But Neil ignored all the fuss, and continued to support me any way he could – which mainly meant feeding me. He was so worried about how much weight I’d lost that he even baked scones and always had a glass of red wine waiting for me. Looking back, Neil and I were never really sober during our time together – there was always a bottle of wine open.
Right in the middle of it all, I was having dinner with Andy Harries, executive producer of The Grimleys, when I got a text from Neil. It said, ‘Will you run away with me?’ I was so surprised that I told Andy, who said, ‘Why don’t you just ask him to join us?’ So Neil came over, and Andy told me afterwards he had never seen two people so in love, which shocked me – and it was then I started to question exactly how Neil and I really did feel about each other. Without the excitement and the secrecy, without having to justify our actions, I wondered just how in love we were. I think we wanted to think that we were in love because it made it a cleaner, nicer situation. And now that we were finally facing the consequences of our actions, I think we both knew that there was only one possible outcome.
In all the time we were holed up in his flat in Crouch End until I’d sneak away at dawn, we never discussed our future together, simply because we both knew there wasn’t one. We rarely spoke about my marriage and Neil never asked. We knew it could only end badly, but we didn’t seem to be able to consider that then or even stop what we were doing in any kind of rational, normal way. ‘Normal’ for us didn’t exist, and once the initial passion had subsided, we were so worn down by everything that had happened that it got to a point where we hardly knew what to say to each other any more!
We were the only two people in the world who knew what we were feeling but that wasn’t enough. Until one of us had the courage to end it, we were just drifting along. By that point, I think we were clasping on to each other because there was no other person in the world that could possibly understand the hype and all the uproar we’d been through. We had become caught in a situation of our own making, and were both shy about splitting from one another because we had been so thrown together by the press. By saying we loved each other I think it made it better for us.
After dinner with Andy that night, we drove all the way to Brighton and stayed with an old friend of Neil’s. It was meant to be a romantic hideaway, and he was so welcoming to us both, but honestly, I have never felt more lonely in my life. Every night I’d go to bed while they were downstairs drinking heavily. One night we went to Zoë Ball and Norman Cook’s house and had a nice evening, but again I felt really out of place. I had never felt like that with Les, and I began to question why I had ever left him.
That weekend another article appeared in the papers, this time featuring Frank. He came out of the woodwork to call Neil a ‘home-wrecker’ who’d ‘ripped his family apart’. ‘His bloody family?’ I thought. The whole feature really annoyed me, especially coming from someone who had wrecked our home and didn’t know me.
Not surprisingly, back in London Les was becoming increasingly wound up by the never-ending media attention. His general depression only got worse, which crucified me. I honestly never meant to hurt him so badly. From the day we met, I’d wanted to sort out his problems. Now, I was his problem.
A few weeks later, totally by coincidence, Les and I ended up filming in adjacent studios in Nottingham. He was making Family Fortunes and I was filming Kiss Me Kate. I felt awful. Les obviously felt the same way, and during a break in filming, we decided to drive to Norfolk to spend some time together and have a massive heart-to-heart.
It was wonderful to be back in our little cottage where we’d had so many special times together. During a long walk in that bleak wilderness I loved so much I told Les that I really wanted us to try again. And on that day, in that place, I really did.
During our first tentative weeks at trying again, we went to an event together and halfway through the evening I went to the ladies’ loos. On my way back I was cornered by a famous comedian, who grabbed me, tried to kiss me and put his hands in places they shouldn’t have been. I was scared and I tried to push him away, making light of it so he would leave without causing a fuss, but he wasn’t put off. As I tried to fight him off, I looked over his shoulder and caught sight of our reflection in a large mirror on the opposite wall. My body went limp, and I just stood there as he groped and nuzzled me, observing myself from afar. I felt so cheap and utterly worthless. I didn’t dare tell Les – he would only have made a scene. Only when I confided in a family member did I realise it was sexual assault. Part of me felt like I deserved it.
