A Young Man's Passage (34 page)

ELEVEN

‘What stars fear most is the death of their fame, and most

would rather be infamous than go back to anonymity.

The worst thing you could possibly say to a star

would be, “Didn’t you used to be famous?”’

TRUMAN CAPOTE

THE DAY I
moved to 9 Middleton Grove, London N7 saw relentless torrential rain. Mikos, by coincidence, had moved into a flat round the corner, so he and his flatmate came to help unpack. Everything was soaked and muddy. It felt damp and cold. Later that night local youths chucked some gravel over the wall and it clattered menacingly on the conservatory roof. Fanny looked up, but she was deaf and didn’t bother to bark, just gave me her ‘told you so’ look.

29 September 1993. Middleton Grove, N7

I have a tradesman at the rear. A plumber, to be precise, fixing the broken outdoor tap, mysteriously broken off on my return from Los Angeles, and water gushing everywhere.

Frances is here to stay for a few days and she’s a boon, washing down paintwork and cleaning cupboards. The ‘settling in’ process here at the mansion is well under way. Every now and then I think, Gawd, what have I done? But I wander from room to room rubbing my chin and Fanny keeps discovering new bedrooms and is cautious but wide-eyed. It’s going to take a while.

Went to Deptford to collect Stephen yesterday, brought him here then took him to Heathrow airport where he’s off to see his mother in Belfast. He was very thin and petulant and given to panic attacks. He disappeared in the terminal to find a cash point but was gone half an hour. Came back breathless and manic, snot running down his face, saying, ‘I’m having a heart attack.’ There was a terrible smell and he said he’d gone to fart and shat himself. We dashed to the check-in and he was whisked through, holding his side with fingers covered in too many silver rings. Again, as I watched him disappear through the tunnel and the check-in woman said gravely, ‘He doesn’t look well,’ I thought: That will be the last time I see him. I’ve been thinking that for six months or so. He’s so frightened of death that he’s hanging on every inch of the way. Swigging from a bottle of morphine in the car he said, ‘Go on, have some. It won’t do you any harm.’

Meanwhile, I’ve been to Los Angeles to record a Travelog programme. Mikos flew out when I’d finished filming and we went to San Francisco for a week. Stayed at the Inn on Castro in a bedroom full of papier mâché parrots and wandered along the Castro hand in hand.

I have inherited a cleaning lady called Jackie from the previous owners. ‘I know the house, you see,’ she said, mysteriously. This house is like a big baby and needs lots of attention. Someone called Fred is coming to clean out the guttering. That should do Housey the world of good, I reckon. The dwelling equivalent of a thorough colonic irrigation.

1 October 1993

Stephen died at 9.05 a.m.

I didn’t find out till this afternoon. I had been on the phone to the hospital in Belfast this morning and thought it was just Irish officiousness when they said they couldn’t give me any information as I wasn’t next-of-kin.

So sudden for him, no morphine required.

Last night Penelope and Barb came over and we burnt incense and carried it through the house, wafting at doorways and cleansing every corner. We burnt ‘double happiness’ candles in every room (including the garage) and Barb incanted under the bay tree in the garden. They left cooing at the full moon and we did a three-handed kind of salute to it as clouds skidded across its face and it hovered over the house. Then I got embarrassed in case any of the neighbours were watching and scuttled indoors to Mikos. ‘Oh, you’re so lovely,’ he exclaims quite often. He melts my heart.

God bless Stephen. What great adventures are you having now, I wonder?

24 October 1993

It’s 2.40 a.m. Can’t sleep. Just put the lights on and there is Fanny asleep on her chair, and Gloria, my new kitten, asleep by the radiator. She is such a sweet cat. Loves to be in the room we’re in and purrs as soon as I touch her. Mikos is asleep beside me. He turned over a while ago and said, ‘Don’t leave me!’ This may refer to the fact that I sometimes retreat upstairs when the snoring gets too much.

4 November 1993

‘It’s like living with Widow Twankey,’ said Mikos. And it must be. I shuffle around the house in my dressing gown, slump in front of the TV and talk endlessly about bedside cabinets.

Had the
My Glittering Passage
video launch at Madame Jojo’s last night. So I went dolled up and tucked into the cheap white wine. Then a crowd of us went to the Yard where we drank Champagne, then on to Substation briefly where we moved into beer mode. So today was mainly hangover, although I did nip into Channel 4 where Jo Brand and I recorded some trailers. Planning our links at the bar we invented some cocktails. The Putney Towpath was one: ‘It’s smooth and dark and creeps up on you from behind.’ In the interests of light entertainment we pretended we were two supermodels. I was Claudia Shafter and Jo was Linda Vaginablister.

