‘I hope you enjoyed your little trip to Dorset, and that it didn’t turn into a Magical Misery Tour. Assuming, of course, that you managed to figure out those dratted clues! I had a lot of fun doing that, and visiting the hut, and burying your treasure. We’ve paid the rent on the hut for the rest of the summer, by the way, so feel free to visit again if the mood strikes you.
‘Lewis drove me down there for the day, fussing like the old woman he is all the way, obviously convinced I was going to kick the bucket somewhere on the M5! But the bucket remained well and truly unkicked, and we had a lovely time. He indulged me by listening to my stories about our holidays there, and even took me for lunch in that lovely little restaurant at Lulworth Cove. He does spoil me, much as I mock him.
‘I hope it brought back as many happy memories for you as it did for me – and although I always try and stay jolly for these little videos, girls, I must admit that it makes me terribly sad to think of not being there with you. Not being able to see you together again, on those beautiful beaches, enjoying those beautiful sunsets. I’d give anything to be there, to share it with you, to create a few more precious memories, but it’s not meant to be.
‘Anyway, I don’t want to get maudlin about things. Or, if I do, I certainly don’t want it captured for posterity – because that’s the thing about film, isn’t it? It simply never goes away, especially in the quite bonkers digital age you young people live in.
‘I discovered that quite recently, much to my amusement, which is why I decided to make N stand for Nudity. Now, as an actress in the Seventies, quite a lot of flesh was flashed – but I only did one nude scene. Please don’t recoil in horror, it was all very tasteful! Actually, it wasn’t … but hey ho!
‘I was playing a young girl who was suffering from amnesia after being attacked by a hammer-wielding lunatic at a funfair. She was lucky to survive, but couldn’t remember a thing about her life, even her own name. She ends up in a kind of residential home that is a tiny bit like a loony bin, and every night, she sleepwalks, going back to places she knew, leaving a trail of clues for the handsome young doctor who is obsessed with solving her mystery … I know, it sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?
‘Now, for some reason, the director thought it made perfect sense for our young heroine to go about her sleepwalking business absolutely starkers. And for some even stranger reason, I agreed – what can I say, I was only nineteen, and quite pleased with my body, thank you very much. So there I am – in my altogether – stalking hospital corridors and knocking on the doors of derelict buildings and even on one occasion riding a fairground carousel horse in a dream sequence!
‘It was very arty and low budget, and I genuinely never thought I’d see it again – until just recently, after mentioning this to Lewis, he managed to find a clip from it on YouTube! Honestly, there are some strange people out there … anyway, it is, of course, the dream sequence carousel scene, and I admit to both laughing and crying a little at seeing it again.
‘Laughing because it is so bloody funny – those Seventies art-house movies did tend to take themselves seriously – and crying because it was odd, seeing myself there, like that. So young and strong and fit and healthy, which is pretty much the opposite of how I feel these days.
‘But I promised not to be maudlin, so I won’t be. The link to the clip is on our account, so if it takes your fancy, feel free to look – if you can handle it!
‘Now, I’m being a little lazy here, but I couldn’t think of anything fabulous to do for the letter O – no rude jokes, please, Lewis, I can see that naughty schoolboy look on your face! I’m a bit tired today, truth be told, and I think that perhaps you need to speedily move on to P – if, of course, you’ve decided to go in that direction.
‘So I’m going to keep O simple. O is for “Oh My God, Is That My Mother’s Bare Bottom Riding a Carousel Horse in a Dream Sequence?”
‘And the answer is yes – it most certainly is! Happy viewing, girls!’
Chapter 52
Poppy
She didn’t look brilliant in that last video – the modern one, not the nude one from the 1970s – and the sadness of that is sitting like undigested food in the pit of my stomach.
Despite her attempts at jollity, you could see that she was in pain, and her casual references to hospital stays were heartbreaking. We should have been there, helping her through it. It’s like watching a replay of a horrific car crash, knowing what is going to happen but being unable to stop it.
We’re at Euston Station, sitting up on the balcony looking at the departures board, waiting for Joe’s train to Liverpool to be announced. Then the two of us are off to St Pancras to get the Eurostar to Paris – because it’s time for the most mysterious letter of all, P.
I’m feeling extremely nervous about it all, and I suspect Rose is too – because she is wittering on like a mad woman, making sure that Joe knows all the house rules, has enough money, remembers to eat, goes to bed on time, and doesn’t burn the street down. He, to be fair, is looking resigned and tolerant in the face of her tirade.
‘Simon says he’ll pop round tonight, and keep an eye on you. Plus you can actually go and stay at his if you prefer.’
‘I know, Mum,’ says Joe, doing an awesome job of not rolling his eyes, ‘you’ve already told me. I’ll be fine, honest. I’ll ignore any knocks on the door, and won’t invite drug dealers round, and make sure I take my vitamin pills. I’ll be okay, don’t worry.’
‘I think,’ I say, half an eye on the board and half on my sister, ‘that Simon likes you.’
‘Well, yes,’ replies Rose. ‘He’s a nice bloke, he probably likes most people.’
‘No, I mean he like likes you.’
