice.

      Before Helen could reply there was a sharp knock on the door.

      ‘God, that made me jump,’ gasped Charlotte with a nervous giggle. ‘Good job I wasn’t doing my eyeliner.’ And then she called out, ‘Hello, who is it?’

      Helen rolled her eyes. ‘It’s Harry, who else is it going to be? It’s his flat. Can you just pass me a tissue?’

      ‘Could be the press, dahling,’ said Charlotte, striking a pose and putting on a big starry voice as she handed Helen a box of Kleenex. ‘Or maybe it’s TV people, wanting to come in and do an interview with the next big thing.’

      ‘Things,’ corrected Helen, sitting down alongside Charlotte on the dressing-table stool so that she could see herself in the big mirror. ‘Shift up a bit, will you. There are two of us, remember?’

      ‘I meant collectively, you and me, we are the next big thing. I keep thinking that that is what we should call ourselves: ‘The Next Big Thing’. It sounds good, don’t you think? Although ‘Wild Birds’ has got a nice ring to it too. Sort of sexy and cheeky and a bit risqué. I’m glad I thought of it – it’s good, memorable; even if I do say so myself.’

      Harry