19 November 1993

Addison rang me from a taxi in Soho and shouted down the phone the details of his Italian restaurant lunch with Seamus Cassidy. ‘I told him, my lad don’t know what’s going on. I told him I’ve got to get you on the box next year or you’re finished. I was straight with him. I worry about your career as much as you do, you know.’ Then he was cut off. I was busy feeding the cat so I didn’t mind. I have a sense of impending doom.

20 November 1993

Tony Kushner: ‘Life is about losing. I don’t believe that as human beings we can do anything other than struggle to face the loss with grace.’

21 November 1993

Mikos just arrived from his first day at work – cable TV computer doings. I thought he was coming for his dinner (chicken, rösti and leeks) but I was wrong. ‘I want to finish it,’ he said, and he wasn’t referring to the meat and two veg. I felt immediate relief, like squeezing a spot. Something about an ‘Andrew’ he met at the Black Cap and went to Heaven with. He asked for a photograph and hugged me. I managed two tear-filled eyes and one tear escaped as he departed.

‘Was it a bolt from the blue?’ he asked as he left.

‘No,’ I said, although it sounds like an interesting effect. So there we are. Divorced.

2.30 a.m. Couldn’t find Fanny just now. She had gone to sleep in another bedroom. She’s never done that before. Double abandonment!

23 November 1993

Recording
Camp Christmas
at London Studios all day. I was the voice of Whitney the Reindeer, thrown out of Santa’s pack for wearing nipple clamps that jingled too much for the sleigh bells.

Somehow it was dire, despite a brilliant set and a cast that included Lily Savage, Stephen Fry, Lea deLaria, Colin Bell, Justin Fashanu, Quentin Crisp and Armistead Maupin. Even Derek Jarman was there looking poorly, and made me cry during the finale song when he waved to the camera and mouthed, ‘Goodbye!’ I was hovered over all day by Amanda, a journalist from the
Independent
and quite agreeable. She’s got to write 3,000 words on me. She doesn’t know the half of it.

Feeling quite sad today. Missing Mikos, his warmth and affection. Fanny is now completely deaf, so consequently doesn’t run to greet me when I get home. I have to go and find her. Tonight she was asleep in a bedroom I never use on the top floor, and was confused and bewildered when I woke her.

28 November 1993

Mikos has just left after a tearful prolonged hug. His final words were: ‘I still care for you. I’m not laughing at you.’ Just what you want to hear as a comedian, but he meant well. He seems to think I’ll be fine without him. There was lots of ‘But I do love you’ talk, but the ‘I’m doing this
because
I love you and I don’t want to betray you’ didn’t really convince, any more than the ‘I’m only doing what I think is right in the long run’ tack.

Now I need to reframe myself on this matter. Enough tears, I must relish my solitude. I’m free. I’m single. I’m 34. I’m living in a big house in Holloway. I’m wealthy. Why does it all sound so dismal and depressing?

30 November 1993

Gave Mikos rather a hard time of it tonight on the phone, prolonging the conversation long after he’d tried to terminate as politely as possible. Rang him twice yesterday but they were cheery. Tonight was back a few steps. I think I have to stop now. Agonising, compulsive phone calls is not something I should get addicted to. I have to accept that it’s over.

‘For your own good. For the sake of your self-esteem,’ said Barb. She was sweet. She was my friend and she hadn’t left me, she’d always be there, she said. The house is gloomy and ridiculously large for one homosexual, his kitten and his deaf dog. We keep losing each other. Unless they are avoiding me.

2 December 1993

Rohypnol is taking effect so this will be brief. After recording late-night links with Jo Brand all day went to do the
Clive Anderson Show
then came home and took a sleeping pill. Put Mariah Carey on and had major tears, thinking there is so much wrong with my life, Mikos was the only thing that was right. Tears were squeezed out and I overcame my fear of crying. Then, as Mariah screeched out, the phone rang: Mikos, thanking me for my card (‘Deep Devotion’ by Saudek), which I sent to apologise for my dreary phone marathon of the other day.

It was nice to see Paul Merton and Caroline Quentin. They’d been tipped off over my state and were genuinely concerned for me.