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The hangover from hell

Black eyes, split lip...what on earth had happened to me..?


Published by: Polly Taylor & Alice Wright
Published on: 11th January 2011

Blood pounded in my ears, my head throbbing as I prised open my puffy eyes.
Last night must’ve been one hell of a New Year’s Eve!
Shifting my weight, a wave of nausea swept over me and, with a jolt, I realised I hadn’t even made it to my bed…
The tiled surface beneath me felt cold, wet. The kitchen floor…?!
As I wriggled, shards of broken glass crunched into my legs.
What the…?!
I saw something move out of the corner of my eye… a flapping, flash of orange…
Oh my God! My goldfish were flailing wildly on the floor, their tank smashed to smithereens around me. Had I been so drunk that I’d knocked it over?
Then, as my boyfriend Cris’s face loomed over me, I knew – this wasn’t an accident, wasn’t a hangover. No, this was far worse. 
‘Go upstairs,’ he said, calmly. ‘Clean yourself up.’
Wincing, I crawled upstairs and quietly reached for the phone in my bedroom. 
‘My boyfriend’s beaten me up,’ I breathed to the operator. ‘He’s still in the house.’
This wasn’t the first time Cris, 43, had hurt me but, as I peered into the mirror at my black eyes, and split lip, I was determined it’d be the last.
When we’d met 18 months earlier at the bingo hall where I played every week, I’d been bowled over by how attentive he was. He’d been great with my sons Peter, 11, and Christopher, eight, from a previous relationship, too –  even asked their permission to date me!
And six months after that, when I’d fallen ill with fibroids in my womb and been bed-bound for a month, Cris had waited on me hand and foot.
Even when I’d felt ready to return to work, he’d been reluctant to let me. ‘Take another week off,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want you making yourself worse.’
I’d thought it was sweet, hadn’t realised it was the start of a sinister need to control me.
After a while, though, taking constant care of me seemed to take its toll on Cris. In fact, just a few days after last New Year’s Eve, things had taken a bad turn…
Glaring at me across the dinner table one night, Cris had snapped.
‘I can’t believe you’re going out tomorrow,’ he’d huffed, slamming down his cutlery. ‘It’s my day off.’
‘Oh… s-sorry love,’ I’d stuttered. ‘It’s just…I haven’t seen my mate Tash for ages.’
Balling his fist, Cris had leaped from his chair and slammed it into the kitchen door, splintering the wood. 
I’d felt guilty.
Cris had taken such great care of me, yet the second I’d got back on my feet, I’d wanted to go out with my mates.
So I’d cancelled my plans with Tash.
But isolating myself from friends hadn’t improved things. In fact, Cris had grown angrier.
‘Why don’t you teach your kids some discipline?’ he’d yelled, when Peter had played up one day.  
Later that night, he’d cornered me in the bedroom. ‘You’re a terrible mother,’ he’d snarled.
Then he’d wrapped his hands around my throat, squeezed until I could barely breathe.
As his fingers had applied a fraction more pressure on my windpipe, I’d fought harder for breath.
Then… he’d let go!
‘I’m so sorry,’ he’d said, as if snapping out of a trance.
As he’d wrapped his arms around me, I’d believed him.
He’d been so good to me when I’d been poorly… the least I could do was give him a second chance.
But a second chance became a third, a fourth, a fifth…
By the end of the year, our rows had started to affect the kids and they’d asked to stay with their dad Jason for a while.
From that moment, I’d known I had to leave Cris. But first, it was Christmas, then New Year rolled around – we’d been invited to a party. I decided I’d get that out of the way first.
Now the worst had happened. ‘Help’s on its way,’ the operator reassured me.
Moments later, sirens sounded. Cris was arrested and I was whisked to hospital where I was treated for two black eyes, a cut and swollen face, and bruising to my neck.
Then a police officer arrived to take my statement.
‘I remember trying to leave the party alone,’ I told the officer, willing my brain to focus. ‘But Cris pushed his way into my cab…’
‘I woke up like this,’ I croaked. ‘I can’t remember the attack.’
‘Cris has admitted attacking you,’ the officer told me. ‘Says he’d lost his temper when you tried to leave alone.
‘He threw the fish tank at you, and tried to strangle you.’
The following day, I was released from hospital. Phoning Jason, I told him everything.
‘I can’t let the kids see me like this,’ I sobbed. ‘Can you keep them with you until I’m better?’
I stayed with my brother Darren, 40, for a while. Guilt and shame flooded me as I thought about what I’d put the kids through.
‘Why didn’t I leave him sooner?’ I sobbed to Darren one night.
‘Stop blaming yourself,’ he soothed. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’
And I had to be strong now, for the kids. I owed them that much.
Returning home, I was determined to be the best mum I could be – that meant being honest with Peter and Christopher.
‘Cris hurt Mummy,’ I told them. ‘The police took him away.’
Getting in touch with a local domestic abuse charity, I arranged to have counselling.
Earlier this year, at Margate Magistrates’ Court, Crispin Johnson admitted causing ABH and criminal damage. He received a 60-day prison sentence, suspended for two years, and 150 hours of community service. He was also ordered to attend a domestic abuse programme.
I wasn’t in court to see him sentenced – I never want to see him again.
I’ll spend this New Year’s Eve with my boys. Last New Year was the worst of my life, but it was also the best. It was the turning point I needed to get my life back on track.
Tracey Bullock, 38, Ramsgate, Kent