A Life More Ordinary

Around 1992, while England were failing miserably at the Euros under Graham Taylor, Mother made the decision for all of us to move away from Horsham and relocate to move in with a man that she had been seeing for a while, Brian, who was a dead ringer for the guy from the ‘Courts’ advert that was doing the rounds at the time (the song went something along the lines of ‘then I sincerely hope to see you all in Courts’, which, given the area of Southampton in which he lived, took irony to a whole new level).

This led to a tremendous amount of upheaval and involved Mother and my two half-sisters, Lydia and Hannah, moving into Brian’s small, terraced house and me somehow moving in with Brian’s Mum. It was far from ideal and I was really unhappy about moving away from Horsham and having to live with a complete stranger. I was also out of work at the time as unemployment continued to rise under John Major’s Tories and I was struggling to adapt to the changes in my life having navigated two relationships since I’d arrived in Sussex, neither of which were particularly happy, but I’ll reflect on those events a little further down the line. The Queen would refer to 1992 as an Annus Horriblis and I would have found it hard to disagree with her sentiments, albeit for reasons other than the Windsor Castle fire and the various scandals within the Royal Family (such as the Andrew formerly known as Prince discovering that at the age of 32, Sarah Ferguson was ‘too old for him’).

Anyway, Royal ignominy aside, one evening in Southampton, we had a big bust up at Brian’s house, I think because I hadn’t managed to put the lid on a squash bottle properly (which we all know should be classified as a major crime) and then found it funny when Hannah shook the bottle, coating the kitchen and herself in orange flavoured cordial.
 
I travelled back to Horsham the following day to visit an ex-girlfriend for a few days and arguably stayed a week or two longer at her parents’ house than anyone had expected. Eventually, after essentially running out of money, I phoned Mother to tell her that I would be coming back home. Only to be told that I couldn’t, there was no room for me anymore. Just like that (no Tommy Cooper impersonation intended). I was basically homeless. For once, I sprang into action, driven by a mixture of fury and frustration. I applied for and was given a job at McDonalds and discussed living arrangements with Anita and Adam (parents of my ex), who took me under their wing despite the fact that their daughter and I were no longer dating. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she wasn’t even living with them any more. I am eternally grateful for the kindness that they showed me during the time I was with them and I really regret not staying in touch after moving out. In hindsight, this should probably have been the moment where I turned my back on Mother. To throw me out for no apparent reason knowing full well that I had no alternative option should have been unforgiveable.

By the time I married Louise in 1995, my relationship with Mother had recovered somewhat, largely due to the loss of Carole (more to come on that as well, apologies for any chronological confusion). When I left Berkshire in 1998, following the breakdown of my first marriage, I spent some time sleeping on an airbed on Mother and Brian’s landing until I could afford a flat of my own and following that we had what I would describe as an ‘arm’s length’ relationship. After Charley’s birth in January 2000 and my marriage to Sally around eighteen months later, Mother seemed to become more distant and began to make some decisions that I found difficult to understand. I can only assume that Brian didn’t like me and of course, he’s perfectly entitled to his own opinion. I always found him to be surprisingly arrogant with a vacuous personality and the sincerity and charisma of a boiled potato. He was one of those people who was always going to do great things…but next year. Or the year after that and of course, nothing ever came of those ‘great things’. I’d also had discussions with Lydia and Hannah about him over the years and I suspect that one or both of them had used the details of those conversations in order to win his favour. That sort of behaviour has always been prevalent in my family and probably goes some way towards explaining the fragility of some of our relationships over the years.
 
I was back in Sussex by now and we were living as a blended family trying to adjust to our new responsibilities. Maybe that’s what Mum struggled to understand, that Rosie (Charley’s Mum) and I were capable of having a friendship despite having separated. I think she resented the fact that we were trying to make things work and prioritising the welfare of our daughter, maybe she took it as a personal insult, highlighting what she had been unable or unwilling to do. It was almost as though she was only happy if my life was in the doldrums and I was suffering. I wonder if she thought that pain and misery was our lot in life as a family and that anyone who tried to break free from that was ‘too big for their boots’ and thought that they were ‘better than they were’?

Burgess Hill, where we settled, is a short trip away from Horsham, where my niece (Alison’s daughter), Kelly, was now living. Brian would happily drive to Horsham for Mum to visit Kelly but they wouldn’t come and see us. I think they managed one visit when Charley would have been maybe four or five. For Tristan’s seventh birthday party, I finished shooting a wedding at 10pm on the Saturday night, drove straight to Southampton to pick Mum up and drove home again. Then, following the party on the Sunday, I drove her back to Southampton before turning around and completing the return journey once more. Similarly, she would visit Ellie and her children in Plymouth but not us.
 
