There's Something I've Been Dying to Tell You (24 page)

‘Don’t worry, Mum, I get 25 per cent off because I am staff, have whatever you fancy.’

I checked the wine list which was of bible length and discovered there was not a bottle of wine under £50.

‘OK, you pay the meal and I will treat us to the wine, is that a deal?’

He nodded and then we were suddenly given a glass of champagne by Paul, the lovely manager.

‘A belated Mother’s Day gesture to you,’ he smiled.

‘Well, thank you so much,’ I said. ‘I was just about to order this bottle of Brunello, what do you think?’

‘A very good choice, Madame. Robert, I can see where you got your good taste. Enjoy your meal.’

What a charmer! Robbie and I were both glowing with the compliment.

We had a beautiful meal and tried to order different things so we could share. There were pink luscious duck breasts and belly of pork, with perfect accompaniments, and the wine was amazing.

‘Don’t have too much, Mum,’ advised my sensible son. ‘We don’t want a repeat of the OBE day, do we?’

We had such fun people watching. So extraordinary are some of the creations that come out of the kitchen that there were several Japanese tourists taking photos of their dinner. I chose tipsy cake for my dessert, which is a very old English pudding, and it was exquisite. I might suggest Mr Blumenthal try bringing back cabinet pudding again.

But the surprise at the end of the meal, and only someone like Heston Blumenthal could think of this, was to bring out an ice cream trolley and watch the waiter make you a mini ice cream cornet with nitroglycerine. It only takes five minutes to freeze the mixture and present you with a perfect cone of yummy ice cream, topped with sprinkles of your choice. It was a fantastic finale to a perfect lunch, and I was so proud as I walked out on the arm of my beautiful boy. That day will stay with me until I die.

Again, time rears its head and decides just how many more such moments I may have. I am trying to make sure that every occasion is enjoyed, every Sunday lunch, every birthday. Spontaneity is very important, because it is too easy to make plans and stick to them rigidly when sometimes it may be better for all concerned to go with the flow. In the last few weeks I have begun to feel that maybe I cling too hard to ‘plans’ especially because they make me feel secure. Doing the same things creates a sort of timetable and pattern to everyday life but actually it is not always very satisfying.

A couple of weeks ago we were coming back from a chemotherapy session, as usually we go straight home and have dinner and go to bed. But that night as we were passing a very popular pub in Highgate called the Red Lion and Sun, I noticed they were advertising fresh oysters and a bottle of Pinot Grigio as a suggested evening meal. I know how much Michael adores oysters so I shouted ‘STOP!’ loud enough to be regarded as an emergency procedure and we parked up and had a fantastic night out. We rang our friends Angie and John, who live round the corner, and sat in the garden of this delightful hostelry with them and joined several random customers in having a boozy Friday night out. The useful thing for Michael is that I rarely drink now as Furby gets a little overcome, so he can drink away and I can drive us home.

Talking of moments, I have been having quite a few with big son, Michael, in a professional capacity. A friend of Michael’s, called Donna Taylor, wrote a short film called
Too Close for Comfort
. It is a great little story, and she asked my son Michael if I would consider playing his long-lost mother. It was a case of life and art getting mixed up once again, but I was delighted to help. We filmed a couple of scenes and I thought no more about it. Then a few months later Donna rang to say the film was getting huge amounts of hits on YouTube, like 9 million! Would I be prepared to make some more?

By this time I had been diagnosed with cancer and not feeling my best, but a job is a job, and if Donna could work round my chemo days I told her I would be delighted. We roped poor old Jean in because we needed her kitchen as a location, and Donna being the true pro wrote a script involving my character having cancer. Some of the scenes became very emotional – it was hard enough to play that role but the storyline was all too real for me, it was my life – but it was a joy to work with my son. He is certainly starting to find his feet as an actor and all he needs is a break. I often have a little chat to God these days and suggest that as he has decided to get rid of me could he please pass on any good luck going spare to my sons!

