THE END
Other people’s issues. Martin and I had a beautiful relationship but there was always someone who had an issue with it . It may seem strange to start my story at the end of someone’s life to tell their tale. The remarkable Mr Annand was no ordinary man, so his journey should be told just as the curtain is about to fall on his extraordinary life, an existence that for most parts was never quite what it seemed to so many.
Mr Annand, or as we called him, Martin, looked up at me from the brown mobility chair, which he had become confined to during the day over the last few weeks of his life, his beautiful big blue eyes still reminding me of Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio. Still full of hope, he smiled at me, pulled gently on my shirt and asked me to go and get a nice French bread stick – warm if possible – and some soup. He had been off his food for the last few days so it was a relief to hear him want something.
There was only one problem. We needed to hide the bread from Nicos, Martin’s Greek Cypriot trust fund civil partner, as gluten and bread were taboo in the soulless flat that they shared in trendy Bloomsbury. Though the wood and lighting were incredible, it resembled an art gallery with uncomfortable furniture. Nicos ruled the roost in this place and would become hysterical and cruel when not getting his own way. Even traditional cooking was banned for fear that it would cause damage to any of the many art works.
A splash of water, not wiped up from the sink tap, could cause a rage so powerful you would have thought you had flooded the flat.
Nicos had allowed me to take joint care of Martin with great reluctance; only after he had worked out the actual cost of private nurses did he reluctantly give in. At first it was only to be when Nicos was at cross fit for three hours a day, or when he had his own hospital appointments. However, the workload was constant and eventually I stayed there 24 hours a day, and for this I was grateful Nicos allowed me to do so as it was so painful not to be with Martin
It seemed odd to me: Nicos’ art collection in the UK and Cyprus had a value in the millions so if he had sold just one piece, it could have funded 24-hour private care. Martin always said that, despite Nicos’ wealth given to him by his father, he was incredibly tight.
Nicos had just left for a workout and was meeting a friend after. Dashing up Tottenham Court Road to M&S, I returned quickly with some of Martin’s favourite fruit jellies, two small warm bread flutes and heart-warming chicken noodle soup. Frantically I cut the bread up into small slices and buttered them cleaning up after myself for fear that crumbs would be found.
The soup was being cooked in the microwave that was hidden so high up, cooking anything in it was a challenge. Even the kettle was in a cupboard to stop steam hitting any artwork that adorned the kitchen walls. Martin smiled as I brought it to him, “I am getting my appetite back”, he said, with some hope. Pointing out it was a good sign, I gave him a wink
. The man I had loved for forty years was dying and I was determined to keep my emotions in check and just be his rock. If I ever allowed the flood gates to open and show how I was feeling, my fear was that the tears would never stop, and that was the last thing he needed. Martin had a beautiful childlike quality that most people never got to see. He gave me a paw as I put the food down.
Of course, he only managed a little bread and some soup. Just as he was about to get me to take it away the door opened. Nicos was there. “All right my love, what’s that you have got there?” he enquired, with his eyes throwing daggers of steel towards me. Explaining that he really wanted a bread roll and some soup, strangely Nicos did not react, although I made a hasty retreat to the kitchen to discard the evidence out into the bin in the communal areas of the block.
There was only one flute of bread left by the side of the sink that was left to hide. Nicos had not gone to shower as he usually did on return from the gym and he was in the kitchen. To my amazement, he was cutting the spare French bread flute in to slices and covered them in strawberry Jam and organic Honey. Instinct told me to get out of the way to see Martin, and a wise decision it was.
Ten minutes later Nicos came charging down the wooden plank floors of the corridor towards the bathroom slamming the door. He spent twenty minutes in there inducing himself to vomit. Eventually he came out and marched up to Martin, shoving his hands that stunk of sick up into Martin’s pale face. “Look what you made me do bring that into our home!”
There was nothing I could do to stop Nicos. My heart often went out to him as he was so uncomfortable in his own body, I can only imagine what it must be like to wake up every day so unhappy in life. I do not think that I had ever seen him do a full day’s work in the twenty years I knew him. Martin wrote his correspondence for him, Nicos went for the odd meeting in Cyprus but for the most part, he went to the gym, shopped, attended gallery openings, and holidayed abroad a lot. What he devoted a lot of time to was sitting in judgement of other’s efforts, which he did with great ease. He really was the quintessential trust fund baby.
Though Nicos’ and my relationship made Joan’s and Bette’s look like an easy one, he always had the upper hand. At first I had liked him as he was amusing, witty and we shared many of the same interests. He clearly had huge mental health issues, so to take him on was a fruitless task and only caused issues with me seeing my ex-partner, Martin.
