Choirmaster Jack became a rock for Elina. But some things didn’t quite add up…
Gathering up the singers’ empty bowls, I spotted the choirmaster hovering by the counter.
‘Can I help at all?’ he asked.
‘That’s OK, Jack,’ I said, smiling tightly.
I ran the town’s ice-cream parlour, and though I loved my business, I’d been having a difficult couple of months.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Elina?’ Jack asked. ‘You look like you need a break.’
‘Actually, my dad has cancer,’
I admitted. ‘We’re really close, and I’m struggling.’
‘I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to cry on,’ he reassured.
The local choir regularly visited my parlour, and Jack would often lend a hand.
He was charming, charismatic and a talented musician. The choristers adored him.
So, when he asked me out on a date to a local restaurant, I was delighted.
Just a few weeks later, my father passed away.
‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll help with the parlour while you’re arranging the funeral.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what
I’d do without you at the minute.’
On the day of the funeral, Jack turned up uninvited.
I thought it was a bit much, but he said he just wanted to support me, and my family were happy to welcome him into the fold.
Over the next months, our relationship blossomed.
Jack was caring and attentive, and I came to rely on him.
The evening before Valentine’s Day, I was serving
ice cream to the choir, when he cleared his throat.
‘Can I have everyone’s attention please!’ he said.
Then he got
down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
The parlour
was crammed
with customers
from wall to wall and I didn’t feel I had much option but to say yes.
Everyone erupted into cheers.
I knew it was very soon – we’d only be together three months – but Jack treated me so well and I was grateful for all his support while I was grieving.
'But the business is my income'
We arranged our wedding
for the summer, six months
after we first got together.
Only, as we
made preparations, Jack’s lack of
family and friends began to bother me.
He had two daughters, but he said his ex-wife had poisoned them against him.
And when we visited the registrar a few days before
the wedding, I found out something else…
‘Why does your name say Steven Jack Kelsey?’ I asked, looking at the paperwork.
‘Jack Taverner is my stage name, I just go by it full time nowadays,’ he replied. ‘I’ve told you this before.’
I was pretty sure he hadn’t,
but I let it go.
We married in the local town hall, with a few members of the choir in attendance and all my friends and family.
Afterwards, Jack moved into my townhouse.
It turned out he’d only been renting his home, and was entirely financially dependent
on me.
I’d been left some money by my first husband and then my father, and made a good living from the parlour.
‘I’m just a musician, I’ve never earned very much,’ Jack confessed.
I started to think I’d rushed
into things.
Still, I was desperate to make things work, and forked out to
do things like renew his insurance or pay his repair bills
if his car broke down.
That was on top of all the expensive gifts I bought him, from a new keyboard to a camera.
A few months after we
married, he made an unexpected suggestion.
‘You should sell the parlour,’ he told me. ‘Come help me run the choir instead.’
‘But Jack, the business is my income,’ I replied.
‘Don’t be silly, you’ve got loads of money,’ he said.
Eventually, he persuaded me.
From then on, I went with him to his sessions.
I’d prepare teas and coffees and take the choristers’ money
at the door.
Only, Jack became snappy with me.
‘Not there, you stupid girl!’ he barked if I put his tea down in the wrong place.
Then he’d add, ‘Just joking,’ and the choir would laugh.
Sometimes, a member of the choir would check with me afterwards if I was all right.
‘Oh, it’s just
Jack being Jack,’
I would reply.
Two years after we married, I barely recognised my husband. He spent all his time lazing about the house.
And he kept trying to
pressure me into putting the deeds in his name, so that he’d be protected when I died.
But I refused.
Jack was sexually very demanding too.
If I ever said no to anything, he’d fly into a rage.
‘You can be a bit of a narcissist, you know,’ I told
him once.
‘I love you!’ he roared. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
While my life was spiralling
out of control, I was too ashamed to tell my friends and family what was actually going on.
Then, five years into our marriage, Jack had an affair.
When I discovered explicit texts, I confronted him and he walked out on me
to be with her.
It was my 63rd birthday.
I was completely devastated he could treat me like that.
'Jack is a vile man for doing this'
Mutual friends and members of the choir found out what had happened, and a few got in touch.
Jack is a vile man for doing this, emailed one older lady named Dinah, who we both
knew from the village.
We met up for coffee and she consoled me.
But it didn’t take long for
Jack to start begging me to
take him back.
He’d split with his other woman and was stuck living in
a bedsit.
‘I love you, Elina,’ he said.
‘I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.’
