Priscilla (R) and Ainie (L) have written about their experiences in a book called Safe (Picture: Priscilla Grainger)
Laying face down on the bed, I felt another tear stream down my cheek.
‘Stop the f***ing tears!’, bellowed my attacker.
He hit me on the back. The room was spinning. I buried my head in my pillow, praying for the abuse to stop.
It was 3am in Florida on the third night of what should have been the holiday of a lifetime – my honeymoon.
But instead of newly-wedded bliss, I was genuinely frightened of my new husband.
When we met in June 1989, he was working as a barman at my local pub in Ireland. He always used to chat when he saw me and I enjoyed our flirty banter across the bar.
Soon, we started meeting up for a drink and it wasn’t long before I was smitten.
He seemed like a real gentleman. He always paid for dinners and got on well with my parents.
I thought I’d met the man of my dreams. So when he asked me to marry him in December 1993, of course I said yes.
After our wedding, we headed off on our honeymoon and for the first few days, things were mostly fine. Then, on the third night, I decided to head back to our room as I was exhausted, leaving him at the hotel bar to have drinks alone.
Priscilla was happy when Ainie was born (Picture: Priscilla Grainger)
The next thing I knew, my husband came storming in, yelling at me: ‘You’re married to me now, you shouldn’t have left me!’
I told him not to speak to me like that but that only made things worse. He pushed me, then hit and kicked me.
The next morning, I was still in a state of shock. When the topic came up, he told me I was overreacting and that it’d never happen again. I believed him.
Back home, we settled into married life, occasionally bickering about leaving the heating on, using too many towels and his gambling.
Then, two years into our marriage I discovered I was pregnant, and while I was excited for our little arrival, his reaction to the news was lukewarm at best. And as the pregnancy progressed, the rows got worse and more frequent.
Despite sharing a joint bank account, my husband slowly took control of my finances and I’d have to ask him to access my own wages. Even then, he’d only give me €130 per week, so come Monday, I would be scraping the bottom of my purse to pay for petrol.
One day, in March 1998 – when I was around 35 weeks pregnant – I asked him for an extra €30 so that I could buy some things for the baby.
Priscilla (L) and her daughter Ainie (R)(Picture: Priscilla Grainger)
Priscilla (R) and her daughter Ainie (L) (Picture: Priscilla Grainger)
‘For f**k sake, you’re always looking for something. Have you no money?’, he …read more
Source:: Metro