Over the years my radar went into no comment regarding his hatred of me, even during the campaign of daily phone text’s calling me every name you could imagine. Once he caught me off guard with the malicious comment, “No wonder your boyfriend killed himself and the latest is missing!” That text was a step too far and I threatened to call the police, although for the sake of Martin, we did eventually make up
. There was always someone who had an issue with my relationship with Martin. Nico’s just could not cope with the fact that Martin still loved me and him in different ways. It was not long before Nicos was in the kitchen and you could just tell he was looking for a fight. He was opening and closing drawers for no reasons when suddenly he spied a small amount of water that had escaped me whilst cleaning, next to the marble sink. That was it, he hit the roof. “YOU RESPECT THE QUALITY OF NOTHING!” he bellowed behind me as I made my excuses to Martin and decided to spend one night at my home let Nicos calm down. When an apologetic text from Nicos did come through, I told him all was fine.
Returning the next day at 6:30 I found there were two patients in bed: Nicos had piles and might need to go the hospital, possibly for four days. Nicos had fired four of the helpers the NHS had sent us. Looking after Martin really needed two, but the idea of spending some time with him was a relief to me. In the end Nicos just went to a specialist. Looking after Martin was not the hard part, though it was breaking my heart every day. Dealing with Nico’s, who was devious and underhand, was horrendous. He seemed obsessed with my every move.
However if you think he sounded bad, nothing could prepare you for his sidekick we will call “The Cousin”. A woman as equally uncomfortable in her own skin as Nicos, Martin had only known her for five years. On the face of it she seemed nice, with an air of the teacher about her. Nicos had decided that she was Martin’s replacement sister, as the relationship with his own sister Pen had become strained over the years due to her dominating girlfriend. Martin ‘just loved her’, Nicos would inform me with some command. Martin, though fond of her, did not see her that way.
She was a walking nightmare and expert on everything to do with cancer. My first hint that she needed to be stopped was when Martin called me telling she was trying to roll a tennis ball up and down his spine. Luckily, I got there in time to challenge her and that went down like a lead balloon.
The cousin had a habit of putting her hand up like she was teaching at school. I did not want Martin doing those exercise she was trying to make him do and reiterated that he had spinal cancer so his specialist would need to approve any exercise. If she was teaching or instructing, she was fine. Nicos went away for two weeks and left me with Martin. The Cousin started coming over bringing lots of sugary desserts, all well-meaning but not good for cancer and definitely not to Martin’s taste. It seemed well meaning so Martin would smile and say, “Save for later, yummy!” I would chuck them in the bin as soon as she left.
The first time she came over was to give me an hour off. Martin asked me to call and cancel her, he would be fine, but I felt it would be rude to do so, and if she did come, it would pacify Nicos and assure him that everything was ok. Politely, I thanked her for coming. “I was coming whether you wanted it or not”, she replied, with the coldness of a witch at midnight. “Nicos and I have a plan for Martin, so don’t you worry yourself”, she went on. People must have wondered why I did not tell her to go F— herself. Instead, I hid the various things she brought to roll on Martin. The last thing Martin needed was her exercises that still needed to be approved by a professional.
We nearly had words when she waltzed in all sweetness and light with more desserts. With her empathetic face she asked, “Anything I can do to help?” For once I was happy to oblige, asking if she minded making Martin’s bed. Her face fell as what she really had meant was if there was anything she could teach or instruct. Her face perked up as she replied, “I will teach you how to do it.” Of course, I declined.
There was zero empathy from Nicos when I explained Martin was not as keen on her visits as he thought. But more important please could he supervise her teaching exercises as she had zero experience. Having breast cancer did not make you an expert on all cancers. Nicos hollered, “She is like a sister to him!” Nicos had ostracised most of Martin’s close friends and substituted them with ones he approved of over the years they were together.
We were told by the nurse visiting Martin that under NO circumstances should he make any financial, work related or personal decisions at this stage. It became incredibly difficult to handle the Cousin and Nicos, as no matter what I suggested, it was wrong. Dr Prakash who had helped Martin with his injections and treated him privately for free was branded an idiot, whereas the cousin, who really needed locking up, was always right whatever she said.
To this day it is my belief that she helped speed the cancer up. I grieved for Martin deeply. When one considers grief, it is foremost for the person you have lost. You could not begin to comprehend how grief magnifies when also confronted with two such devious, plotting malcontents, whose subsequent aim was to erase me from Martin’s eulogy along with any memories we shared. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Apart from a lunch with my dear friend Marieanne, I had been there with Martin for twenty four hours. However I had a doctor’s appointment that I could not miss, but the whole thing would take only four hours tops. Warning signs should have flagged in my brain as the pair seemed unusually enthusiastic about this and confirmed several times that I was still going. Despite the warning given by the professionals, whilst I was out they got the lawyers in and established power of attorney.