Shortly afterwards, Neil got a role in a play by David Mamet, Speed-the-Plow. I took my friend Rose Keegan to see the play, and after the show we went backstage to see him in his dressing room. We drank some champagne and then we hugged. Before I left, I secretly put a letter for him on the sink explaining that I’d decided to go back to Les. It was over – and I was relieved.
Chapter 11
Double or Quits
Several months into our reconciliation Les and I were invited to attend two events to present awards, our first appearances in public since we’d got back together. However, our appearance at the National Television Awards made headlines in a way that none of us could have expected.
Les was nominated as the host of Family Fortunes and we were asked to present the award for the best Daytime programme at the NTAs. All eyes were on us as we announced the winner as This Morning, presented by Richard Madeley and Judy Finnigan. But not for long! God bless her, Judy took all focus away from us that night. As she leaned in to accept her award from Les and then kiss me, her black dress fell open to reveal a ginormous, gleaming white bra.
As her double-D cup was exposed to the nation there was a roar of appreciation from the crowd, but Richard, who was blissfully unaware of what was going on, thought it was a shout for him to do his Ali G impersonation. Laughing, he refused ‘because the real one’s here!’ The cheers continued. Les and I had stepped back to allow them to make their acceptance speech so we had no idea what was going on, and it was only when we looked up at the monitors on the side of the stage that we realised. ‘Oh my God!’ I whispered to Les, ‘Her tits are out!’ Before I could leap in to help, TV presenter John Leslie ran up on to the stage from the front row and gallantly covered Judy up. The clip went viral and our first public appearance together was completely forgotten in the fuss.
Our schedules meant that Les and I wouldn’t be spending very much time together in the foreseeable future. The Grimleys was recommissioned for a third series, and Les was in his fourteenth year as host of Family Fortunes. The space gave us chance to gently try to find our way back to each other, and for the next year we really did try to make it work. We holidayed on the French Riviera and in Italy, and attended premieres and opening nights, holding hands and smiling into the cameras so that everyone knew we were making a go of it. But we still filled our lives with other people. We always had friends on holiday, rarely had dinner on our own and most nights our house was full. (Looking back, though, I don’t think this was why our relationship ended – I think it’s what made it last as long as it did.)
It had got to the point where it seemed pictures of me could suddenly appear on the front page for any reason at all (and frequently did). That summer, when we were on holiday at a private villa in Tuscany, the Daily Star ran topless photos of me and promised more the following day, but our lawyers managed to injunct them and later reached an out-of-court settlement for gross invasion of our privacy.
My holiday reading that trip was a script I’d been sent for a new TV drama about rival hairdressers called Cutting It, by the producer of Hearts and Bones. At first I wanted the part of Allie, the down-to-earth northern girl whose salon was across the street, which Sarah Parish had already auditioned for. I couldn’t see how I was going to make ‘my’ part – Mia, a bitchy blonde with a posh hair salon called Blade Runners in direct competition with Allie – likeable. But the writing was brilliant, and once I
’d seen the character’s huge potential it was a no-brainer. We both accepted, and before filming started in Manchester later that year, I worked for a week at Daniel Galvin Senior’s London salon, training under the lovely Lino. I was meant to be shadowing Lino and watching him sashay around the salon (‘It’s all in the pelvis, darling!’) but I seem to remember sweeping up a lot of hair, too.
Overall, I was feeling more optimistic than I had for months, and as a surprise for my nan’s eightieth birthday we stole her passport and took her to New York (she didn’t have a clue!). I flew my sister from Vietnam to Manhattan, and she was waiting for us at the airport behind a big name board as we landed. It was a very emotional reunion – not least because we were missing Papa. He was in the first throes of Alzheimer’s and not in the best of health. In fact, we’d only been able to leave him because Les offered to take care of him at our house all week. It was an act of huge generosity and kindness – looking after Papa was hard work and Les was amazingly patient with him.
