Stig Abell: ‘Mum insisted she’d look after me whatever happened’

Mum and Dad met at school and were each other’s first boyfriend and girlfriend. Mum was clever but didn’t go to university; Dad put himself through night school and worked for the manufacturing company 3M all his life until he retired. Mum was this very strong, uncomplaining figure who managed everything at home. It never occurred to her to ask, what do I want?

The biggest influence in my life has been my parents’ relationship. The idea that you fall in love with someone for life has really guided me. I’m very happily married — with three great children — and one of the reasons for that is I can see how married life worked for them. They never argued because fundamentally they wanted the same thing: to be together.

Neither of my parents had money growing up and mum is still incredibly frugal. When we were younger we’d go to Tesco at 5pm so she could go through the bargain bins, and she still loves a special offer. The cost of things where I live in London appals her. She hadn’t been in a taxi until I put her in one ten years ago as the thought of paying for a ride is anathema to her.

My work ethic came from Mum and Dad. Nothing is going to be given to you, so you make sure you do everything to the highest standard. I work hard because I’ve never considered myself clever enough not to have to. I applied to Cambridge University not expecting to get in, and went for jobs not expecting to get them. I’m on Times Radio, I write books, but my brain is never satisfied. The first thing I think when I wake up in the morning is, what happens if I f*** this up? Or if people don’t like this, what do I do now? My view is that the next thing is going to be a failure so I’d better have a plan. Mum is also a massive worrier, something I’ve probably inherited. For that reason I would never share any of this with her and anyway we’re quite uncomfortable talking about this stuff.

I’ve married someone who is the opposite of my mum in some respects. Nadine is a therapist, and is kind and generous, but she’s a hedonist. When we first met she’d eat lamb chops in bed if she felt like it. For her pleasure is very important and should be grasped, whereas that instinct has never been there for my mum.

The problem is that if your life is filled with obligation and duty, the gap for joy shrinks. And I do worry about that, not especially for me but for my mum. Hers has been such a well-lived life in terms of how many people she’s cared for, but when I look back, we should have done much more for her. In a way she’s too nice, and I worry that her life has been too much about other people and not enough about herself.

Mother and son on the beach in Pembrokeshire, 1981

Vera

It was a Saturday morning in December and I was five months pregnant with Stig when I got a call from the hospital to say the level of alpha-fetoprotein in my blood was sky-high. I went straight to the library to look it up. It meant I could be having a child with anencephaly, where the brain doesn’t develop properly, or spina bifida, where the spine doesn’t close around the spinal cord. I was in a state of shock. It was such a horrible time. Stig’s dad, Steve, and I used to watch Ski Sunday and every week I’d sit there crying, “because the baby would never be able to ski”. Stig can’t ski, he’s never wanted to ski! But it was all I thought about. I was offered an abortion but there was no way I would abort a baby. We said that whatever happened we’d cope.

I remember saying to Steve: if we call him Stephen after you, he’ll be all right. What was I thinking? But it felt safe. Steve and I met when he was 16 and I was 17 and it’s a very tight, very close relationship. We knew that together we could get through anything.

I can’t tell you what it felt like when Stig was born healthy. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Then, when he was 15 months, everything started going wrong again. He had bad convulsions. It was so frightening. After one we were told he might not survive and if he did he could be brain-damaged. He came round after 12 hours, looked at the Mr Men mural on the wall and said, “Mr Tickle.” They’re still the best words I’ve ever heard.

Stig always worked incredibly hard and he still does as he can’t stand the thought of failing. He gets quite anxious about it. He is clever, he often has six books on the go — how can anyone do that? But he’s also very hard on himself. He got all A* in his GCSEs other than in maths. Anyone else would have been thrilled, but to Stig an A meant he was “rubbish” at it.

I’m a village girl. When I was growing up my mum and dad did everything for everybody and they are my role models. I’ve always looked after other people, but there’s no such thing as altruism, is there? You feel good about yourself when someone has benefited from something you’ve done.

Family is everything to Stig — he and Nadine have a lovely relationship. For years, when their three children were little, we drove to London and back every other Sunday to see them. And Steve and I have a rainy-day fund for the grandchildren so we can leave something to them. We came from a generation where there was nothing to pass on, so we wanted to do the best for our children. I don’t need anything. How many people do you know who’ve had 52 years of happy marriage? What I’ve got, you can’t put a price on.
Death in a Lonely Place by Stig Abell (HarperCollins £16.99). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

Strange habits

Stig on Vera
She speaks to her best friend Jackie, whom she’s known since she was 21, for an hour on the phone every single day

Vera on Stig
He’s unbelievably untidy and scruffy. He won’t go to an event if he has to dress up