Touching From a Distance (13 page)

Ian seemed to regard the meal as a duty, part of his function in life. I observed what a lonely couple we were and felt he must be very
ashamed of me to want to keep me away from his friends. I rubbed the goose-pimples on my arms and looked back at him. His own-body body appeared to be unaffected by the temperature of the room. He was miles away and I wished I was too. ‘Why don’t you hurry? Why don’t you speak?’ I snapped at him. He recoiled with a startled expression as if I had struck him, then carried on eating.

The Paris gig later in December was attended by a young Frenchman called Franck Essner. After hearing ‘Transmission’ on the radio, he and his friends had tried to set up publication of a fanzine and intended to use this as a means of acquainting themselves with the band that wrote the song they loved so much. Towards the end of the afternoon, Franck managed to talk Rob into the idea of an interview and they exchanged addresses. Later, he sat next to Ian for dinner and they became friends.

We had Christmas dinner at my parents’ house. Our late arrival and the uncomfortable atmosphere caused my family to think we had fallen out, but now I think that Ian was probably missing Annik.

The 1979 Factory New Year’s Eve party took place in Oldham Street, Manchester, above a shop which was near what used to be Woolworth’s until it burned down. Certain factory bands, including Section 25, played that night to a small private audience. Ian had a particular interest in Section 25 and wanted very much to be their producer. When someone began to make a racket during their set, Ian decided to do something about it. For some reason he glanced at me before he went in punching, as if to make sure I was looking. I’d never seen him fight before and had just waded in to try to rescue him when he was knocked to the floor and kicked.The next morning; Ian’s eye resembled a large blue egg. In contrast to midnight two years earlier, the New Year was not so much welcomed in as acknowledged. Most people were too busy jealously guarding their image to make any show of affection. The proceedings were dampended even further when a girl was rumoured to have had a cigarette stubbed out on her face after foolishly kissing a Certain Ratio who didn’t belong to her! Used to being more flamboyant on New Year’s Eve, I asked Peter Hook for a kiss but he refused. In the event, the
closest I got to anyone at that party was when I pinched Richard Boon’s bottom!

After stopping off to visit some relatives of Donald Johnson (A Certain Ratio’s drummer), Donald and Tony Wilson drove Ian and me back to Macclesfield. As we passed through Prestbury – the millionaire village of Cheshire – Tony waved his arm, gesturing towards the large, salubrious houses and remarked to Ian that next year he could be living in one of them.

Realizing that something was wrong between us was the easy part. None of the literature sent to me by the British Epilepsy Association had prepared me for Ian’s behaviour. I didn’t know where to turn to for help or even if the epilepsy was indeed the culprit. Ian had always had an eccentric, schizophrenic personality and it was this difference which I had found so attractive in my teenage years. Now the nasty and deceitful side of him appeared to be winning. My only communication with the rest of the band was through Ian and, although he was causing them some concern too, I felt they blamed me for many of Ian’s problems. People weren’t as friendly as they used to be and it was understandable. Ian had fallen into a routine of telling his comrades how unhappy I was making his life and, as Peter Hook told me, putting over an uncomplimentary image. Our marriage was over and he hadn’t told me.

It was January 1980 and Joy Division were about to start their European tour. Ian’s case was packed and we were standing in the living room at Barton Street waiting for the rest of the lads to turn up. In Park Lane, which ran parallel to Barton Street, there was a very large house which had been converted into flats (now a hotel). As we stood there together looking out of the window, Ian suddenly suggested that we sell the house and move into one of the flats. The reason he gave was that a flat would be cheaper to maintain. I pointed out that it wouldn’t be as pleasant living in a flat and that Natalie and I would be stuck there alone as he was away so much. I was a little puzzled, but it didn’t occur to me that maybe he was looking forward to his share of the equity on the sale of the house. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t intending to move into the flat with me. He then said that Hooky had told him that he should get Natalie and I out of the house as we had no right to be there. This puzzled me as I still wasn’t as conversant with my marital problems as the band were. Ignoring what was staring me in the face, I promptly forgot about his silly suggestion and asked him if
I had time to nip to the corner shop for something before he left
He promised to wait until I returned, but insisted I take Natalie with me.

As I came out of the shop I saw the car coming down the road towards me. The driver slowed down as if he was going to stop to allow Ian to say good-bye (as they were going to the Continent for about ten days), but Ian’s stony face turned the other way and the car carried on, just as though we had fallen out and weren’t speaking. Unknown to me he was setting the scene for taking Annik on tour with him. I was genuinely surprised that he never telephoned me or
even sent a postcard during the entire trip.

Ian hated travelling, but he hardly complained. He disliked his movements being restricted and his long legs would ache if he was unable to stretch them out. Rob Gretton hired a twelve-seater minibus for the band and crew, and a three-ton truck for the equipment. Luckily they crossed the Channel by hovercraft, so Ian had no need to tell anyone about his fear of flying.

The tour was particularly arduous, with a performance every night and little time to sleep, never mind recuperate. Coupled with this was the fact that Ian had brought Annik with him. Rob Gretton’s reason for banning wives and girlfriends (for some reason she wasn’t counted as either) dissipated rapidly, as her presence meant that Ian had less opportunity to relax with the boys. Tony Wilson remembers: ‘It’s always a problem in this industry – having a home life as well. What happens is that when they get a mistress or go for somebody else, far from finding somebody easier, they usually find someone harder. That was the feeling with members of Joy Division. They used to go out of the frying pan into the fire.’

When Ian came home we practically passed on the doorstep, as I was on my way to work. I had already dropped Natalie off at my parents’ and whenever she was there Ian never made the effort to go and see her, even if he had been away on tour. I returned after midnight and found the house strangely quiet, but eventually located Ian lying on the floor of the blue room. He had consumed most of a bottle of duty-free Pernod and so was difficult to rouse. I was annoyed to find him incoherent and when he gained consciousness he spewed all over the carpet. He didn’t raise any objections when I insisted he clean it up himself, then he sloped off to bed. I noticed weals on his body, but could not be sure if they were recent or not.

After he had gone I picked up the Bible and the knife which were lying on the floor. The Bible was still open. Chapter two of The Book of Revelation of St John the Divine was gouged from top to bottom. I read the still-legible words referring to Jezebel and flattered myself into thinking he had been worried about my fidelity while he was away. Ian had not discussed suicide with the other members of the
band and neither did they know of Ian’s first overdose when he was fifteen. However, he did embellish this incident and relate it to the lads. Steve Morris was suitably underwhelmed and jumped to a different conclusion than I did.

By now Joy Division fans were dressing in the same austere 1940s style – the depressives dressing for the Depression. I thought it an unlikely fashion, especially as out of necessity I was dressing dowdily myself. When Ian told me that the band were going to stop gigging for twelve months, I wasn’t pleased. It was a sensible enough decision, but I knew that it would not be carried through and believed it to be a mere pacifier, designed to calm Ian down. Sure enough, an American tour was soon announced – not only that, but a string of British gigs were arranged in preparation.

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.

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

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.