Beat my hubby up on wedding night!
Monday 10th November 2008
I'd rehearsed it so many times in my head, to make sure every little detail was perfect. From booking the hairdresser for 7.30am, to checking the napkins were the right shade of pink to match my bouquet, nothing was going to spoil my big day. Only, in reality, things aren't always that simple.
It was 20 April 2007, and I'd just got married to my boyfriend of five months, oilman Mark, 41. But my dreams of a smoothly run wedding had all started to go to pot when the hairdresser had arrived half-an-hour late.
'I'm so sorry,' she'd apologised. 'The traffic was terrible.'
'But the ceremony starts in a few hours,' I'd snapped.
I'd wanted my long brown hair put into Mariah Carey-style ringlets.
'At this rate, I'll look more like Amy Winehouse,' I'd muttered.
I'd fallen in love with the Ardverikie Estate in the Highlands, where they filmed the BBC's Monarch of the Glen, so we were having the ceremony there, even though it was over 100 miles away. I'd been due to get married at 12.30pm, but it was 1pm by the time we'd finally made it to Ardverikie.
'I've got another wedding in half- an-hour,' the registrar had warned.
So, instead of elegantly gliding up the aisle, I'd practically run up it. Then we'd exchanged our vows in front of my dad, James, 64, and Mark's parents, Carol and Bill, before heading back to the Hilton Treetops Hotel in Aberdeen, where 12 more friends and family were waiting.
We'd only made it halfway though our dinner when the evening guests had started to arrive.
I'd been up and down like a jack-in-the box, trying to greet them. And now, it was 11pm, and Mark and I had nipped up to our bridal suite for a breather. I was sitting on the bed, fiddling with my ivory satin shoes when, for some reason, Mark piped up.
'You know your ex-boyfriend…'
Don't ask me what he was about to say, or why, because just the fact that he'd mentioned my ex on our special day made a red mist descend.
Whether it was sheer exhaustion, too much cava, or me just being irrational, something inside me snapped.
'Shut up!' I shrieked.
Mark looked shocked.
'Sshh, I know it's been stressful,' he said, trying to give me a cuddle.
'Not now,' I spat, shoving him away.
Mark's face flashed with anger and he pushed me back. So I pushed him. Then he pushed me again.To anyone watching, it would have been laughable. But I was so angry.
'Everything went wrong!' I cried. 'Now you're trying to wind me up.'
'Calm down,' he smirked.
'Don't be so patronising,' I yelled.
How dare he… HOW DARE HE! Quick as a flash, I whipped an empty water bottle from the side. It hurtled through the air and missed his head by millimetres. It was hard to say who looked more shocked, Mark or me. Then… wham! He'd pinned me down on the bed by the top of my arms.
'Gerroff!' I screamed.
'Calm down,' he urged.
Furious that I couldn't break free, I reached down and grabbed one of my shoes.Crack!
The one-inch heel of an ivory satin shoe hit him on the side of his head. Mark let me go.
I froze, then watched as he raised his hand to his head in horror. Blood.
'What have you done?' he yelled, storming out of the door.
What had I done? Looking in the mirror, I gasped. Spots of blood covered my dress, my arms and face were dotted with scratches, and mascara streaked down my cheeks.
'No!' I wailed, falling to my knees, sobbing.
I was still there 15 minutes later, when there was a knock at the door. Four police officers were standing there.
'Where's Mark?' I sobbed. 'Is he OK?'
'Teresa Allerton,' an officer said, clicking handcuffs to my wrists. 'We're arresting you
for assault.'
The shame.
I'd actually been arrested on my wedding day.
'Let me go!' I roared.
I must have looked a right state as I was bundled through the foyer and into the back of the police car, handcuffed and still in my gown.At the police station, I was given a T-shirt and a pair of shorts to change into, then shown to my cell. I cried all night. Poor Mark, we'd been married less than 12 hours when I'd attacked him.I'd ruined our wedding. What if I'd ruined our marriage, too? At 3pm next day, I gave a statement.
'I don't know what came over me,' I sobbed. 'I've never been violent before.'
I'd never had a fight with anyone, let alone Mark. Finally, after three days in custody,
I was released on bail and drove straight to Mark's. He'd moved into my flat, but
hadn't yet sold his old place.
I held my breath as he opened the door.
'Come in,' he sighed.
Sheepishly, I followed him inside.
'What came over you?' he asked.
'I don't know,' I said tearfully. 'But it'll never happen again, I promise.'
Eventually, he gave me a hug.
'I know you've been under a lot of pressure,' he said. 'I forgive you.'
I'd never felt so relieved.That night, we curled up in bed and I hugged Mark tight.
What a fool I'd been.
The next morning, Mark and I wrote to the police and his solicitor explaining we wanted to make a go of our marriage. And three months later, in July 2007, I appeared at Aberdeen Sheriff Court, and admitted attacking Mark and vandalising the bridal suite. Thankfully, my not guilty plea for breach of the peace was accepted, and I was told to pay £250 costs and £500 in compensation to the hotel. It's been 18 months since our wedding, and Mark and I have hardly had a cross word since. I'll never know what came over me that night. But I do know our marriage will succeed. After all, just hours after we'd made our vows, I'd tested them to the limit.