One Night Only

She shook her head.

‘In that case with whom are you singing?’

‘I’m with Charlotte Johnson. We’re the Wild Birds.’ Helen looked beyond him into the corridor. Now that his attention was firmly fixed on her, other people were slipping past unnoticed and making their way into the theatre.

‘She should be here somewhere. She came in a little while ago,’ Helen said. ‘She came in through the front doors.’

‘No, she shouldn’t have done that, I’ve just told you – it’s VIPs only that way,’ the man said with a sniff. ‘Me, I get stuck out the back here with the hoi polloi, while they get the bloody Mayor and all the celebs. How am I supposed to keep track of who’s here and who’s not? I warned them, I said, bunch of bloody amateurs, it’ll be chaos on the night, we need extra staff on the door to help sort it out I said. And look at it, tell me I’m not right? No idea how to behave, any of them – animals –’ He looked at her and sighed; Helen was quite obviously a disappointment, and then he smacked his lips before taking another long hard look at his list. ‘Wild Birds, you said, didn’t you?’

Helen nodded. ‘That’s right. We’re singers.’

‘So you said.’ He tapped the board with his finger. ‘Here we are. The Wild Birds. You’re late.’

‘Only by a few minutes, we couldn’t get parked and –’

‘It says on here that you were supposed to be on stage for a run-through at half past four.’

‘Half past four?’ Helen felt her stomach tighten. ‘It can’t say that. You’re joking,’ she said. ‘The man told me half past five.’

He pulled a face. ‘Do I look like the kind of man who’s got the time for jokes? Have you seen how many people we’ve got to try and get through here tonight? Now that is a bloody joke. The management want shooting. They should have asked me. I was in variety for years, me – on tour with the greats. I told them. I mean this is a complete farce.’

As he spoke Helen tried to get a look at what was written on his clipboard. ‘I’m sorry, but your list can’t be right,’ she said. ‘The man at the box office yesterday told me that we had to be here at half past five.’

‘Did he indeed?’ The little man pressed the board close up against his puny little chest. ‘And which man was that, then?’

‘Tully, Mr Tully,’ she said, feeling her pulse quicken. ‘He told me yesterday, he said we’d got to be here by half past five.’

‘Like he knows anything,’ said the man with a sneer.

‘He was the only one here when I got here. At lunch time. I gave him our music.’

The man snorted. ‘You gave him your music, did you? Well God only know where that’s ended up, then, it could be anywhere. The man is a complete nightmare. He’s a glorified caretaker.’

‘He seemed very nice. Very kind,’ Helen said, feeling totally lost. ‘He had a clipboard too. He said half past five and that I could leave the music with him, and that he’d look after it and make sure he passed it on to the right people.’

‘Well, you just better hope that he gave it to someone who knows what they’re doing,’ said the man. With that he ticked something on his board and waved her through. ‘Female changing, first floor, room three. You can’t miss it, up the stairs, just follow the sound of the bitching and smell of the hairspray. Go right along there. I’ve got a lot of people to see and you’re holding everybody up.’ With that the man’s attention turned to the next person in line.

Helen didn’t move, instead she stayed exactly where she was.

‘What?’ snapped the man.

‘What should we do?’ asked Helen.

‘What do you mean, what should we do?’ The man peered at her. ‘What should you do about what?’

‘About not being here at half past four?’ said Helen.

The man pulled a face. ‘There’s not a lot you can do really, is there? All the acts were allocated a time slot for a run-through and sound checks. It was tight as charity without people buggering about.’

‘And so you’re saying that we’ve missed it?’

‘Were you here at four thirty?’

Helen felt sick but tried very hard not to let it show. ‘No. But –’

‘But nothing, sweetheart,’ said the man, tapping his clipboard. ‘You were down for a four thirty run-through and you weren’t here. End of story. All right? Mister Tully should have given you a copy of the new schedule. There’s nothing I can do about it now. So if you’d just like to move along there please. Female dressing room, first floor, room three.’

She stared at him, refusing to budge. ‘Is there anyone I can talk to?’

‘No, now can you just move yourself? I’ve got a troupe of Eastern European acrobats unloading at the moment – all foreign – vich this and osky that, bloody nightmare making sure they’re who they say they are.’

