Touching from a Distance Page 13

  I began to try to conjure up ways of drawing Ian towards me once more. Claire worked behind the bar with me at Silklands and when she threw a flat-warming party, I persuaded Ian to come with me. I was expecting Ian either to decline at the last minute or behave badly when he got there. Because most of the other guests worked at the local hospital, I thought he would deem them too ordinary for him to bother with. However, he suppressed his superior attitude and conversed with my mortal friends quite naturally. He was very charming throughout the evening.

  It was daylight by the time we walked home and just as I was beginning to congratulate myself, Ian turned to me and continued a conversation which had erupted during the party. The point he wished to get across was that he wouldn’t mind if I slept with another man. I walked alongside him for a while before putting it to him that if he felt like this, perhaps he didn’t love me any more.

  ‘I don’t think I do,’ he replied.

  I moved in front of him and we carried on along the middle of Brown Street in single file. Hardly a word was spoken for the next week. Every day I wanted Ian to come up behind me, put his arms around me and tell me he hadn’t meant it. After eight years of him telling me what to wear, what make-up to use and what music to listen to, I suddenly felt lost, as if I had been given my freedom and didn’t know what to do with it.

  Ian announced that Franck Essner was coming to stay, so any personal problems we had were pushed aside for the time being. We carried out an elaborate charade as a poor but happy family unit. During this time, Ian’s attitude towards Natalie changed. He surprised and delighted me by unstrapping her from her car seat and carrying her into the house. He even allowed Franck to photograph him holding her on a visit to Macclesfield Forest. Franck had been dumbfounded at the ease of his acceptance into Ian’s family.

  ‘I arrived at Macclesfield station late one afternoon in February – Ian and your father came with me to your place. You were waiting for us with your mother, as eager and astonished at seeing a Martian as I was myself at being carried away in an ever-increasing whirl.’

  The evening before Franck left, he and Ian came to Silklands just in time to meet me after working behind the bar.

  ‘That night I finally came to the realization that Ian was made of a different material, was just passing among us and did not belong to us. Neither did he belong to himself.’

  Franck Essner

  The planning for Joy Division’s American tour was well under way and Ian began to think about new clothes for the trip. He persuaded me to buy some for myself by getting a store card at Top Shop and in my gullible way I allowed him to convince me that by the time the statement arrived, I would have some money to make the instalments. The shopping trip to Manchester naturally involved me using my new credit card to buy a jacket for Ian. The assistant in Top Man asked me if I was accompanying Ian to the States. I wished I was. It seemed too big an adventure for him not to share it with me and it crossed my mind that if he had still loved me, then maybe he would have asked me to go. It still hurts to know that while I was being told the band couldn’t afford to take me along, Annik’s expenses on the European tour had been incorporated into Joy Division’s.

  Strangely, shopping with him and then driving up to New Moston to visit his parents made me feel secure again. He talked of us taking a holiday together. He lied and said that Tony Wilson had offered to pay for us to go away to Holland for a few days. I began to believe that he still loved me after all, but it was only play-acting for the sake of his parents. By the time we arrived at my mother-in-law’s home, I was well and truly placated and we sat calmly watching television while his mother prepared a meal. Ian assumed the cheery persona he had reserved for them since our wedding day. It was as if nothing had ever gone wrong and the fact that we had just been on a spending spree in the city gave the overall impression of well-being.

  Joy Division were supported by A Certain Ratio and Section 25 at a benefit for City Fun fanzine at the New Osbourne Club. This gig was memorable for a few reasons, but the band’s performance wasn’t one of them. As it was a local gig, Ian had no way of preventing me going. Apart from driving Ian to and from the Osbourne and his appearance on stage, I didn’t see him at all that evening. As I had not yet managed to ‘discover’ Ian’s affair with Annik, the rest of the entourage’s reluctance to tell me where the dressing room was mystified me.

