John Francome - Declared Dead

Edward had never had a job since I'd known him, but always seemed to have plenty of ready cash, which he claimed was an inheritance from his grandfather. Then gradually the money seemed to be lasting for shorter and shorter periods as his gambling increased and he'd begun to drink heavily.

He refused to tell me how much he owed but the quantity of whisky he was putting away each night made me think that the situation was becoming serious. Luckily for us, I was now beginning to get some decent rides and had taken over paying all of the bills.

Then one night, he came home drunk and calling me all the names under the sun. We hadn't had an argument, so there was no reason for his bad temper and, at first, I thought it was just one of his stupid pranks and that a few of his mates would follow him in and begin laughing. But then suddenly he lashed out with his fist and caught me on the cheek, knocking me to the floor. I was terrified and tried to scramble to my feet but as I did so he walked over to me and kicked me twice in the stomach. As I dropped back to the floor, completely winded and gasping for air, he swore at me a few more times and went upstairs.

I'd had plenty of falls whilst I was riding and I thought I was pretty tough, but being beaten up by my own husband shocked me more than I thought possible.

As I got my breath back and pulled myself onto a chair, my legs turned to jelly and I began to tremble. I sat wondering what to do. My first instinct was to go upstairs, collect our little boy, Freddie, and leave. Go anywhere; I didn't know where, but just go. The only problem was where could I go with a child at eleven o'clock at night without everybody knowing what had happened?

My mother lived over sixty miles away, at Wincanton, and anyway she had enough worries of her own without me adding to them. Since I'd left home to become an apprentice jockey, after a brief period as a cub reporter, nothing had gone right for her. First of all, my father had run off with another woman and left her to manage the farm on her own, but that had probably been a blessing. He had treated her like a skivvy for years. Then her eldest sister had been paralysed in a car accident that had killed her husband. Mum insisted on nursing her at home herself even though it hadn't been easy for her, and although I had sent money home for her every week, I knew that she struggled to make ends meet. I was an only child and felt guilty that I hadn't given up my apprenticeship and gone home to help her, but I was just beginning to get a few rides. I'd also just started going out with Edward. He was tall and well built, with jet black hair brushed straight back and the darkest eyes I had ever seen. He was also very amusing and, so he was always boasting, very rich. His father was Sir Gerald Pryde, one of the most able High Court judges presently sitting on the Bench, and the man tipped to become the next Lord Chief Justice.

Edward and I had met at the annual Jockeys' Dance at Newbury. I'd gone with James Thackeray, an old friend and a journalist for the Sportsman newspaper. He had introduced me to Edward just after the meal had ended and we'd spent the rest of the evening together dancing and talking. We didn't make love that first night but it hadn't been through any lack of trying on Edward's part, or wanting on mine. It was just a matter of nice girls riot doing that sort of thing.

All of this happened on a Saturday evening and my 'niceness' lasted until about three o'clock the following afternoon, when, after having had a good lunch in a local pub, we spent the rest of the day in bed in Edward's cottage. From that moment on, we had been inseparable and were married six months later on Derby Day.

Unfortunately, Edward's parents disliked me intensely. It had been perfectly all right for him to go out and sleep with an apprentice jockey – even his mother accepted that her darling son would need to sow some wild oats – but to marry one and then father a child was beyond the pale. Still, at least we'd had a boy.

In the end, after that first assault, I decided to stay. I went upstairs and got into bed with Freddie but slept fitfully.

The following morning I crept out of bed and went to ride out for Ralph. My jaw was still sore, but it was a Tuesday and a work morning for the horses and I knew I would be needed.

When I returned Edward was already up. As I walked through the kitchen door, he rushed towards me holding something behind his back and I stood frozen in terror. As he brought his arm forward, I had never been so pleased to see a bunch of daffodils in my life. Edward put his arms around me, begging my forgiveness. But I would not be able to forget what he had done and knew things could never be the same between us again.

I told him it was time he found a job and pulled himself together, and for a little while he really did try. He didn't find a job as such, but at least he made an effort to help in the cottage, and cut out the drinking completely. Even Mrs Parsons, who came up from the village to look after Freddie for me while I was riding, commented on how much happier everything seemed.

Then one afternoon I came home from visiting my mother with Freddie and found Edward slouched in the chair with an empty bottle of whisky by his side. He immediately began shouting at me and Freddie clutched my skirt and began to cry. I told him not to worry and tried to send him upstairs, but he refused to go.

'You're going to help me out with my little problem,' Edward slurred, pointing his finger at me.

'It's not me you need, it's a doctor,' I replied, but he carried on. He saw my recent riding success as a way of getting 'out of bother' as he so delicately put it. 1 reminded him that jockeys gave notoriously bad tips and I was no exception but he just laughed and told me to wait and see.

I didn't have to wait long.

Three days later, just as I was getting dressed to go and ride out for Ralph, Edward called me over to his side of the bed. I was surprised to hear his voice as he usually slept to mid morning.

'I don't want you to win today,' he commanded.

'What are you on about?' I answered, trying to keep my voice down so as not to wake Freddie.

'I don't want you to win,' he repeated, grabbing my wrist.

'Thanks for your support, but if you don't mind, I do!' I tried without success to pull my arm free from his grip.

'Listen to me, you silly bitch.' Edward now sat up in bed, pulled me down towards him and started slapping me about the face.

'I want you to lose. Get it? Is that clear?'

His breath was foul with a mixture of alcohol and nicotine from the night before and his voice had taken on a menacing tone.

'This horse of Ralph's you're riding this afternoon at Worcester is going to be well backed but if you so much as look like winning I'll give you a hiding you'll never forget.'

He stopped hitting me and pushed me away. His eyes were wild with anger. Terrified of waking Freddie and afraid of being beaten further, I tried to reason with him.

'Don't be so stupid. If the stewards catch me and I lose my licence what the hell do you think we're going to live on?'

'Don't worry about the stewards. They're taken care of. It's about time you did your bit to help me out of my present difficulties.'

He grabbed me again and hauled me onto the bed. He no longer made any attempt to restrain his temper.

'You're going to do as I say. If Fainthearted wins today I'll not only give you a good hiding but I'll leave you and take the kid with me, and then apply for custody in the courts. After that, you'll have to leave the cottage. I don't somehow think that the word of a woman jockey, who spends every day at the races and leaves the upbringing of her child to a middle-aged cleaning woman from the village, would prevail over that of the son of a High Court judge when it comes to a decision about custody.'