Hubby decapitated himself!
Friday 26th September 2008
There are few things worse than a nasty divorce. The rows, the tears, the accusations… It's awful. So meeting my estranged husband, Gerald Mellin, 54, in August 2007 for a drink, to try to discuss our split civilly, made me nervous as hell.
You can do this, I told myself, as I pulled into the car park at the Bryncoch Inn in Swansea.
But seeing Gerald's grey Aston Martin convertible, my stomach swirled with nerves. I was 32, but had first fallen for Gerald when I was just 18. Back then, he was 40 and ran a gym in Neath. Bronzed and muscular, he was gorgeous. So when he asked me out, I didn't hesitate.
Our fling lasted just three months. Although Gerald was funny and charming, I was too young to be tied down, so we went our separate ways.
I went on to have a 13-year relationship and two gorgeous children, Charrelle, 12, and Eloise, 9.By January 2000, though, I was single again, and determined to get by on my own.
So I opened my own florist's in Neath. A few months on, I couldn't believe it when Gerald walked through the door.
'Mirrielle,' he smiled. 'I spotted you through the window. You look as beautiful as ever.'
After that, Gerald would pop in for a chat every day.
'Go for a drink with me?' he asked, four months on.
'I'm not looking for a relationship,' I insisted.
But a month on, that old charm had worn my defences down.
'You haven't changed,' I laughed as Gerald bought me drinks and held open doors. He was the perfect gent. And yet, five months into our relationship, I was having doubts. I'd only been single four months when we'd met again. I needed some breathing space.
'I'm not ready to settle down,' I told him. 'I'm sorry.'
I knew he'd be hurt. But I didn't expect the flash of rage in his eyes. Before I could move, he'd lunged and clamped his teeth round my nose.
I whimpered with shock and pain. Had he really just done that?
Gerald could barely believe it either.
'I'm so sorry,' he said, kissing my tears away. 'I didn't mean it.'
Too frightened to protest, I stayed with him. I'll break up with him when the time's right, I told myself. But the time was never right. Whenever I disagreed with Gerald, he'd fly into a rage, his fists curling. It meant I did what I was told. Within months, he'd moved into my home, and weeks on, he'd found us a house he'd chosen in Swansea.
'Do you like it?' he smiled, showing me round the luxurious farmhouse.
'Wow!' I marvelled. I'd never seen anything like it.
'It'll be our home,' Gerald said, hugging me.
That's the thing. When he wasn't being a bully, he could be so charming and persuasive.
So I agreed to move in, and then to marry him at Swansea Register Office on 21 October 2002. And when he asked me to give up my shop to work as a beautician at his gym, I said yes to that, too.
'You're so lucky,' my friends sighed. 'Your hubby's loaded.'
It's true, we had the fancy car and farmhouse. And yes, Gerald treated me to designer clothes and holidays. But we both worked hard for it. Sadly, though, I lacked the one thing
I craved most. Freedom.
Gerald knew it too, and could always be relied on to deliver a swift slap or punch if he saw my confidence rising at all. It was only in August 2007, after nearly five years of marriage and a particularly bad holiday in Egypt, that I finally found the strength to break free.
'I can't take this any more!' I screamed, back at the house.
Gerald looked shocked. He'd always been the one to do the yelling. Now it was my turn to take control.
'Get your stuff and get out,' I said.
I filed for divorce on the grounds of his unreasonable behaviour immediately. Gerald stayed in a hotel, and I refused to go to work, so I could avoid him. But he called and texted constantly. You can't leave me. I won't let you.
Tough, I thought. You've no choice.
But now, at the end of August, he'd worn me down again. When he asked to meet for a drink, I agreed. To discuss the divorce like adults, I texted.
But now, sitting opposite him, I saw he didn't want to do anything of the sort. I took a deep breath.
'Please,' I sighed. 'Can't we just sort things out between ourselves?'
Gerald snorted.
'I'm not going to live long anyway,' he said, with a strange laugh.
What was he on about? At the end of my tether, I got up to leave.
'This is pointless,' I snapped.
Gerald followed me out to my car, which I'd parked behind his.
'Look,' he said opening his boot to reveal a long, thick rope. 'That's what I'm going to kill myself with.'
'Grow up,' I said, rolling my eyes in disgust. 'Give me the rope.'
But he just slammed the boot shut, got in the car and roared off.Thank God he's out of my life, I thought, shaking. If only it had been that simple.
Two weeks on, on 13 September 2007, I saw Gerald again, at Neath and Port Talbot County Court for a preliminary divorce hearing. Determined to stay strong, I didn't even look at him as the judge awarded me an extra £100 a week in maintenance. Just being near Gerald made
me feel awful. By nine o'clock that evening, once I'd put the kids to bed, I crawled into bed and sobbed.What a terrible, rotten mess. I was asleep at 10.45pm, when my phone beeped with a text.Bleary-eyed, I picked it up off my bedside table. It was from Gerald.
Congratulations. XXX
'Why can't you just leave me alone?' I cried, turning the phone off in a fury.
It felt like I'd just drifted off to sleep again, when I was woken by a knock at the front door.
It was 12.45am. Not Gerald, please…But when I opened the door, there were two police officers standing there.
'It's about your husband,' the female officer said.
Great, I thought. What now? I ushered them inside.
'Your husband's been found dead in his car,' the officer told me.
Dead? Gerald?
'A-are you sure?' I spluttered.
'I'm afraid so,' she nodded.
Shocked, I sat there in a daze as they called my sister, Maria Evans, 42, who rushed round.
I cried on her shoulder all night. Yes, I'd wanted to be free of Gerald, but not like this.
But it wasn't until the following afternoon that I found out exactly how bad it really was.
'Gerald tied one end of a rope to a tree on Sketty Lane in Swansea,' a police officer told me. 'And the other end around his neck as he sat in his car.'
Then he'd put the top down and accelerated away.
'He was decapitated,' the officer said. 'We found his head on the back seat.'
I almost threw up.
That afternoon, I was taken to Singleton Hospital in Swansea to identify the body. I was terrified. Would I have to see his severed head? Fortunately, Gerald was back in one piece, with a sheet up to his chin. Amazingly, there didn't look like there was a scratch on him.
A few days later, I had one more shock in store.
'Your husband cancelled his life insurance policy,' a woman from the bank told me.
Was this his revenge? Any doubts I had vanished two days later, when the coroner sent
a copy of Gerald's suicide note. Forgive all those I've left behind. I couldn't believe it.
Forgive? What was he trying to say? That this was my fault?
As I was still his next of kin, I arranged Gerald's funeral.On the other side of his suicide note, he'd asked for a song he called I Did Nothing Wrong by Bobby Brown to be played. But at his funeral in St David's Church in Swansea, I didn't play it. It just seemed wrong. Gerald had left me £320,000 in debt, mostly from when he'd remortgaged the house. In May this year, I had no choice but to put the house on the market and rent a three-bedroom house instead.
Finally, in August 2008, Maria and my brother, Michael, 46, came with me to Swansea Coroner's Court for the inquest.
That's when I found out there had been witnesses who'd seen Gerald's car driving down the street.
'The car was going really slowly,' one said. 'As it passed, I saw the body had no head.'
Horrific. The coroner recorded a verdict of suicide. Now, a month later, I'm trying to move on, but it's not easy. I'm sure what Gerald's done will affect the girls for years to come.
It's ironic, I've got my freedom at last, but my God, at what a price.