One Night Only

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 off Bon. He moved with a fluid grace that still made her mouth water. ‘You are going to take it, aren’t you?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure.’

Bon pulled a face. ‘Oh come on, Helen, you’d be absolutely mad not to. You’d be brilliant. They syndicate the show all over the world and then it ends up on the satellite channels.’

Arthur sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to tell her that.’

‘Don’t tell me we’ve finally found something we’re agreed on,’ laughed Bon. ‘By the way, are you staying for supper, Arthur? You’re more than welcome. I thought I’d cook Thai tonight?’

Arthur sighed ‘I really hate it when you’re nice to me,’ he said.

Helen smiled, ignoring the banter, her mind elsewhere. She’d come a long way since the Carlton Rooms in Billingsfield. Did she really want to go back?

TWO

Natalia, Roots resident researcher and the person assigned to liaise – whatever that meant – with Helen for the duration of the filming, perched on the edge of one of the big red shabby-chic sofas in Helen’s sitting room, looking for all the world as if given half a chance she would be up on her toes and away. Natalia had her laptop bag balanced on her lap but so far hadn’t unpacked it.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? A cup of tea? Herbal, green? Coffee?’ asked Helen, settling herself down in the armchair opposite. ‘We’ve got juice?’

The young woman blinked and stared at her, caught, anxious as a rabbit in the headlights. She retrieved a small plastic bottle from her handbag and waggled it to and fro, in a gesture Helen guessed was supposed to amuse.

‘No, you’re fine, really. I’ve got water, but really, thank you,’ she said in her breathy little-girl voice. ‘Now how we do it at Roots is that I’ll be working with you all the way through, right through the filming and everything, so we can build up a relationship and you’ll know the score. And you’ll know that I know what I’m talking about because I’ll have been here right from day one. So, I thought we’d just start with a few basics – get those out of the way first – and then maybe if you’ve got any photos? Did Ruth ask you about photos? Don’t worry if she didn’t, we can always get them later and we don’t take them away or anything. I’ve brought a scanner with me.’ She tapped her bag. ‘And I’ve brought some cuttings and things for you to take a look at, you know, from the good old days.’ She tipped her head down towards the bag again. ‘Usually I’ve got this guy who comes with me and does all the technical stuff while we’re talking, but he’s got this bug. Jamie, you might have met him?’

Helen nodded. ‘He thought I was an icon.’

The young woman smiled. ‘Right, well he rang in to say he’s got flu, well he thinks it’s flu, but then again he is a man: probably just a sniffle. He usually does the driving too – you know if it’s like somewhere off the beaten track, or the country or something –’ Natalia carried on smiling; it was clear she meant a trip like this one.

Natalia, all turned out in her leather jacket, hand-knitted beanie hat, and a floral mini-dress worn over black leggings and twenty-eye black patent DMs had arrived two hours late, not so much fashionably late as horribly lost late, and from her colourful account of finally having tracked down Helen’s house, she seemed to view rural Norfolk as if it was just a step away from the Amazon basin or the African veldt.

‘How on earth do you manage out here?’ she asked conversationally, taking a swig from her water bottle as she made an effort to slough off her oversized biker jacket. ‘I mean it’s so isolated; so far from anywhere.’

Helen raised an eyebrow. She lived in a handsome Victorian house in the middle of Denham Market, five minutes’ walk from the town centre and two major supermarkets. It was hardly the Serengeti.

‘It’s an hour and a half from Kings Cross,’ Helen said, pouring herself a mug of tea.

‘Really?’ The girl looked genuinely surprised. ‘You mean like the trains come right out here?’ she said.

Helen suppressed the desire to sigh and shake her head. ‘Every hour.’

‘Really?’ repeated Natalia, unable to conceal her amazement, as she finally shrugged the jacket off. ‘Well, wow – I mean that is really impressive. Anyway, as I said, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m so looking forward to working with you on your story,’ she gushed. ‘Jamie was really gutted that he’s not here today. When I told my mum I was coming to talk to you today she was just so envious. My mum said that you were a legend. She used to watch you every week on Cannon Square. Right from the first episode. And Jamie’s got them all on DVD right from episode one.’ Natalia grinned. ‘I think that the two of them were more excited than I was about me coming to meet you. Anyway, let’s get down to business.’

