RUPERT: When Will and I were at boarding school my identity was “the
bad one”. And that continued until I was 25. I would wind up the teachers
and I was told in return that I was not a good person. As a child I believed
that and I internalised it. But outside school, William and I had great fun.
We’d play in the woods near our home. We were very good with bows and
arrows, and we played basketball every day. We found an old moped that we
fixed up, and there was a barn with hay for throwing around. William always
had a way of falling into things like ponds or streams.
But at prep school, where we were in the same class, William had a lot of
“Where’s your brother? Why’s he late?” He’d say: “I’m not my brother’s
keeper.” He had a good sense of self. But I couldn’t see the point of
anything, and at 15 I was already self-harming.
You can have two people in the same environment with two different takes on
what’s happening around them. I’ve got more of my father in me than Will
has, and there’s a history on that side of the family of drinking and
depression.
After we left school my depression got worse. It was difficult for William to
handle because, like most people, he wasn’t educated about it. And I was
very clever at hiding things like my drinking. I’d keep the bottles under
the bed. I was doing things like smashing jam jars on my head and saying I’d
fallen over.
Pop Idol was a great diversion. I could watch William get through each round
of the show on Saturday nights and have a party. I was so proud, and I was
constantly in a party mood. But while everyone else sobered up and went back
to work, I carried on all week. And I’d turn up at his gigs drunk and behave
like a child, which was really hard for him.
But then, when we were both 20, it all got too much and I cut my wrists. I was
jealous about a girl and another guy or something ridiculous. I remember
being in hospital at about five in the morning and William turning up,
impeccably dressed, ready to deal with everything. My parents were away. I
was so grateful to him for coming — it was an almost childish relief. He was
more of a parent to me then. We’ve only become proper brothers again since I
sobered up.
When we were about 24 I remember lying on a bed, with sheets that hadn’t been
changed in months, beer cans and takeaway food around me, watching William
on TV giving this amazing performance, and the audience was applauding. I’d
spent the night before trying to convince these tramps in a station to come
back to my flat and carry on drinking there, but they’d said no. I was
horribly hung over but I’d carried on drinking, as usual. I didn’t know what
time of day it was. Later the papers had a report on celebrities and their
evil twins — and there I was.
After that I thought about the difference between us and I began to realise
this situation was just not right. I starting thinking that maybe there was
something wrong with me, but it was William who pointed out that perhaps
this condition could be treated.
I remember feeling relieved that there could be a way to get rid of these
feelings of guilt and shame. I’d hurt so many people but I really believed
that I could change — and I have.
We see each other every day now. He’s the best friend you could possibly have
— it’s just heavenly. I turn up at his home and I’ve got my own key, so I’ll
let myself in and just barge into his room and wake him up. I’ll sit on the
sofa and read a book while he’s getting ready. I’ll still be there reading
or working on my laptop for the Mood Foundation, the charity I’ve set up,
when he gets back.
We have a huge amount in common again now, especially our sense of humour. We
don’t have to speak to find each other amusing — it’s just there.
I asked him to cut my hair recently and while he was doing it I noticed his
wrist had gone just slightly limp, so I gently lifted his hand up to make it
more macho. There were no words spoken but we both fell about laughing.
I knew people could be gay, of course, but I didn’t think my brother could be.
When we were growing up I just thought he was sensible; everyone I knew was
having problems with relationships and girls, but he never got upset — he
just seemed very relaxed with girls.
The only time I’ve ever seen William struggle with his identity was when he
was about 26 and he was asking: “What is it to become a gay man?” I think he
really struggled with it. We’ve talked about how sad it is that even if
you’re not famous you can’t walk down the street holding your boyfriend’s
hand. I’d hate that — I can do that any time with a girlfriend. William told
me once that he had walked through Shepherd’s Bush hand in hand with his
boyfriend, and I was so proud of him.
