The Closer We Get

I've always thought I'd lived a charmed life.

Happy, healthy, loved.

But sometimes, luck just runs out.

In the back of my mind, I always dreaded it would.

I didn't expect to come back to my home town,

to Largs.

Nor had any of us,

three generations of my family,

been a tag team.

-Where do you sleep when you're here?

-I sleep wherever I'm put.

Sometimes I sleep on Mark's bed.

When he comes in at eight o'clock in the morning,

I've got to have got up.

I used to think bad things wouldn't happen to good people.

I didn't know you could grow old overnight.

And I never expected my mother to need mothering.

Goodnight, folks.

How come you're not asleep yet?

Will we sing a wee song?

What kind of sleepy song?

# By yon bonny banks...

# ..Loch Lomond

# When me and my true love

# Will never meet again

# On the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond... #

SNORING

It's not so hard to get used to a new routine.

I'm here every other week, stalling my own life,

letting e-mails flood in unread.

Mobile phone switched off.

There are no emergencies left for me now.

Toast?

You had your toast at lunchtime... at breakfast.

You could have toast for lunch, but...

There's other choices.

We're not running a snack bar here, you know.

We don't have a printed menu.

-HE CHUCKLES

-Yes, not yet!

-OK, turban now?

-Yeah?

Yeah. SHE CHUCKLES

It's not real fur, is it?

SHE LAUGHS

Go on, lad!

Come on!

Hey! Oh, no!

Yes, go on!

Mum was the centre of our family galaxy

for so long that we'd stopped feeling her gravity.

But it was always there.

However distantly.

Her stroke set us all adrift,

without the one person who would have guided us through it safely.

Her.

The doctors couldn't put Mum back together again.

So we brought her back home to where she belonged.

Hoping she's forgotten all that she's lost,

but knowing that we can't.

My dad, Ian, is the hub of home life now.

But things aren't quite how they look.

Just like me, he's new around here.

It's 15 years since he and Mum split up.

-That's quite tasty, Mum, is it?

-Yes.

-Good.

Then, just when we'd all got used to this new normal,

he quietly, without much fuss, moved back in upstairs.

No-one asked why or how long he planned to stay.

It's just our family way, not to.

Like your pudding, yeah?

Yoghurt and banana and a bit of pineapple.

"Premier British wrestling is returning to Barrfields in Largs.

"Tickets are already on sale."

-Yeah?

-£15.

THEY LAUGH

"A rocking celebration for a golden couple.

"Agnes and Jimmy McClane mark their 50 years of marriage."

Do you know what, if you and Dad were still married,

you would, next year, be celebrating your 50th.

Yeah?

We'll probably still celebrate it.

-Yeah.

-In some way.

50 years of marital hell!

THEY CHUCKLE

It seems like a sentence.

That's the standard joke, isn't it?

-Are you practising your speech now?

-Yeah.

When my parents fell in love, in the early 1960s, Mum was a trainee nurse

and she had just booked her passage to emigrate to a new life in Canada.

Dad was a dashing Cambridge University graduate and they

started an intense transatlantic love affair by letter.

Ending in a plea to Mum from Dad to come back home to Glasgow

and marry him.

Homesick and lovestruck, she did just that.

Their early married life was a carefree, social whirlwind.

Then Mum and Dad moved to a big house by the sea

to raise their swift run of four children in five years.

I came along nine months to the day after Mum's 32nd birthday.

I was an artistic child from the start.

Or, as my parents put it, just downright contrary.

But in a big family like ours,

there was room for an eccentric and it was a free and easy childhood,

playing on beaches, hills and glens

and dancing around the kitchen with Dad at the weekend

whilst Mum got her home cooking onto the dinner table.

But I was always daydreaming of being raised by Bohemians

instead of this accountant and housewife.

And I was sure I'd live a different life from them,

full of passion and adventure.

But what I didn't know then

was that this restlessness was, in fact, in my blood.