‘Like likes me? What are you, sixteen?’
‘Excuse me!’ interrupts Joe, holding his hand up in the air. ‘I’d like to point out that I am actually sixteen, and even I wouldn’t say that. But … I think she might be right, Mum. It makes me a bit sick in my mouth, but Simon does look at you in a like-like way.’
Rose gapes at us both for a moment, then shakes her head so hard her curls bobble around her face.
‘Rubbish. And anyway, I’m too old for that kind of stuff.’
Joe gives me a look, finally doing the eye-roll, as if to say: ‘See what I have to put up with?’
There is a sudden movement in the herd of people down below, a group exodus towards a platform that lets us know that the train has been announced, and we all stand up and grab our bags.
We walk with Joe to his train, and Rose insists on staying until the very last second, until its bright-red Virgin logo has disappeared off into the distance. She has tears in her eyes, and I’m not sure it’s only about her son leaving us.
After we stopped laughing at the YouTube clip, the one of mum prancing round stark-bollock-naked on the fairground horse, we were both a little melancholy.
‘It was quite tasteful,’ she’d said, after warning Joe not to look unless he wanted his retinas burned out by his bare-butted Granny. ‘The way they draped her hair over part of her boobs?’
‘Yeah,’ I’d replied, looking through the comments section and recoiling in horror at how much of a fan base my own mother had in certain circles, ‘she looked a bit like the Khaleesi from Game of Thrones, didn’t she? I bet she’d have been in that if she’d still been acting. She could have nailed that Diana Rigg part.’
‘But … the other video. She didn’t look too well in that one, did she?’
‘No,’ I’d replied, feeling the same myself. ‘She looked … vulnerable. I don’t think I’ve ever known her to look vulnerable before. It wasn’t nice to see. Maybe it was the thought of doing P that was getting her down as well. That must have been difficult.’
So difficult, in fact, that in the end she’d chickened out yet again – not of telling us, but of telling us herself. Instead, she’d passed all the information on to Lewis, who had typed up a series of notes and memories to get us started. And being Lewis – m
y mother’s sworn protector – he’d added his own spin on it all.
We’ve read the letter, which has shaken us both up – I know I was only just about holding it together for Joe’s sake, and I was 100 per cent sure that was the case for Rose as well. There were some uncomfortable truths in there, and I’m beginning to think that a fantasy version of our father might be altogether less distressing than the real version.
Now we have our journey to look forward to, and a new cassette recording full of answers to our questions – or at least the questions that Lewis, an elderly gay man, thinks we might want answering.
We’re going to have to listen to the tape on an ancient Walkman Rose has dredged up, sitting next to each other on the train with one headphone each, just like we did when we were kids and Mum could only afford to buy one between us.
That invariably used to end up with us punching each other. I can only hope the same doesn’t happen while we’re on our way to Paris, to potentially meet our dear old dad. Rose hasn’t said as much, but after reading Lewis’s letter, she must also be wondering if this might be a terrible mistake.
We amble towards the exit, irritating the commuters with our slow pace, pulling our wheelie cases behind us as we start the walk to St Pancras.
‘Poppy,’ says Rose, as we emerge into the noise and bustle of Euston Road.
‘Yes?’ I reply.
‘You do know, don’t you, that that letter means our dad definitely isn’t Dumbledore?’
I nod. She’s right, sadly. Not unless there was a much darker side to Dumbledore than we all suspected.
Chapter 53
Lewis: P is for Paris
Dear Rose and Poppy,
Your mother isn’t feeling too well today, partly because of her illness, which is now taking a thorough hold of her, and partly I think because she is worried about this particular entry in her A–Z.
She wasn’t feeling up to a video; I’m sure you’ll have noticed she wasn’t at her best in the last one. We tried making a cassette recording, but she broke down in the middle of it. As you know, this is quite unlike your mother, so I persuaded her to let me handle this one instead.
Her concerns, I think, are double-fold – she is upset that she is leaving you alone to deal with this situation, wanting still, even in her darkest hour, to protect you both. She is also ashamed of certain elements of the past, although personally I see no reason for her to be – everything she did, she did for you two. It’s vital to remember that.
She’s talked to me many times about your father, and from those conversations, I will piece together what you need to know. I will also, in a separate package, leave some photographs, and his last known address – although as a disclaimer I must point out that both are many years out of date, and neither of us truly knows where he is, or even if he is still alive. I offered to hire some kind of private detective to discover more, but even the thought of it visibly shook her – as though if she poked that particular wasp’s nest, she’d be stung to death.
Anyway, your father’s name is François Henri Martin, although I believe he went by the stage name of Franky Martin. His grandparents were French, and your mother met him during a production of Romeo and Juliet. They toured to Paris with it, and that is where their romance seems to have blossomed.
From what I’ve heard, and seen in pictures, he was a very handsome man, deeply charismatic and charming. Your mother, who was several years his junior, fell head over heels for him, and rushed into what became her first serious relationship.
