It's Only Rock 'n' Roll: Thirty Years with a Rolling Stone. Jo Wood
men made it too easy to be bad. And while I never went looking for an affair, they seemed to keep finding me.
* * *
I met David on a shoot. He was an actor and model: blond, charismatic, kind of cool and very funny. We spent the shoot in fits of giggles, which made me realize how little Peter and I laughed any more. Afterwards, we went to the pub – and things progressed from there.
If anything, this was even more passionate than the affair with Richard had been. I was desperate for David and tried to see him whenever I could. I even faked a modelling job so I could go away with him to Brighton for a weekend. Things got very serious very quickly.
But as much as I was crazy about him, I knew we had no future. I was already married and the last thing I wanted was to get into another serious relationship. So I put my sensible hat on and called a halt to the affair, probably breaking poor David’s heart.
Things between Peter and me were worse than ever. We were like a couple of OAPs: I’d cook dinner while Peter watched TV, and then we’d go to bed with barely a peck on the cheek. And the sex? Well, maybe it was because our relationship was so bad, but Peter wasn’t interested.
Soon after David, it was another fashion photographer. His name was Eric Swayne and he was closer to my dad’s age than mine – probably in his early forties. I was booked to do some test shots for a new magazine at his studio, which was below his split-level apartment on Thurloe Square in South Kensington.
The shoot was one of the sexiest I’d ever done: me in a silk kimono with nothing underneath, then in a little denim mini with braces. Eric had this sexy Cockney voice, and kept telling me how fabulous I was. He was very good-looking: dark, rugged, with a strong jaw. And when he suggested we should open a bottle of wine after the shoot … well, you can probably imagine what happened.
Eric might have been older than me, but he was so charismatic, so worldly. And he wanted to save me, which for a young girl in my miserable situation was a very attractive quality. I opened my heart to Eric and told him how unhappy I was, and he promised to be there for me. He told me, ‘If you feel you can’t take it any more and you need somewhere to stay, I’ll take you in. I’ll take you and your son.’ He was truly my knight in shining armour.
A few days after Jamie’s first birthday I was having lunch with my friend Samantha in Morton’s Brasserie in Mayfair. Samantha used to date Richard Best but was now married to Adrian Lyne, who went on to direct the movie 9½ Weeks. We were sitting chatting – no doubt about my latest problems with Peter – when a smartly dressed woman came over to our table. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ she said, in an American accent. ‘But I need to do your numbers.’
She was looking directly at me, but I had no idea what she was talking about.
‘I’m a numerologist,’ she explained. ‘There’s something about you, my dear. I know it’s none of my business, but I really think I might be able to help.’
With Samantha’s encouragement, the woman sat down and I told her my date of birth and the other information she wanted. She scribbled a few notes, stared at her figures, then put her hand over mine. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are clearly a very unhappy young woman.’ My eyes filled – she was spot-on. ‘And if you don’t sort out your current situation and follow your heart then you’re going to be a very unhappy woman at forty.’
I looked at Samantha. ‘You’ve got to leave, Jo,’ she said. ‘You’ve just got to.’
I knew she was right, but I was petrified. This was going to destroy Peter. But if I stayed in that relationship I’d just get more and more unhappy, and I didn’t want Jamie to be brought up in that sort of toxic environment. And, of course, there was Eric on the horizon.
I’ll take you and your son.
The next day I packed one small suitcase with a pair of my favourite shoes and all Jamie’s stuff. I left a note for Peter: ‘I’m so sorry, but I feel it’s time for me to go. I’m fine, Jamie’s with me, so please don’t worry. I’m somewhere safe.’ I phoned Eric and told him I was leaving Peter. He just said, ‘Okay, darling, come on over.’
I lifted Jamie out of the cot. He gave one of his gorgeous smiles and I kissed him, breathing in that lovely baby smell. ‘We’re going on a little adventure, my darling,’ I said softly. ‘Just you and me.’
And then I picked up the suitcase and walked out of the door.
We’ll get by
Oh, please, Jamie don’t you cry
your mummy will get by
things will be hard
but I know you’re a card
and we’ll get by.
Oh, little one, you look so sad
things really aren’t that bad
life is rough
but I know you are tough
and we’ll get by.
Oh, Jamie, cheer up now
we’ve got through and how,
it’s because I knew
it was all for you
and we got by.
* * *
It was around ten o’ clock on the second night after my escape to Eric’s when his front-door intercom buzzer sounded. He picked up the handset, listened, then turned to me.
‘Now, Jo, don’t panic, but Peter’s here.’
Immediately, I panicked. ‘Oh, God, what does he want? What am I going to do? Don’t let him in!’
‘He’s the father of your child,’ said Eric, calmly. ‘We have to let him in.’
Moments later Peter burst into the room. He scowled at me. ‘Where’s Jamie?’
‘In there,’ I said. ‘But he’s asleep …’
Peter shoved his way past me and went into the bedroom. A moment later he came back into the room carrying Jamie, who was by now awake and looking around him in a daze. Then he walked straight past us and out of the flat with my gorgeous boy in his arms. I went to chase after them, but Eric called me back.
‘Don’t stop him,’ he said. ‘You don’t want Jamie to be in the middle of a scene.’
I cried my heart out. Eric was right, of course, as it would have been terrible for Jamie to see us fighting, but at the same time I knew that Peter had no idea how to look after our one-year-old son. He’d never changed a nappy, never prepared a bottle, never put him to bed. He didn’t even know about Jamie’s Night-night, the white cotton comforter that he never went anywhere without – except he just had, because Peter had left it lying in his cot! (‘Night-night’ was even Jamie’s first word.) How on earth would he get to sleep without it? And where had Peter taken him? I had a sleepless night, imagining all these terrible scenarios, but early the next morning my mum called.
‘Josephine, I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I wanted to let you know that I have Jamie here with me.’
‘Oh, thank God!’
‘But you mustn’t let Peter know I’ve told you.’
I agreed to play along – but really! As if my own mother wouldn’t tell me that she’d got my child! So Jamie started his little life at the Old Vicarage – and within a few days I’d gone down to join him. It just wasn’t going to work with Eric: as wonderful as he was, I was an emotional mess and I needed to be with