Helen smiled at her; Natalia, twenty-six, had been best in show on her degree course, according to Ruth’s latest email, which made Helen wonder whether there was anyone on the Roots production team who had just wandered in on the off chance of a job and got in on the strength of being nice, making good tea and being shit-hot with the filing.

‘We always like to come out and see people in their own homes if we possibly can,’ Natalia was saying earnestly. ‘It’s always nicer and makes it more intimate. I’m sure you read in the contract that we’ll probably want to come and do some of the filming here too, you know, like background; give people an idea of how you live now. People are always fascinated by other people’s houses, aren’t they?’ And then Natalia paused and looked anxiously over her shoulder. ‘Do you think my car will be all right out there?’

‘On my drive?’

Natalia nodded. ‘I mean like it’s locked and everything, but I was just wondering. You know.’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I was just wondering –’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Whereabouts do you live?’

‘Hackney,’ Natalia said. ‘We’ve got a flat, nowhere near as grand as this, obviously, but it’s nice and really handy for work. My boyfriend and I keep saying once we have children we might like to move out – you know, to the country. Like Epping or Chadwell Heath or somewhere. His mum and dad come from Cheshunt. I quite fancy Brighton myself.’ She paused. ‘It’s the dark out here that would worry me; that and the quiet. And then you get the animals.’ She shuddered. ‘Me and my boyfriend went camping once, to the proper country. I wouldn’t want to do it again; there were all these really weird snuffling noises in the night and then you had to go to the loo in a shed. With a torch. I still get flashbacks.

Anyway we really like to see how our guests live, see them in their own environment. And how they cope day to day, what they do, cooking and that kind of thing.’ It made it sound as if Natalia was doing a home visit for social services. ‘I mean this is really nice,’ she said, peering around. ‘Why do you live upstairs, is it like a flat or something?’

‘No, I own the whole house. It’s just that the main sitting room is on the first floor.’

‘Right,’ said Natalia, scribbling something down on her notepad. ‘So, what, is the downstairs for your servants?’

Helen laughed. ‘I wish. No, the kitchen is down there, and the utility room, and there’s a gym and –’

‘And so your staff live out, do they?’ asked Natalia, pen poised above the pad.

Natalia had obviously worked with far grander stars in the past; or maybe she came from a generation that thought everyone on TV had an entourage of hired help dealing with the daily grind on their behalf.

‘No, I don’t really have any staff. We have Audrey who comes in to clean every day, and Bert, he comes in to help me with the garden –’

On the sofa Natalia was writing feverishly. ‘And you live up here because?’ She left the question hanging. Helen stared at her wondering what lurid possibility Natalia was considering.

‘Because of the view,’ said Helen, standing up and directing the young woman’s attention towards the tall windows, with their plush window seats and piles of cushions. ‘I really love the view from up here.’

Natalia stepped up beside her to take a look. ‘The view,’ Natalia echoed.

Denham Market was built on the hill where Norfolk began to drag itself up out of the dark rich expanse of the fenland. Situated a few minutes’ walk from the church, Helen’s house was a Gothic gem, with a fairytale turret at one corner and huge rooms with vaulted ceilings and broad oak floors. At this time of the day the sun came flooding in through the mullioned windows, casting everything in a warm glow.

Up on the first floor, the open-plan double-aspect sitting room looked out over the gardens on one side and over the dark red pantiled rooftops of the houses in the streets below on the other, and beyond the town the glittering snake of the river Ouse, which wound its way across the flat lands of the fen. Beyond that as far as the eye could see were acres and acres of farmed fenland, flat as a billiard table, rich and fertile, lush green or black or gold, depending on the season, stretching out to Ely in the southwest and Long Sutton in the north-west.

It had been the view and the unique appearance of the house that had attracted Helen to it in the first place; it looked for all the world like a fairytale castle up on its hill close by the church. On a clear day it really did seem as if you could see forever. Compared to the tiny terraced house she had grown up in, the view alone at High House lifted Helen’s spirits, the sense of space and freedom under the vast fenland sky finally letting her breathe.