After what sounds like an idyllic and passionate honeymoon phase, during which you were conceived, Rose, your mother started to see the flaws in Franky’s make-up. His public persona was one of a cool 1970s man-about-town, but secretly he was consumed by in-security and became increasingly bitter at what he perceived to be a lack of recognition within the industry. When he failed to get parts he auditioned for, he became angry and resentful, and sought solace in narcotics.
From what your mother has told me, this was initially recreational, in the way of the era – marijuana, and LSD, to start with, both of which were very fashionable within certain circles. But as their relationship went on, she began to realise that it was more than recreational for Franky – it was an addiction.
She tried to cope with the situation as best as she could, and eventually you came along, Poppy. She had hoped that the increased responsibility and the joys of fatherhood would help straighten him out, and even supported him through a phase of what we would now call detox.
However, like many addicts, he was unable to stop – and, shortly after your birth, Poppy, he also discovered heroin, which was starting to make its way into the country, especially through their American show-business friends.
I’m sure this isn’t pleasant for you two to read, but I remain convinced it was even more unpleasant for her to go through. Your mother, as you know, is an incredibly strong and loving woman – but she was also young, trying to build her own career, and caring for two small children single-handed.
I believe the crisis point came around the same time as her own mother died, and Andrea made the decision that she still believes saved your family. She used her small inheritance to put down a deposit on the cottage, moved you all to the countryside, and shut Franky out of her life. And, of course, out of your lives as well.
This has always resulted in very conflicted emotions on her part, but I trust her enough to believe that she made the right choice. I hope that you trust her enough to believe that as well.
She has asked me to help her compile a set of questions for the next letter of the A–Z, believing, rightly I am sure, that you will have many. She wants it to be personal, but in my belief is too fragile to be filmed, so I will attempt to do it via the cassette recording device. I will ask her the questions, and she will provide the best answers she can.
They might not completely satisfy your understandable curiosity, but they will simply have to do – I would remind you at this point that perhaps things might have worked out differently if you two had been around more, and she had felt you were strong enough to hear this rather unpalatable part of her history in person.
I will be as thorough as her health will allow, and try to anticipate your questions – but I must say that I will not push her further than I think she can bear. While her loyalties lie first and foremost with you two, mine lie, and always will, with her.
If you are heading to Paris, then I wish you luck. You might like to listen to the questions before or after your trip, I will leave that up to you. Just please, always, understand that your mother loves you more than I have ever known a human being love anyone before – it has been a revelation. She is going through so much pain, so much personal turmoil, and yet your wellbeing is still of paramount importance to her.
I would hope that any unanswered questions, or lingering doubts on your part, will be offset by the knowledge of that sacrifice.
With all kind regards,
Lewis Clarke-Smith
Chapter 54
Lewis and Andrea: Q is for Questions
Lewis: So, perhaps we could start with some basics. Why is François Martin not listed on the girls’ birth certificates?
Andrea: Goodness, Lewis! You are going full-on Jeremy Paxman, aren’t you? Been watching a little too much Newsnight with your cocoa, have we? But … fair enough. It’s the obvious point for a solicitor to start with, I suppose. The first time – with Rose – it was mainly out of anger. On my part.
Franky was out at a casting – something to do with one of those cop shows at the time; it might have been The Sweeney, I can’t quite recall – and I’d arranged to meet him at the registry office. We’d both been up all night – me with the baby, and him with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
I got there in time for our appointment, and he just didn’t show up. I was stuck there in the waiting room, trying to deal with a two-week-old baby on my own, and it was all so humiliating.
I later f
ound out it was because he didn’t get the part, and went straight to Soho to meet his alleged friends. Forgot all about us. That wasn’t unusual, especially as time went on, but just then it stung. Badly.
I was so in love with my darling little girl, you see, and it hurt that he couldn’t be bothered to even officially claim her. So I left him out, in a fit of pique. With Poppy … well, by that time, things had become unbearable, to be honest. His life was one long, morbid party – the drugs had completely taken hold of him, and I was starting to realise that everything was going dreadfully wrong. So that time, it was deliberate.
I had no idea if he’d even be alive by the time she grew up, never mind still in our lives. I felt like … like it was going to be down to me to raise these girls, and he didn’t even deserve a mention. Gosh. That makes me sound like the bitter one, doesn’t it?
Lewis: Not at all. It makes you sound human. Now, moving on, tell us a little about how you met – and what his good qualities were.
Andrea: Excellent question, Lewis! Because I don’t want you girls to think that he was an unremitting loss – of course he wasn’t! He was partly responsible for creating you two!
Well, obviously he was handsome. Quite irresistible, with his big brown eyes and moody French cheekbones and hair that was fashionably long. A little like a young Alain Delon, which he played on. But he was such fun as well, he really was – full of charm and humour. He was one of those men who made you feel so special, like you were the only woman in his world.
He was frightfully clever, and a wonderful actor. We met when he was playing Mercutio, and I was Juliet. The chap playing Romeo was most definitely not interested in girls, I have to say – you’d have loved him, Lewis! Anyway, we were doing a regional tour, with a week in Paris, and by the end of the run, we were a couple. It was marvellous to start with, no matter what happened later. It really was. No man has ever taken my breath away in quite the same fashion.
The A-Z of Everything Page 24