Anne's Song (19 page)

Then my luck changed. There was a girl called Karen Jones in the Job Seekers' branch in St Anne's who took a shine to me. She was wonderful, so motivational. 'I believe in you,' she said. 'You'll get something, I just know you will.' I was in there one day and she was scrolling down her computer screen. Suddenly, she skidded to a halt. 'Ah, now here's one for you,' she said. It was a job at the Insolvency Service at the Official Receiver's office – an irony that wasn't lost on me – that dealt with many of the cases of bankruptcy, both personal and commercial, which occur in the northwest. She told me I had the confidence to handle what they required, and much more organisational experience than I might imagine: when the act had been reduced to just Maureen and me, with Amy and Julia, I'd tended to be the one who'd booked the hotels, made the travelling arrangements and sorted out the rehearsal schedule. Karen helped me fill in the application form and I was duly summoned for an interview. Two weeks later, I heard from them: I hadn't got the job, but they were putting my name on their reserve list. Well, I knew what that meant. They were being polite and I'd never hear from them again.

A week later I got a call from a friend. She'd had a letter from the Insolvency Service asking her for a reference. The next day, I got an identical call from another friend who I'd nominated as a referee. Two days later, the Service wrote to me and said the job was mine if I wanted it. I couldn't believe it. I began working for them in June 2006. Initially, I was responsible for sorting the post and distributing it, which I liked because it meant I was on my feet the whole time and never sitting at a desk, watching the clock. I also had to store and retrieve files. Then I was promoted at the end of last summer, and now I'm dealing with the bankrupts direct on the phone.

I'm happy there. Everyone knows what I used to do and sometimes they'll ask about my former life. I don't mind discussing it, but it feels as if I'm talking about someone from another planet. What I like best about the job is the guarantee of regular money at the end of each month, which means I can budget for all my household expenses. I got used to the unpredictability of show business, but, at this stage of my life, a little security is no bad thing.

Around the same time as I got my job, I had to sell the house on Falmouth Road as I was no longer able to make the monthly mortgage repayments. A man who lived opposite said he'd buy it for cash, although at less than the asking price. Then someone who'd played football with Brian when he'd been part of the Blackpool team offered to pay me £10,000 more than my neighbour. I was desperate to make a quick sale, because I'd now had a letter from the mortgage company telling me the house was about to be repossessed. There was also the further complication of Brian having to sign the papers, because we owned the house jointly.

Negotiations were dragging, with each set of solicitors blaming the other side as the day for repossession drew nearer and nearer. I rang the building society to ask for a little more time, but they refused. So my solicitor rang the courts and asked for a meeting with a judge who might grant me a stay of execution. An appointment was made for the next morning, the very day when the house was due to be repossessed at 12.30. We got there at nine o'clock, but didn't get to see the judge until 11.30. It was totally nerve-racking; time was literally running out. Unless I could stop the repossession and sell the house for £110,000, I'd have to be declared bankrupt.

The judge gave us an extension of two hours, just long enough in the event for all the relevant papers to be signed. To this day, I can't adequately describe the sense of relief that flooded through me when we squeezed in under the wire.

I found packing up to leave the house very traumatic. This had once been such a happy home. When I made the final journey to pick up my remaining bits and pieces, I looked into the front room for the last time. There was a pile of stuff I didn't have the space for that was destined for the council tip. It all seemed so sad. I sank to the floor and sobbed my heart out. Had it really come to this? I tried to tell myself it could have been worse. I was so lucky to be moving to my Aunt Teresa's. The woman's a saint. She paid to have an extension built on to the back of her house so that Amy, Alex and I would be sure to have a roof over our heads. If one of the kids wants to borrow a tenner, she never refuses. Her kindness is beyond words.

After all the debts were paid, Brian and I were left with £38,000 to divide up between us. It wasn't a 50/50 split as I'd been the only one repaying the mortgage after he moved out from the house and from the marriage that I never wanted to end.

Eventually, after much wrangling, we came to an agreement. Better in the end to reach what the Americans call closure. At least, that way I've been able to move forward again. I've settled all my credit card bills. I've got a job that keeps me busy and pays me a regular wage. It's a million miles away from the life 1 once knew, but I'm only too well aware that there are so many people worse off than me.

