CHARLIE CONDOU - No.76

Charlie Condou and his sister Niki Shisler

From The Sunday Times

March 19, 2006

Niki Shisler, 43, publishes her first book, Fragile (Ebury, £14.99), on Thursday. It documents the years spanning her pregnancy, the birth and the illnesses of her twins, Theo and Felix, who were born with a rare form of muscular dystrophy. Theo died at eight months, and Felix, 7, continues a day-to-day battle to live a normal life. Niki lives in London with her husband, Danny, a software developer, and her children: Joey, 19, Evie, 8, and Felix. Charlie Condou, 33, an actor, stars in the BBC1 drama The Impressionists next month. His production company, Benny, has bought the film rights to Niki’s book.

Interviews by Caitlin Moran

NIKI: I had a fairly conventional 1960s upbringing, in that it was mad. My mother was a working-class northern girl who moved down to London and was very much part of that scene — she knew the Stones, she knew Hendrix. She was a flower child. My father left her when I was a few weeks old, and it was just me and her. She was my one constant in this incredibly changeable life. You have to remember in those days any kind of drugs, including cannabis, were illegal. When people we knew got caught, there’d be a bust and they’d disappear into prison. We moved countries a lot. When Charlie was conceived we were in Morocco. He was eight months old when his father was arrested in France, driving back to Britain with hash in the car. He served three years in a Paris prison.

While he was in prison, my mum met Pierre. He was 18, straight out of Harrow. She was 33 with a husband in prison, a baby and a teenage daughter. As you can imagine, his family wasn’t thrilled. But 30 years later, they’ve proved everyone wrong and are still together. In effect, he is Charlie’s dad. When Pierre came into our lives I was 12 and Pierre was a teenager. We clashed a great deal. But then nothing in our life was normal. I’d long for someone to pick me up from school, dressed normally, and take me home for fishfingers.

When Charlie came along, I had an ally in all this madness. He’s one of three half-siblings I have, but I never thought of him as my half-sibling — he was always just my brother. When my mother told me she was pregnant and that the baby would probably be blond, I was desolate; I worried that because I’m so dark, nobody would know he was my brother. After he was born, my mum would be away every other weekend — visiting Charlie’s dad in prison in Paris — and Charlie and I would stay with relatives. In those early years we really bonded.

From the very beginning he was very different from me. People are just drawn to Charlie, and he’s very interested in them. I’m a writer and I’m quite antisocial. Charlie has always known everybody. I mean, he really knows everybody. We walk into a club and everyone says: “Charlie!” As a kid, he was very sunny, very gentle, very gay. He didn’t like playing with other boys — he wanted, and got, a Barbie for his fifth birthday. He begged to go to ballet classes, begged to go to drama school. By the time I left home he was 10, at drama school, and busy building his life, whereas I’d started destroying mine. I was a producer/presenter on Channel 4, which had just started up and was so new they’d do stupid things like make 18-year-old girls producer/presenters. But I hated it. To my mother’s horror, I went from this fantastic job as a TV producer to living in an anarchist squat in Brixton during the riots. I’ve always liked a bit of danger. When I had problems there, I ran away to a commune in Lampeter, Wales, and from there onto a cruise ship, working behind a bar. That’s when I really started drinking.

When I returned to Britain I met and married my first husband and had my first child, Joey. I was in complete denial about everything. Drink was my main addiction, but also speed, heroin, blues, barbiturates. I was in so much trouble. I got involved in a group called Feminists against Censorship. It was a wonderful organisation, but I was so off my face that when someone said, “Would anyone like to take a censorship case to the European Court?” I said yes, and ended up with a pile of documents made out to “Niki Wolf vs The Government of the United Kingdom”. It was a brilliant case, but I wasn’t really in any fit state to be taking on a whole country.

My husband and I separated amicably but quickly, and because I couldn’t go out and leave the baby I’d have week-long parties at my house. That was when I started to get to know Charlie again — this time as an adult. He’d come to these parties and my friends would fall in love with him. I realised he’d turned into this incredibly cool, funny, confident young man. I’d see him in the theatre and I’d be gobsmacked — he’s just so good.

When I realised I needed help with my addictions, Charlie was who I went to. When I found out I was pregnant with twins, he was the first person I called. After the twins were born, Charlie went with my son Theo to intensive care while I stayed with Felix. When Theo died, Charlie carried his coffin into church. Now, whenever I feel grateful for my life, despite everything, Charlie’s usually there. He is, through everything, my ally.

CHARLIE: My memory starts with my sister being the coolest person in the world. She’d be in fluorescent clothes and spiky heels, then living in a squat in Brixton and taking me on demos. She was very political, powerful and glamorous. Niki used to amuse me by playing me her records — she’d put on David Bowie at double speed and tell me it was the fairies singing it. I never felt like a kid around her. She always involved me. She’s one of life’s helpers: no matter how much help she needs herself, she’s the one who makes everything okay.

In her “party years”, when she was having her house parties, she seemed incredibly vivacious and everyone’s friend — it was only later that I learnt it was just because she was off her face, and that, beneath it all, she’s very shy.

When she really went off the rails I was working as a waiter, and she’d come in at 9.30am and help herself to orange juice. I had no idea she was slipping vodka into it. When she finally hit rock bottom she came round and sat there, sobbing and lost. That was a key point in our relationship, because I realised she was f***ed, my sister, and needed help. Suddenly I felt responsible for her.

She went into recovery soon after that, and then met her current husband, Danny. I, meanwhile, was sharing a flat with Robbie Williams during his “rock’n’roll years”. One night Rob came home in a state — he’d been up all night and was incredibly sad. He said, “I don’t know what to do,” so I took him to my sister’s. So there’s Rob standing in her kitchen, sobbing, and Niki sat him down with coffee and told him about recovery, and you could see him calming down. Then he said: “Can I sing you my new song?” He lit a fag and sang Angels, which hadn’t been released then. Later, when Danny and Niki got married, and Rob had been in recovery, Rob said: “I’d like to sing Angels at the wedding.” He turned up at the church in Hampstead and sang beautifully.

Niki’s always wanted to be part of something, and that was what she got when she met Danny. They are the loves of each other’s lives. Now she’s all about stability — ballet lessons, painting, meals together. All the things she didn’t have in her own childhood. There’s no doubt in my mind that she won’t take drugs or drink again. I worry about different things now, in relation to her. I worry that she ignores her own pain, although writing the book did seem to be cathartic. She still wants to look after people, even though when the twins were born so ill and then Theo died at eight months, she should have saved some of that energy for herself. I remember her at Theo’s funeral, going from person to person, genuinely concerned about how they were coping. My friend, the actor Paul Bettany, had recently lost his brother, and the funeral was bringing back all these memories and he was sobbing. Niki was hugging him, going “It’ll all be fine,” talking him through it. I thought: “My God, you lost your son last week! I’ve just carried his coffin into the church!”

Theo’s death and learning to cope with Felix’s disabilities changed us as a family. Our parents couldn’t cope — they became the children and we became the adults who had to take care of them. We’ve all become a lot closer. We’re very aware of what a right-on family we’ve become — we’ve got a gay and a disabled; we just need a black now to complete the set. We’ve all been forced into growing up, but Niki’s had to do the most. I worry about it not being good for her. Though I think she’s a better person, I’d sometimes like my old sister back.