He took Papa everywhere with him, even to the BBC for the Jonathan Ross show (although he did admit Papa went missing in the radio station for a while!). Papa put his wallet down somewhere that day and thought he’d lost it, so when Les gave it back to him Papa thought Les was wonderful for ‘finding’ it. Another night, they ordered a Chinese takeaway. Papa chose his meal from the menu, but when it arrived he kept complimenting Les on his cooking. No matter how many times Les reminded him it was a takeaway, Papa would forget again and give him another compliment. (I think Les secretly enjoyed that week even more than Papa did!)
We had a fantastic time dashing around New York and Nan walked so fast around Manhattan that we could hear her hip clicking! We were real tourists – we took photos of Nan at the Empire State Building, on Fifth Avenue, at Ellis Island and at breakfast at the Twin Towers. We went to show after show, stayed at the Plaza and had tea every day in the foyer. You’d never believe Nan was eighty. She was amazing – but then, she always has been.
Before long, Les and I were back in the States – in LA, for pilot season. It’s a huge part of the Hollywood calendar, when shows are commissioned and parts are offered. Les had been before and found the whole experience disheartening but my agent thought I should go and do some auditions. We stayed out there for ten weeks in a beautiful house on Mulholland Drive in LA, near to where Billy Connolly lived. Jess and her mum came with us and later Andy Grainger and my mum joined us too. It was fabulous – we went to all kinds of Hollywood parties and met so many people. My then US agent, Melanie Greene, lived next door to Jodie Foster and her girlfriend Cydney, and we all had dinner one night. Jodie was pregnant with their first child, and they were both lovely – so positive and encouraging.
Melanie also set up a ‘meeting’ (LA-speak for audition) with Quentin Tarantino, who wanted a girl for a part in Kill Bill. The experience was completely bizarre. I knew it was supposed to be a dark-haired role, so I bought a wig. It was hideous – I had a big headband and I looked like Sophia Loren gone wrong! But I was recalled, and recalled, until there were only a few of us in there, including Naomi Campbell, who was marching up and down the corridor, learning her lines. I was also sent for meetings with the people from Ally McBeal, Friends and Joey, as well as being recalled twice for a part in Anchorman and The Mexican with Brad Pitt. I was recalled for some but mostly, it was just an amazing experience. I loved the way Melanie spun each ‘meeting’ – she was always so positive.
Les studied each day’s itinerary, plotted the route between studios and drove me to every audition. One morning, I’d changed umpteen times and finally settled on a pink suit but couldn’t find the matching belt. ‘I can’t find my pink belt! Have you seen my pink belt? I can’t go without my pink belt!’ I repeated, walking around and around the house. I must have asked everyone a dozen times if they’d seen it, whilst Les went pinker and pinker with frustration and annoyance. Jess, who was lying by the pool with Andy (both desperate for us to go out so they could have some peace and quiet) finally said to me, ‘Amanda, if you don’t find that fucking pink belt then Les will and he’ll bloody strangle you with it!’ (Once we’d gone, she, her mum and Andy came up with a script for a TV murder plot called Amanda’s Pink Belt, in which Les did exactly that.)
By then Les’s agent Mike was semi-retired and spending a lot of time in LA, so we saw him every now and again. His son Chris was out there for a while, too. I’d met him twice before – most recently when I took my stepson Philip to the premiere of Lord of the Rings. Chris was also at the premiere with his friend Lady Victoria Hervey and he’d come up to say hello. (I’d said it back but had no idea who he was!) When he told me, I remember being struck by how good-looking he was.
The only man on my mind at that point, however, was Les. Once pilot season was over we travelled to Palm Springs and Venice Beach. Then I took him to Las Vegas for a couple of days with my mum and Jess, Andy Grainger and our friends Jules and Andy, where I planned to give him the surprise of his life. I told him I’d reserved a table for a quiet dinner one night, when really I’d booked to take us to the Little White Wedding Chapel, where we were going to renew our marriage vows. (I can’t now imagine what I was thinking except that I wanted to reassure Les that we were going to be alright.)
