Whatever happened to... jilted bride Marilyn Woodcock?
Marilyn, just before the wedding
Saturday 23rd June 2007
When people say they've met their other half, it makes me cringe. You see, I'm a firm believer in not relying on a man to make you happy. And I've learnt that the hard way.
Back in 1982, when I walked down the aisle to my fiancé, Eric, I was dreaming of married life. But my wedding hit the headlines when Eric jilted me at the altar and ran off on our honeymoon with his new girlfriend. Can you imagine the utter, utter humiliation?
Believe me, I've never felt as alone as I did that day, on 12 August, standing at the altar
like a prize idiot, as my husband literally legged it out of the church. I hadn't even seen it coming.
I'd met Eric Peacock, 28, two years earlier in O'Neill's bar in Sheffield city centre. I'd been queuing for a drink when someone trod on my toe.
'Ow!' I'd yelped.
But when I saw Eric's blond hair and broad shoulders, anger was the last thing on my mind.
'I'm so sorry,' he apologised, gallantly.
We'd spent the rest of the night flirting and by the time they rang last orders, I was well and truly charmed. We became an item, and he moved in with me and my daughters, Nicola, then 12, and Vicky, 8. Ours was what you might call a volatile relationship. We argued a lot, but what couple doesn't? What mattered was that I knew Eric loved me.
So when we'd made up after yet another barney, and Eric proposed, I'd jumped at the chance. I didn't want to wait, so we set a date for three months later. Talk about a bride on a mission. I booked Christ Church in Sheffield and chose pink roses. The honeymoon in Tenerife was booked and Nicola and Vicky got pretty pink bridesmaid dresses to match the sash on my ivory satin wedding dress.
Eric barely lifted a finger to help. Weddings are a woman's thing, I reassured myself. On the morning of the big day I was a bag of nerves. But, by the time I'd knocked back a few glasses of champagne, I'd calmed down.
'This is the best day of your life,' I told myself.
The shiny black car arrived outside and I travelled to the church with my dad, Edwin, then 58. The organ belted out the bridal march as we walked slowly up the aisle.
I beamed at my friends and family who looked on admiringly. Then I looked across at Eric. He looked back at me, but his expression was utterly blank.
'Nerves,' I thought.
Everyone sang All Things Bright and Beautiful while I stood next to Eric and tried to catch his eye. But he was looking down at his shiny new shoes.
Then it was time for the vows.
'He'll have to look at me now,' I thought, anxiously.
'Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?' the vicar asked Eric, still looking at the floor.
Silence. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours. I stared so hard at Eric I virtually burnt a hole in his cheek, but all he did was stare at his damn shoes. My throat was dry and my cheeks burned.
Say yes… I willed, glaring at him.
'No,' Eric said, eventually. 'No, actually, I don't.'
My bouquet dropped to the floor.
'Nooooo,' I gasped.
Eric turned and ran up the aisle, leaving me rooted to the spot.
The congregation started whispering furiously as I blinked back angry tears.
'Let's get you home,' my mum, Dorothy, then 55, whispered, guiding me to a side exit of the church.
By the time I put my key in the door I was fuming.
'How dare he?' I screamed.
Rage grew inside me like gathering storm clouds.
Stepping out of my dress I pulled on a tracksuit and headed for the front door.
'I'm going to my reception,' I told Mum. 'There's no point letting the party go to waste.'
To the amazement of my friends and family, I danced the night away. But when I fell into bed, drunk and exhausted, I let the mask slip.
'What's wrong with me?' I sobbed to Mum.
Suddenly, the humiliation of being rejected in front of everyone I knew hit me — hard.
For the next few days I couldn't face leaving the house but somehow the papers still got hold of my story. Headlines screamed: Bride jilted at the altar. As I read on, my jaw dropped open. Apparently, Eric had gone away on our honeymoon with his new girlfriend, Linda Gee,
a tall, slim brunette. So he was cheating… and on our honeymoon!
I needed revenge like I needed air, so when one of the papers suggested flying me to Tenerife to confront Eric, I jumped at the chance to go. I arrived in Playa De Las Americas and walked into the bar, cool, calm and collected. Then I saw Eric, cosying up to Linda.
I snapped.
'Why?' I bellowed.
And do you know what he did? He smirked.
Click. The newspaper's camera caught the confrontation.
Grabbing his pint, I tipped it over his head. Click. The photographer was loving it. And as I flew back to Britain alone I felt strangely empowered.
'I'm going to be free and single,' I vowed.
Back in Sheffield I threw myself into the single life. Me and my mate, Sue Barnes, now 53, were a force to be reckoned with, out clubbing every night. A month later we were out when I spotted an attractive bloke, the spit of cricketer, Ian Botham.
'Remember your pledge,' Sue warned me under her breath.
'I'm Lee Dalton,' he said. 'I'm 18.'
'I'm 30,' I laughed.
'I don't care,' he flirted.
We talked all night and when he leant in for a kiss I didn't stop him.
A week later I met Lee for a drink and told him all about my daughters. He filled me in about his work selling timber. I felt so happy but one thought was nagging away. Eric's betrayal.
What if Lee had seen the news?
'I recognised you from the papers,' he admitted. 'That Eric's a fool.'
Stuff the 'no more men' rule, I thought.
'I think he's the one,' I gushed to Sue the next night.
A few months on, Lee moved in. That night I gave him the warning chat.
'I need to hear that you would never betray my trust,' I said.
Lee took my hand.
'I'll say it every day if you need me to,' he said. Maybe it was daft but I believed every word.
I never noticed the age gap, and Lee and I surprised all our family and friends by being happy. We spent evenings in the pub or watching videos. And three years after we met I gave birth to our precious son, Liam. The question of marriage just never came up. There was no way I was setting foot in a church again. I didn't need a wedding. We were already a proper family.
Or so I thought.
In February 2002, when we'd been together for 17 years, Lee went away for work. When he came back he seemed really edgy.
'Is everything OK?' I asked him.
'Just tired,' he shrugged casually.
Lee spent the evening tapping messages into his mobile. A sick feeling lurched inside me when he took his mobile to the toilet to text.
'Are you cheating?' I demanded, when he came out.
He looked me straight in the eye.
'I met someone last night,' he said, without a flicker.
All of a sudden I felt like I was back at the altar in my white gown. Watching Lee drive off, I felt incredibly angry. Why didn't I stick to my promise? Why had I allowed my barriers to be broken down? It's a question I'm still puzzling over, five years later.
I know that some relationships are blissfully happy but I'm still convinced that there is a gene in most men that makes them cheat. Does that make me bitter and twisted? Who knows and, actually, who cares? I'm sick and tired of letting my heart be trampled over. If I die a lonely spinster, at least I won't suffer any more indignity and shame. I won't even allow myself to accept a date in case I end up falling for the next man who will break my heart.
I spent the first half of my life falling head over heels in love, only to get hurt. I'm going to spend the next half doing things my way. The only thing I'm falling in love with again is life.
Every week, Pick Me Up revisits someone who made the headlines. Check out our other fascinating go-backs:
Whatever happened to Jacqui Salmond who streaked for Tiger Woods?
Whatever happened to Jo Berry who befriended her dad's killer?