Dear stalker... DO ONE!

Creepy ob­ses­sives are mak­ing people’s lives hell more than ever be­fore...

Real People - - NEWS - Re­bekah Ox­ley, 47, Hull, East York­shire

‘I’m in con­stant fear’

Fak­ing a call from my friend, Jackie, 47, I mut­tered some lame ex­cuse and swiftly left the bar. My lat­est would-be Prince Charm­ing had turned out to be a chav in sports gear. Oh, well, plenty more fish in the sea, I sighed. Fit­ting, re­ally, as I was back on Plen­ty­off­ish within hours! A few days later, in De­cem­ber 2016, my phone buzzed.

Hi, how are you? read a mes­sage from Tony, 43. ‘He’s a bit of all right,’ I thought. We chat­ted, and he men­tioned the town of Bev­er­ley, near Hull.

That’s where I grew up!

I typed. I felt safer know­ing we had that con­nec­tion. Two weeks later, I went to An­thony Mark Gray’s house for cof­fee, and met him for drinks the fol­low­ing day. He turned up with a big bunch of flow­ers!

I wasn’t used to be­ing treated like a princess. Soon, I was smit­ten.

A few months on, an an­gry emoji popped up on my phone. Why haven’t you mes­saged me since lunchtime? asked Tony. Eh? My job at a hous­ing as­so­ci­a­tion was full-on.

Work was busy… I replied. But Tony changed. He be­came ob­sessed with who I’d spo­ken to or where I’d been, and hated me spend­ing time with my boys – Ge­orge, 16, Harry, 20, and Ben, 23.

I hoped it was just a bad patch, and me and Tony jet­ted off to Gran Ca­naria in May 2017.

But, just a week in, a mis­un­der­stand­ing about a food or­der turned into a blaz­ing row.

I felt sick. Where was my knight in shin­ing ar­mour?

That Au­gust, af­ter sev­eral at­tempts, I fi­nally ended it.

But my night­mare was only just be­gin­ning…

I know your rou­tine. I’ll al­ways know what you’re do­ing, texted Tony.

He re­fused to ac­cept it was over. He’d call up to 20 times an hour!

I blocked his num­ber, but he rang from work phones and phone boxes.

My stom­ach churned when­ever his name popped up.

He came to my house early one morn­ing, shout­ing over the fence.

Then he said he’d been at the same The Script con­cert, stand­ing next to me.

I was a ner­vous wreck.

A few weeks on, at a foot­ball match, my phone pinged.

I’m be­hind you, he texted.

I burst into tears. I couldn’t han­dle it any more.

The next day, I went to the po­lice, and Tony was ar­rested. In Septem­ber, he pleaded guilty to ha­rass­ment with­out vi­o­lence and was is­sued a re­strain­ing or­der, ban­ning him from con­tact­ing or vis­it­ing me.

Fi­nally, my life could go back to nor­mal.

But, in Jan­uary this year, his name popped up on my phone.

Are you all right? he texted.

I did love you.

And, de­spite breach­ing the re­strain­ing or­der three times, Tony was only slapped with a £300 fine.

I was mor­ti­fied. Why wasn’t my stalker in jail?

That’s the whole point of a re­strain­ing or­der, isn’t it? What’s the de­ter­rent oth­er­wise? I now live in con­stant fear. I’m now in a new re­la­tion­ship with a lovely man. But I’m al­ways look­ing over my shoul­der…

My Prince Charm­ing be­came a stalker

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