Helen glanced around. She couldn’t spot anyone who looked as if they were anything to do with the theatre management. ‘So what will happen now, then?’ she asked.

‘I’ll count them I suppose; it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.’

Helen put her hands on her hips, her anxiety rapidly turning to anger.

‘I meant what will happen because we’ve missed the run-through. It wasn’t our fault.’

The man shrugged. ‘Look, sweetheart, the resident sound man they’ve got here is really good: he’s wasted in a place like this if you ask me. But he probably took a guess at what you need from what you put down on your application form and set it up accordingly; to be honest he’s not often that far out.’

The application form, thought Helen miserably, which was currently folded up in her handbag.

‘And there’s no one else I can talk to?’

The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. God, maybe?’

At which point Helen caught sight of Charlotte further along the corridor. She was standing at the bottom of a flight of stairs, waving frantically. ‘Over here, Helen, here,’ Charlotte called.

‘Female changing –’ the man began.

‘I know, I heard you the first time,’ snapped Helen, pushing past him.

‘God, where on earth have you been? I was getting worried; where are the costumes?’ said Charlotte, all outrage and indignation as Helen hurried towards her. ‘I can’t believe you took so long. You knew I was waiting. Don’t tell me, Harry ended up having to park right down on the far end of the quay, didn’t he? I’m just glad I got out when I did. It’s complete madness here and it’s like a bloody cattle market upstairs. Have you been up there looking for me? I can’t believe this, how come there are so many people? It’s totally mad. And they’ve put everyone in together. I can’t even find anywhere to sit down. And the toilets are disgusting.’ Rant over, she looked Helen up and down. ‘So where are the costumes?’

‘Harry’s bringing them.’ Helen bit her lip, feeling a growing sense of panic. ‘He should be here in a minute.’

Charlotte stared at her. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re not still nervous about singing tonight, are you?’

There was no point lying or beating about the bush. ‘No, it’s not that. The man down there who signed me in said that we should have been here at half past four; they must have changed the times, Charlotte. We’ve missed our sound checks.’

Charlotte’s expression hardened up. ‘Don’t say that, Helen. You are kidding me, aren’t you?’ she snapped. ‘Tell me it’s a joke.’

Helen shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. He said that the man I saw yesterday didn’t give me the right schedule.’

‘Oh for God’s sake. How could you be so bloody stupid?’ spat Charlotte. ‘How could you get the time wrong?’

Helen wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. ‘I’m really sorry but it wasn’t my fault,’ she protested. ‘The man in the front office told me half past five. I wasn’t to know there was another schedule, was I?’

‘Are you serious? Of course it’s your fault. For God’s sake, Helen. You can’t do anything right, can you?’ Charlotte raged. ‘I mean, what does it take to get the bloody time right? What are we going to do now? I knew I should have got my dad to sort it all out. I just knew. He said you’d let me down. He did, you know. He said you’re a waste of space and that you’ll never amount to anything, that you’re just hanging on my coat-tails. Poor little Helen Heel. You’re going nowhere. You work in a toy shop for God’s sake. And you know what? He was right.’

Helen stared at her. ‘What?’ she gasped. It felt as if someone had punched her. ‘Your dad said that about me? When did he say it?’ She spluttered, ‘He’s always been nice to me. Is that what he really thinks?’ Not that Charlotte heard her or had finished with her stream of venom.

‘I can’t believe you, I really can’t. Trust you to spoil my big chance, Helen. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Didn’t you?’ Charlotte continued furiously. ‘You’re just jealous, aren’t you? And you’ve always been jealous of me. Haven’t you?’ she shouted.

People were staring at them.

‘Of course not.’ Helen stammered. She’d always known that Charlotte had a short fuse but this was something different. She was totally stunned by the fury of Charlotte’s outburst.

‘I’m going to go and ring my dad; I’m just hoping he’ll be able to sort something out,’ Charlotte said, and stormed off back upstairs. ‘He wouldn’t have let this happen if he had been here,’ she shouted over her shoulder.

Which was the moment that Harry arrived.

‘Hello,’ he said, hurrying down the corridor towards Helen. He was soaked, his curly blonde hair slicked down over his face, his jacket dark with rain, but at least he was smiling. Helen had never been more pleased to see a friendly face in her life. He’d got their costumes on hangers, slung over one shoulder, a makeup box tucked under one arm and a holdall in the other hand.