Worse still, in his weakened state, Martin signed standing orders to pay monthly into the joint bank account in the Isle of Man the sum of £10,000 from Princess Salimah Aga Khan’s bank account. When I returned, Nico’s was quick to tell me he had power of attorney and only he had the right to deal with things. But again he allowed me to stay. I only found out about the Princess Salimah standing order when she noticed it. It honestly finished Martin off, he was SO distressed. How could this ever have been allowed? Simple Greed on one person’s part. Salimah was distraught though she did attend the funeral by zoom.
My beautiful Martin Annand died in St Johns hospice on the 9th of August surrounded by his civil partner Nicos and myself, his lover and friend of forty years. I was wiping his mouth with a moist tiny sponge. He was ice cold, and I knew it was the end. He made a noise then went, Nicos screamed and ran to the door, missing the fact Martin had taken one more breath, and then the beautiful angel left us for good.
Martin and I had been of the same mind; if we took ill, we would go to Switzerland and end it with dignity. In hindsight it was easier said than done. Whilst Nicos was in Greece, Martin had all the details. He had gone on business to Geneva working with Salimah Aga Khan and had everything planned, it was just down to me to take him. He was having a bad day and was booking flights. Martin’s chemo had been tremendous, although his hair had stayed, and we were full of hope.
He would shower at night trying to ease the agonising pain, but he refused to take the morphine for fear of being hooked. The doctors said it was all down to the side effects of the radiation treatment. Believing them I begged him just to give it two more weeks, then we would go and Nicos would never need to know. But they were wrong, and the cancer had spread. I would not let a dog suffer the indignity my beautiful Martin went through. My deep regret is not saying yes and flying him down to Switzerland when he wanted to go. There was no time for me to grieve at the bedside
. Nicos was hysterical and threw himself on Martin’s body. It was the opposite of what Martin stood for. It was not long though before Nicos became aware of my obvious grief. “I am his civil partner and have rights!” he shrieked at the nurse. Not for one minute did I challenge that, even though Martin was in fact still legally married to an American and she never divorced him. For five minutes I excused myself and went to the bathroom, locked the door and broke down.
This was not what Martin would have wanted, so I stood up and went to aid Nicos. He was actually kind to me, thanked me, and he was full of questions. Martin would have wanted me to look after him and, as much as he would let me, I did. It did not take long for him to hit the phone. He asked The Cousin to meet him at the house.
He called Phillipa, a long-term friend in Cyprus that Martin and I both liked, and was furious that she could not come straight away. He turned to his old friend Tee, who was also in Cyprus. The pair had fallen out for years, but a mutual ailment had brought them back together, and that Tee did not like me was a huge bonus. He was flying over the next day. I offered to stay, but it was refused. Accompanying Nicos back home, I came up to make some tea.
It was not long before the cousin arrived, she was of course kind. To my horror they jumped into funeral arrangements. Worse still, “Has anyone told Danielle. Martin was very fond of her?” was the next question. They both knew that I had fallen out with Danielle as she had taken great advantage of Martin. He had paid for her partner to be flown from Cyprus as a medical emergency. He had set up a bank account up for her and had been paying the price. I saw her as a user although Martin said “She’s great at parties”. If I was throwing a party, number one on the guest list would certainly not have been Danielle. I realised that I was on a hiding to nothing and left the pair to it.
Though I had helped Nicos as much as I could, The Cousin quickly jumped in and took over; my little eulogy was judged too much about me by the pair and not used. The actual funeral had to be seen to be believed and if Martin had not been cremated he would have rolled in his grave. In fairness I was in the funeral procession car. Arriving at their home, Nicos was not there.
I was outside as the coffin pulled up and Nicos jumped from the car wearing ripped jeans, flanked by Tee and another friend, who both seemed to be dressed like crows. He fell onto the ground of the apartment steps, wailing, “My Martin is here!” calling up to Phillipa. Ironically it looked like a scene from Tosca, a favourite opera of Martin and I. Nicos saw me then and I thought he was coming to hug me, but instead all the drama was over. “You get in the second car”. It was a shape of things to come for the day. I was only allowed a few people as mourners. Nicos did not realise that Martin still had had a life with me and he saw people like Denise Welch and others when Nicos was not around. Still, I was not going to argue and held my head with dignity. Just as I was about to enter the crematorium at Golders Green on a beautiful sunny day, Nico’s whispered to me, “I am afraid I have been a bit selfish with the eulogy.”
