One Night Only. Sue Welfare
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what else is on offer?’
‘Pantomime somewhere out in the boondocks. I could probably get you a cameo on Holby City as a down-and-out.’
‘Is that chap Nettles still murdering people? Didn’t their producer say that I’d make a great corpse?’
‘There are always voice-overs,’ continued Arthur.
‘Funeral expenses insurance and female incontinence pads. I don’t think so,’ Helen said, taking a long pull on her fruit juice. ‘I’d like some real work.’
‘There’s not just those. I mean the yoghurt thing was fun, you said so yourself.’
‘I was a Friesian cow.’
‘I know, and they loved you, sweetie, you know they did. And they’re keen to use you again, so they’re always an option. We’ve already had this conversation, petal. Getting yourself onto Roots is a genuine opportunity, and it’s the first really exciting one that’s come along in a long while. We both know that. It could be the first step on the road back home, and let’s be honest: it’s either this or the bush tucker route.’
‘No!’ Helen said emphatically.
‘It can be the way into the nation’s heart. Look at Christopher Biggins. And you were right up there with the best of them, Helen, don’t ever forget that – remember they had an item on News at Ten when you retired?’
‘Retired? You make it sound like I had a choice, Arthur. If you remember, the writers blew me up in a gas explosion in a specially extended episode. That woman who comes on News at Ten did a segment about faulty boilers on the back of it.’
‘Jammed the phone lines,’ said Arthur, philosophically, sniffing his cigar. ‘People wrote in to the papers. And don’t forget the six weeks on life support. The whole nation was totally gripped. People cared, Helen. They really cared. When they finally turned your machine off the whole country mourned.’
‘Don’t tell me, Arthur. I was the one with a tube stuck up my nose and that bloody machine pinging all the time. You know it took wardrobe hours to do me up like that? So yes, Arthur. I understand. Once upon a time I used to be big.’ Helen looked heavenwards. ‘And no, before you ask again: no, no bush tucker. I couldn’t stand it. No moisturiser, surrounded by self-pitying whiners, has-beens and hyperactive third-raters, the self-obsessed and actors who should be in therapy. And I’m not eating anything that moves.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Arthur. ‘Where exactly is the boy wonder today?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Bon? He’s downstairs working out in the gym, I think. And if you’re going to be nasty about him then you can leave now, Arthur. I don’t have to justify my taste in men to you of all people.’
‘Just as well really, isn’t it,’ murmured Arthur.
It was an old battle; the lines were well drawn. Helen chose to ignore him. ‘He’s good for me.’
‘So is spinach, but you don’t have to have it on your plate twenty-four hours a day seven days a week, do you? In my opinion he’s not as good for you as you are for him. You’re not going to marry him, are you?’
‘We haven’t talked about it,’ said Helen.
‘Well, don’t. The idea of you saddling yourself with him makes my flesh creep. Your taste in men is appalling, sweetie.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you would know.’
‘He’s just a phase.’
‘You’re suggesting that I’ll grow out of him?’
‘You will if you have any sense. He’s going to break your heart.’
‘And you didn’t? You’re only jealous, Arthur – you’ve done nothing but sulk since what’s-her-name ran off with that footballer. Besides, I need a new project.’
‘Then do something to the house, remodel the garden, get a dog – anything.’
‘I was thinking of something a bit bigger. Bon was talking about us buying a bar together, somewhere warm and sunny. Somewhere with a little stage, where we could have live music. I’m thinking about going to have a look in the Canaries. See what’s on offer.’
Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘What’s on offer in the Canaries, sweetie, is total bloody oblivion. For God’s sake Helen, you’re so much better than that. What’s it going to take to get you to see sense?’
‘Bon loves me.’
Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘So did that Pekinese my mother used to have, but I didn’t feel obliged to change my life to accommodate it.’
‘You loved that dog.’
‘Well, you know what I mean. You need something new to get your teeth into. Something big –’
She sighed. ‘Something special.’
‘Exactly, something special, which is why Roots is just perfect for you. This will get you right back where you belong, back out there in the public eye – give you the exposure you need, and maybe shake something interesting out of the woodwork. I’ve got a plan – I’ve been thinking we should get you out on the road again. You should be thanking Jamie, never mind whisking golden boy off on another jolly. And Roots do it so well. Have you watched any of the programmes?’
Cautiously Helen nodded. ‘I think I have. I’m not sure. I saw the one about a ballet dancer. Some posh blonde girl with buck teeth whose family went back to Elizabeth I?’
‘They’re biking round a boxed set for you. Basic format – they whisk you back to your old home town in a limo, put you up in a luxury hotel, then you drive around and point out the sites, you go and see a few old friends and your family and then they whip out your family tree, along with a few black and white photos and the odd black sheep, you ooh and ahh in all the right places, cry a bit and tell them it’s been the most moving experience of your whole life.’
Helen laughed. ‘You are such a cynic, Arthur.’
‘And you’re not?’ Arthur asked, rolling the cigar for added dramatic emphasis.
‘I didn’t used to be. I was a nice girl when I first met you.’
He smiled gently. ‘And you still are, Helen. Appearing on Roots will be a walk in the park for someone with your talent. Now – about my other plan. I’ve been thinking, while we’re red hot and rolling, how about we reprise the one-woman show you used to do? I mean you don’t have to be a genius to see that there’s a tie-in here. You’ve got loads of material. Do a few songs, tell a few stories about the good old days, a behind-the-scenes look at Cannon Square, some jokes – and you’ve got those monologues you used to do. You know the kind of thing; An Evening With – what’s the name of the town where you grew up?’
‘Billingsfield.’
‘Okay, well there you go then, Billingsfield’s favourite daughter, Helen Redford, comes home to roost at long last. For one night only –’ He lifted his hands, fingers spread to create an imaginary billboard. ‘It shouldn’t be that hard to find a venue, somewhere intimate and not too big.’
‘You mean cheap.’
Arthur grinned. ‘That isn’t what I said, and that most certainly isn’t what I meant, but I’m just thinking that that way we can test the waters; see what the response is. If it bombs then we’ve lost next to nothing and if it doesn’t and we time it right then we could maybe take it on the road. I’ll see if I can sort out a few dates – it can’t hurt. Cash in on the TV show –’
‘On the road?’
Arthur nodded. ‘Yes, why not? It would be just like the good old days. You used to love it, remember? Take you right back to where you started from. Where was that place in Billingsfield?’
‘The