We all behave differently when we are informed about the death of someone we know. It depends on who it is, of course, and there will be differing reactions whether it be a close family member, a friend or a colleague. In addition to these are the famous or celebrities who pass away. Not those that are half-expected, due to old age or issues we might be familiar with, but those that are taken from us far too young, the unexpected ones that shake us individually and in some cases, the world.  

The most famous one in recent times was, of course, Princess Diana. I shall come back to this extraordinary figure later, but I also seem to have a thing about musicians and singers that leave us far too early. Whitney Houston’s death upset me in 2012, but I couldn’t tell you why. I didn’t particularly like her music although The Bodyguard was, and still is, one my guilty pleasures.  

David Bowie was another. I hadn’t really appreciated his music, but his death in 2016 genuinely resonated with me, probably because even though I thought most of his music was garbage, his soundtracks had followed me through my childhood and teenage years, subconsciously. I have changed my mind since, I promise you. Too young to appreciate him, I think. The man was a genius. 

Michael Jackson’s death jolted me in 2009, mostly because I, or anybody else for that matter, was not expecting it. However, as I worked away that day, I assumed the snippets I kept getting from the radio were for General Michael Jackson, the retired Chief of the General staff of the British Army. I only got the gist when I returned home in the evening. In a way, I got a double shock that day, as I was quite sad for the General in those hours when I had mourned the wrong chap. 

It’s strange what the mind can do. I can’t remember the details of my daughter Charlotte’s birth, but can recall exactly what I was doing, and when, the day John Lennon died in 1980. I was thirteen and I remember learning about his sad demise whilst getting some sherbet dips from the local post office and seeing a newspaper headline: ‘We Loved You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’. I was in a daze for weeks. 

There are those, like John Lennon for me, that you remember everything. Exactly where you were when you found out. You will all have at least one, we all do. Whilst rather recent, the death of George Michael, on Christmas Day 2016, is etched in my memory. My wife Dawn was getting ready for bed and Mrs Brown’s Boys had just ended. Thank God. Did someone say comedy? Anyway, I was laying on the sofa when I heard the high-pitched scream from upstairs. I raced to the bottom of the stairs to see her sat at the top, in tears, mobile in hand.  

“Turn the news on. George Michael is dead.” 

I raced back and put the news on. She was right. This one hit me very hard. Similar to Bowie, but with music I liked, George had been with me through the eighties, nineties and finally the noughties. He was my soundtrack, with accompanying love life, for over thirty years. I remember dancing to ‘Wham’ with Louise in London, enjoying the album ‘Older’ on my own, with headphones on, as Susan preferred ‘What’s the Story Morning Glory’ which meant I was banned from playing George out loud. Then, finally, I recall cuddling up with Dawn and embracing the beauty of ‘Patience’ in 2004. I think I did suffer from genuine grief. Not that I told anyone. 

The one we are all familiar with, regarding the night they died, was Diana, Princess of Wales. I defy anyone not to access that memory. Go on, do it now. You remember, don’t you? My memory is so clear with regards to that evening and early morning. It does, for bad measure, also involve my then-girlfriend, Susan. 

The year was 1997, the date 31st August.  

I remember that it was a Saturday evening and Susan and I had attended a friend’s 25th birthday party at the local rugby club. I had come to dread those types of events which will become apparent shortly. 

The evening was great fun, with a huge amount of dancing to some great 1980s music. Our local DJ had not got around to updating his set, or had any new records for that matter, but that was okay with me. I know I drank a lot that evening, far too much to be honest. In those days I could go from pints of beer, a gentle manoeuvre to gin and tonic, and end on a glass of wine or two when I felt a bit bloated. The sad thing was that I only drank this much for two reasons. One was to have as little memory as possible in case the worst happened later, and secondly, to cushion the pain if it did.   

On arriving home, well after midnight, I did what I always did and collapsed on the sofa and turned the TV on. It felt like a comfort blanket in those moments, that it would, in some way, stop any argument she might have been storing up on our walk home. It worked this time, as Susan quietly grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and headed upstairs in silence. I know that my body and mind instantly relaxed. The window of conflict had passed. 

I hadn’t been paying attention to the TV until she had disappeared, as my senses had been on red alert. My eyes suddenly focussed as I started to watch what was a breaking news report which involved the Princess. I increased the volume and sat upright from my drunken stupor. I could understand some of what was being said. A car accident, Paris, hospital, all mentioned by a reporter somewhere in France. 

This potential, shocking, event sobered me up immediately. Odd how that happens, isn’t it? No idea how it materialises, which is a pity, as it would be a good money-spinner for the person who found out how. I shouted at Susan to come downstairs. I’m not sure why, in hindsight. I suppose it’s an instinct when you are sharing your life with someone, that seismic events like that need to be shared, even if the said relationship had other problems. 

“Sue. Are you coming down? Princess Diana has had a car accident. Not sure how bad yet, but I have a nasty feeling it’s not going to be a good outcome.” 

I had no idea why I thought this at the time. The reports were sketchy, mentioning broken arms, etc. but it was because there was so much speculation that I had an uneasy feeling it was worse than the correspondents were reporting. Susan appeared at the bottom of the stairs; arms folded, looking disinterested at the TV in the corner.  

“Do you think she is dead?” she asked, coldly. 

“Don’t know but something’s not right,” I replied, as she stood there motionless. “The coverage seems too detailed for a broken arm.” 

“You’re going to stay up, aren’t you,” she said, shaking her head, “until you know what has happened?” 

“Too right I am. Come and sit down. Watch it with me.”  

I was by then sat, rigid, concentrating on every word coming out of the screen.  

“This is huge news.” 

“To be honest, I’m not bothered either way,” she sighed. “I know it’s only because you fancy her. You’re a bit sad to be honest, so I will leave you to it.”  

Susan made her way towards me, slapped me hard across the back of my head and departed back up the stairs. 

That was the pivotal moment for me. As I sat there, watching the events unfold, my mind also made the decision that I had to leave her. It was three hours before the dreaded, and sad, announcement came that the Princess had died, and in all that time I was scared that Susan would come back down the stairs and start a confrontation. I hadn’t had that before. Usually, the abuse or violence started immediately. I never had time to think about it, just dealt with the consequences the best I could. The unknown anticipation was more frightening.  

I cried when the newsreader solemnly addressed us all watching that night. I still believe my tears were for Diana, but they were also for me. For who I was, what I had become, and the terrifying relationship I had let myself become involved in.  

That night changed the course of my life forever.