The Lesser Bohemians (21 page)

What’s that? A psychiatric hospital, he says But I was all worn out anyway so I was glad of the rest.

When they contacted her, she didn’t want to know and because I didn’t have anyone else I was mostly alone. Then a week or so after the baby was born there was a letter from her mother wishing to inform me I had a daughter and should have the decency to stay away. That kind of brought me round, reminded me to be ashamed, reminded me I was lonely and – once they let me – I called. Who do you think you are? she said You clearly don’t understand, I wish you were dead, that you had died, so I’d never have to tell my daughter what you’re like or the awful things you’ve done. And before I could even start to apologise she slammed the receiver down. After that I just sat staring at the wall, wishing I could get high, then realising it wasn’t that, it was also wishing I had died. But I was already beyond doing anything like that. Instead I thought If I stay where I am, and keep very still for the rest of my life, maybe everything will be fine. So that’s what I did. Wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t eat. Lost more weight than I could afford to and became filled with the hope I’d stop waking up. And it should have ended there really, with a quiet starve to the death.

Why didn’t it? I ask, wrestling with how passive his face has become now. A visitor, he says Which was wondrous in itself. I mean, any mates I had were in much the same state. Then out of the blue there was this director I’d worked with in my final year. Big Scottish guy in his fifties. I’d liked working with him but he never let me get away with a thing. I thought he thought I was a tosser really but, one afternoon, there he was. I assumed
it was for someone else so I slid down my chair and covered my face. But when he spoke to the nurse, she pointed me out so, as he approached, I slid further again. My God, is that really you? he said What the fuck have you done to yourself? And suddenly there were tears rolling down his face and     that he wasn’t the crying type made me realise how far gone I must be. Anyway. Once he’d blown his nose we got a cup of tea. He said he’d seen in the paper about the film and tracked me down through a lad in my year. I think he could tell I was on the edge so he didn’t press and spent the hour talking about his work instead. When he got up to go he     put his arms round me and     it’d been so long since anyone had touched me like that     I started to get upset. He didn’t make a thing out of it though, just patted my back and said You’re doing alright, I’ll be in again.

And he was good as his word, came back three times a week. Brought me newspapers. Books. Sweets. Started telling me about shows he’d seen, what was going on in the world and, honestly, to have the company was great. I began looking forward to his visits and they began thawing me out.

Then one day he said he’d seen my ex. My daughter too. How beautiful she was. How much he thought she looked like me. I wasn’t really able for it but suddenly she stopped existing in the abstract. I still couldn’t think of myself as someone’s Dad – the word itself just made no impact – but I began to wonder what she was like. Soon I was thinking about her all the time. He was a cunning bastard really. Scheherazaded me back to life. And by the time he offered me a room in his house, I was keen enough for out.

After a little wrangling I was released into his care and his amazing house up in St John’s Wood. Loveliest place I’ve ever lived. Packed to the ceiling with interesting paintings and
books. But that first month he spent every day trying to keep me clean because, on leaving Friern, that’s all I was interested in. I gave him a pretty terrible time. Ate the contents of the medicine cabinet on the first day out. Found the drink on the next. Eventually he said Look, I’m not willing to spend my whole life at this so I’m going to tell you something – and not to make you feel like shit – but NO ONE is going to hire you again after what you did. You’re twenty-three now so think about what that means. Either you go back to frying your brains, finish off what’s left of your health, waste your talent, fuck your daughter up more than you already have – because even if she’s reared to think you’re a cunt, once you’re dead, that’s in stone. Or you can stay here and I’ll pay for a shrink. In six months’ time – IF you’re still clean – when I direct The Seagull in Manchester I’ll cast you as Konstantin. If you’re not though, I won’t, I promise you that. And believe me, if you don’t get this job – and do it fucking well – you’ll never work anywhere again. Then you can drink as much cough syrup as you like because no one – including me – will give a damn. What happens next is up to you. What do you want that to be?

So I went to the psychiatrist. And I stayed clean. Six months later he cast me as Konstantin and that gave me some life back again.

