I had just turned sixteen when I met my future husband. He was twenty. It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't even attraction. He was not my type.
Anyway, my future husband was my best friend's boyfriend's mate. We'd agreed to meet in one of the local pubs to make up a foursome.
My first view of him was from the back. He was bent over a snooker table, holding the cue, sawing it back and forth, taking forever to execute his shot. Show-off! He wore beige chinos and had a massive mullet: jet black hair halfway down his back, shaved close at the sides. It was the eighties, what can I say. My first instinct was to flee but my friend insisted on me staying. To spare her the pain of having to explain my absence, I stayed.
It wasn't a total disaster. He was funny and chatty which kinda compensated for my lack of attraction to him. He also bought me several Pernods which helped make him less repulsive. By the end of the evening, I hardly even noticed his mullet. He was good company and it didn't seem unreasonable to go out again, and again, and again. Soon, we were going out together, just me and him.
Over the next six months or so, he grew on me – affection resulting from close proximity and familiarity. I was comfortable around him. He flattered me, told me he loved me, wanted marriage, kids, that sort of thing. It seemed like something I wanted at some point too, so why not! Anything to get away from my parents.
I spent more and more time with him. When we weren't together, we were on the phone. Back in those days, there were only house phones, the kind that were attached to a wall. We had only one in the entire house. I spent hours sitting on the stairs, just talking to him, hogging our solitary phone. My parents didn't like this arrangement.
On a few occasions, he called when I wasn't in. I'd return, my parents fuming at the inconvenience. 'He's phoned about a million times, ye know!' I'd feel a rush of excitement, knowing he'd been thinking of me. I was too young to notice the red flags, the obsession. Too naïve to see what was coming. At the time, I interpreted his behaviour as real love. The way it ought to be.
When I phoned him back he'd sound so relieved to hear my voice. Then he'd talk about how upset it made him, that I wasn't there when he called. How it made him feel sad that I preferred to spend time with my friends. He said he couldn't understand why someone as lovely as me would bother with such lousy, two-faced, shallow bitches. He'd say he loved me so much and just wanted to be with me. Only me. He didn't even want to spend time with his friends any more. Just me. I'd say the same back to him, but I remember not feeling it. I loved hanging around with my friends. It was fun. And they weren't lousy, or two-faced or shallow.
This caused me anxiety. I'd hurry home from school rather than dawdling with friends. 'Has he called?' would be the first thing I'd ask. If the answer was 'That frigging pest? Not yet!' I'd feel relief, knowing I'd not disappointed him and could avoid that conversation.
We were seeing each other every night and all weekends now. He was allowed to sleep on the couch, but not on school nights. My parents hated the situation. They didn't like that he bought me ciggies and alcohol and that he was constantly there. They said I should hang around more with my friends, see him less frequently. Secretly, I agreed with them.
I told him what they'd said, hoping he'd see it as a reasonable suggestion. I missed my friends. But he was devastated. Then angry. He told me my parents were jealous, trying to split us up, that they didn't love me and just wanted to keep me miserable. He wasn't having any of it. He wasn't gonna let them ruin our life. He was gonna make me happy. He started to hatch a plan. We would run away. We could go to London, get jobs, be rich, happy and free. No more school for me? Sold! I didn't understand that I'd be taking my jailer with me.
So, we got the train from Liverpool to London. But we got off at the wrong stop and ended up in Luton (near London). We booked into a cheap B&B. This was the start of our new life together. A poky, smelly room, no en-suite, no telly, no radio, nothing. Just him, me and a bed. I didn't get to explore Luton. He thought it'd be too dangerous for me to go out in that area. Didn't wanna put me at risk. He went out to bring back supplies – junk food, ciggies, alcohol – and I stayed in the room alone, waiting, worrying.
Three days later we were on the train back to Liverpool. We'd ran out of money. It was bad planning on our part. All the job centres were closed – it was a bank holiday weekend.
My parents weren't happy to see me but that might've been because I got a taxi from the train station and had promised the driver they would pay. My parents let me in but told my future husband he wasn't welcome. He had to go home to his parents.
Things escalated after that.
Reading Is it Love or Abuse?, by @dawnsheree, prompted me to jot down these memories.
Thanks for popping by.
Anj x
It is hard to see the signs when we don't want to. We are blinded by love or just young and naive, I believe. It feels good to be needed by someone...
Yes, being so young and naive it's easier for controlling or abusive people to infest the mind with 'love' propaganda. Thanks for popping by and commenting :)
You were a mullet enabler.
Ok, that made me gag laughing. Well played hahahahaha
Such a good story! I see you have an interesting life and maybe I can learn something cool with you!
Keeping the nice work!! :)
Thanks Ddua.
Let's hope we can all learn from each other.
Thanks for popping by
Anj x
Oh no, missing friends is definitely hard, but it really feels natural that the drift happens at the time. Sounds like there is a lot more to this story....
But are you coloring parts of this story from hindsight, or was it really that the warning signs were plain as day from the beginning?
I totally agree, Eon. The drift must happen, gradually. I was too young.
Yes, this story is set more than 30 years ago so I've no doubt there's been a bit of colouring-in. The signs were there, in hindsight, but more subtle, over months and years -- incremental. I had to condense it or risk blathering on for thousands of words. You know what I'm like lol :D
Wow, such a tragic and intense story. You write very well, @anjkara. Always at the end of my seat wondering what happened next.
Thanks Sharon. It was Dawn's piece that triggered the memory. You know how it is, with writing. See ya later :D
Thanks anj! I can relate to you loads. I'm excited to read what's next but those signs are the scariest of all. The thought of "you and me against the world thing" makes the set-up sound so ideal but then if you listen to it a bit more this goes nowhere.
I know this doesn't apply to all but if a lot of people don't like your partner red that's a super red flag!
It's like taking you slowly, slowly and slowly into his world, until you'll realize that your hooked and you can't get out.
Surprisingly, he wasn't my type too. lol
Thanks Dawn. Yes, you understand EXACTLY how it is. It's a slow, creeping thing. You don't realise until you're suffocating.
Lol... dunno if he's anyone's type :D
Yes, I feel you definitely. :)