I was never a pushy mother. Because my parents were quite easy-going about my education I have been fairly laid back about all of that as far as the boys go. However, they often accuse me of not having been tough enough with their educational requirements. Honestly you can’t win can you with these bloomin’ children?! It used to be a nightmare trying to get them to do their homework and the coursework and I did once succumb and do my eldest son’s essay for a history of art exam! I must confess that looking back I am just glad they are well mannered and not in jail. That’s a joke by the way . . .

I am sad I will not see who they marry, or live with, because for all they say now that they don’t trust relationships, I know in my heart they have so much to give someone who will unlock their dreams. Sometimes I think it is easier for me to understand my stepson Bradley, because I am slightly removed from him. He too has proved a joy and I just so want them all to be content within themselves.

At the beginning of March poor Justin had been trying hard to be positive, but I could see in his eyes that things were changing all the time. The lovely ladies on the frontline hinted that maybe now was a good time to put my house in order and think in terms of months. My biggest worry is that my sons have a roof over their heads when I am gone. Michael and I have discussed this so many times in the last few months. But then we have had to discuss everything about our lives. I read somewhere that 75 per cent of couples never talk about death together, or their wills, or financial state. This is a huge problem and a minefield.

About five years ago I wanted to make a documentary about everything to do with death as so many of us, especially women, find themselves not only grieving for their beloved, but having to face a mountain of paperwork concerning the running of their lives. In my mother’s generation it was even worse, as running the home and paying the bills was regarded as completely the man’s domain.

My parents were very advanced and far seeing about such things, and spent many months investigating the financial ins and outs of death duties and life insurance and inheritance tax. My dad hated the inheritance tax – don’t we all? How can the government be allowed to tax us twice? Why shouldn’t we be able to leave our hard-earned money to our children if we want to? Nowadays our children simply have no chance of getting on the housing ladder without help from their parents, and some of us just do not have the ready money to help. I was incredibly lucky to receive a gift from my hermit Uncle Percy, down in Devon. None of us thought he had a penny! That money became a deposit on a flat, and a foot on the rung of the property ladder. Needless to say I would be rich today if I had not had to give half of the sale of our house to my second husband and bought him a restaurant. Still the past is the past.

The point I am trying to make is that it is vital as couples that you get everything out in the open from the start, and don’t let our very British dislike of talking about death get in the way. I wanted the documentary to be informative and fun, which I realise is an odd concept to many people, but I felt I could pull it off. None of the broadcasters wanted to know, unfortunately, as they thought it would be too morbid, and now, because recently Billy Connolly did one which was less than successful, and Channel 4 are showing one about people with terminal illnesses, they feel there have been enough.

But they are missing my point about how we approach death and prepare for it, be it financially or spiritually or just waiting to die, which too many people do. They get to retirement age and seem to stop. Why for God’s sake?! Medically speaking, your chances of living to eighty are very good. Obviously the quality of your life is important, and I do think that just because the medical stats say you could live to eighty, too many people somehow see it as their right. Doctors are not magicians and Nature is tops when it comes to deciding when our bodies have had enough.

Because of what has happened to me I feel I am in a position to talk about death with some authority now. I accept I am going to die in the next few months, weeks even. This is a piece of string moment, I know, but it came up in terms of treatment a few weeks ago when the colon specialist, Richard Cohen, was talking about reversing my stoma. Professor Stebbing made it quite clear that if I stopped having chemo I would probably last eight weeks, and in order to reverse the stoma I would have to curtail chemo for the operation, so that kind of says it all.

I can accept this, and the good thing about dying this way is one can make a plan. I have to put aside all the emotions and concentrate on practicalities.

There was a wonderful moment last year when Michael went down to Somerset to visit his dad’s grave. It is a beautiful cemetery on a hill with gorgeous views. Anyway I get a text from my husband with a photo of two mounds of earth next to one another and the message: ‘Saw these and thought of you and me. They are on offer, two for the price of one, so I bought them, isn’t that great?’

