Sue Welfare - One Night Only

To my family and

friends – you know

who you are.

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Slowly – almost unnoticed at first – the lights in…

One

‘I just wanted to tell you, Miss Redford – may…

Two

Natalia, Roots resident researcher and the person assigned to liaise…

Three

‘You’ll be fine, Helen,’ snapped Charlotte. ‘For God’s sake just…

Four

‘Helen? You’re awake, aren’t you?’ Bon said, rolling over onto…

Five

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Carlton Rooms this…

Six

‘Okay, so if you could just tell us again how…

Seven

‘Come on, come on, can you get yourself up here,…

Eight

A little knot of people had gathered on the pavement…

Nine

Backstage at the Carlton Rooms Helen tucked the business card…

Ten

In the storeroom at the back of the toy shop…

Eleven

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ll agree that we’ve had…

Twelve

In the storeroom behind Finton’s Finest Toys, Natalia, Harry and…

Thirteen

Leon Downey was far looser with his money than with…

Fourteen

Harry and Helen were waiting in the storeroom for Natalia…

Fifteen

On the short drive back from the Billingsfield Arms Hotel…

Sixteen

Helen wished more than anything that they were heading back…

Seventeen

‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Harry as Helen lifted…

Eighteen

At number thirty-six Victoria Street, Helen, Natalia, Felix and the…

Nineteen

‘Is that you, Charlotte?’ Helen could hear breathing at the…

Twenty

Helen perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed in…

Twenty-One

Helen sat down at the dressing table and poured herself…

Twenty-Two

Natalia, just out of camera shot, glanced down at her…

Extra scenes and commentary from Sue

Extract from Sue Welfare’s The Surprise Party

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other Books By Sue Welfare

Copyright

About the Publisher

Now

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.

A moment later and 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 long.’ And as she spoke the audience roared its appreciation and Helen’s nerves melted away like snow in sunshine.

‘I just wanted to tell you, Miss Redford – may I call you Helen? – how absolutely delighted we are to have you on board for next season’s TV show. It’s a real honour – I mean really. Now, before we run through a few details, would you like a drink? Tea. We’ve got green if you prefer? Or coffee, mineral water? We’ve got still or sparkling, haven’t we, Jamie?’

Ruth Long, the executive producer of Roots, glanced across at her assistant, and then tried out a smile; an expression that didn’t sit at all well on her plump, rather earnest, face. She had a face made for documentary television, her plain meaty features framed by unnaturally black hair cut into an asymmetric bob so straight and so unmoving that Helen wouldn’t have been at all surprised to discover that it sat on a dummy head beside Ruth’s bed at night. Certainly it didn’t so much as ripple while Ruth made a show of being hospitable.

Jamie, her assistant, stood to one side of the office, skittering in and out of Helen’s peripheral vision as he fiddled with his hair.

‘Actually it was Jamie who suggested you for our programme – wasn’t it, Jamie? He’s got such an eye for a story, it’s a real talent,’ Ruth said fondly. ‘And as he pointed out at our last planning meeting you truly are an icon.’