It was all perfectly planned. However, about an hour before we were due to leave (Les still none the wiser), he kicked off and we had a huge row. I went to see Mum and Andy and said, ‘Right, that’s it, I’m not going to do it.’ I called up the woman at the chapel and said I was so sorry, but I needed to cancel. She said, ‘Okay, ma’am, if you wanna change your mind just call back.’ So I did! I must have changed my mind three or four times. It was like a Ray Cooney farce, going in and out of my mum’s room. At one point Mum and I went for a walk to clear my head and I said, ‘I’ve probably got to do it, Mum, haven’t I?’ and she said, ‘You’ve got to make up your mind,’ but suggested I shouldn’t do it as everyone could see I wasn’t happy and should stop over-compensating. As we both looked up we saw Les on a bridge – the fake Ponte Vecchio – picking his nose! (As usual.)
This had become an increasingly bad habit. So much so a lyricist friend of ours had written a poem which included this verse:
He picked his teeth
He picked his toes
There isn’t a square in London where
He hasn’t picked his nose.
Eventually, I decided to hell with it, we should go ahead with it and renew our vows. It was a bizarre night. Les was gobsmacked. Jess was my bridesmaid and Mum stood stage right the whole time, saying in a voice just loud enough for us to hear, ‘Oh, he’s a miserable old fart! I don’t know why she’s marrying him AGAIN.’ Afterwards, we all had dinner together in a private room that the Brat Pack used to sing in.
Our ‘honeymoon’ was short-lived. Les started drinking a lot and we had some major alcohol-fuelled rows. Jess and Andy sat on the sidelines, watching our marriage unravel. It must have been more depressing than EastEnders!
Philip, Les’ son, then flew out for a week, and I hoped his visit would cheer Les up. One day during his stay, we decided to drive to San Diego for the day with Philip, Jess and her mum, who wanted to see SeaWorld. Les was driving, and not long after we set off he took a call from his ex-wife Lynne, who wanted ‘to check that he’d paid for Philip’s insurance’ while he was in the US. The call put Les in a foul mood, and he started driving erratically and throwing the car around. When Jess’s mum asked him to drive more carefully, Les completely lost it. He started shouting at her and when I told him to calm down he yelled, ‘That’s it! I’m going home!’ He then swerved across three lanes of the highway to reach an exit. We were lucky we weren’t all killed, and everyone was very shaken up. That day became known as ‘The Day We Never Went to San Diego’ and cast a shadow over the rest of the trip.
We kept trying back in the UK, and on Christmas Day we went for a walk on Primrose Hill (on our own for once!) with a bottle of champagne and some panettone
for an impromptu picnic. We passed a woman sitting on a bench, and I smiled at her but in return she pulled a face and told me under her breath, ‘I’m a reporter. They’re taking pictures of you right now and they want me to ask you questions about your marriage.’ (It was Christmas Day! Had they got no shame?) I told her to go home to her family, and we went straight back home, the moment ruined.
Amongst our guests for New Year’s Eve was an Australian actress, who I’d become friends with at the Victoria & Albert Hotel when I was filming the latest series of The Grimleys and she was doing Loose Women. Since they were on the other side of the world to the rest of their family, I invited her and her mother and brother to spend time with us over Christmas and then to see the New Year in with friends in Norfolk.
I had noticed her flirting with Les in London, but thought nothing of it until in Norfolk Jess saw them actually kissing by the bins (how romantic!). I was hurt, of course, but mostly angry – at both of them. I’d invited her as part of our celebrations and yet she’d repaid me by coming on to Les. I confronted Les directly and asked if he’d kissed her and he admitted that he had and on more than one occasion. After a night sleeping on the sofa, I left Norfolk to get a wig fitting for a new show for Sky called Now You See Her by Red Productions with Jess, my relationship with Les in tatters yet again.
No Holding Back Page 12