‘There you are,’ he said with a grin. ‘Thank God I found you. Busy, isn’t it? I had one heck of a job getting past that little squirt on the reception desk. Who does he think he is?’ He paused. ‘What’s the matter? Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Helen spluttered and burst into tears. ‘No, I’m not.’

Harry looked aghast. ‘What’s the matter? Here, let me put these down. Don’t cry – what is it?’ he said, putting his arm around her.

Helen, feeling stupid, struggled to compose herself and tried to explain between sobs what had happened. ‘Charlotte is furious,’ she said finally. ‘But I didn’t do it on purpose, I’m not like that, you know that, Harry. It was a mistake. I only passed on what the man told me yesterday at the box office.’

‘I know,’ said Harry, handing her his handkerchief. It was neatly ironed into a sandwich-sized triangle and although slightly damp from the rain, smelt of washing powder and sunshine. Good old Harry.

‘I didn’t do it deliberately.’

‘I know you didn’t, and when she calms down so will Charlotte. Here, you stay there and look after the costumes and the rest of the things and I’ll go and see what I can do.’

‘Charlotte’s gone to ring her dad,’ said Helen.

‘Okay, well in the meantime I’ll see if I can talk to someone, see if we can’t sort something out.’

‘Really?’ said Helen.

He grinned. ‘It’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it? The worst thing they can say is bugger off. Just watch the bags, will you?’ And with that Harry vanished into the press of people heading into the auditorium.

Helen waited. A moment or two later Charlotte stamped down the stairs and slumped onto the step alongside her; her expression was like thunder.

‘Harry’s just gone to talk to someone about the mix-up with the times. Did you get through to your dad?’ asked Helen, hoping to make peace.

‘You care?’ growled Charlotte.

‘Of course I care, Charlotte. I’m really sorry. Despite what you think I really didn’t do it on purpose.’

‘I can’t get through to my dad. The pay phone up there is only taking incoming calls,’ Charlotte said.

There was a tense silence.

‘Harry brought the costumes,’ Helen said tentatively, indicating the bags slung across her knees.

‘So I see. Well, he can just take them back home again then, can’t he? This was meant to be our big chance, Helen. Our big break. They’ve got agents coming from London tonight, you know, and someone from the Corn Exchange who is casting their big extravaganza this Christmas. And bits of it are going to be on TV on the local news. You do know that, don’t you?’

Helen flinched. ‘Of course I do, Charlotte – that’s why we’re here.’

‘This could have been my big chance if it hadn’t been for you buggering it all up.’

‘We’re here now, we can still go on.’

Charlotte’s face contorted into a furious grimace. ‘Without sorting the sound out, without doing a run-through? Don’t be stupid. What it’s going to sound like – what’s it going to look like? Rank amateurs, that’s what. We’ll look like idiots, Helen. And I’m certainly not going to go on stage and make a total fool of myself even if you are. And what if that bloke you saw didn’t give them the music? We’re going to look like morons, Helen, and it’s all your fault.’

Despite trying to keep her cool Helen could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble. ‘I said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t do it on purpose, Charlie, you surely must know that. I –’

‘For God’s sake just shut up, will you? There’s no point apologising now, is there? It’s done. Over. And you know what? You’re just totally useless,’ said Charlotte, waving the words away. ‘I’m going to go round to the phone box on Market Street, ring my dad and get him to come and pick me up. You can do what you like, Helen. Go home with Harry, go back to your pathetic little life. I can’t believe you, I really can’t – you knew how important this was.’ She bent down and snatched up the costumes. ‘We won’t be needing these now, will we?’

‘Helen! Charlotte!’ Harry shouted from the double doors at the end of the corridor. He was waving frantically, trying to attract their attention. ‘Come on, come on. Quickly, quickly, we haven’t got much time.’

‘You better run, lover-boy wants you,’ snapped Charlotte, folding the costumes over her arm. ‘I’d grab him with both hands if I were you, Helen, because let’s be frank, he’s the only chance someone like you’s got. You know what people are saying about you, don’t you? Moving in with Harry like that – that you’re only after him for his money, trying to get yourself knocked up so that he has to marry you? And you know what? I think they’re right, leading him on like that. You’re a grade A bitch, Helen Heel – probably break his heart and leave him when you’ve got what you want. Just like your mother.’