That Dad was keeping a secret from us.

He was dreaming of escape, too.

Ana min Glasgow.

I am from Glasgow.

Ana min Glasgow.

Why are you trying to keep up with your Arabic?

I don't know. I mean, if I apply for a job

with MI5 or MI6 or something...

-LAUGHING:

-You know?

How many languages can you speak, Dad?

Oh, well, see...

I can...French and German,

and I know a smattering of other ones.

Amharic, Arabic and Afar and Somali.

Afar is the other language out there in Djibouti,

spoken by the Afar tribe.

Before you'd got your job there, had you heard of Djibouti?

Em...I don't think so.

HE LAUGHS

No, no, never.

I just got into the swing of things, you know?

Too late to regret, now.

I was 13 when Dad left.

For a while, we hadn't been seeing much of him at home -

his hobby of choice, long-distance running,

seemed to take him away from us for as long as possible.

Mum clipped out and kept a local newspaper feature

on Dad's new career.

The eyes of the entire world were on Africa in the 1980s

and I was proud that my dad

was abandoning his boring job in insurance and going out there.

I looked forward to hearing all about his adventures

in the tiny country of Djibouti,

a former French colony in East Africa.

Maybe I'd even get to visit there one day.

But this is the only photo Dad sent back home during his ten-year post.

Phone calls, letters and postcards were few and very far between.

We grew up fast and when Dad came home twice a year,

he didn't seem to want to talk about Africa,

or much else.

At 17, I escaped to art school,

as we all sailed through our degrees

as Dad, of course, knew that we would.

Mum and Dad spent an annual holiday alone together -

somewhere exotic, expensive.

But birthdays and anniversaries seemed to always be spent apart.

It's only now that I can ask Dad,

"How did it feel to leave us behind?"

I certainly missed the family

and I obviously missed your mother as well,

but I don't think I expressed myself, you know,

massively in that way.

I'm not the kind of person who does that, anyhow.

My wife was doing an excellent job, bringing up the children,

while I was kind of playing fast and loose in Djibouti.

Did you maybe feel like Mum

had...started to feel differently about you, romantically?

I don't know. Eh...

No, I think she was very fond of me.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Mum was so good at keeping up appearances,

so protective of us.

Dad's job had come to an end and he'd returned home.

I'd just graduated and I'd won a scholarship to go on to Europe.

Looking at Mum now in this photo,

I can't believe I didn't notice that her face is full of tears,

and that I didn't ask her what was wrong.

When all my celebrations had died away,

Mum rang and she asked me to sit down.

She had something important to tell me.

You have a nice time at the pub?

Yeah, good craic, tonight. Ewan was causing a lot of problems, yeah.

I'll tell you who was asking for you tonight, Ann -

your great friend Harry McEachran.

Your fellow protestor.

-Yeah, from the...

-Yeah, from the prom.

-..car park protest of ages.

-That's right.

-Yeah.

He's in good shape and he says he remembers you

and one of his fellow protestors - he's still protesting.

Yeah.

So, this is fish pie, Dad.

-Oh, God.

-Oh.

I think...I'm going to buy some mince tomorrow.

Always a great mince fan.

I remember Mum used to object, when I came back from abroad,

she would think we were going for a slap-up meal somewhere

and I would say, "No, I just want mince tonight," you know?

HE LAUGHS

Tremendous. Mince and potatoes.

One of the finest meals you can get your hands on.

I don't remember you ever cooking anything

in my entire...

No - I can cook simple things.

Mince is my...

I don't remember you cooking mince, ever.

'Dinner conversations like this remind me I hardly know my dad.

'Maybe I just erased the details of family life from memory

'when the man I thought I knew vanished overnight.'

'For Dad, time has diminished nothing

'and his perennial worries have always remained the same -

'the underachievements of his children,

'whether it's my pursuit of film-making and art,

'or Mark's job working nights in a casino.

