I wander over and pick up the clipboard. The leaflet he took away from the stage door sits on top of several A4 pages filled with Vince’s scrawl. ‘Like I told you on the phone, that autograph could be worth a fortune one day. You should keep it in a safe.’ He nods at my publicity, offering me his Hollywood-quality grin. ‘I do realise I am a walking dichotomy, so good luck with working me out. Right now, I’m in BuzzFeed’s “Top ten actors you don’t want to get stuck in an elevator with” as apparently I might bore people about bombing out of a London play. But I might become “Time Out’s most attractive actor of this century” when my new series launches. And if that show sucks likeCancelleddid, you may as well trash the leaflets as I sure as hell won’t come back from two failures.’
I point to his message on my leaflet while he makes my brew of choice from the whizzy machine. ‘You’ll come back from anything. We’re team awesome, remember? Actually, Vince, while thinking about you this week, I wondered if this obsession with being awesome is putting even more pressure on yourself. Maybe you should aim for a percentage of it instead.’
‘I shower that compliment on everyone. You do understand it’s not just a gift I keep on giving to myself? Often I had to sign dozens of programmes and leaflets on top of all the selfies. And when there was a rerun ofDetective Dalzekiethat number grew into the hundreds. Sometimes I found myself wading through a sea of pens while picking up milk at the grocery store. So, I stuck to one message. Who doesn’t like being told they’re awesome? Or astonishing– last year’s word.’
I think back to the signing I attended that night at the theatre. ‘Your message to me was lovely, and the impact was only diluted a little when you scribbled it on someone’s boobs. But honestly, for those who really care, it’s probably enough to have a moment of your time.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘I guess I’d be pleased if one of my Super Bowl heroes threw their trash in my direction and I wouldn’t necessarily need them to write a love letter on the back of my ticket. But anyway, it’s inconsequential now as I won’t be doing any more signings.’
He brings over two cups, with saucers. I nod at the design. ‘You have nice china. Apparently that was my mother’s favourite flower.’
‘Apparently?’
‘She died when I was born.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He allows a silence to fall, before quietly replying, ‘I guess that’s why you’re called Daisy then? The crockery wasn’t my choice. Someone I was very fond of liked the right kind of tea in the right kind of teacup. The cupboards are full of mismatched sets. I need to have a clear out, but I’m finding it hard to do.’
‘Someone you were fond of?’ He doesn’t rise to my question. ‘You’re talking about your wife?’
‘I’d put it all outside the front door in a box, but you can be arrested for fly-tipping outside your own house in this neighbourhood.’
I decide not to push it further. ‘Yeah, it’s a totally different planet. Even the wildlife is different. Walking down your street I half expected to see a Persian nip by, chased by a Corgi. Have Jack and Terry been around much this week?’
‘Who?’ I nod to his bar. ‘Daniel’s and Tequila?’ he laughs. ‘We’ve hung out a little. Last night they tried to tempt me into a big night in, but when I remembered you were coming I went to bed and set my alarm for the crack of dawn.’
‘It’s very tidy. Dawn must crack earlier in Holland Park. Maybe that’s because you pay more council tax.’
He adds milk to the cups. ‘Oh, the cleaner had a three-hour whizz around with the vacuum cleaner and polished the glasses while I slept until ten and then washed the devil out of my hair.’ Of course Vince has a cleaner. How silly of me to think he’d tidy his own house. He probably has his own driver, gardener and masseur too. ‘It was a nightmare to think of a hundred and one things that make me happy for the bucket list exercise,’ he tells me. ‘Oh, aren’t you going to ask what I did with the sunflower seed?’
I shake my head. ‘Happiness list first. Followed by some action learning on your ideas. And then we’ll get on to—’
He interrupts me with a melodramatic sigh and strides to the fireplace, pinching his fingers together. When he turns he is holding the sunflower seed in his palm. ‘I’ve been racking my brains all week trying to think of something original to do with it to impress you. But I didn’t come up with anything.’
‘So why did you bring it up?’
‘To demonstrate what a mess I am. The master of improvisation can’t even plant a seed.’
I find myself quoting the fortune cookie. ‘Words without deeds are a garden of weeds.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Stop trying to impress me. Start listening to your authentic self and act on what it tells you. When you’re ready you’ll know what to do with the seed. And if not we can figure it out together.’
He raises his eyes at the words ‘authentic self’ but it’s important. And as the phrase leaves my lips I realise it applies to me too. I need to use my skills, learning and intuition to implement a plan of action to help him identify his issues, tackle them, and, if necessary, employ the right professionals to help him out of his slump. ‘Do you think you might be depressed, Vince?’ He shakes his head, as though he’s been expecting this question. ‘In tandem with these sessions, I’d like you to make an appointment to see your GP.’
‘Why would I bring in someone else when I’m paying you?’ His words come with a million-watt smile, designed to disarm me.
Instead, I weapon up. ‘Is there a history of mental illness in your family?’
‘Well, there’s a history of being obsessed with it for sure. My father’s expertise on the subject knew no bounds. Can we look at the bucket list now and not let this whole session get away from us?’
I can see I’m not going to get any further down this track and turn to ‘Happiness 101’. His list is fairly predictable for a man hurtling towards midlife. But he has been creative in places. For example, he’d like to play Hamlet at The Globe, preferably with Queen Elizabeth I present. ‘Well, you did say to think out of the box,’ he says.
‘I didn’t mean that kind of box!’ I laugh. ‘She’s been dead for how many years?’ I spool quickly through his list. He’d love a Pagani supercar and a Ducati bike, and residents’ parking spaces to house them. He wants the next unreleased iPhone, like right now, or possibly an android as a two fingers up to Apple. He’d like a private viewing of an Avengers movie Marvel isn’t even planning to make. Even better, he’d like a part in it. He’d enjoy a regular table at Noma as well as more ‘fun, fun, fun’, more sex, and an end to the climate crisis. He would be grateful for hair at least into his sixties. He would like an actor to be President of the United States as they’d be better at being partisan than politicians. He wants to go back in time and see Springsteen’s four-hour concert in Helsinki, and to sing ‘Nebraska’ with him. ‘Basically, more roles, more money, more songs, and more wine,’ he states cheerfully, ‘except the only tune I can hold is the one I’m singing when I’m hammered. And thinking about it, let’s substitute the wine for an Old Rip Van Winkle fifteen-year-old bourbon.’
‘It’s not a shopping list,’ I reprimand him. He raises his eyebrows and leans back into the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. I thump my fist into the palm of my hand, put aside all the jumbled theory and speak from the heart. ‘OK, we can work with this list, but I don’t think it’s totally authentic.’
‘That word again.’
