I knew my marriage was doomed as I walked down the AISLE
As it’s revealed Elton told his wife it was all over three days into their honeymoon, author HELLY ACTON has an even worse confession...
MY FATHER’S arm gently linked mine and the music began to play. Guests on both sides of the aisle turned to look at me inching slowly towards my future husband.
Trying to breathe steadily, I hoped no one would notice the vivid red anxiety rash creeping down my arms. My hands clasped my bouquet tightly, my knuckles white.
The man waiting for me beside the altar was Ed, whom I had met at work in London four years previously when I was 25. We had travelled the world together and when he proposed to me in 2011, I said “yes”, immediately.
Love, of course, played a part in my reply. But there were other factors, too. All my friends were getting engaged and I feared if I didn’t jump on the bandwagon, I’d be left behind.
Just before his proposal, which I had an inkling would be coming, I found myself doing mental sums about how long it would take me to reach this point again with another man if I had the courage to listen to my gut, say no and go back to the race starting line.
Even Elton John’s doomed marriage to renate Blauel didn’t start showing cracks until the honeymoon six months after the wedding. I knew mine was a disaster long before that.
But getting married felt like a race I had to run. When a ring made its way onto my finger, I felt it would show the world I was worthy. That I was good enough for someone.
All that said, on our wedding day in London in 2012, I couldn’t stop thinking about the likelihood of our marriage failing. I glanced over at my mum. A few days earlier, she had assured me I didn’t have to go through with it if I had doubts. My stomach churned.
It didn’t help that Ed had done his classic disappearing act the night before. The same old routine, saying he’d be back at 7pm and turning up at 3am.
I told Mum I didn’t have doubts, but, in truth, I did. So why was I walking towards this man, whose promises I doubted and who left me feeling anything but secure?
Well, to some extent, it’s because I was hopeful. Ed was funny — making me laugh as easily as he made me cry — and affectionate. I wanted my gut to be wrong and for marriage to weld us together.
But largely, I proceeded because I couldn’t bear the shame. Divorce, I reasoned, surely would be easier than a last-minute cancellation, and far less humiliating. Less than six months later, aged just 29, I was to discover whether my thoughts on divorce were, in fact, correct. Because in that short space of time my marriage was over. And while, initially, I was embarrassed — who wouldn’t be? — today I can report that I am glad I have been through a divorce. Some might view it as a failure, but I am certain my failed starter marriage fixed me.
Going through the turmoil — while undoubtedly agonising — made me less needy. It cured me of my desire to have everything all mapped out, with a list of targets to be met by age 30: husband, house, kids …
Most significantly, without my failed starter marriage, I would never have met my new husband, Chris. It’s only because I ended a bad marriage that I realised what a good one looked like.
After my wedding day with Ed was over, in a blur of confetti and forced smiles, I began to act the part of a married woman, cutting my hair into a sensible bob and discussing when we might start a family.
Yet Ed seemed frustrated with me, to say the least.
One night, he told me I was too boring to go out with his friends.
It’s a statement that’s left me with social anxiety to this day. Ed never appreciated how his blade-sharp words chipped away at my confidence.
Occasionally he’d apologise, but I never believed he was sincere. Quietly, in my head, I took kids off the table. We were already on the brink, and I didn’t want to be tied to him with a baby.
With the worst possible timing, his parents decided to throw us a wedding celebration party, as many of his relatives hadn’t made it to the ceremony.
Ed wrote a speech and read it to me. ‘It’s good,’ I said, cautiously. ‘But it’s weird that you’ve written a wedding speech that doesn’t mention me.’
Ed tore the speech in half and told me he was leaving for a few days. While he did return, a few hours later, it did nothing to ease my sense of instability.
The next morning, six months after we had said our vows, I called my parents and told them my marriage was over. They were relieved, not surprised.
They were due to come and stay with us for the party but they arrived the next morning. Nervous beyond all measure, I waited for them to be there before I told Ed. I needed their support. An hour after they arrived, I told him.
My relief was tempered by panic at being single again aged 29, something Ed didn’t fail to remind me of. I was alone and on the shelf.
But, to my surprise, I loved it. Having spent years putting all my energy into partners (what a waste), I finally had the time and space to focus on myself.
Instead of trying to find The One, I realised I was The One. I could do what I want, eat what I fancied and go wherever I felt like going without having to check in.
One hot summer Sunday, I lay by a swimming pool, alone, save for my pile of books. Mobile phone off, I gloried in my aloneness. I dawdled home late, ate Vietnamese food in front of a box set and felt utterly free.
Of course, there were times I wished I had company. When it was too hard for friends with babies to come with me to the beach. When it would have been nice to share a meal on a rainy Sunday night. Or when a platesized spider appeared on the fridge and I had to stop a passerby on the street and beg him to remove it for me. But nothing could tarnish my quiet inner contentment. Almost four years after my marriage ended, in 2016, I decided to start dating again.
I was 32 when I met my now husband, Chris, first on an online dating site, then at a party a week later. Chris laughs when he remembers that, within minutes, I said: ‘I’m divorced.’ I was worried he might see my past as baggage, and I didn’t want to waste time.
But he didn’t see it like that. He thought it showed my courage.
Chris is warm, funny, familiar and kind. from the moment we met, Chris felt like home.
I wished we had met earlier. But if we had, it might not have worked. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now. Before, I lacked confidence. But with Chris, I knew I was fine all by myself.
Last week marked a year since Chris and I married. On that day, I walked down the aisle, aged 35 and rash- free, feeling like there was no place I’d rather be and no person I’d rather be rushing towards.
In four months, our team of two will become three. four if you include our dog, Milo. I’ll be 37 when I have my first child, which is seven years after I planned to have my last.
If I could have one wish for our child, it would be that they always know they are enough, all by themselves.
■ THE Shelf by Helly Acton is out now in hardback, eBook and Audio (read by Normal People actress Daisy EdgarJones), published by Zaffre. * Ed’s name has been changed.
I told Mum I didn’t have any doubts. I lied Finally, I had the time to be myself