Only my husband . . .

But in a sense it is better to address the problem sooner rather than later. Like my parents, my sister Barbara, who died in 2008 of lung cancer, used her last six months to organise the family finances. And she organised her funeral, which was lovely. The interesting thing is, though, does one choose a funeral with hymns and prayers that suit only the deceased person? Surely part of the mourning process, and that includes the wake or the funeral, is for the loved ones left behind? Should they not be allowed some say in the proceedings? Michael thought it would be great for our friend Peter Delaney to come down to Somerset and conduct the service there and all my friends could troop down also for the funeral.

‘I wouldn’t expect everyone to have to come all the way down here to pay their respects,’ I said. ‘I want a tribute or something that is nice and handy, and anyone who fancies coming in and saying goodbye can do so easily, not to have to get on a train for three hours.’

‘I bet they would do it though,’ said my lovely husband.

‘That is not the point. I do not want to put people to a lot of trouble. Couldn’t we have a family ceremony in Somerset, if it is your wish to have me buried down there, but maybe we could organise a memorial service in London for friends, and anyone who wants to call in, and then have a party afterwards? That is what I would love.’

He looked at me askance, but I know he understood what I was getting at. I will suggest some hymns I love, and maybe some readings, but I will not insist that the boys, or my sister or nieces, should feel they have to read or sing or anything like that. It is a tough call. We have reached a compromise, I think, and there will be a service in Somerset and a knees-up in London! So if you are passing, do drop in for a quick boogie.

As far as the finances go there are things one can try and do, but ruling from the grave is a moot point. One tends to think that a will cannot be changed but I have been involved in two cases now where that is blatantly not true.

I remember a wonderful moment when I was travelling with all my family to India just after I had tried to commit suicide, and was still married to my first husband Greg Smith, God rest his soul. He was a lovely man but a terrible husband. I knew when I married Greg that there were problems but, like every woman in the world, we all think we are going to be the one to change them, don’t we? I cannot believe this happened to me but I had an unconsummated marriage. Apparently it is quite a common problem. Greg could have one night stands where he felt no respect for the woman in his bed but as soon as he fell in love he was unable to make love. I was the second wife, Cheryl Barrymore was his first and one has to feel for her, poor woman. Going from Greg to Michael Barrymore! I think Greg married four times in all and never found the happiness he sought.

At the time it was incredibly hard to deal with because he always made the woman think it was her fault. I talked to Cheryl about it once and she agreed that it left her feeling useless and unattractive and it was the same for me. When I told my parents my father could never get over it. ‘You are trying to tell me that Greg never wanted you?’ He would ask the question over and over. ‘I just can’t understand the man. Good Lord that is what marriage is all about, Lynda. You poor girl, you do all the housework and cook and clean and look after the bugger and he can’t perform. That is your reward for goodness sake for being a loving housewife!’

Oh my dear old dad. Anyway, they were amazing about my insensitive and desperate call for help, and once we had all recovered they decided we would all go on a big adventure, possibly the last one ever as a family, as we were all grown up, and would not be able to take advantage of Dad’s discount with BA for much longer.

Just as we were rolling along the runway and gathering speed to take off, Mum said, ‘Have you made a will, Lynda?’

‘No,’ I replied, wondering if she knew something I didn’t about the plane!

‘Oh dear, just think if this plane crashed, all our money, and all our homes, and the farm would go to Greg as he is next of kin at this moment!’

I couldn’t imagine a worse-case scenario. The thought of hitting the deck and seeing Greg with the keys to my mum and dad’s house as I closed my eyes and kicked the bucket was horrendous. But it could have happened.

The only way to truly keep money safe and make sure it goes into the right hands is in a trust, but that is a nightmare for most of us and it can be very expensive. One should write a will, and make sure you have people around you trust to keep an eye on it after you are gone. The worst and most common scenario has to be if your husband or partner meets someone else.