BARBARA: When Russell came into the world, it was in one big whoosh!
I’d been at the hospital less than two hours and, literally, on the stroke
of midnight, he came rushing out. And the minute I set eyes on him, I
thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He was a bit tangled
up and had to be taken off to the special-care ward to have his chest
cleared, but that night I couldn’t sleep for excitement. I must have stayed
up all night just waiting for the nurses to bring him back. The thing is,
getting pregnant in the first place was a big surprise to me, as the doctors
had told me I couldn’t have children. So for this to happen, and then to
give birth to Russell — well, it was the most wonderful gift ever.
Before he was two, Russell was already talking; he was also a very
affectionate child. One of his favourite books was Pinocchio, and one
Christmas I bought him a Pinocchio puppet. But he didn’t have it more than
five minutes when he cut the strings off. I didn’t tell him off but I asked
him why he’d done it, and he told me it was because he couldn’t cuddle him
properly. I mean, my heart just melted. To be honest, although he could be
wilful, it was hard for me to be angry with him and the problem with sending
him up to his room was that he didn’t see it as a punishment at all. He’d go
up and play or sit on his bed and start reading.
He loved books. I remember when he was 11, he’d been reading about Oscar Wilde
and he asked me if I’d buy him a paisley dressing gown for Christmas.
I thought it was a bit unusual for his age, but then again there was just
something different about him. Clearly he also loved dressing up, and there
were many phases. At one point he was obsessed with this Prince of Wales
check suit. Then there was what he called his “cape of love”. He thought it
made him look mysterious, but it was really just this mac we got at Burton.
Another time he got hold of one of his father’s girlfriend’s dogs and cut a
chunk of its blond curls off. Russell didn’t hurt the little thing, but he
thought that if he glued its hair onto the front of his head, he’d look like
that ’90s pop singer Vanilla Ice.
The thing is, there was really just the two of us. Russell’s father, Ron, had
left while he was still a baby, and at crucial times in his childhood
Russell had to cope with me having cancer. The first time I got it, he was
only eight. I didn’t want to worry him, so I didn’t explain it all, but he
just knew I wasn’t well and I had to go into hospital. Then things were
going well until about a year later, when the doctors found out I had
another cancer. I couldn’t believe it. Of course, all I could think was that
I had to get better for Russell — he was an only child, his father wasn’t
with us… I just had to. In the meantime, he had to go and stay with
different friends and family while I had the cancers removed, and it worried
me that there might be this lack of stability in his life.
When I got cancer for a third time, Russell was 16, and it was this one that
hit him — probably because he was older and he knew more about what was
going on. It also coincided with him leaving home. This was partly to do
with the fact that my partner at the time was living with us and he and
Russell didn’t get on. But I also think it was just too traumatic for him.
You know, every year, when he’d send me a birthday card or a Christmas card,
he’d always put in it things like “When I grow up I’ll look after you, Mum,”
and “It won’t be long now, Mum.” I know he said those things because he
meant them. I still have every single one of those cards.
In many ways, although he wasn’t always a good lad and was often a big worry,
he so wanted to make up for it, to make me happy. I remember one year I
happened to tell Russell I’d seen this beautiful Victorian tea set in an
antique shop. It was £35, and I couldn’t justify buying it for myself. But
on the morning of my birthday, Russell said to me: “Come into my room, Mum,
I’ve got something for you.” Then he handed me this box and in it was the
milk jug from the set. He said: “Sorry, Mum, that’s all I could afford.”
Then he said, “No, not really!” and handed me over the whole set. I was
speechless. Some time later I went back to that shop to tell the shopkeeper
how thrilled I was with the tea set my son had given me, and he said to me:
“Oh, that was your son! He emptied out all his pockets and gave us every
last penny — he was determined to buy it for you.” That set still sits in
the middle of my dresser today.
On top of the battles he had as a child, he also had his own battles with
drugs. When he first went into rehab to get clean, I knew by then how hard
it had become for him to give them up. And I was so proud of him when he
did. Now he’s been clean for five years and it’s brilliant. Not only that,
but he kept all those promises he’d made as a little boy, because as soon as
he started earning money, he said: “Mum, I’m going to make you a monthly
allowance.” And that first monthly allowance completely changed my life. And
as soon as he started earning a bit more, he put it up again, and then
again. Then the year before last, he suggested to me I give work up
altogether and I did. It’s been one surprise after another, and last
year for my 60th he bought me a brand-new Mini Cooper S.
At the end of the day, life has been a hard journey for both of us. But now
things have turned right around for Russell, and that just fills me with so
much joy. And the thing is, I feel very lucky to be here — to still be with
him. And I guess that makes what Russell does now even more special.
Underneath it all, he’s very loving, very sensitive and a truly loyal
person. He’s just above and beyond anything in a son I could have ever
dreamt of.
RUSSELL: My first memories of Mum are of her playing with me on the
floor. She knew I really liked farm animals, so they became part of my
reward system for potty-training. I remember going to see our GP, Dr Chalky,
and him going: “Oh, I don’t think Russell likes going to the lavvy.” It
wasn’t so much a case of Mum going “I’ve got you a pig, Russell, now do a
poo,” but more a way of gently encouraging me in this finest of arts.
We lived in a modest house in Grays in Essex that my parents had bought
together. But Dad left home before I was one, and from then on he played the
role of the absent but somehow glamorous, non-maintenance-paying father. So
it was really just me and Mum. She did loads of jobs to make ends meet, and
I was this effervescent, attention-seeking, fizzy ball of emotion who was on
free school dinners.
When she got cancer for the first time, I was eight and she downplayed it. It
was uterine, and as well as everything else it meant she had to have a
hysterectomy. But she just told me she was going into hospital for a short
while and everything would be all right. I guess she wanted to protect me.
In many ways that was her priority. A year later she got the disease again,
only this time it was breast cancer and she had to go to the Royal Marsden
to have radiotherapy. The third time she got it, it was in her lymph glands
and she had to have chemotherapy.
