Page 83 of When We Were Young

Liv

The Will Bailey I knew – Emily Lawrence

Emily Lawrence has changed little in the twenty years since these photographs were taken. She has the same chestnut hair, the same smile, and the same dark eyes, although there are a few laughter lines around them now. Which is ironic because her eyes convey such sorrow.

Emily met Bailey when he was a busker. According to Bailey’s friends, she was the inspiration behind many of the songs on the Fragments album. They say she was his muse.

‘I don’t know about that,’ she says, dismissing the idea with a laugh, but the notebooks and letters he left behind suggest otherwise. Two flight cases worth. Preserved in his parents’ garage, where he wrote the bulk of Fragments in the years prior to its release in 1996.

What is it like to have someone write a song about you?

Oh my gosh – it’s surreal! The first I heard he’d written a song about me was from his girlfriend.

It was an uncomfortable conversation, as you can imagine.

I was with his brother then, too, so it came as a complete shock.

But once you know, it’s obvious. I asked him once if he hoped I’d notice.

He said he had to write it and when it was finished, he tried swapping some lyrics, but it wasn’t the same, so he left it as it was.

It was a gamble, and it got him into trouble, but it also got us together.

We had been together a while when he wrote ‘Intertwined’.

It evolved over a few days. He played me the riff first, then the melody, and when he sang it with the lyrics for the first time, it was just…

beautiful and heartfelt and he was so… exposed as he sang it.

It took my breath away. He made me feel good about myself, he gave me the confidence to… be me.

I still find it difficult to listen to his songs. They’re emotional anyway, but they hold so much meaning for me and there are so many memories wrapped up in them it’s hard – really hard – to enjoy them. Maybe one day.

You spent three months on tour with the band. What was that like?

I was on summer break from art school and Will had the idea of me being the official tour photographer.

I did a lot of photography on my course so I could take a decent picture.

The pay was peanuts, but it meant we didn’t have to be apart for the whole tour.

This one’s my favourite (top, right). This was Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

It was stunning. You can tell from his face how awe-inspiring it was to play on that stage with that spectacular backdrop.

When I first joined the bus, everyone was on their best behaviour because I was around, but by the end of the summer, I was one of the boys.

We were like family. That was the best summer of my life. So much fun.

What was he like in private?

He wasn’t like other guys. He was sensitive – he wore his heart on his sleeve.

He didn’t play games; he told you how he felt.

You couldn’t write a song like ‘Yellow Feathers’ and not be in touch with your emotions.

Part of being creative is having this ability to tap into them.

It’s part of the gift, but it also means you’re a little fragile, you’re vulnerable.

It flows both ways. If you can let it out, there’s a danger you could let too much in. Being with him could be intense.

Would you say he was a ‘tortured artist’?

I hate that phrase, it’s dangerous . I mean, it implies it’s okay to be struggling with your mental health as long as you’re producing art. If you haven’t gone through mental anguish, then your work isn’t worthy.

Was Will a tortured artist? No. He was just a person.

He had problems like we all do. Did he use his talent to exorcise his demons?

Absolutely. Lots of creative people use their art as an outlet for their troubles, to express themselves and to deal with their thoughts and feelings.

You know, I think we sometimes glamorise suicide and it’s as bad as stigmatising it.

A quarter of people in the UK have mental health problems. One in five people will have suicidal thoughts at some point in their life.

Negative feelings are a normal part of life.

Talking about them should be normal, too.

We didn’t talk about mental health in the nineties, but we know now that talking helps, whether that’s with a friend, or with family or a professional.

Apparently, it’s common, particularly with young men, for them to make a sudden, rash decision and follow through with it before anyone even notices they’re struggling.

There was an exhibition on the South Bank a couple of years ago – I saw it on the news.

It was photographs of all these smiling, carefree faces, but they turned out to be the last photos of people who had taken their own lives.

The message was: ‘Suicidal doesn’t always look suicidal’.

I’d ask everyone reading this to be mindful that even the happiest, most outgoing and bubbly person in your life might be struggling right now.

Reach out to your friends and ask them if they’re okay.

