were relocating to Hollywood. I wondered how this would affect my little programme. Russell put me straight at the party – ‘Never forget, I’m only a phone call away.’ In fact, it works perfectly. We speak and text now more than ever and it doesn’t matter what time of night or day, he’s always on. I was anguishing over an awards show outfit recently so I texted, ‘Blue or pink?’
A second later: ‘Blue.’
He just
It’s unprecedented, in my experience, to have that level of access to the execs but
But it wasn’t just the show I was worried about when Russell announced he was leaving the UK – I also needed to give him the best farewell gift, but what? When I’d left
Then I realised I had the perfect thing at home.
Russell being Russell, he knew exactly what it was the moment I handed it over. There’s no one else I would rather have given it to, actually. He has been so important in my life and totally deserving of something truly unique as a thank-you present.
* * *
Russell’s generosity didn’t only extend to me, though. I’ll never forget how thoughtful he was in inviting Barry and Terry to Cardiff to give their opinions on what he was doing. Poor Barry died unexpectedly in 2009. That shook me more than even Jon’s death, I think. He was my mentor, my inspiration in so many ways, and my friend. It was a dark few days in the Miller household after that. It was a very private family funeral so we didn’t attend, but we sent a card and I spoke to his daughter. I’m just so glad Barry lived to see the heights his Sarah Jane had achieved. I owe him so much. It’s fair to say, not even Russell could have rejuvenated
A few months after Barry’s passing, on New Year’s Day 2010, I sat down with my family to watch part two of
As the credits on
Epilogue
Lis – precious mum to one of us, dear wife to the other – worked on this book throughout 2010 with her co- writer, Jeff. In December of that year, she received a printout of the final draft from her publisher and put it in a drawer. Christmas and New Year with the family were more important to her than anything work related. Weeks passed and the book stayed in her desk. When her editor, Sam, rang to ask about progress, Lis said she was struggling to find the time to go through it. New scripts for Series Five of
And then in February 2011 Lis’s world, and ours, changed forever.
She was diagnosed with cancer. She had probably been suffering its effects for two years – that accounted for the tiredness. Worst of all, she was informed the disease was already quite far along. Her doctor said, ‘We can’t cure it, but we’re going to throw everything we can at you to fight it as long as possible.’
That fight lasted no more than two months. Lis died at the Meadow House Hospice in the early hours of Tuesday, 19 April 2011. She was 65 years old.
* * *
The first person Lis told about her diagnosis was Russell T Davies. She actually rang him on the way back from the doctor’s in February. She loved hearing his voice. He was always so positive, always instinctively knew what to do, but even he couldn’t help this time.
Lis owed Russell so much. She had just attained pensioner status when he’d plucked her out of retirement to appear once again in
Lis was so proud of
Lis loved having her own show. She used to say it was such an honour, and such an unexpected one at her time of life. But she really gave it her all. She never did anything at less than 100 per cent effort – you can see that on the screen.
She played a surrogate mum in the show and she felt like one as well, because it was such a loving relationship between herself and the cast and crew. Lis loved fussing around the kids and being part of such a big, dedicated team. (She would have made a wonderful grandmother.) Decades after her theatre training she was still an ensemble player at heart and it gave her such a thrill to think all those lovely people around her had employment at that moment because of her. She was so happy that her good fortune could be shared with as many others as possible.
