of life is the harder you work the luckier you get. Up until now I’ve always kept all those things to myself, all those years. I had the chance to write about all this when I left Cannon Square; my life, where I came from; and I didn’t –’ Helen paused and then said more gently, ‘I didn’t. And for a good reason, because it’s boring.
‘People have got these ideas in their head about what my life was like; what it is like. They make assumptions, they want to romanticise it all, make it all into a fairy story and it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all. It was grim and cold and I was afraid and scared all the time –’ She rolled over. ‘I’m just not sure, even after all these years, that I’m ready to go home.’ The words were out before Helen realised exactly what she’d said.
Bon stroked her back, his touch offering comfort. ‘It’s okay. This is your home now, baby, not Billingsfield. You and me. We’re home. You’re not going home, you’re just going back to a place, a town where you grew up, which you left. This is your home now,’ he said, moving closer and curling up around her.
If it ever was my home, Helen thought miserably, closing her eyes and squeezing them tight to hold back the tears. There were so many emotions she felt about going back to Billingsfield that it was hard to unpick them all. One was the irrational fear that if she went back, somehow she might find that everything she had done so far – her escape, her career, her whole life, had all been a trick of the light, smoke and mirrors, and that she would never be able to get away; that somewhere back beyond the docks and the factories, down past Market Street, tucked between Jean the florist’s and Ross’s camera shop, she would find her real self still working at Finton’s Finest Toys, still unpacking the new deliveries out in the stockroom while Harry checked them off the delivery note. And then there were Charlotte and Harry.
Bon, not privy to her thoughts, put an arm around her waist and pulled her tight up against him. She could feel the fingers of his other hand brushing her hair; feel the warmth of his strong muscular body; and she lay so still that she could pick out the beat of his heart. Whatever happened, whatever Arthur said, and even if it all ended tomorrow, being with Bon in that moment was the best thing that had ever happened to her; she had never felt so loved or so wanted in her whole life.
‘I love you,’ he murmured into her neck, as if he had read her thoughts.
Safe with Bon’s arms around her, lulled by the gentle rhythmic sounds of his breathing, Helen realised just how tired she was. She closed her eyes, finally letting sleep wash over her like a warm sea, and did not fight it as she sank into unconsciousness.
FIVE
The Talent Contest
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Carlton Rooms this busy. We’re never going to get parked in their car park, it’s heaving. Look at it –’ said Harry, throwing his arm casually over the passenger seat so he could look back over his shoulder to reverse his Mini back out into the road. ‘We’ll have to go round again – or maybe it would be easier if I just parked down on the quay and we walked back?’
He didn’t say I told you so to Charlotte, for which Helen was grateful. The last half hour had been a nightmare – Charlotte had taken forever to finish getting ready, dithering about whether they should go to the theatre in their costumes or take their outfits along on hangers and change when they got there, whether they should wear long boots or the high-heeled sandals that they had both bought the previous week, and if they went with the sandals should they stop off and get some proper tights somewhere instead of the fishnets that Charlotte had insisted that they needed the day before. And then, just when Helen thought they were ready, Charlotte had begun a big debate with Harry about the songs they had been working on for the last few weeks. Did the look they had gone with suit the music they had chosen? And then, when they had finally squashed everything into Harry’s car they had got snarled up in late afternoon traffic, and had crept nose to tail towards the town centre – and now it had started to rain.
The whole of Billingsfield seemed much busier than was usual for a Friday – every junction was gridlocked, every set of traffic lights red – as they got closer to the town centre. There were roadworks in the High Street and a diversion running around by Railway Road that slowed the cars down to a snail’s pace – and so now they were running late, and Charlotte was getting more and more annoyed.
She was sitting in the front passenger seat, alongside Harry, her vanity case balanced on her knees, her hair perfect, her makeup immaculate, looking as if she had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine fashion shoot, while Helen was squashed up in the back seat of the car with the costumes and bags and a cardboard box of flyers for the shop and Charlotte’s suitcase, her knees folded up to her chest. Helen had known from the outset that there was no chance she’d be sitting in the front; Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamt of sitting in the back. And there was no way they could put anything in the boot because that was packed full of stock and bits of a display stand for some sort of new doll that Harry’s dad had bought at the wholesalers.
‘Do you think we should have worn hot-pants?’ Charlotte was saying as Harry tried his best to manoeuvre his way backwards out of the car park, through the people and traffic. ‘I saw some in Swanley’s department store last week. I was thinking if we get through to the national finals that we really ought to get some. They would make more of a splash, make us stand out a bit more, wouldn’t they? What do you think?’
‘Certainly would,’ said Harry. ‘Especially with your boots,’ and then to Helen, he said, ‘Can you just tell me if anything’s coming? Only I can’t see round those people on the kerb.’
‘We can’t do anything about the costumes now,’ continued Charlotte, apparently oblivious to all the manoeuvring. ‘Although if we win tonight we could. I was thinking we could nip in on Monday and get ourselves a pair. What do you think, Helen? Could you nip in first thing?’
‘Whoa,’ shouted Helen to Harry. ‘Hang on, there’s a blue car right behind us, Harry. He looks like he wants to get into the car park too.’
‘Well, good luck to him,’ sighed Harry. ‘He can have a go if he’ll just let me out.’
‘I don’t think he’s going anywhere,’ said Helen nervously. ‘There’s another one pulled in right behind him.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Charlotte grumbled, sighing heavily. ‘We’re going to be late now …’
The cars were nose to tail. The car behind Harry honked as Harry tried to reverse out, and then honked his horn again because Harry couldn’t go forward either.
‘I’ll just have to drive in, get past these cars, and turn around. But don’t worry, we’ve still got plenty of time; it’ll be fine, there’s bound to be somewhere down on the quay.’
‘We can’t do that, we can’t park too far away,’ complained Charlotte. ‘It’s nearly half past now and it’s raining out there. My hair will be completely ruined if it gets wet. It’s taken me hours to get these curls right. And there is no way I’m going to be able to walk back from the quay in these shoes. Why can’t we just stop here?’
‘Because we can’t. I’m totally blocking the entrance.’
A stream of people were crossing the road in front of Harry, while beyond them a white Transit van had pulled up outside the back of the theatre. People started piling out of the back, carrying boxes and bags in through the stage doors, so that Harry couldn’t move forwards or backwards. Helen glanced back over her shoulder; they were well and truly stuck. The sounds of horns honking were slowly spreading