'Dad never seems to stop and think

'who this stubborn streak in his kids might have come from.'

Mark has never found his niche.

The bugger's got two bloody degrees

and he's fannying around up there in the casino.

LAUGHTER

Yeah.

Do you know we've been filming for months now, Mum?

I've still got a lot of questions I want to ask...Dad in particular.

Yeah.

I don't think he's been that open, yet.

Do you think Dad thinks that we've all forgiven him?

Yeah.

..stick...

Well, I think this film is going to show him otherwise...

..I'm afraid.

'I need to show you this, now.

'Mum as she was, before everything changed for us one last time.'

'I filmed this three weeks before her stroke.'

'We had big plans for the film we thought we were starting...'

'..and we began with a photo she'd sent me that summer.'

'Written on its reverse - "Send this back ASAP.

'"Your father doesn't know I have it."'

So, tell me about, um...Campbell.

Who's Campbell?

Campbell is...

I describe him as my husband's son,

not my son.

But I didn't know that Campbell existed

until Campbell was five years old.

And it was...shocking.

It was...

It was the end of my...world,

in many ways,

because it was the thing that I least...

I didn't even entertain the idea

that he would have a liaison

with somebody else.

It just wasn't going to happen.

I'm sorry.

It was in Djibouti and, you know, she was...

She worked in a bar, and I must admit,

I think it was kind of love at first sight.

It was one of these rather romantic things.

You feel flattered that a much younger girl -

because she must have been, at that time,

just in her very early 20s, you know?

-TV:

-'..parliament which is being created...'

-Campbell?

-Yeah?

-TV:

-'There's been a new row over Scottish home rule

'as the government gears up to...'

Do you want to come and sit down on this couch and be filmed?

We're being filmed, at the moment.

'..at Westminster, even after devolution,

'and it's argued that Westminster could alter or even abolish

'the Scottish Parliament in future.

'Our political editor, Brian Taylor...'

Free to come and go? Why did you tell me I had to sit here?

Is it just for a rest?

-I wanted somebody to.

-Yeah, well...

Campbell, do you want to sit there?

'Shellshocked and silenced, we fell into line.'

'Maybe we managed to

'because there was also a new kind of love growing amongst us -

'one that could perhaps embrace this innocent, beautiful boy

'who was suddenly in our lives.'

It's chaos! It's chaos.

'My parents had just become grandparents.'

'As more grandchildren arrived and the family grew,

'Dad's new role as Papa seemed to suit him well.

'He mattered again.'

'So life appeared to just go on as usual,

'despite the bomb that had been dropped on Mum.'

Slowly, she steeled herself to face a life on her own

for the first time.

The beloved family home of 30 years was put on the market.

But Dad, in the meantime, stayed put.

She felt that she'd been let down, as she had been, by me,

and she wanted, suddenly wanted...

She wanted to be...to be on her own, I think, really -

that's what it was, you know?

Oh, yeah, she didn't want to,

probably, stay married to me, you know.

And that was it. It was her decision.

When the house eventually sold, Dad seemed to accept defeat.

But then he moved into a flat just a few streets away from Mum.

Neither of them knew how to do this.

How do you think other people view the situation between...

-Oh...

-..between you and Dad?

I mean, as much as they know about it.

I think they think it's absolutely bizarre.

Why do you do his washing?

Because he doesn't have a washing machine.

And even if he had a washing machine,

he wouldn't know how to operate it.

My feeling is, if I'm washing for myself,

I'm only on my own -

in a practical sense, I am not going to put

a little bit of washing in the machine for myself

when I can...

..be more economic.

Campbell moved to Scotland in his teens

to live full-time with Dad and finish his education,

and he's hardly ever been home since.

We never talked before about the early years in Africa.

The years when we shared a father, but I didn't know it yet.

Maybe I was afraid to hear about his papa -

a better, happier dad than the one that I knew.

Papa used to come over, like, every year for three, four weeks,

used to come over and see us and...

