I’ll Cut The Devil Out Of You

Faye’s evil ex launched a vi­cious at­tack when she was preg­nant

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Ray­mond Hawk­sey had a rep­u­ta­tion for be­ing tough, and that’s what at­tracted me to him at first. In July 2010, I was in a dark place. The year before, I’d been sex­u­ally as­saulted in a ran­dom at­tack, but de­spite my at­tacker be­ing caught and jailed, after, I was a ner­vous wreck and suf­fered with ter­ri­ble anx­i­ety.

I need a strong man to look after me, I thought. I’d known Ray­mond for years through friends.

When he asked me out for a drink, I jumped at the chance.

Ray­mond had a wicked sense of hu­mour - al­ways crack­ing jokes. ‘You’re gor­geous,’ he’d tell me. Things moved quickly. Within months, Ray­mond had popped the ques­tion and, shortly after, I moved into his place. I felt safe with him. But the day before our wed­ding in Oc­to­ber 2011, police came.

‘We need to warn you about Ray­mond,’ an of­fi­cer said. ‘He has a his­tory of vi­o­lence.’

They didn’t go into much de­tail and, when I con­fronted Ray­mond, he broke down.

‘I’m so em­bar­rassed,’ he cried. ‘They’ve got it all wrong.’

He ex­plained it was all a mis­un­der­stand­ing.

As he got more up­set, I be­gan to feel sorry for him.

‘If you don’t want to be with me, I will un­der­stand,’ he said. I loved him and didn’t want to judge him on his past. We went ahead with the wed­ding, but we soon be­gan hav­ing ex­plo­sive rows. Then, in Oc­to­ber 2013, I fell preg­nant. We were ex­cited, but I also had doubts about Ray­mond. His drink­ing and short tem­per were get­ting worse. He stopped me see­ing my fam­ily too, and be­gan tex­ting me when­ever he was out with his mates. ‘Call me’, he’d say. When I did, he’d start shout­ing. ‘Why are you ring­ing me, you para­noid cow? You’re such a nag­ging wife!’ he’d yell. He was try­ing to make me look jeal­ous to his friends. In Fe­bru­ary 2014, it was my birth­day. I hoped he’d spoil me. In­stead, he went to a footy match. When he came home drunk, I told him I was up­set. ‘Stop moan­ing you sl*g!’ he screamed. Then he kicked me in the leg with such force, I fell over. ‘If you’re not care­ful, I’ll

kick that baby out of you,’ he spat. Ter­ri­fied, by now I’d lost touch with my friends and fam­ily. By April, I’d had enough. ‘It’s over’, I texted when Ray­mond was out one day.

He tried call­ing, but I ig­nored him and went to bed.

At 4am, I woke to him march­ing up­stairs. I could smell the booze as he stag­gered into the bed­room.

‘Get out,’ I told him. At that, he flew into a rage. ‘You dirty cow!’ he screamed, drag­ging me down­stairs by my hair.

He hit me and then he grabbed an old dog chain and whipped my arms, legs and stom­ach.

In agony, I didn’t want to pro­voke him, so I swal­lowed back the tears.

But then Ray­mond launched at me with a glass.

Push­ing it into my face, it cracked, and blood dripped down my cheeks.

‘I’ll cut that devil out of you,’ he barked, point­ing to my baby bump with a shard of glass. I clutched my tummy. ‘You need help,’ I begged,

I didn’t want to judge him on his past

He pointed the shard of glass at my baby bump

des­per­ate to calm him down.

Some­how it worked, and he left me alone. But Ray­mond had hid­den my phone and locked all the doors and win­dows.

There was no way out.

This is the end, I fret­ted.

I bent down to clean up the blood from the floor, and then Ray­mond start­ing uri­nat­ing over me and into the mop bucket.

Then he took a glass, dipped it into the bucket filled with dish­wa­ter, urine and blood, and dis­gust­ingly took a gulp. Time passed in a blur. He let me have a shower, but sat on the toi­let, watch­ing me. ‘Let’s have sex,’ he said. At first I couldn’t be­lieve it. He was act­ing like ev­ery­thing was nor­mal. I knew if I re­fused, though, he’d lose his tem­per again. A few days later, Ray­mond dragged me out of bed and locked me in a room. At this point I had had enough and I threat­ened to call the police and tell them ev­ery­thing he had done to me. After that, Ray­mond packed up and left. See­ing my chance, I man­aged to find my phone and call the police. When they ar­rived min­utes later, I broke down. ‘You’re safe now,’ an of­fi­cer com­forted me. I gave a state­ment and was taken to hos­pi­tal. I also had a scan to check my baby. ‘Ev­ery­thing’s fine,’ a doc­tor con­firmed.

Due to the stress of the at­tack, though, doc­tors wanted to in­duce me early.

In May 2014, my son was born weigh­ing 6lb 14oz. ‘You’re per­fect,’ I cried. He was so in­no­cent. He didn’t de­serve such a hor­ri­ble dad.

That June, Ray­mond Hawk­sey, then 45, ap­peared at Caernar­fon Crown Court and pleaded guilty to three counts of as­sault and one count of as­sault oc­ca­sion­ing ac­tual bod­ily harm. Judge Wyn Lloyd Jones told Hawk­sey, ‘She was preg­nant with your child. You com­pletely de­graded and abused her in a se­ri­ous way, and did so re­peat­edly.’ He was sen­tenced to 36 months in prison and a re­strain­ing or­der was im­posed. But no sen­tence will be long enough. Hawk­sey at­tacked me when I was 35 weeks preg­nant with his child. He makes me sick. I’ve since divorced him. I thought he was go­ing to pro­tect me. Re­ally, it was him I needed pro­tect­ing from.


Things moved quickly with us

Faye Craven, 42

Blood dripped down my face

Go­ing it alone

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