Looking back at him, I replied I would not expect anything else. Nicos outdid himself with the downright pack of lies contained in the eulogy. Yes, there were moments of truth but it was hard for me to comprehend what was being read out. If there was any doubt that this was not a bad dream, the beautiful friends I shared with Martin, who were there to support me, gasped in places. Darling Marieanne, a long-term friend of Martin’s and my best pal at the time, squeezed my arm each time something was read out that made Nicos sound a hero and omitted my name completely. We were instructed not to look at Nicos as we left, but he should not have worried as there was absolutely no danger of that.
Walking through the crematorium doors into the beautiful memorial gardens, my numbness started to thaw out as one of my oldest friends exclaimed, “What the fuck was that?” Nicos had had the nerve to ring my kid sister in the US and ask her to watch. It was not long before she was on the phone to find out if I was ok. “Why did he say those things?!” She knew how humiliated I must have felt and said how restrained I had been. If she had been there in person with a baseball bat…
Do not think the thought had not passed my mind. However, holding my head high was what Martin would have wanted, not some ugly drama. His eulogy was heard by 42 people. A week later I released mine on the net and it has been seen by over 4000,000 people. Many of Martin’s family and friends asked why it had not been used. It is below. My hope is to hold a proper ceremony on the anniversary of Martin’s death.
The wonder that was Martin Annand A beautiful light has left the world. But I just know he is sparkling above us full of love. Martin Annand passed away at St John’s hospice London at 12.15 on the 9th of August 2021, with Mozart piano concerto 15 playing, and his civil partner Nicos Steratzias and his former partner Steven Smith lovingly by his side. https://www.stjohnshospice.org.uk/about/
Christopher Robin said to Winne the Pooh: “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” Martin Annand was the quintessential Christopher Robin and he loved his eclectic friends, no matter their flaws, and he embraced their strengths. He would often joke, “I think he is having an Eeyore moment”, if a friend was down or not seeing the positive about something. He would reference more of Christopher’s pals, saying, “You’re very Tigger-y today”, if one of us was particularly bouncy, and even though Martin enjoyed a healthy lifestyle, he also empathised with Pooh, adoring a sneaky sweet or two. Martin was a true English gentleman, whose style and grace made him so wonderfully unique
. People just adored him as he made every person feel important, taking an interest in everyone he met. From classic cars to a hand of bridge, the latest song by the Pet Shop Boys, or even a glance at what Robbie Williams was wearing; Martin could talk about it all. He just loved everything in life. I would often laugh to myself when people thought Martin was “serious” and “a little unapproachable”
. He was one of the funniest people I have ever met, bringing the phrase “Don’t judge the book by its cover” to mind. Martin’s inner child beamed out to those who knew him and took the time to see the beautiful man for who he really was. When I first met him, he told me a story that could only happen to Martin. He said, “I went to a dinner party last night. When I got there, the house was awfully dark. When I pressed the doorbell, the hostess answered in her night attire. “Oh, has the dinner been cancelled?” I enquired. “It was last week”, the hostess answered, wide mouthed. “And what is more, you came to it!”
Martin had the ability to laugh at himself. He was funny, sometimes forgetful and, what is a rare quality these days, loyal. Whenever you saw him, he opened his wide blue eyes and smiled, and he made you believe you could do whatever you wanted to do. He was fortunate enough to have danced with Princess Margaret, but always said he enjoyed dancing at his friend Denise Welch’s ball, with a group of bright young things, more than with Her Royal Highness. Martin just loved the dance of life and he threw himself into everything – whether it was captaining a boat or dancing the Conga in Rio de Janeiro.
Or partying in St. Tropez for his friend Pam Sharrock’s 60th. I recall him skiing down a black run in Klosters Ski Resort with such ease, leaving the soon-to-be-famous Denise Welch and myself way behind. Of course, Martin being Martin, he was straight back up the slope to come to the aid of his friends. There is so much to write on The Exceptional Mr Annand that it could fill two volumes. If there is a Heaven, he will be up there playing bridge and chatting to his friends who journeyed there before him. If he is looking down, all he would want for us is love, success and happiness, as Martin embodied in everything he did in life. But please continue reading as this is a story of one of the most glamorous, quintessential gentlemen, whose story will make you laugh, gasp and cry. He was the accountant for some of the world’s wealthiest and most famous people despite never training as an accountant. The man that could make you feel like you could fly…
2Shades Magazine 