Getting up, he stretches. I’m going for a slash, and – with a kiss to the top of my head – Sorry, it’s turned into an epic night. I’m not, I say, wanting to touch him but knowing to wait. Instead go rummage in my bag.

When he comes back, he offers More wine? Drains the bottle between. It’s after midnight, I say Happy Birthday now!
Thirty-nine years fucked, he laughs. But takes the present and kisses my hand. Sits to open it beside. This is great, he says Will you put it on? So I do, explaining I knew you had their first one but this one has the same name so I wasn’t sure but then I asked and I love it, he says Thank you, you shouldn’t have. Then swings his legs back on the bed. As the music starts, lights up, exhales. I drop the cover in between and ask When did you first see your daughter then?

About five months later, just before rehearsals began. He spoke to my ex – I couldn’t even get her on the phone – and after much persuasion she agreed to an hour once a month.

That first Sunday her father dropped her off, I hid, watching her come up the path. She looked different – still beautiful, elegant but     all the spark was gone and     whose fault was that? I almost went out the back door but A child needs a father, he said For better or worse you’re what she has so go open the door, and smile. When I did my ex wouldn’t look at me. Instead passed him the carry-cot with the baby, saying Tell him that’s his and I don’t want to see his face. He just placed it on the sitting-room table, then took her off to the kitchen for tea.

So I stood there, thinking I was about to have another cardiac arrest. I didn’t know what to do with a child. I could hardly look at her, never mind take her up. Mercifully she was asleep though so I inched the blanket back but     she started to wake up and, suddenly, there were these big eyes wandering over me and     I just     froze. She was     real and     right there. Not just an idea or knowing she existed somewhere. But right in front of me and     I     just stood there     trying not to leave.

After about fifteen minutes, he came in to check. Come on pick her up, he said You have to hold her. She’s your little girl. And I couldn’t. But I touched her     on the hand. The little
fingers went round mine and        luckily then she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later again he said For fuck’s sake, pick her up. I just looked at him and said I can’t     I’m scared. So he sat me on the sofa and put her into my arms. We just looked at each other, me and her, and I can’t describe it, the feeling    I just started to cry it was     awful     and wonderful    having her there on my lap and the smell of her     I just knew she was mine. That a little part of me had escaped into the good world at last and was part of her. Part of her life. You know, until that day, I still thought I’d find an excuse to use again. I missed it   and      never really believed I might manage without but suddenly     I understood why it was right I’d gotten clean. And nothing as grandiose as all that fucking act of faith roof-diving. Just     that I had to be her father – whatever that was – and take care of her. And I wanted that, for her but     even more for me. To be a man who would. So sitting there, with her on my knee, I finally began to be a person again.

That’s the way I remember most of the visits now. In that big cold white room with this tiny girl. And I was terrified of her but it was as if she knew. She never did anything to scare me. She hardly made a sound. Sometimes I’d hear her screaming like the devil all the way up to the house and I’d start to panic but     once I’d wiped her face off she’d just sit looking up at me, hiccuping a bit. Sometimes she’d pull my hair or have a go at my specs. Once she was walking      well    that was something else but     after such a long time of feeling nothing, and trying to keep it that way, it was overwhelming but that feeling for her     love for her accepted none of that. I think I cried solidly through the first six visits. And once those visits started, I couldn’t get enough. When I’d learned to play with her, I’d
have to keep tickling her just to have more of her laugh. I’d never heard anyone so happy before. But if she cried, I’d hear her mother shouting What’s he doing to her? Go in and see! And he’d come in to ask if we were alright? Or put his arms around us and whisper It’s fine, she’s just a little wound up, then go reassure her but I’d sit there, getting scared again. I was afraid she’d think I was doing something – you know what I mean. But over the months she calmed down too, would hand her to me herself. Taught me how to change and feed her. Tell me things she liked. Then an hour became two. Became twice a month. Then every week. Finishing up at all of most weekends.

Did you ever think of getting back together with her?