  Sue Sumner commented on how good I looked. In fact I had regained my figure and bought a pair of very cute, tight black jeans. Ian’s ruse to persuade me to use my credit card had not only provided him with a new jacket, but had given me a new lease of life. Without his critical eye to discourage me, I began to blossom. Ian, meanwhile, had his hair cut shorter and more angular, and his eyes were tired, giving him a distracted appearance.

  Reviewing the performance in Sounds, Mick Middles noted: ‘They have, for the time being, lost their arrogance, their urgency, their commitment and their essential sense of feeling.’

  Who can blame the band for helping Ian to cover up? I would do the same for a friend, but perhaps the strain was beginning to take its toll on all of them. As we left the venue, every car but mine appeared to have been broken into.

  The University of London gig, promoted by Fresh Music, was reviewed favourably. Paul Morley led the way with his praise: ‘Joy Division’s music is physical and lucid, music about uncontrollable emotions, impulses, prejudices, fears. The group have turned inarticulateness and vagueness into concrete, disturbing impressions of the most degenerate, deepest desires … Joy Division will tear you apart. Still.’ Yet Chris Bohn was nearer to the truth when he wrote: ‘Less colourful now, they’re getting closer to the despair that’s been the core of their work thus far.’ If only he knew how close to the core they were.

  In spite of all the turmoil, Ian had only two grand mal attacks in two months. I knew that he was taking medication for his epilepsy and that he was seeing his specialist regularly, so I began to suspect that something else in his life other than his illness was causing such a dramatic change in our lives. One Sunday, while Ian was rehearsing in Manchester, I spent the afternoon going through every pocket and every piece of paper I could find. In the cupboard in Natalie’s bedroom I found a carrier bag full of discarded notebooks. There in the middle of an otherwise empty page, in unfamiliar handwriting, I found the name Annik Honoré and her address in Delvino Road, London.

  I had to summon immense courage to confront Ian. His depression was acute, yet he refused to tell me what was affecting his behaviour. I begged him to explain to me, but he told me he couldn’t because he was afraid of what I might do. I was eager to eliminate every possibility other than the obvious. Thinking back to the days of the gay parties and remembering a fleeting glimpse of him trying on my sandals, I took a deep breath and plunged in headfirst: ‘Is it a man? Have you fallen in love with a man?’ Ian slid even further down in the chair, his legs splayed across the floor. His body shook with his silent laugh and I couldn’t help smiling too. For those few seconds we grinned at each other and it felt good. Our eyes met in conspiracy, mutual appreciation of a private joke, as if we were a couple again. When he regained his composure and put on his serious face, I said, ‘It’s Annik Honoré isn’t it?’ and he nodded.

  Ian’s relief was so intense it was tangible. My reaction was to run to the blue room, break David Bowie’s Low into pieces and then smack Ian around the head. He made no move at all. Eventually, when I asked him what he intended to do, he asked for time to break off the relationship. I agreed. I was relieved that there were no protestations of love for her and no threats to leave. I was appeased by his promise to put things right, but still kept my distance in anticipation – I wasn’t prepared to lose him. He didn’t ask for my forgiveness; I just assumed he would want it.

  Several weeks went by and as far as I knew Ian made no attempt to tell Annik about the situation at home. I challenged him on this twice. He merely stared out of the window and up at the trees across the
road. Once a fit had been induced he fell and like a fool I tried to break his fall. Pseudo-seizures can be feigned either consciously or subconsciously and are often used as a way of manipulating people. Although members of the band insist that Ian never pulled this one with them, they can’t fail to have noticed the fact that he would invariably throw a fit when he was on the losing end of a dispute.

  My parents didn’t mind looking after Natalie while I worked, but

  one evening my mother decided that Ian’s parents should share some of the load for a change. We also thought it would give them a more realistic view of how Ian, Natalie and I were living. Considering I had not yet told anyone about Ian’s affair, this was quite perceptive of my mother.