Yeah, we used to have a good time when he came over.

Used to go out for walks and stuff, and so on.

We used to have a, like, a celebration.

My mum's...my mum's family used to come over.

Yeah, I was always happy when my dad was there, yeah.

How was he? Was he OK at the weekend?

I think he's fed up with being unemployed, you know?

Well, half the country is - I mean...terribly demoralising.

You're probably more understanding about these situations -

I don't know.

I just take the view, "Come on, boy - you've let me down,

"you've cost me a lot of money and you're messing around,

"doing nothing."

You know, you've got to struggle, sometimes.

This is what counts in life.

You know, the amount of money I spent on him in various ways,

and my time - God Almighty...

But you spent money on all your kids.

I have, yes.

Spent a fortune on you.

Yeah, don't worry, son.

We'll sort this out.

Dad seems to play out his own boyhood fantasies

in his endless schemes for Campbell's future.

His latest plan is to get Campbell a visa

so that he can try out for the French Foreign Legion -

one of the world's toughest armed forces.

That's him coming in, now.

Hello, young man. All right? Come in.

You might be on film, Campbell, watch yourself, here.

I like your shoes, Campbell.

He won't be wearing these in the Legion, that's for sure.

HE LAUGHS

What do you feel about how Papa's helped you find a job

or change your life since you stopped living together?

Yeah, I think he understands

that there's not that many opportunities in this area.

But he seems to get quite angry with you

rather than angry with the situation.

Yeah, I suppose, yeah.

He's always threatening to send you off somewhere.

-Yeah, like the French Foreign Legion.

-Yeah.

Yeah, except that's coming true now!

-Yeah.

-Maybe.

(Yeah.)

Dad's plans for Campbell never run smoothly,

and his patience is running out.

OK, what is the date of your birth?

-That's very good you remembered it, Ann.

-That's very good.

-Uh-huh.

Have you experienced divorce or permanent separation?

Yeah.

That's better.

Divorce yet no separation, we should write that.

-Yeah.

-How often do you feel happy?

-Happy?

-Happy.

Hmm.

Would you call that often or sometimes?

How would you describe your usual walking pace -

brisk, average, slow or I cannot walk?

I cannot walk is the last one.

-I would have said brisk before your stroke.

-Yeah.

-But this is about your health now.

-Yeah.

-So we have to tick "cannot walk".

-Yeah...

-IAN:

-But, Karen, he was a taxpayer.

He had a bloody good job

as a cashier in Largs' Ladbrokes office

and he blew it.

He could've been sponsored for his athletics...

his athletics...inclinations, if he'd wanted, and so on.

And he's blown it.

All right, Ann?

Yes.

Thank you.

I said to him one day, Karen, I said,

"Look, Campbell, I'm very fed up with you."

I said, "You're my son and I had hoped that one day,

"thanks to your athletic ability,

"I would one day be there saying, 'This is my son.

"'The guy you see on TV at night, yeah, he's my son.

"'Yeah. That's Campbell Guthrie, he happens to be my son.

"'He's half Ethiopian

"'but he's an athlete and he's a star.'"

That's what I wanted, Karen, OK?

And I've not got it, right?

I remember this Dad,

when nothing his children could do was ever enough.

It was Mum who'd always shielded us from him,

Mum who praised all our achievements -

great and small.

But things couldn't be that simple

when it came to Campbell, Dad and her.

ANN:

More filming, chaps, is it?

HE CHUCKLES

This is going to be a tremendous horror movie, this.

Pardon?

What, these movies?

Yeah, I think it's, er...

No privacy any more.

Why do you paint your bags?

You see all the bags the same, especially at these carousels,

you know? Adds a wee bit extra to it.

Not everybody will have IWG on their bags.

HE CHUCKLES

-Well, no. And no-one's going to want to steal it now.

-I hope not.

-Now you've ruined it.

-Yeah.

In front of you, on your tummy.