When they say they’re fine – which they will – ask again.

‘Are you really okay?’. I watched a documentary recently.

A group of guys lost one of their friends to suicide and after his death, they made a pact to ask each other twice.

What a lovely idea – ask your friends twice.

I didn’t even ask Will once…

What do you miss most about him?

It’s funny because we were apart for most of our relationship.

I still get the urge to call him sometimes.

I’ve got so many memories of our telephone conversations; I even dream about them.

He was never in one place, and you didn’t call mobile phones long distance in those days.

It cost a fortune. It took lots of patience and perseverance to get through to him.

But that’s what I miss the most – our long-distance chats. He was funny and clever and kind.

I’ll always miss him.

What was the last thing you said to each other?

I’m not sure I can talk about that… I don’t want it to go into—

But you’ll tell me?

She nods, so I stop the recording.

‘You’re sure?’ I ask, and she nods again.

She takes a breath. ‘It was after he broke into my flat. I think Matty told you about that?’

‘He said Will cut his arm and was rushed to hospital.’

‘There was blood everywhere. I went with him in the ambulance and while we were waiting at the hospital, his family turned up. When Mary saw me, she screamed at me to get out. She was making a scene – I had to leave. My friend Miranda went inside and found out where Will was. We waited in the car park for his family to leave, then we snuck back in. She showed me where he was. He was asleep, so I lay on the bed beside him. I wanted to hold him.’ Mum draws her mouth into a thin line and blinks.

I give her a moment to compose herself. ‘Did he wake up?’

She shakes her head. ‘I lay there for ages, but he didn’t wake up.

He’d lost a lot of blood. Liv, he looked awful.

’ Her voice splinters, a sob escapes. ‘I should have left sooner. A nurse caught me. She was cross I was there out of hours. She made such a fuss that she woke Will…’ Her breath hitches.

‘He said “Milly, don’t go”. That was the last thing he said, but I had to go… they made me go…’

I put my hand on her arm. ‘You had no contact with him after that?’

‘About a week later, I got a letter from him apologising for the break-in and thanking me for visiting him at the hospital.’

I remember that letter. That was the one that made me think they’d slept together – that he was my dad. I got that completely wrong. ‘Didn’t reading it make you want to get back with him?’

She swallows. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Please Mum, I want to understand. You clearly loved each other…’

Her smile is weak. ‘We did… but…’

It takes all my effort, but I try Dad’s tactic of waiting until she’s ready to speak.

She drags a fingertip under each eye and sniffs. ‘He was so gifted, Liv. His voice, it was… oh, just…’ She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘And he’d been noticed. He was getting the success he deserved. He was living his dream. But it wasn’t my dream…

‘Then I got this opportunity. My art tutor put me forward for it. A residency in Amsterdam.’

‘A residency?’

‘They give you a studio to work in, they give you money, somewhere to live. You have all these other artists around you and mentors to guide you. I… I planned to go to Amsterdam and work on my art and… live my dream.

‘It was already a strain trying to maintain a relationship with me visiting Will whenever I could. If I stopped doing that, that would be the end of us. I was certain. It was a difficult decision, but I took the residency. I planned to break it off with him, but when I got to Wales, where they were recording, Matty hinted that Will had been unfaithful. When I confronted Will, he admitted it, said it was a mistake, begged for forgiveness. I was angry. I felt betrayed but, in my heart, I believed him. And even though I believed him, I still let him think it was all his fault.’ She falters, inhales, and finds the strength to continue.

‘It was easier for me to convince myself it was his fault than to admit it was mine.

‘I really believed he was better off without me, that I was holding him back. I’d been holding him back for years. He’d be happier with someone else, someone who’d follow him around the world. I was too selfish. I didn’t want to give up on my dreams.’

‘So why did you?’

‘What?’

‘You gave up on your dreams.’

She swallows. ‘Dreams mean nothing when the person you love is dead. I was so stupid to think anything was more important. Nothing mattered anymore.’ Her eyes swim. ‘But you came along, like a little miracle, and gave me a reason to live.’

My throat is tight. I reach for Mum, and we cling to each other in tears.