Helen stared at her in horror, unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘You don’t know a thing about my mother,’ she hissed.

‘Everyone knows,’ growled Charlotte. ‘She was a tart, that’s what my dad said – everyone knew about her. Ran off with some old rich bloke – didn’t want to take you because you’d cramp her style. I know my mum and dad got divorced but at least I know where my mum is.’

Helen could hardly breathe for pain and indignation. Charlotte couldn’t have hurt her any more if she had stabbed her.

‘You can’t think that,’ Helen whispered. ‘You can’t – you’re my friend.’

‘Was,’ said Charlotte icily. ‘I was your friend.’

Harry ran up to them and caught hold of Helen’s arm. ‘Come on,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Quickly. What are you waiting for? Bring the costumes and the rest of the things with you. I’ve had a word with the stage manager and if we hurry then they’ll let you have a few minutes to do the sound checks. They can’t promise a full run-through, but at least it’s better than nothing, and I checked and they’ve got your music. But we really need to hurry, come on –’

Charlotte’s expression turned from total fury to elation in a matter of seconds. Helen wouldn’t have believed the transformation if she hadn’t seen it for herself. Charlotte beamed at Harry, apparently oblivious to how upset Helen was, and practically threw the costumes at her.

‘Come on, let’s get going. See, I told you Harry was a genius,’ Charlotte said, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a great big kiss on his cheek. ‘But you didn’t believe me, did you, Helen? You are absolutely amazing, Harry. You see? I was right. I think he would make the perfect manager, don’t you, Helen? You’re a natural …’

Still smiling, Charlotte linked her arm through Harry’s and strode off down the corridor with him, and then, looking back over her shoulder, snapped, ‘What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Didn’t you hear the man – we can do the sound checks. Bring the things, will you. Which way do we have to go, Harry?’

SIX

Filming

‘Okay, so if you could just tell us again how it feels to be back in your home town –’ said Natalia. Natalia was standing out of camera shot, by the hotel reception desk. She glanced down at the notes on her clipboard.

‘And we need you to come in again and if you could maybe say that thing you just said about how much things have changed since you were last here? And remember when this is aired they’ll be cutting my voice out. So if you could speak in whole sentences. It makes the editing a whole lot easier.’ She smiled at Helen reassuringly. ‘You okay with that? You’re clear about what we’d like?’

Helen nodded.

‘Okay, and you’ve got your case? And so are we ready to go again?’ Natalia glanced over her shoulder towards the rest of the film crew, who were arranged in a ragged semicircle by the reception desk. Felix, who was supposed to be directing the Roots shoot, was watching something on the playback screen, but even so he nodded. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said, making a ‘wagons roll’ signal with his fingers.

Helen did as she was told and set down the suitcase she had been carrying and smiled into the camera. ‘It feels great to be back. On the drive up from the station I was looking around at everything, taking it all in. It’s been a while since I’ve been back home and at the risk of sounding like a cliché, I was just thinking how things haven’t changed all that much, and of course that’s the moment when the taxi turns a corner and just about everything’s new. The big warehouse by the river – luxury flats now – Tilman’s factory gone for a shopping mall. So, so far it’s an odd feeling but it’s good to be back. I’m hoping the big things haven’t changed that much.’ Helen glanced around the foyer of the Billingsfield Arms Hotel, catching the eye of the receptionist who was busy fiddling with something behind the desk.

‘Hello, my name is Helen Redford,’ she said, walking up to the desk to talk to the woman. ‘There should be a reservation for me?’

The receptionist looked up and smiled.

‘And cut,’ said Felix. ‘That’s just great.’

Natalia turned her attention to the woman behind the desk.

‘Presumably we won’t be needing to book in again, so can we just go from where you give Helen the keys?’

The receptionist nodded. Felix gave her the thumbs up. The receptionist took back the set of keys that she had given Helen on the previous take and waited to be cued in. The woman was a natural, Helen thought.

‘Sorry about this, but they want it to look just right,’ Helen said by way of an explanation. ‘The phone ringing and that guy wandering into shot last time,’ she began. ‘It spoils the way it looks and sounds.’

