The Two of Us

by Sheila Hancock

  You can shed tears that he is gone

  Or you can smile because he has lived.

  You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back

  Or you can open your eyes and see all that he’s left.

  Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him

  Or you can be full of the love you shared.

  You can turn your back on tomorrow and live for yesterday

  Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

  You can remember him and only that he’s gone

  Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

  You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back

  Or you can do what he’d want.

  Smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

  20 September

  Felt happy today. The family gathered at Lucky. The children rolled on the grass. The sun was soft and warm. The garden full of autumn flowers. It was a different kind of joy. Without the edge, without the excitement but a loving day.

  22 September

  I don’t believe John would have ‘wanted you to be happy’. He would have been pretty miffed if I wasn’t gutted in fact. But I do believe it is a negation of our life together to be unhappy for the rest of mine. I can’t help it now, for a while. But he relied on me to get things done. And I must get this grief done. Eventually. The difference with my ability to cope is now I don’t have him as a sounding board. To bore, to make light with, to unpick problems with, to vent my spleen on. So? I do it alone. Or with my lovely family. Or with my friends. – Or somehow. I have to learn to be alone. You can do it, kid.

  27 September

  Went to see hypnotherapist. Lots of talk about starting a new life, closing the last chapter. Came out feeling very positive. Passed the Wallace Collection in Manchester Square and thought: ‘Well I don’t have to hurry home, there’s no one waiting, I’ll pop in.’ I’ve often heard how good the restaurant is so went into the courtyard and, sure enough, it was beautiful. Sat in the sun feeling very proud of myself when a young woman came up and snapped, ‘Have you booked? No? Then I’m afraid you must leave.’ Slunk out thinking she wouldn’t have been so rude if I’d had John with me, or any man come to that. It’s true that women on their own are not treated well, even by other women. Sat in my car and had a sandwich, thoroughly depressed. I have started on Ativan to help me sleep. Those small hours in the morning are intolerable.

  29 September

  Lot of stuff about Edwina Currie’s affair with John Major. Little rat says, ‘It is the one event of my life of which I am most ashamed.’ He let himself stay ashamed for quite a while, as it lasted from 1984 to 1988. She’s getting all the flak of course. One article said adultery was necessary to keep a marriage alive but you must keep quiet about it. I swear I have never for one moment needed to commit adultery. John was all I ever wanted. And I’m sure it was true for him too. Maybe we were freaks of nature.

  30 September

  Horrendous accountants’ meeting. Don’t understand a word they say. I don’t know my ISA from my elbow.

  1 October

  Felt really wretched today but found a quote from Flaubert that cheered me up: ‘To be stupid, selfish and have good health are the three requirements of happiness but if stupidity is lacking all is lost.’ Another nice one of his: ‘The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ And they’re all trudging down Hammersmith Broadway by the look of it.

  3 October

  Talking to people about John. Interesting how different people saw him. I suppose we are all like that, not just actors. We try to be what people want us to be. Or not. Either way we are sort of acting a role. Especially women. I’ve been Mummy, wife, lover, public person, charity worker, leader, learner, bossy or dependent and a million other things according to the company I am in. My big problem now is what am I to be on my own? I don’t have to be anything for anyone and I am lost. No one’s telling me they need me so I feel redundant. No one’s saying I’m beautiful so I am ugly. Above all, no one finds me sexy so I am becoming what I actually am – old and past it.

  4 October

  Decided to let the family go to Luckington on their own. I stayed in London and saw friends. I think I have to create my personal life as a firm base before I can contribute strongly to the family, otherwise I depend on them too much. Expect too much. Want them to dote on me like John did. And why should they? They have their own lives and families. We are extremely close but it is a family relationship. They want me to be strong – their mother – not some feeble old fart constantly demanding attention.

  5 October

  A breakthrough. Clare V. to stay. Can’t believe she’s dying. She’s so full of life. Watched Robin Williams on the Parkinson Show and this bereaved woman and one with terminal cancer literally fell on the floor laughing. Even though the laughing hurt Clare’s ribs. What a tonic laughter is. Mind you, the champagne helped. She had been given a bottle of amazing Dom Perignon champagne. We made our gravy with it as well. Delia hasn’t thought of that.

  6 October

  Email from Clare. She is so gutsy.

  Darling person WHAT a lovely weekend. I go into the week with renewed energy and fits of giggles. I had a fab relaxing and enlivening time. You are such a dear. I know John is sitting on his cloud beaming with pride – I know because I asked his pyjams – for which great thanks. Let me know how you are at regular intervals whether gloomy or not. You are doing brilliantly.

  How can she be so concerned for me when she is ill and facing death? She is a miracle person.

  10 October

  Curious day. Found myself by mistake at corporate lunch for donors to the National Theatre. Everyone talked about how they would have liked to meet John. I actually rasped bitterly to the umpteenth, ‘Well you’ll have to make do with me.’ Showed Ellie Jane a tiny picture of Alec in his flying kit and she burst into tears. She has been so stoic up to now. She’s had so much sadness in her life, losing two fathers and the worry over Jack.