  They arrived just in time for me to put on my coat and Doreen noticed that I had taken my wedding ring off. We looked at each other. What could I do? Should I have told her that her son was in fact in London with his favourite groupie? I decided it wasn’t worth the effort or the expense of my energy had I vented my anger on her. Apart from that, I didn’t want to be late for work, so I went upstairs meekly and put the ring back on.

  Naturally I began to take more notice of the men who were customers at Silklands. One of them was a friend of Gillian Gilbert’s sister Kim. Jeff was younger than me – still in his teens, in fact. He liked the disco scene and was generally having a good time until he met me! When word got around the small town that I had found out about Ian’s girlfriend, Jeff and I began to chat. A date would have boosted my confidence, but Jeff was reluctant to do anything which would interfere with my ailing marriage. Instead he became a friendly face I could talk to across the bar.

  Money was extremely tight and when the red electricity bill came there was no money to pay for it. I told Ian about it but he didn’t really consider it his concern. I felt ashamed at not being able to manage the money better. Ian wanted to know what I had done with the allowance we had from the band. He would bring home new clothes that Rob Gretton had bought him to wear on stage and I felt very envious of his good fortune. It didn’t seem fair that he had the opportunity to travel – I loved travelling and Ian hated it. Yet I could not sympathize with him and his affluent appearance began to irritate me as our debts began to mount. I found myself keeping pathetic lists of housekeeping bills in order to prove to Ian that I wasn’t spending the money on myself.

  Sadly our dog had become a costly luxury. Owing to our lack of funds, even Candy wasn’t getting proper food and her fur had begun to fall out. As Ian was away so much I was faced with the dilemma of needing to walk her at night-time and not wanting to leave Natalie alone in the house while I did this. Sometimes my parents were able to help out, but eventually they offered to find somewhere else for Candy to live. Ian was very distressed at this suggestion, though it didn’t persuade him to come home any more often. My discovery that he carried photographs of Candy around, rather than photographs of his wife and child, made me realize how foolish I had been to carry on running his home. I knew Ian would be upset to hear that Candy had gone, but thought it cruel to keep an animal we could no longer afford to feed. Ian had ceased to make any contribution to her care and did not want to discuss or understand the problems I was having. A place was found for her on a farm in Rochdale and my parents drove her there so that I would not have to say goodbye.

  Natalie was almost a year old and she constantly wanted to be cuddled and paid attention. One night, on one of the rare occasions that Ian was there at her bedtime, she refused to allow me to put her to bed. She screamed and kicked and held on to the living-room door. Determined not to let me get to the foot of the stairs, she reached out her arms towards Ian. I asked Ian if he would take her up but he said no. The screaming and crying continued, her whole body straining towards him. Eventually, I lost my temper and insisted he take her up himself. She went upstairs peacefully and fell asleep the moment Ian tucked her into her cot. I waited at the foot of the stairs for him. He returned so quickly with such an anguished look on his face that I ran up the stairs to check that Natalie was still breathing. I thought he had suffocated her. Ian’s self-imposed restrictions were beginning to affect us all.

  As Ian’s personal life was disintegrating, his professional life was flourishing. His voice had improved. It had a powerful, enigmatic quality which would bring a poignancy to the slower songs in particular.

  Closer was recorded at Britannia Row Studios, London, in March 1980 and my prayers were answered in a roundabout way in the form of a gesture from Rob Gretton. It was the only occasion I can recall when the girls were encouraged to be present. Ian grudgingly informed me that Rob had decided to send £20 to all the wives and girlfriends so that they could use it for the train fare to London to see the band during the making of Closer. ‘I can’t afford to come, can I?’ I said to Ian ‘Where would I sleep? I’ve no money for a hotel.’ Ian shrugged his shoulders, omitting to tell me that two small flats had been booked for the band’s accommodation and the other girls were staying there. So I sighed with relief and used the £20 to pay the electricity bill.