William is very supportive of my charity and he’s incredibly supportive of my
personal journey. I listen to all his music and give him feedback. When he
played the V Festival a few weeks ago, I went with him. Four years ago, when I
was drinking, that wouldn’t have been possible. But this time he sent me a
text afterwards saying: “It’s so much fun having you on the bus.” It was
amazing. Am I prepared to trade this friendship for booze now? The answer is
no.
WILL: The nature of being twins is that you constantly get compared, and one
twin can suffer. I remember when we went to school there were two sets, and I
was in the higher set, so it was decided that I was the clever one and
Rupert was the sporty one. I think he gave up a bit because of the
comparison. But we had the same Common Entrance exam results and not wildly
dissimilar GCSEs. You just get labelled and it takes time to get away from
that — he’s just as clever as me and I’m just as sporty as him.
Rupert was more of a tearaway than I was at school, and later he used to have
these terrible fits of temper that, looking back, were brought on by
alcohol. I’d get annoyed with teachers who tried to make me responsible for
him, but even when things were difficult I never wished he was somewhere
else. At prep school we used to sneak out of our dorms, which were next to
each other, to kiss each other good night.
I think I would have found school harder without Rupert. In our first year at
Wellington we kept to ourselves. We’d gone from being at the top of prep
school to being at the very bottom. We were absolutely terrified of the
older boys to start with. As we moved up the school, Rupert was more
sociable than me. At 17 or 18 I wished I was as good at parties as he was.
He’d get on the dance floor, whereas I was very self-conscious. He was
seeing lots of girls and was very handsome and I just wasn’t. Now I’m the
performer, which is funny.
After school it was time to move away and find our own identities. We both had
a brilliant time when we first got to London. So I couldn’t believe it when I
got a phone call saying that Rupert had cut his wrists. I was used to his
tempers, but this came as a total shock. When I arrived in the hospital and
saw the blood all over his clothes, it was a survival technique on my part
and also for his benefit to be very organised and calm. I knew I had to get
on with this. But it was horrific. I still find it very upsetting now.
But by the time we got to 25 I’d had enough. The whole family had to distance
themselves. It was making us all so unhappy. Once, when I was going to an
awards ceremony, the organisers sent a Rolls-Royce to pick me up. I was all
dressed up in the back of this smart car and we had to drive past Paddington
station. I knew that Rupert was in there, drinking, and had been all day.
It must be hard to have everyone saying to you “Isn’t your brother doing so
well?” all the time. I’d have found it impossible. He had a
drunken fight once and suddenly it exploded into the papers — because of me.
I remember someone saying: “It’s because you’re famous…” But what could I
do? I can’t remember exactly when Rupert got his life back together, but I
do remember him going for a year without drinking, then it was two, and now
three. His charity has given him a focus. It’s made me speak more openly
about my own experience with depression, too. But now I know more about it,
and when it happens
I don’t feel as if I’m falling into that deep, black pool; I have linchpins I
can hang on to and climb out again with. I also have to watch what I drink,
because that runs in the family too.
Rupert and I are very similar now — we have great conversations. We’ll meet
someone and afterwards I’ll say, “Why do you think he did that?” and Rupert
will say: “Well, I think he was feeling like this…” We both have these
insights now. A friend said to me: “Rupert just sees things, doesn’t he?”
And he does.
I think he found my being gay hard because we’re so similar. He said: “I don’t
understand — we’re the same and yet you’re gay.” It made him question his
own sexuality for a while.
I never used to want him to come to work with me, because I’d have to look
after him. Recently he asked if he could come to the V Festival. My
immediate reaction was to try and put him off, then I realised that I didn’t
have to do that any more, so I said: “Yes, sure.” Afterwards all the band
members and crew told me: “Your brother’s amazing.” I think it’s because a
lot of music people tend towards melancholy and have had similar
experiences. But they’re right. Rupert is amazing. To be like that for
almost 10 years and then to come back from the abyss — and he’s done it all
on his own. I’m just so proud of him.
Interviews: Simon Brooke.
Photographs: Will Sanders