  11 October

  Followed Helen’s advice and cooked myself a proper meal instead of a ready-cook or sandwich. Laid the table and ate it with a glass of wine. It felt good.

  12 October

  Took Jack and Lola to cinema in Kensington then over to Holland Park and the Commonwealth Institute. Looked up at Troy Court. Who would have thought when I looked out of those windows, drowsy with love, that I would one day be out here – an old woman playing with her grandchildren? But we had fun. Pretending to hide from the police when they came round to lock up the park. They both had those divine giggles where you can’t breathe. So did I.

  13 October

  Appalling bomb in Bali. A small one first to get people in the street, then a huge one that killed at least 184 and injured 300-odd. Wicked, wicked. Those lovely, gentle, beautiful people. But it turns out it was a club where Indonesians were not allowed. And I remember the stories of brutality when we were there. Perhaps it wasn’t as idyllic as we tourists think.

  14 October

  The world is such a mess. I feel old and miserable. Do the two things go together? You end up singing the blues. At the end of Twelfth Night, when everyone’s happy, Will has the clown sing a song that keeps repeating, ‘The rain it raineth every day’. I seem to remember the song also has the word ‘tosspot’ in it. One of John’s favourite terms of abuse. The world is full of tosspots. But the rain doesn’t rain every day. Not in Provence anyway.

  15 October

  Went to see Clare Higgins in Vincent in Brixton. She was wonderful. Jo and I went backstage to thank her for her help with John. Said how hellish it would have been if he had died during the drinking days. I would have been so full of regret. We may even have died hating each other. Of course we never did really but it would be too late to make amends.

  16 October

  Broke the curse of the Wallace Collection. Had a lovely lunch with wise James Roose-Evans and no one told me to leave. Later went to a
concert at Wigmore Hall and enjoyed that too. I’m groping my way out of the dark. I accept every invitation I get and force myself out and about. Come on, girl, get your act together. This is it. Make the most of it before you too lose it.

  Life, I mean.

  25 October

  Enjoying France with Clare V. Lotta laughs. She has the ability that John had to disregard her illness completely but she, unlike him, is calmly preparing for death. Telling her friends she loves them and allowing them to tell her, as Udi did. Sorting John’s clothes in France. Two things I cannot part with. His dogs. A hideous pair of shorts he brought back from Canada with Scottie dogs around the legs which he wore with socks and sandals. A ludicrous sight, far removed from Ernie Morse. And his mincing boots. A strange pair of hand-stitched ankle boots that some extra conned him into buying. They made him walk even more oddly.

  26 October

  Offered some of John’s clothes to David. He was very moved. He didn’t see John that often, only when we came to France, but said he felt he was a sort of father figure. Just by being there John appears to have been so many things to so many people. John was fond of David but never put himself out much for him yet David felt his strength and he made him into what he needed. Just like the public have.

  28 October

  Dreamt John and I were making love. Woke with my body aching for him. It is chilling to think I will almost certainly never have a lover again.

  6 November

  Since John died I find myself looking back all the time – something I have seldom done. I feel a bit wobbly about it – the way time and life passes so quickly. I still get a shock when I see myself in a shop window reflection and I am old. But face it, when I was young I would have been thinking how awful I looked so it’s no worse now really.

  12 November

  To Cosby Hall in Cheyne Walk. Ancient palace being restored by a man called Christopher Moran. He is wonderfully vulgar about his wealth, like Carlton’s Michael Greene – oh I do like that – as John would say, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

  17 November

  Papers full of vilification of Myra Hindley who has died. I’ve never been able to read the details of the case, it so horrified me at the time. But why are we reluctant to think people can repent? Why do we need hate figures? On TV now we have wretched people in so-called reality shows, who have done no harm, that the press and the public relish hating. To read some of this stuff about them you would think they had murdered someone. It does us no credit, this organised hatred. It is either that or blind worship of celebrity. All very odd.

  20 November

  To St James’s Palace to a reception given by Prince Charles for the Actors’ Benevolent Society. I think he really feels at home with actors. I suppose his whole life is a performance. He made a funny speech. If he wasn’t lumbered with being the heir to the throne people would think him a nice man. Two old guys came up to me and whispered that they were wearing something of John’s. They looked very smart.

  27 November

  Lovely concert with Richard Digby-Day. Mahler’s Sixth Symphony. Never liked Mahler before, all a bit too Death in Venice for me, but this blew my mind. Helped by Richard’s advice before it started about what to look out for. Thoroughly enjoy concerts with my new friend. It’s a different experience than with John. In a way more grown-up as he is so informative, although still an enthusiast. A very pleasing step forward. Two girls just started at RADA came up to us in the foyer, asking for an autograph. All wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lovely, lucky girls, just starting.

