Coleen Nolan

NO REGRETS

PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Michael Joseph 2014
Published with a new Epilogue in Penguin Books 2014

Copyright © Coleen Nolan, 2014

Photography © Nicky Johnston

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

The picture permissions on p. 300 constitute an extension of this copyright page

Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologizes for any errors or omissions and would be grateful to be notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future editions of this book

Typeset by Jouve (UK), Milton Keynes

ISBN: 978-0-718-17926-7

Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Illustrations

Epilogue

Picture Permissions

Acknowledgements

Follow Penguin

For my children, Shane, Jake and Ciara. You are and always will be my greatest achievement. I hope when you read this book you’ll learn that life throws many obstacles in your path. You will make mistakes along the way – everybody does. But as long as you learn from them, it’s OK to move on. Some decisions will be hard to make and some will be easy, and all will lead you to the path you are meant to be on. There will be times when you may wish you had done things differently but I hope that, like me, you will look back one day and say, ‘I have no regrets.’

Foreword

A single spotlight shines down on our family’s brightest star. The pencil-slim beam falls on to a stand of radiant lilies and, next to them, the coffin of our beloved sister. It seems madness that I’m sitting here, in Blackpool’s Grand Theatre, saying goodbye to Bernie. But here I am.

My hands grip the arms of the seat in the theatre stalls and crush the velvet. The auditorium is dark, making the drama of the spotlit casket on the stage all the greater. Outside it’s a sunny July day, one of the hottest of the year, but in the theatre there is a chill. Or perhaps it’s just me. My fingers are freezing and my hands are shaking. It’s as if my body has slowed its circulation to reflect the sombre mood.

A photograph of Bernie is shining from a screen on the backdrop of the stage. She’s looking straight out at us, her blue eyes sparkling with defiant life. Her hair, blonde and shiny, sweeps across her face and she rests her chin on her left hand. This is the Bernie I remember, although other, earlier, black-and-white memories flood back, too.

Bernie aged six, grabbing hold of my two-year-old toddler chubby cheeks. She had an absolute infatuation with my cheeks that drove me insane. She’d pinch them between her thumbs and forefingers and rub her face against mine. When you’re a kid you think, Get off, you weirdo! I’d often see her come into a room and I’d leg it because I knew she’d make a beeline for me. ‘Ooh, but your cheeks are so soft!’ she’d say. To be honest, she was still doing it when we were grown women. If it was weird when I was a kid, it was downright embarrassing in my forties.

Bernie playing Miss World on our steps in Blackpool, with me, my sister Linda and our next-door neighbour Suzanne. We’d make ballgowns and sashes out of tea towels, and crowns out of cardboard, and take turns to be the announcer, the judge and the winner. As the youngest I very rarely won – I was just happy they let me play with them.

Bernie in the bedroom next to mine, singing day and night into a hairbrush and practising her moves in the mirror. Even then she had such an amazing voice. She’d keep me awake pretending to be Lulu and singing, ‘We-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ll, you know you make me wanna shout!’ I’d bang on the wall and tell her to shut up – even though I loved listening to her.

Bernie going through the horrendous loss of her stillborn baby, Kate. She’d carried her for six months, and when she died, Bernie was forced to deliver her knowing the worst had happened. It rocked the whole family. She and her husband Steve were so strong and dignified, keeping their grief quite private.

Bernie getting her big TV acting break as a main character in Brookside. I was so excited although filled with nerves. What would I say to her if she was a bit crap? I needn’t have worried – as with everything Bernie did, she gave it her all. She was brilliant in Brookside and later in The Bill.

To my left I can just make out the profile of my sister Anne. She’s the oldest of us girls, the one we look to at times like this. It’s been a while since we’ve been so close but right now all the arguments, all the bickering, seem a very long way behind us. She’s sitting close to Denise and I can see they’re holding hands. Heartbroken together.

To my right sits Linda and, next to her, Maureen. We’re as close as sisters can be but at this moment we need our space. If our eyes meet it will be too awful. I steal a glance and see that Maureen’s face is wet with tears.

In the front row sit Steve and Erin. Bernie’s husband and little girl. Steve has wrapped his arms around his daughter, as if to protect her from the ordeal of having to let her mum go. It kills me to look at them. The pain in Erin’s face just breaks my heart. Bernie, Bernie, Bernie. I have so many memories of her. That’s why it seems impossible that I’m here right now.

The screen has come alive and Bernie is singing. She’s standing on a stage, in front of hundreds of fans, doing her version of Whitney Houston’s ‘Run To You’. I grip the velvet arms of the seat more tightly but it’s no good. The waves of grief are now so huge. What will I do when the music stops and the lights come on?

From alongside me comes the answer. My husband Ray, himself shattered by grief but trying hard to be strong, takes my left hand and slips his other arm around my shoulders. I lean into him, letting him take my weight, burying my face in the dark material of his best suit. His hand goes to my hair and strokes it, soothing me. He presses his lips to my ear and tells me everything will be OK.

Now the lights are on and people around us are standing and making their way outside. It seems a long time since I’ve even been conscious of my legs and feet but now I must use them. Slowly, and very cautiously, I press the seat arms to push myself up. Big mistake. My legs aren’t ready and I can feel myself slumping back into the chair.

‘Here, grab hold of my arm,’ Ray whispers. He pulls me to my feet and holds me up, letting me hide my mascara-streaked face in his chest.

This is it, I think. This is what’s important. Feeling such sorrow because you’ve felt such love. Feeling like you want to grab every minute you can with your family because life can be too short. And feeling safe in the arms of the man you love and who loves you, for better or for worse.

With baby steps, we move towards the exit …