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want to know what kind of material you do. You know, like what sort of songs you sing?’ he continued, still reading.

      ‘Carly Simon, Roberta Flack.’

      ‘Simon and Garfunkel,’ added Helen.

      ‘Uhuh, okay,’ he said, while still writing, ‘And your names –’

      ‘Wait,’ snapped Charlotte, holding up her hand to stop him. ‘Before you write anything down, let me think about that.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ said Helen. ‘What is there to think about?’ She turned back to Harry. ‘Helen Heel and Charlotte Johnson.’

      ‘Whoa there, just hang on a minute, don’t write anything yet,’ said Charlotte before Harry had a chance to put pen to paper. ‘This is our big chance, our big moment. We could get discovered tonight, Helen. Do you want to be plain old Helen Heel for the rest of your life? Good old down-at-heel?’

      Helen felt a tiny residual prickle of pain and indignation at the old playground insult.

      ‘Well, do you?’ repeated Charlotte, more forcefully. ‘Because I sure as hell know I don’t. I don’t want to be Johnny Johnson’s little Charlie, the girl who should have been a boy, Daddy’s little girl, forever. I want to be somebody, not just Charlotte Johnson. Helen Heel and Charlotte Johnson. It makes us sound so ordinary. And we’re not ordinary.’ She struck a pose and then grinned. ‘Well, at least, I’m not. How about Kate Monroe and Helen Hepburn?’

      Helen laughed. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’ she said.

      ‘I’ve been thinking about it for while now,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s time we reinvented ourselves.’

      ‘Oh, Charlotte,’ Helen said.

      But Harry didn’t laugh – instead he nodded. ‘You know, Charlotte, you’re right, that’s not such a bad idea. You should really have a stage name. Kate Monroe, that sounds lovely.’ To her surprise Helen felt a tiny prickle of envy. ‘I’m not so sure about Helen Hepburn though,’ he continued. ‘How about Hemingway? Helen Hemingway, that sounds really classy.’

      Both girls shook their heads.

      ‘Too long for the billboards,’ said Charlotte. ‘And it’s way too fussy. People won’t know how to spell it. No, we need something catchy and memorable.’

      ‘Hang on a minute then,’ said Harry, picking up the evening paper from the bedside table.

      ‘What on earth are you doing?’ asked Helen. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re looking at births, deaths and marriages?’

      Harry laughed. ‘No, I just thought I’d see what was on at the Odeon.’

      ‘You planning a trip to the pictures?’ asked Helen incredulously.

      ‘Don’t be daft. I was just thinking we could look to see what’s on and who’s in it; see if any of the names go with Helen.’

      ‘I’m not sure I even like Helen, not really,’ Helen began, not that either Harry or Charlotte were taking any notice of her.

      ‘How about Helen McQueen?’ said Charlotte, reading over Harry’s shoulder and pointing. ‘Oh or how about Helen Brando, or Helen Eastwood?’

      ‘No,’ said Harry. ‘You need to take this seriously. We’ve only got another ten minutes and then we really have to be going or we’re not going to be there in time for the run-through.’

      If Charlotte had any other opinion about how much time it would take to get to the theatre, this time she kept it to herself, and instead she took a long hard look at the cinema programme. ‘Okay. There we are. I’ve got it. The Sting. Helen Redford or Helen Newman. What do you reckon?’

      Harry nodded. ‘They both sound good to me. Classy but of the people.’

      Helen stared at him. ‘Of the people? What on earth is that supposed to mean, Harry?’

      Neither of them appeared to be listening to her; instead Charlotte nodded. ‘I just knew you were the man for the job, Harry. I’ve been thinking – if we get discovered tonight we’re going to need a manager to handle all this sort of stuff for us. You know, doing the forms and the booking and sorting out the transport, and working the money out, and all that sort of thing. What do you reckon, do you think you’d be up to it?’

      Helen stared at her in amazement while Harry, pulling back his shoulders and coming over all manly, appeared genuinely flattered. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘I’m not sure – I suppose I could always give it a go –’

      ‘Wait,’ said Helen. ‘Charlotte, stop it. You know what your dad said about not saying anything or signing anything?’

      Charlotte laughed. ‘Which is why we’re here getting changed and not over at my place. And anyway this is different. This is our business. What do you say, Harry?’

      ‘Harry, don’t say anything,’ Helen said quickly. ‘Charlotte, Harry doesn’t know anything about show business,’ she protested. It sounded disloyal but she was trying hard to protect Harry from Charlotte – not that it appeared to be doing any good.

      ‘Oh, come on, Helen, he’s a natural, aren’t you, Harry?’ said Charlotte. ‘He’d be perfect. And we both know him and we trust him, and he manages his dad’s shop, doesn’t he? And you’re always saying what a good job he does.’ Charlotte gave Helen a great big pantomime wink.

      ‘Stop it,’ Helen said, but Charlotte was on a roll.

      ‘You can do it, can’t you, Harry? I reckon you’d be ideal for the job.’

      ‘Well, I’m not sure about that,’ Harry said, wriggling uncomfortably under Charlotte’s attention. Even so, Helen could see he was being persuaded by her flattery.

      ‘Of course you are,’ said Charlotte, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Anyway we can talk about all that later. Back to business. Names. What do you think? Helen Redford or Helen Newman?’

      Harry was busy pulling a coin out of his trouser pocket. ‘Heads for Redford, tails for Newman. Okay, Helen?’

      Before Helen could reply he had flipped the coin up into the air. It spun over and over, catching the light as it peaked and then began to fall. She watched it with an odd detachment as Harry caught it, slapped it down onto the back of his hand and then peeled away his fingers to reveal the coin.

      ‘Heads,’ he said. ‘It’s heads.’

      FOUR

      Before Filming Starts

      ‘Helen? You’re awake, aren’t you?’ Bon said, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

      She could see him from under her lashes but lay very still and kept very quiet, keeping her breaths shallow and even, hoping to persuade him that she was asleep.

      ‘You don’t fool me, you know,’ he said, when she didn’t respond. ‘It’s no use pretending. You’ve been tossing and turning all night. What’s the matter?’

      ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,’ Helen said, finally conceding defeat.

      ‘I’m not worried about being awake. I’m worried about why you’re awake,’ he said, brushing a stray tendril of hair back off her face. His touch was gentle, his fingertips cool against the warmth of her skin, his eyes glittering like jet in the half-light of the early morning. ‘I heard you wandering about in the night. Do you want to talk about it, whatever it is?’

      Helen sighed. ‘Not really. Oh, I don’t know. I’m really not sure about all this.’

      ‘About all what? Look, if it’s about me going to Dubai, why don’t you come with me? We could shut up the house. Let’s face it, we could both do with some sun, and it’s only for six weeks. It’ll be

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