Priscilla had reservations about marrying Fred. If only she'd listened to her gut...
As the barman approached our table, he stared straight at me.
‘Here you go,’ he said, handing me my bottle of Heineken.
Dressed in a crisp white shirt, black trousers and dicky bow, he was tall with a certain charisma.
I felt myself blush.
Two nights later, I was back in the pub with friends, ordering another drink from him.
‘Great to see you again,’ he said, grinning. ‘My name’s Fred.’
I told him we were all planning to go to a party.
‘Would you like to come too?’
I asked.
I felt butterflies in my stomach as we chatted all night.
He asked if he could see me again, and it became the first of many dates.
At 21, I’d never had a serious boyfriend before, so I thought Fred was the bee’s knees with his easy charm and humour.
I still lived with my mum Ann and dad Pat, and Fred lived with his parents, so we only went out twice a week.
Sometimes, Fred would be moody, but I’d tell myself he was just tired or busy at work.
And then, the next time, he’d be funny and loving again.
‘You might not have any brothers and sisters, but you’re my number one,’ he said to me.
One evening over dinner, he said something unexpected.
‘How would you feel if we got married?’ he asked.
‘I’d like that,’ I said immediately.
But later, when
I suggested going shopping for a ring, he was indifferent.
‘I’ll be working,
you go on your own,’ he shrugged.
Isn’t this something couples do together? I thought.
The night before the wedding,
I blurted out my fears to Mum.
‘You don’t have to go through with it,’ she soothed. ‘We can cancel. It’s only money.’
While my gut was screaming
to call things off, how could I let everyone down?
We’d invited 130 guests to a big Catholic church wedding, including Fred’s large family.
Just 48 hours later, we landed in Florida for our honeymoon.
‘I’ll look after the passports,’ Fred said.
Later, when I ordered a Budweiser at a restaurant, the waiter asked me for ID as I looked under 21.
‘Can I have my passport?’ I asked Fred.
‘I’ve got mine, but yours is still in the hotel safe,’ he said.
So, while he drank and gabbed away to other diners, I sipped on soft drinks.
Eventually, fed up, I headed back to our hotel.
Later, he joined me in our room, asking why I hadn’t stayed with him at the bar.
‘Because you left me to drink Coke all night,’ I said.
Suddenly, he flung me on the bed and punched me hard on
the arm.
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ he hissed.
I went to bed, crying silently, wondering what I’d got myself into.
Next morning, he acted as though nothing had happened, making me wonder whether I was imagining things.
Back home, Fred
was rude to my friends and made it clear my parents were no longer welcome.
Then, I realised that every
time he went out, he’d go to the bookies and bet on the horses.
Letters started to land on the doormat, telling us our mortgage was in arrears and other bills hadn’t been paid.
‘It’s your fault, you’re spending all the money,’ he lied.
Nine months after the wedding, I packed a suitcase and drove to Mum and Dad’s.
‘I’m leaving him,’ I sobbed.
Three days later, the phone rang.
It was Fred.
‘I promise not to gamble again,’ he begged. ‘These things happen in marriages.’
I gave in, but soon my dad became ill, so I had other things on my mind — including the fact that I was expecting a baby.
Even though our marriage was unhappy, I’d been desperate for a child.
When I was 32 weeks pregnant, I asked Fred for money for baby clothes.
Suddenly, he grabbed a vase and threw it at me, hitting me in my bump.
I screamed in agony, terrified that he may have hurt my unborn baby.
Two days later, my waters broke and I was rushed to hospital, wondering whether
he’d caused me to go into premature labour.
Doctors gave me steroids, which stopped the labour.
And when I finally had my beautiful daughter, Ainie, at 40 weeks, I knew I had to protect her from Fred.
At home, he showed no interest in her.
Yet, if we were out, he played the loving daddy.
On New Year’s Eve, when Ainie was nine months old, Fred was
in bed after a drunken night and
I decided to make my escape.
I left for my parents’ house with Ainie, but once again, he called, begging me to go back
to him.
‘I’ll change, I’ll see a psychiatrist, I just want us to be together,’ he said.
I wanted to leave him, but I didn’t want to be a single mother, so I went back.
Only, things got worse. One night, we had a rare evening out, but I was so tired, I went home early.
When Fred returned later, his face was like thunder.
‘You should have waited for me,’ he said.
Then he grabbed me
and threw me against the radiator.
I was in agony and knew I’d broken some ribs, but I felt too scared to go to the hospital.
Depressed, my hair started falling out and I ended up taking
antidepressants.
‘If you leave me, I’ll get the baby because they’ll know you’re an unfit mother,’ he said.
Soon, I became suspicious Fred was having an affair, so I hired
a private investigator.
At the same time, Dad fell gravely ill but I couldn’t get hold of Fred.
Dad died that night, and I knew from the private investigator that Fred had been with another woman.
He finally left after I got a protection order against him, and I didn’t hear from him for a year.
But a week before the first anniversary of Dad’s death,
he showed up again.
‘Please give me another chance,’ he pleaded.
How can I deny my daughter her dad? I thought.
But one evening, Ainie came running in to me.
‘Dad hit me on my leg with the remote control,’ she cried.
I told Fred we would all move in with Mum and I’d sell the house, because we were in debt due to his gambling.
I didn’t say that
I then planned
to throw him
out for good, because Mum’s house was in
my name.
Not long after, we were out on a walk when I tripped.
‘You’re an idiot,’ he snarled.
Then he kicked me hard in the back of my leg.
Ainie was there and saw it all.
‘Why did you do that? she cried.
I couldn’t have my daughter thinking this was normal, so I told him to leave.
Just weeks later, I was collecting Ainie from school, when he called.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ he threatened.
I drove straight to the police station and made a statement.
Fred eventually pleaded guilty to breaching the safety order and threats to kill.
He received a fine and a two-year suspended sentence.
It took six years to get a divorce, but I didn’t hear from him again.
A few years later, Ainie and I launched Stop Domestic Violence in Ireland.
Women who feel threatened can come to us for advice on finances and housing, or to get clothes and food.
We also wrote a book called Safe about our journey, which I hope serves as a warning to others.
I went through hell for almost 20 years, but I finally got free.
Now, I’m dedicating my life
to helping other women do the same.
Everyone deserves to be safe.
By Priscilla Grainger, 56, Dublin
*Fred’s name has been changed. Search ‘Stop Domestic Violence in Ireland’ on Facebook. Buy Safe at safe-thebook.ie