God no, that ship had well and truly sailed. Even to have asked would have been an insult. I suppose, as things improved between us, I’d occasionally wonder what it would’ve been like, the two of us together bringing her up. Being a family. But I also knew what had happened came from so far off it could hardly have ended any other way. I tried to talk to her about it once, to apologise. She just said I’ll never forgive you, accept it and we can be polite. So I respected that and concentrated on trying to prove I was reliable now. She didn’t think so, how could she? Once you’ve kicked all the trust out of somebody you can’t ever get that back. She wouldn’t even take money at first, although he won her round eventually. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. I’d never have managed those early days by myself.

And why did he help you so much? Hmmm, he says I knew you’d ask that. Pity, initially, didn’t want me to waste my life. Over time it became more complicated. Of course it did.

So, maybe three months after he’d taken me in – before I met my daughter – we were eating dinner in the kitchen. Just talking about this and that when he suddenly said Listen, I’m out of practice so I’m just going to come straight out with it. I love you living here, it’s been great, and I think I’m in love with you. I just stared. Don’t look so scared, he said If it’s not for you, I never mentioned it and we’ll carry on as before. I didn’t know what to say       or what I felt – about anything, never mind about that – but     I was grateful for all he’d done. I wanted to give him something he’d want and I had nothing but myself. So I kissed him and     it felt kind of right. He asked if I was sure. I said I was, so     he took me to bed.

It was the first time I’d had sex since I’d been sick. Probably the first time I’d ever had it without being wasted and     being touched like that     by someone who mattered to me    even if I wasn’t     it wasn’t easy and      I got a bit freaked out. But he was good to me in it       helped me relax until I was able to let myself. And it was nice. And the comfort of having someone there in the dark really couldn’t be overestimated then.

We were together after that. He moved me into his room. It was a relationship, of sorts. He hadn’t been in one for years so maybe I helped shake off the dust. But we liked spending time together. Enjoyed lots of things the same. He was pretty ferocious and I learned a lot from him. For me it wasn’t love but it was warmth and affection. And all that sexual part of me was kind of dead anyway. I mean the sensation was there. The urge – at times overwhelmingly. But it didn’t really connect to anything, hardly even myself. I could have slept with anyone and it would have been the same. I mean I enjoyed being with him, never had trouble getting turned on – nowhere near the way I would with a woman – but there was more than enough
companionship to make up for that. Or so I thought.

And then came The Seagull. Lot of pressure about that. Being the director’s younger boyfriend didn’t help but once everyone realised I wasn’t just, it was fine. Arkadina was already a big theatre star so most of us younger ones were nervous about working with her. End of the first read-through though, she handed me what was left of the fig rolls and said All you need is to gain a few pounds. After that she took me under her wing – I think he’d told her the story so she’d decided to look out for me. Taught me everything I know about behaving professionally and she was very unselfish work-wise too. Any little thing I couldn’t crack she’d skip lunch or stay late until I was happy. Never treated me like the beginner I was or as though I was wasting her time. And we got fond of each other. She had a teenage daughter at home so she was always fussing over me, even then. You know, weird ointments when I had a bad chest. Helping me sort out a suit for the first night. And had me up for tea in her dressing room after the show every night so I’d unwind from it soberly. But being part of that company, and getting to work, was a life-saver. At last I was doing something I was good at. And I couldn’t have had better casting than Konstantin. All that lostness and suffocation. I could practically nail every bit of him onto myself. Even down to the mother who was incapable of it – although he was parched where I was drowned. When we were rehearsing she’d often ask about mine – and quickly realised something there had gone very awry – but that relationship still informed the internal dynamic. And getting to be this boy every night, who becomes so destroyed by life, was very good for me, because I’d gone to that same brink but survived. Now here I was, working, hitting my stride, starting to make a life with my little
girl in it too. Konstantin and I were blood-related but there was just enough distance between to let me properly give in to the part. Afterwards I’d be exhausted but feel so alive. It was a pretty extraordinary time.