Eventually, I felt so sorry for him that I agreed to give him one more chance.
And for a little while, things seemed fine.
We went on a cruise together, funded by me.
But when
we returned,
Jack started acting aloof.
‘Are you
having another affair?’ I asked.
‘If you are,
you can get
out now.’
‘Don’t be
so dramatic,’
he said. ‘Of course I’m not.’
He told me I was crazy, and stormed off to sleep in the
spare room.
But just a week later, he told me he was moving out.
‘I’m not having an affair, I just can’t be around you when you’re acting so insane,’ he said.
After he left, I was cleaning the spare room when I felt a lump in the pillowcase.
Reaching inside, I found the camera
I’d bought him.
My heart galloped
in my chest as I switched it on and looked at the saved videos.
Disgust and humiliation flooded
over me.
The first clip featured an explicit video of my husband with 72-year-old Dinah.
I felt physically sick.
Hands shaking, I rang Jack five or six times, but he didn’t pick up.
Leave me alone, he texted.
And at that moment, I saw red.
Right, I’m going to drive to her house and confront them, I thought, grabbing my keys.
And lo and behold, Jack’s car was pulling out of the driveway when I arrived.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come to talk to Dinah, because I can’t talk to you,’ I said. ‘I have evidence of your affair.’
He saw the camera in my hand and his face went white.
I stormed up to the front door and started knocking.
A moment later, Dinah answered.
‘I’m disgusted with you,’
I told her. ‘I thought you were a friend!’
‘What do you mean?’ she replied.
‘I’ve got you on video!’ I told her, holding up the camera.
‘Give me that back!’ bellowed Jack, making a
grab for it.
Then he gripped me by my shoulders and shoved me into the house, down
the hallway and
into the living room.
Pushing me down
on to the sofa, he pinned my arms
with his legs.
And then he started pummelling me.
His eyes were jet black, like a man possessed.
‘Jack, stop!’ I screamed, but instead, he kicked me in the stomach with his heavy boots.
He’s going to kill me, I thought.
‘I’m going to call the police!’ I shouted.
That’s when he came to his senses and drew back.
Scrambling to my feet, I made a run for the door.
As I stumbled out on to the street, two police cars pulled up at the kerb.
It turned out a neighbour had phoned them, concerned at the commotion.
‘Arrest that man!’ I sobbed, my nose pouring with blood. ‘He’s just violently assaulted me!’
I insisted on making my statement before heading to hospital, determined to tell the police everything while it was
still fresh in my mind.
Jack was led out of Dinah’s house in handcuffs and put into the back of a squad car.
When I did finally make it to hospital, doctors told me that Jack had broken my nose.
There was a chance I had a fractured skull too.
The kick to the stomach caused an infection, and I was kept in for two days.
Physically, I was in a lot of pain. But that was nothing compared to the mental anguish.
Nightmares plagued me whenever I slept, and during the day, I suffered from panic attacks.
I’d always been confident,
but now I was a shadow of my former self.
I was terrified that Jack would come back to kill me.
Meanwhile, he’d told the choir that I had given myself the
injuries by banging my head on the steering wheel.
I even had a few messages through asking me how I could lie about Jack.
Help from my family and from victim support were the only things that kept
me going.
I began divorce proceedings, and clung on to the hope that one day Jack would pay for
what he’d done.
The trial was held two years after his attack.
As we stepped into
the court waiting room,
I spotted him sitting at
the far end.
He didn’t look at me, but I could see the smug smile on his lips.
A few minutes later,
the prosecutor called me into his office.
‘Elina, I’m so sorry,
but Jack isn’t going
to prison,’ he said. ‘They’re going to let
him off with a suspended sentence, because of
his age.’
And in the end, the
man who had ruined my life only received an 18-month suspended sentence, along with
a 10-year restraining
order and 120 hours of community service.
I felt humiliated all over again.
Thanks to Jack, I lost my business and my faith in men. My mental health was in tatters.
The punishment didn’t seem anywhere near sufficient.
‘I’m going to go to the press,’
I told my sister afterwards. ‘Jack’s a narcissist. I know his biggest nightmare is being exposed for what he is – so that’s what I’m going to do!’
Ultimately, I try
to remember that even if Jack is still free, he can’t be
very happy.
He’s 68 with nothing at all to show for it – no money, no home, no friends, no family.
The choir was dissolved when his attack on me became public.
Jack destroyed me, but I still have so much more love in my life than he ever will.
Elina Fragola, 65, Sandbach, Cheshire
• Dinah's name has been changed