We walk through a gateway at the rear of the old Television Centre and into Hammersmith Park, known to locals as the BBC Park. Vince admires the waterfall and ponds before striding off, excitedly asking me about the history of the area. I explain the Japanese Garden was once a huge exhibition site, with eight million visitors a year at its peak.
‘Is that a crocodile?’ Vince points towards a stone sculpture. He’s a perceptive guy as this is what I’ve brought him to see.
‘A crane. And over there is a turtle. The artwork is based on Japanese myth. The gravel is the ocean,’ I say, bending down and picking up a tiny piece of stone. ‘The two companions are journeying to eternal happiness, or Shangri-La, which is over there.’ I point to the shape of a heart.
‘I’ve eaten at the Shangri-La. Kick-ass view over London.’
‘The sculpture is supposed to be a metaphor for our journey through life and our desire for happiness. There’s a Chinese proverb that says the crane lives for a thousand years whereas the turtle walks for ten thousand years.’
‘But let me guess, both get to where they’re going at the same time?’
I walk over and sit on the crane’s head. ‘It feels like I’ve lived for a thousand years sometimes. And I can do ten thousand steps trying to swerve the cracks. Maybe I’m the craneandthe turtle. Which do you identify with?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ he says, glitter in his eyes. ‘Let’s cross the ocean to eternal Shangri-La. Then maybe I can stop paying you to sort out my emotional bankruptcy and you can end whatever OCD nonsense you have going on in your life. Come on!’ He holds out his hand. ‘We can manage ten steps together at least. There are no penalties for where you tread unless it’s on my toes.’
I take his hand, which makes mine look tiny. We begin our journey of enlightenment on the crane– me on the head and Vince balanced on the body. Then together we walk ten thousand years to the turtle’s back, made out of grey stone and weathered with speckles of white. I finish up again on the head, while Vince hops onto a back leg, and then the stone shell. ‘Are you sure no one minds us climbing all over the tortoise?’
‘The artist encourages interactivity.’
I notice a squirrel observing us, as Vince jumps down from the turtle. He slowly leads me around the curve of the magatama perimeter and I point out it’s a Japanese symbol of good fortune. ‘Flooded with happiness yet?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘Me neither. I think we’re tough nuts to crack.’
‘Look at that shadow.’ I point to a ring thrown by the rock onto the ground. ‘I saw a meme yesterday: “Followers are like shadows– they appear in the sunshine but disappear in the dark.”’
‘A bit like friends.’ Vince shrugs.
‘Do you think friends are overrated?’ Before Joe and Eva came along I had none. I think I was only half alive.
‘Never had many. I had a wife. A son. A punishing shooting schedule. Lines to learn. Planes to catch. Autographs to sign. No chance to pursue a hobby or hang out in a bar with the bros. I guess my agent has gotten the closest to me, but what kind of friend takes ten per cent of your life?’
‘Plus VAT.’
‘That VAT hurts!’ He grins. ‘I always wondered what it would be like to have had a hobby like golf with a ready-made set of friends who shared the same interest. Or to be in a band.’
‘I believe you are in one already?’ He raises his eyebrows to tell me it’s the first he’s heard of it. ‘I joined a Facebook group about you. Don’t judge me. I was doing my research.’ I sit on the grass, and he joins me.
‘The Vinos?’
‘You know about it?’
‘I haven’t checked in for a while.’
‘You’re a member of your own fan club? Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
‘I use a different name obviously. Oh, and I did have the vasectomy, but a couple of years earlier than they said.’
‘Well, that’s going to put the cat amongst the squirrels.’
‘I might start a rumour I did it myself. With two bricks and a shot of bourbon. I’m always up for castrating myself for fun. I’d better put them right about the band, I guess.’ He sits down on the turtle’s back like he’s riding it. He falls silent and avoids my eyes. ‘My shadows come in the dark.’
I’m surprised and pleased we’re deep-diving now. ‘Like vampires and zombies. It’s in the darkness we become our real selves and become vulnerable. Why do you think so many horror films take place in a power cut?’ We lock eyes, and his challenge mine. Sometimes I wonder which of us is the coach.
His new beard makes him look distinguished, the adult to my child. I snap back into my grown-up role. ‘Carl Jung said your shadow self is the person you’d rather not be, but it’s only by loving that shadow self that you can heal and be happy. I’m paraphrasing, of course. I had to read a whole textbook to bring you that easily digestible fact. So, what’s your shadow self, Vince?’
‘You first. What lurks when you turn out the light?’ I stand up and prepare to move on but he grabs the edge of my coat. ‘I’m serious. Our sessions are a two-way street, aren’t they?’
‘Said no one being counselled, ever.’ I start to walk towards the bridge, and a rockery where water trickles down to a pond coated in green slime. Then, with my back to him, I honour his request. ‘Bad luck follows me. I have a raft of rituals to chase it away. Your son caught on pretty quickly to my weird behaviour with scissors and salt. I think about putting padlocks on the umbrellas, and in my bleaker moments I cover up the bathroom mirror as it’s unlucky for all kinds of reasons.’
He joins me on the bridge. ‘OK, here’s some deep stuff for you to get your head around. I think my alter ego is shame. It’s followed me for a while. Since my wife got sick or even before. I tried to purge it by handing it out to others inCancelled. But unleashing the shadows is dangerous. Once they’re out, they stay out.’ I stand, feet planted on the bridge, willing him to go on. And listening; using all my training to try to understand the subtext of his confession. ‘I often told the press I slept like a baby when I’d come down from the high of a great performance. In truth, I didn’t sleep at all. I slipped into a habit of self-medicating to avoid the dark. Your leaflet was a way out when the alcohol stopped working. When you arrived at my house that first time I wondered if you could smell shame on my breath.’