  28 November

  John will be forgotten. There will be occasional reruns of his programmes, but they will start to look dated. There’s a wonderful website dedicated to him*. Someone has worked really hard to get it together. The message board is becoming less busy already. If he had done films they would last longer. Does it matter? Isn’t that the virtue of TV, that it is of its time? Then it moves on. Like life. When Margaret Fox, one of the founders of Quakerism, died she wanted no marked grave. She is buried somewhere in a field in the Lake District. That field encircled by a stone wall vibrates with energy but there is nothing there. When we redid the garden in Chiswick for my fiftieth birthday, we had a mosaic fountain put in with the inscription, ‘The best in this kind are but shadows’. Maybe someone will deduce a couple of actors lived there once. Then again, maybe it’s already been bulldozed, like my dad’s garden.

  29 November

  Saw Ken Parry at the rather staid University Women’s Club. We had a riotous lunch. He wore black slacks and T-shirt with gold necklace and bracelet and jaunty black leather Beatle cap. The retired lady professors and writers were enthralled. Particularly when he announced that John thought that he was the only man who could make the word ‘cunt’ sound funny. ‘Cunty wunty,’ he trilled for me over the hors d’oeuvre. The song from Bitter Sweet that John liked went down well too. He knows everyone in the profession. When he attended John’s memorial, ‘which we could have done without, dear’, Barry, who was sitting next to him, observed he was doing the same thing in St Martin-in-the-Fields as he used to in the Seven Stars, waving at all the pros. He had tears in his eyes when he said, ‘Yes, he was having a bloody good laugh at us, up there, couple of old poofs together.’ This lovely man does not seem to be hurt that John and a lot of his other ‘Alices’ have lost touch with him. ‘I’m lucky – I’m still here, pussy.’ And he still has John’s ironing board and an A to Z that has written inside:

  This book belongs to Tom Courtenay.

  This book belongs to Vic Symonds.

  No it doesn’t it belongs to Kenny.

  No it doesn’t it belongs to John Thaw.

  As he left, he asked, ‘Do you think I was important to them? Very? Oh, I’m glad to hear that. It’s the end of a puzzle.’

  30 November

  Saw Barry J. Gordon in his sheltered housing in Ealing. A dapper, smiley man, he has transformed a rather dreary building into a haven of good taste. Actors are divine. You could be in a flat in Eaton Square surrounded by the beautiful pictures, ornaments and antique furniture collected throughout his life. There is Earl Grey tea in bone china cups with homemade cakes. Yet the tales of his childhood make John’s seem like an episode of The Darling Buds of May.

  1 December

  Thank God for the press. I never thought I’d say that, but without them this whole Iraq business would go unchallenged. All the opposition to Blair’s mad rush to war has come from his own party or the press. The Tories have just rolled over lest they should be thought unpatriotic.

  6 December

  Women in Film luncheon. Great day. Everyone lets their hair down, knowing that it’s not exposed on TV. Germaine Greer got huge reception. Jenny Eclair said, ‘We owe it all to you’ and the room rose to its feet. Germaine was obviously moved. One actress said to me, ‘I hate bloody men. You’re different. Yours was a real partnership.’ A real partnership. Yes, that’s it.

  10 December

  Took Lola and Jack to Santa’s World in Wembley. Got stuck in hideous traffic jam so Lola had to wet her knickers. We took them off and she greeted Santa with a bare bum. I was worried about her sitting on some out-of-work actor’s knee, knickerless, but beneath the beard Father Christmas was a girl anyway.

  18 December

  Jo phoned to ask if she could come round. I thought it was going to be bad news but it was – a tiny black very scared kitten. ‘He’s no substitute for Dad, but he might help a bit.’ He spent the day cowering under the sofa with me lying on the floor trying to coax him out.

  19 December

  Getting to know Benjamin. He is very sweet if a bit wild – so he should fit in then. Had some friends round. Spent the evening talking about illness and dying. We used to talk about sex and life. Ah me.

  21 December

  Felt very low shopping surrounded by couples preparing for Christmas together. Newspapers full of those awful end of year lists. John in Dead National Treasure List. ‘Not a v
ery good actor, but probably the most popular.’ Stupid bastard. He was a superb actor. His range enormous and his subtlety and utter truthfulness beyond compare. (This guy thought Stratford Johns was better. Perlease.) The thing was you couldn’t see the wheels turning so they couldn’t tell how skilled he was. Some of them. Did this schmuck think that all the people that made him ‘probably the most popular’ for four decades were complete idiots?

  24 December

  Our wedding anniversary. Jo and I went to a St Martin-in-the-Fields service and then supper at the Savoy. It was very ordinary, full of lost foreigners and I suspect, part-time waiters, but it was different. Took our minds off what we would have been doing with him.

  25 December

  Ellie Jane laid on a lovely Christmas Day but it was total agony. I felt detached and dead and guilty that I couldn’t be more gracious. It’s the going home on my own with no one to talk to about the day’s events.