  Sue Sumner was also unable to go to London. She always worked hard and Ian told me that she and Bernard kept their finances separate from each other. Consequently, Sue could afford to go away on holiday and was independent enough to do just that. Iris Bates (Peter Hook’s girlfriend), Gillian Gilbert and Lesley Gilbert arrived at Euston Station at 9 p.m., but it was after midnight when Joy Division remembered to dispatch Steve Morris to collect them. The girls had been given the wrong telephone numbers and the whole episode resulted in none of the couples speaking to each other. Annik managed to remain concealed for the first day as one of the two flats were reserved for her and Ian, but eventually Ian made some embarrassed introductions. The next day the lads went back into the studio and the girls went window shopping because they were skint.

  The rest of the band were not unduly worried by Annik’s presence as they had already endured her company for the entire European tour. When faced with the prospect of booking into a hotel which doubled as a brothel, she objected on the grounds that it was immoral. The lads pointed out that it was more immoral to be ‘knocking off a married bloke’. After a venomous exchange of words, she had more than earned her nickname of the ‘Belgian Boiler’.

  Ian seemed to be in a trance for the whole of the time he was writing and recording the lyrics for Closer. Wound up and intense, he was in another world. I wonder if he needed the rivalry and passion of conflict in his life to help him write the words he did.

  The others carried on in the usual manner. They were so accustomed to playing jokes on each other that every time they returned to their flat in Marylebone, each of them would check their stuff, their room, their corner of the refrigerator. When Tony Wilson prepared to drive a van back to Manchester, he was given the treatment. The door handles were covered with jam and he was pelted with flour and eggs, so he had no option but to get into the van and escape.

  Back in Macclesfield, I was pacing the pavements. It was lonely without Ian again and I passed my time pushing the pram around or listening to the Durutti Column’s Return of the Durutti Column. The music was so mournful and emotional that it seemed like the only suitable thing to play. Then one day Ian rang me and in a very hushed voice said, ‘It’s OK, I’ve told her.’ I dreamed about us being reunited and the future we would have together. I played the Durutti Column’s sandpaper-clad album again. The nuances in the melody took a different mood and I actually danced around the house, ecstatic, believing I had somehow magically regained my husband.

  Tony Wilson accompanied Annik on a train journey, during which she appeared depressed. She told Tony that she hated Closer because she believed Ian actually meant the lyrical content and that he was feeling the guilt as he sang. Unlike me, she had the advantage of hearing the lyrics on Closer before Ian’s death. Although she was sensitive enough to get a hint of what was going on in Ian’s mind, her warnings were ignored.

  Ian came home with a cassette rec
ording of Closer. Had I listened to it, maybe I too could have gained an insight into what was happening in his mind, but we didn’t have a cassette player. Despite his insistence that he had told Annik it was over, she still rang, using a male friend to make the initial call. Ian refused to speak to her. When I asked to speak to her myself, the caller rang off.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THIS IS MY CRISIS

  The gigs at the Moonlight in West Hampstead took their toll on Ian. For the evenings of the 2, 3 and 4 April 1980, fans were treated to ten different acts: Section 25, Crawling Chaos, John Dowie, A Certain Ratio, Kevin Hewick, Blurt, Durutti Column, X-O-Dus, Royal Family and Joy Division. Ian’s problem was that Joy Division had been billed to play every night, but at different times. On the first evening they received a rave review in NME, though the other acts were given the shameful label of ‘a loathsome display of self admiration’. The second gig was reviewed by a different journalist who was very impressed by A Certain Ratio, but found Joy Division dull and unchallenging.

  Disaster struck on the third night when Joy Division had to play with the Stranglers at the Rainbow before dashing back across London to the Moonlight. Bernard Sumner remembers: ‘When I look back now, we did some gigs that we shouldn’t have fucking done. He had a fit and went on and we did the Moonlight and he was really ill and he did the gig. That was really stupid.’ The routine Ian had tried so hard to adhere to was severely disrupted. Lack of sleep and unusual hours destabilized his epilepsy and the fits became almost uncontrollable again. Ian was helped off stage after the fifth number, though this did not deter Neil Norman from writing that they deserved to be framed within the same context as the Velvet Underground and the Doors.