‘So did you always live round here?’ asked Natalia, pen poised.

‘No, I was born and grew up in Billingsfield. It was a factory town. It couldn’t have been more different to Norfolk and this place. Number thirty-six Victoria Street; I’m sure I’ve probably got some photos somewhere. I remember as a little girl looking out of the front-room window of this tiny terraced house and having a horrible sense that I could easily be in the wrong one. Opposite me across the street was a house that was identical to mine, in a row of houses all identical to mine. All the doors were painted the same flat brown, all the windows had the same thick nets in the windows. Even thinking about it now after all these years it makes me shiver; it felt as if you couldn’t breathe.’

Natalia nodded and made another note.

Helen didn’t have that feeling living here. High House was unique, a one-off, with no twin staring back at it, no neighbours peering in, making judgements on her family, from windows that faced each other across a strip of tarmac. No one teased or tormented her here. There was no lying in bed at night hearing the frenzied scuttling and scurrying and raised angry voices from the family whose bedroom adjoined hers. No, up here in High House there was only Helen and the people she invited in, which today included Natalia, who was busy peering out of the window, probably trying to work out what all the fuss was about.

‘Over there on a clear day you can see Ely Cathedral,’ said Helen, pointing into the distance.

Alongside her Natalia stifled a yawn. ‘I’m not much of a one for views,’ she said.

‘So,’ said Helen, now that it was obvious her audience had moved on. ‘What else would you like to know?’

Natalia settled herself back on the sofa. ‘I’m not sure how much you know about the show but in the first segment we talk about you and what you do or did. There’s usually some film clips, some interviews with friends and colleagues, that sort of thing – and then we explore where you came from and we look around the places where you grew up and talk to people who knew you. And then we explore your roots.’

‘Which means what exactly?’ asked Helen.

The girl looked surprised. ‘I’m not sure I’m with you?’

‘Well, which roots?’

‘Presumably you’ve seen the show. Your parents and any interesting ancestors we throw up when we do your family tree. We’ve got this great guy, Alan – well, when I say great; he’s a bit of an acquired taste – he doesn’t like real live people very much. He likes to stay in the office and he wears cotton gloves and a mask a lot of the time, and he’s got this whole thing about pens – but he’s brilliant when it comes to research. Anyway, you see that’s the thing with Roots; we don’t just tie ourselves to the historical, that’s the beauty of the format, we just follow our noses on the good stories. So, like with Terry Haslam – you know, the civil rights bloke? Well his dad, Jack, used to be a strongman in the circus, so we took a look at how Terry had grown up, and that whole nomadic circus culture. It was funny because most people talk about running away to join the circus, but in Terry’s case he ran away to join the Church. Terry’s heritage was amazing – his dad’s family came from Transylvania and his mum came from somewhere in Somerset.

‘Anyway, it was really weird; we took the crew out to this funny little village to film. I mean it was truly spooky. I’ve never been anywhere like that before – and the locals were just so peculiar, they kept pointing and laughing – and anyway Jeremy, the sound guy, bought us all these strings of garlic.’ Natalia paused to take a sip of water. ‘Transylvania was a complete doddle by comparison.’

‘I’m not sure that there is anything that interesting in my family,’ said Helen.

Natalia waved the words away. ‘Oh don’t worry. Everyone I work with always says that but we usually poke around till we find something, and to be perfectly honest, if Ruth’s signed you up to do the show, then there’s something we can get our teeth into or she wouldn’t be doing it.’

The remark caught Helen off guard. She stared at Natalia. ‘I’m sorry?’ she began. ‘What are we talking about here?’

The girl reddened. ‘Sorry, but I don’t suppose I’m telling you anything you don’t already know, Helen. We all know that there is an elephant in the room when it comes to your past. I don’t want to be tactless about it – but it’s not exactly rocket science, is it? We’ll start off with your parents –’Helen waited.

‘Your mum? The whole motherhood, abandoned children thing, I mean I’m assuming you’d have realised what we’d be going for here – a sort of cherchez la femme angle. Looking at the kind of woman who leaves her child behind and the reasons why. Why? What did you think we were going to do?’