There was one summer when Tristan was selected in the Sussex disability cricket squad and they had a match just five minutes from their home in Southampton. He would have been maybe 10 or 11 by this point and hadn’t seen Mum since his 7th birthday. When I called her to tell her that we were close enough for her to come and see him play, she said that she couldn’t because she was taking Hannah’s daughter swimming, something that she did regularly.

Things were strained after this, but we persevered because I wanted my children to have a relationship with their grandparents and it was unlikely to be forthcoming from my Dad’s side of things. Mother would send them money in a card for their birthdays, totally missing the point. We didn’t want her money, we wanted her time, but it seemed that by now, her main area of focus were Lydia and Hannah, her family that were essentially in her lap in Southampton and that she could conduct a relationship with using minimal effort. The final nail in the coffin occurred when Lydia got married and we offered to shoot the wedding free of charge (I was working as a wedding photographer at the time), which we did and thought that the day had been something of a success.

However, after the wedding, their attitude changed when we sent them the disc of photographs taken. Firstly, the initial disc that we sent got lost in the post (and there was a story in the press a little later about a Burgess Hill postman being arrested for stealing letters and packages) but Mother accused me of lying about having sent the original disc. Then, after sending a replacement disc, we asked them to use the images for personal use only and to ask other guests to purchase reasonably priced prints from my website. We were told that wouldn’t be happening. We had also indicated that we would be putting an album together for them as part of the gifted package but told them that we would have to process other ‘paid weddings’ before we got to their book. However, after the initial problems mentioned above, they began to complain about not getting their book.
 
I think this was where I reached the point of no return. After years of feeling pushed aside and insignificant, it was a bridge too far. There had been too many disappointments (Mother had missed Tristan’s naming day due to ‘illness’) and it was becoming painfully obvious where her priorities lay. I made the decision to say enough is enough and we haven’t spoken since that day. Do I miss her? No, I don’t think that I do. I miss my idea of what I think a mother should be, but I’m not sure that she was ever capable of being that. Coupled with the fact that I think every time she looked at me she saw my Dad, it was a no-win situation for me, I was never going to be anything other than my father’s son to her. I don’t think that we will ever see each other again and I’m ok with that. She was absent through large parts of my life and has long since made it clear what she wants in her twilight years and she pretty much has that on her doorstep.

I don’t know your thoughts these days. We’re strangers in an empty space. I don’t understand your heart. It’s easier to be apart. We might as well be strangers in another town. We might as well be living in another town – We Might As Well Be Strangers by Keane. Songwriters – Richard David Hughes, Timothy James Rice-Oxley, Tom Chaplin.

One of the things that I was often bemused by, was the way that both of my parents reacted when they felt ‘wronged’ by their children. It was a little too close to ‘victim mentality’ for my liking, attempting to claim the moral high ground while conveniently forgetting their own mistakes or lies they had told over the years. Everyone lies. Big lies, small lies, insignificant lies and huge, damning lies. To suddenly act like some sort of moral arbiter where only your opinion and feelings matter just reeks of hypocrisy. I think that they both conveniently forgot what we lived through at times and again, it comes back to that total and utter refusal to acknowledge that the consequences of their actions were very real and the devastation that they wrought upon us was being lived through, somewhat unsuccessfully, by young people who had been permanently damaged. Those facts alone made their indignation feel cheap and hollow, but they wouldn’t have seen that from their ivory towers of reclaimed purity and truth, their self-righteous absolution freeing them from the sins of their past. People in glass houses and all that…

Occasionally, I’m struck by a random emotion or two and I feel a little…disgruntled perhaps, that in many of her relationships Mother was able to forgive indiscretions and mistakes but ultimately I was beyond any sort of redemption and while I was no angel, I’m not sure that I was any worse than others that she bestowed her forgiveness upon. Of course, nowadays I wouldn’t want that forgiveness. I pity the fact that she still seems unable to separate the man I became from the man that she thought I was. I wonder if she was always waiting for me to turn into my Dad. I’m afraid that the failing of our relationship is the thorn in her side of her own making, but I don’t think she sees it that way. That’s her choice and I long ago learned that there are some people whose paths we cannot walk for them. I’m not the only one who has been cast out and I suppose that gives me a little consolation but mostly I feel sad for those of us who have been on the receiving end of her disappointment and general insouciance.
 
There were moments when we were shared some happiness and I’m sure that there were times when she felt that I let her down…and maybe sometimes I did. But I’m not entirely convinced that she ever truly let me in. And that’s not my cross to bear – I have enough of my own baggage weighing me down I’m afraid.

Copyright Alec Hepburn, 2026.