'I was surprised to be enjoying our family routines now,

'after 30 years free from them.'

'From looking after Mum and Dad, I'd finally got to know them.

'The crisis of the stroke had faded,

'and I stopped fearing that the worst was yet to come.'

'Trust crept quietly back into our lives...'

'..until dad dropped something ever so casually

'into the dinner conversation later that night.'

'He was going to take a holiday.

'In Ethiopia.'

Yeah.

But it means we have a few problems, looking after you.

Because...

..we've become dependent on him, haven't we?

To look after you.

So have you got the staff all right, coming in here, have you?

-I think so.

-Right.

It's partly just everyone has to put their timetables together.

Have you got some clothes out there still?

Well, I've left some from time to time, but, yeah...

-Why are you taking a ruler to Ethiopia?

-Well, I just...

I don't know. Just because I wanted to rule something!

HE CHUCKLES

What?

It's because I want to rule a bit of paper.

That's quite good. I can carry that not too badly.

-Not too heavy?

-No, it's not, no.

Give you a quick swig of tea, Ann?

-Can you?

-Chase it down.

'I hate myself for it, but I've inherited a familiar family trait.'

'I'm mute, and I really shouldn't be.

'Still so scared of asking for the truth.'

'So I keep it all on the surface, in small talk.

'And the chances are nothing much should change for the worse.'

What was the time difference again, Dad?

This time of year, it's two hours.

That's not too bad, is it? You won't get jet-lagged.

I'll be remaining in touch with e-mail.

I mean, I don't think I'll e-mail everybody, but I'll e-mail somebody.

Sometime.

HE LAUGHS

-What, it will be one of us?

-Yes.

-Good.

You can pass the rest on.

I'm sure it will be scintillating.

It's tremendous, that.

-Right, Karen, I'll see you around, my dear.

-Bye, then.

-OK?

-Look after yourself.

-I'll try to, yes.

You are coming back, aren't you?

Yes. Well... Yeah.

This time I will, yeah.

-Good morning.

-Morning.

-How are you?

-OK.

-Would you like a wee bit spray on?

-Yeah.

Morning. Hi, Mum.

Food for the cat.

Perfect.

-Are they OK?

-I think they will be.

-They smell nice.

I'll taste a wee one.

-Is it?

-Uh-huh.

DOORBELL RINGS

Coming!

He'll be excited.

Hi! Come in.

Hi. How are you?

Yeah, I'm fine.

How's college?

-Yeah, it's good.

-Just been?

-Yeah, just been.

Yogurt.

After a few weeks I rang Dad to catch up, and, if I'm honest,

to check up.

It was a Monday afternoon, but he sounded a bit drunk,

as if he was at a party.

I'd clearly interrupted something.

And I knew that something was up.

I wondered if all those years ago, Mum had once got that feeling, too.

The following night a short e-mail arrived from dad saying

he hoped I understood.

Got an e-mail from Dad.

Is he all right, yeah?

-Yeah, he sounded good.

-What's he been doing?

Well, he got married on Monday.

What?!

He got married.

Oh, for Christ's sake.

That's a bit out of the blue. Or is it?

I didn't expect it now.

It's four years or something since he's been out.

Ach, whatever.

I'd let Dad back into my heart, and something had shifted between us.

In the mirror now we see each other. Whether we like it or not.

Stubborn and determined.

The closer we get, the less we can both hide.

Hello. Is Ian there?

Hello, Dad, it's Karen. How are you?

Look, everything's all right here. Mum has had her meds tweaked

a little bit and actually she's quite lively at the moment.

Which is nice.

No, I wasn't going to tell her.

Well, I think if anyone tells her, it should be you. Don't you?

'I don't expect to hear the truth.

'Not after all these years without.'

But I can go and find it for myself.

There's far too much at stake now to let Dad leave all over again.

I have what Mum never had. Independence.

And the name and address of Campbell's mother.