In the autumn of 2006, after I started working at the Insolvency Service, I got an eight-week residency to sing two forty-minute solo sets once a week at the Blackpool Hilton. I did everything from Barbra Streisand songs to our own hits. I had the backing track of my sisters singing 'I'm In The Mood For Dancing', so I included that because people expect it of you. I was paid £200 per performance. Singing a long solo set after all those years surrounded by my sisters felt a bit strange and it's not something I'd particularly repeat in a hurry, but I love singing and I liked the extra money.

I've also done some charity appearances since, and we all sang at my brother Brian's wedding to Annie last year; singing five-part harmonies again was a real treat. Then we were on
Loose Women
at the end of last summer. Coleen's a regular on the programme, so the producers had the idea of our closing the season by doing a song together. Apparently everyone at the Insolvency Centre piled into the kitchen at work and watched me on the TV. We had lots of letters after that appearance asking us to re-form, which was lovely, but we never will. We've all gone off in different directions and I can't honestly see us being able to make joint decisions and sticking to them now. In short, I think we'd probably end up killing each other! We see each other all the time, though; we all live within a mile radius of one another.

Denise does a lot of cruise work now, and corporate gigs. Maureen has been touring in a show called
Girls Behind
about three girls working the clubs. Sadly, Linda lost her husband Brian last September to liver and kidney failure which hit her very hard indeed, especially because she has been bravely battling breast cancer. Bernie's done a tour of a play called
Mum's the Word,
and she gets lots of acting jobs on television; she did a long spell on
Brookside
and then on
The Bill.
Coleen's currently the most successful of the lot with her regular appearances on
Loose Women,
her TV adverts and her newspaper and magazine columns. Tommy makes his living these days by playing drums, and for some years he's also acted as a mentor to a young lad with special needs and guided him all the way from junior school through to college. Brian works as a sales rep.

It's now eight years since I was diagnosed with cancer, and there's been no recurrence of any health problems. I passed the crucial five-year mark in 2005 and, while you can never become complacent, I'm hoping the worst is behind me. My abiding sadness is the collapse of my marriage. It's the worst thing that has ever happened to me and that includes the abuse my father subjected me to. To rub a bit of extra salt in the wound, my divorce was finalised on 23 June 2007, the day that Brian and I would have been celebrating our twenty-eighth wedding anniversary.

I'm still angry with Brian for not giving the marriage one more go. We never see each other now – except by chance in the street – and he never gets in touch. I'll ask the girls how he's doing, but his attitude seems to be that somehow I never existed. That's hard to bear. I don't text him or phone him. I leave him to get on with his own life as I'm getting on with mine.

On good days, I recognise that the anger is slowly subsiding. Life's too short. I've been out with a couple of men since Brian and I broke up, just for a drink or a meal. The trouble is that I regarded Brian as my mate for life. I married him in a Catholic church and I meant what I said when I made my vows. It's hard to imagine I could meet someone else and fall in love, but you never know: after all, I couldn't have predicted that I'd get cancer or that my marriage would fail. We think we're in charge of our own destiny, but that clearly isn't the case. So, if someone said to me that the other great love of my life is out there and, when we meet, we'll live happily ever after, I couldn't dismiss it entirely. It doesn't seem very likely, but it's not impossible. In a few more years, it would be nice if there was a special man in my life, and it would be lovely if there was a grandchild or two. I hope, too, that by then Brian and I would have found a way to be friends again. I don't want to carry round this bitterness for the rest of my days.

Do I have regrets? Of course. I've had an incredible life which I've lived to the full, but my two major regrets concern the two men I loved unconditionally, both of whom let me down. It wasn't my fault that my father abused me and forever sacrificed my love for him. I was the victim and victims can't have regrets; they're the passive partner in a relationship. I'm sad that I couldn't have a normal father/ daughter relationship. I do regret that I didn't confront what he'd done to me when my daughters were born. If I could turn back the clock, I wouldn't let the situation drift the way I did. I certainly regret whatever it was I did that meant my marriage didn't ultimately survive.

I have my beautiful girls, though, and they mean all the world to me. I have my memories of a wonderful career which took me from Dublin all round the world. I now have a job that has turned my life around. I also have what I hope will be a contented life to look forward to. Truly, I'm not complaining. Contentment, in my opinion, is vastly underrated.