The receptionist’s smile held. ‘Not a problem,’ she murmured, her attention on Felix, who gave her an okay signal with his thumb and forefinger.

‘We’re good to go, whenever you are,’ he said.

The receptionist cranked her smile up a notch. ‘I hope you’ll be very comfortable during your stay with us, Ms Redford,’ she said, handing Helen the keys to her suite. Still smiling, she waved a porter over. ‘This is Christov, he’ll show you up to your room and take care of your bags, and if there is anything you want, anything at all, then please just let us know.’ She paused, turning the corporate hospitality smile up to stun for the benefit of the camera, and then added, ‘And can I just say how pleased we are to have you here at the Billingsfield Arms, Helen. Welcome home. It’s really good to have you back.’

Helen smiled graciously right on cue. ‘Thank you. It’s good to be back.’

‘And cut,’ said Felix. ‘That’s fantastic, really nice. Okay, lovely, lovely, lovely. Now am I right in thinking we’ve got one of the suites with the balcony? The one overlooking the quay?’ he asked first Natalia and then the woman behind the desk.

They were causing a stir. People were coming in off the street to watch what was going on; people who wouldn’t normally consider ever going into the Billingsfield Arms. People, Helen suspected, who the hotel management would probably prefer stayed outside, but who were making their way inside, past the doorman, past the plate glass and handsome oak panelling, to watch the filming. There were two men in anoraks, tracksuit bottoms and baseball caps standing just inside the revolving doors and alongside them two girls with babies in buggies. The girls had bare legs, their hair dragged up into topknots. Over by the entrance to the restaurant were a gaggle of women who had been shopping on the market, and were surrounded by piles of thin stripy carrier bags, the bags spilling their contents out onto the plush carpet.

The doorman stood to one side taking it all in, although from his expression it was painfully obvious he was unsure what to do. Did he throw the gawpers out or let them stay? How bad would it look for the hotel if he ended up on Youtube, hustling the hoi polloi back onto the streets?

Helen smiled at all of them. She had already done a round of autographs and hellos. One of the women, who before coming in had stubbed out a cigarette on the sole of her shoe and pocketed it, waved at her. Helen’s smile broadened as the doorman looked on, narrow-eyed and suspicious, as the woman found herself a chair and started to rifle through the complimentary magazines and newspapers.

Usually the Billingsfield Arms was the kind of establishment where people – guests and staff alike – spoke in hushed tones; where hurrying or shouting, shows of petulance or bad manners, were frowned upon. It was certainly not a place for shell suits and flip-flops, puffa jackets and baseball caps. Other hotel guests – mostly corpulent men of a certain age looking up from behind their broadsheets – cast glances in the film crew’s direction, making a great show of not being curious about all the comings and goings. But despite their measured indifference it seemed as if the business of the hotel had ground to a halt for the filming, as the staff crept out to join the people from the market to take in the floorshow.

‘That’s right. Suite thirty-four, top floor,’ the receptionist was saying. ‘I thought you’d already been up and had a look around?’

‘I did, but we have looked at quite a few. That is the one with the balcony, right? In the middle – the one with the view of all those warehouses?’ said Felix. Felix had bright red hennaed hair and was chewing gum.

‘That is correct,’ said the woman briskly; she didn’t look like the kind of woman who took kindly to hippies or chewing gum.

‘Okay, so we’re sure about that, are we?’ asked Felix.

The receptionist’s expression hardened. ‘Of course I’m sure. Suite thirty-four with a balcony. Your colleague booked it.’ She glanced at Natalia, who was nodding furiously.

Helen stood to one side of the melee along with her luggage. They had been in the hotel foyer for what seemed like forever, unpacking the equipment, setting up and then filming her walking down the street, looking up at the hotel, coming in out of the rain, making her way to the front desk, smiling at the receptionist, confirming her booking. All this for what would amount to a few seconds of airtime or probably be cut in the edit and not used at all. But it was getting them to bond, to gel as a team, which Natalia had explained was very important to all of them.

‘We really want you to trust us and understand where we’re coming from, Helen. We’re here to support you on your journey and make this a great show,’ she had said in a rather earnest pre-filming pep talk. Helen looked from face to face, well aware that no one else appeared to care a stuff about bonding, trust or any journey, other – possibly – than the one home.