Africa doesn't feel so far away any more.

For 30 years, Dad kept us all in the dark about his parallel life here.

His secret somehow hiding in plain sight.

But now I'm getting used to the light.

Papa?

-Karen? This is Sablee.

-Hello.

This is Sweaty Betty from the Isle of Man.

-No-one likes to be called that, though.

-# Sweaty Betty from the Isle of Man. #

-Do you have other brothers and sisters?

-Yeah.

-Kamal.

-Adorable.

Exactly. And this gentleman here is Mr Kafa.

He's the fix-it man around here.

-Hello.

-Does everything.

-I'm the daughter of Ian.

-Yeah, yeah.

Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.

She says that you didn't look for her all these years. Why suddenly?

Well, I suppose we didn't think... Well, the reason was...

I think, Dad, I think you, to be honest,

you struggled to bring the two parts of your life together.

Probably I did, yeah.

THEY GIGGLE

LAUGHTER

Dad, you could have done the jacket up or something!

Put the buttons together or something.

Are you just signing the register there? Is that what you do?

Yeah, you sign it a couple of times. I don't know what you're signing.

-You could be signing your whole life away...

-Yeah...

FOOTBALL ON TV

VEHICLE HORNS

Good evening!

-Is this table OK?

-I think so, er...

So, erm...

That's why...

Do you remember when that one was taken?

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

This is good.

HE SIGHS

Congratulations.

Congratulations on the wedding.

-HE SPEAKS FRENCH

-One for the road!

LAUGHTER The first one...

HEAVY RAIN

This is not what we expect in Ethiopia at this time of the year.

No, it's not.

It's probably the fault of Karen.

LAUGHTER

Did your families organise your marriage to Bari? Yeah?

Did Tadelech help to choose her?

Yeah, yeah.

LAUGHTER

You are a patient woman.

LAUGHTER

-OK, look at... Dad, chin up.

-Good.

Ready? One...two...

CAMERA CLICKS

At the end of my trip,

Tadelech offered to come to the airport with me.

The night before, with my school French dictionary,

I finally worked out how to say to her,

"Please...don't let this marriage change anything. Not now.

"Let Ann keep Ian for as long as she has left.

"Please."

The taxi arrived for me...

..but Tadelech wasn't in it.

Are you OK? You look a bit sad.

Yeah.

Why would that be?

Uh-hm.

How are you finding the days without Dad here?

Do you mean the decent thing with Campbell

or the decent thing with you?

-Well, he'll be back before you know it.

-Yeah.

You don't really have a sense of time any more, do you?

KAREN SNIFFLES

KAREN SNIFFLES

I'm sorry.

KAREN CHUCKLES

Are you trying to cheer me up now?

THEY CHUCKLE

It's working.

You always make me laugh.

That sadness...

-..it just comes over you?

-Uh-huh.

And it comes over me.

-Like happiness?

-Uh-huh.

That's true.

SEAGULLS CRY

We don't get to choose what we inherit.

Maybe that's for the best.

From Mum, I hope for that neat figure.

Those laughter lines.

Her effortless enjoyment of life's smaller pleasures.

But you don't get to choose.

Perhaps, instead, I just have her exasperation...

the shortest of tempers... and worst of all...

a buried time bomb in a place I can never reach.

The tick-tock, tick-tocking...

..of a future stroke.

From Dad, I hope to inherit his ease amongst strangers,

his sense of humour, to be comfortable in my own skin,

like he is in his.

But perhaps I just have his ego, his greed for love.

But love that we struggle to return.

As if to share it is to lose it.

Or to lose ourselves within it.

And from both Mum and Dad...

..I learnt to lock away the things that hurt me the most...

..until now, until this long last chance.

Campbell's birth, Mum's stroke...

..the bookends of our family story.

They both felt like bereavements...

but ones that they stayed with us for,

to see us through.

To make sure we'd be all right.

And maybe...to teach us something...too.