Helen couldn’t think of anything to say, but it was fine because Natalia was firing up her laptop and had all the answers on hand. ‘You see what I’m saying here, Helen? There’s no point us dragging up some unknown Elizabethan sailor from God knows where, when we’ve got a story like that to unpick, really, is there? It’s just too good not to use –’

‘I’m sure you think I’m being naïve here, but I thought Ruth said that it would be mostly historical?’

‘Well, sometimes it is, but mostly –’ Natalia hesitated, ‘To be honest mostly it isn’t. The last series everything was pretty much about this generation and maybe the last one. You know, like their mums and dads – people like all that sort of stuff. And of course your mum vanished too, so realistically that is just too good a story not to go after.’

‘She didn’t vanish,’ said Helen, dry-mouthed. ‘It wasn’t like some sort of conjuring trick. Are you telling me that is going to be the main focus of the programme?’

‘We’ve got other angles too, obviously. I don’t have to tell you your own secrets, do I?’ She smiled. Helen stared at her; what did that mean?

‘So are you saying you’ve found my mother?’

Totally wrong-footed Natalia stared at her, trying to compose herself. ‘No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all.’

At which moment Bon came up from the gym, dressed in sweat pants and an indigo blue tee shirt. His tee shirt was soaked with sweat across the chest, underarms and back.

‘Hi,’ he said with a grin, wiping his hands on the white towel draped across his broad shoulders. He looked like a character from a wholesome-life advert. ‘I see your guest arrived then,’ he said to Helen, as he strode over and extended a hand towards Natalia. ‘I’m Bon Fisher. Great to meet you. You must be Natalia, from Roots, is that right?’

Natalia’s mouth had dropped open. ‘Bon?’ she managed, and for a few seconds Helen caught a glimpse of what it was others saw in him. His face, though classically handsome, was still masculine and rugged, manly rather than fey; and his eyes, bright blue and clear as high summer skies, were surrounded by a corona of laughter lines. But what made him infinitely more attractive was that he had this warm sunny aura that was hard to quantify or to miss.

‘That’s right, I’m Helen’s lover,’ he continued, without so much as a hint of hesitation, as he shook her hand. ‘But presumably if you’re working on Helen’s life story you already know all about that. Delighted to meet you. Helen is the most amazing woman.’ He turned to look at her affectionately. ‘Amazing. I’m really lucky to share my life with her.’ He moved across the room and brushed his lips across Helen’s, which made something inside her flutter; he was gorgeous. She glanced up at him, wondering not for the first time if this was some kind of cruel trick. ‘God only knows why she puts up with me.’

Natalia reddened and opened her mouth to say something, but Bon didn’t pause to let her catch up. ‘Anyway, I’m just going to go and grab a shower and then I’ll fix us some lunch. You are staying for lunch, aren’t you, Natalia? I realise it’s a bit late but we’ve both had a busy morning –’

The girl glanced at Helen who nodded. ‘Please,’ Helen said. ‘You’d be more than welcome, and Bon is a superb cook.’

‘Well, yes then, sure, if it’s okay with you.’

‘Got to be better than a supermarket sandwich,’ Bon said. ‘I’m thinking hot spicy shredded chicken with avocado on baby leaves drizzled with raspberry vinaigrette. Does that sound all right to you?’

‘Sounds fabulous,’ said Natalia.

Helen laughed in spite of herself. ‘Don’t encourage him,’ she said and then smiled up at Bon. ‘He thinks about food all the time he’s working out. I have no idea why he doesn’t weigh twenty stone. I keep thinking that one of these days we should open a restaurant.’

Bon bent down and kissed her. ‘And how boring would that be, cooking the same thing over and over? Lunch in say, half an hour?’

‘Fine by me; how about you, Natalia?’

The girl nodded.

‘Great,’ said Bon. ‘Oh and I’ve got a meeting at four. Libby and I are working on the costumes for the show we’re taking to Dubai –’ he continued, aiming his remarks at Helen. Libby. It felt like he was mentioning her a lot lately.

‘You’re a dancer, that’s right, isn’t it?’ Natalia was saying, pen poised over her pad.

Bon nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right, although I’m actually more about the choreography these days, and I’ve helped produce some of the shows we take out on tour.’