Cheryl: My Story (19 page)

When she wasn’t there one day I actually had to shuffle on my bum down the stairs and across the floor to get something from the kitchen.

‘What are you doing, babe?’ Ashley laughed.

‘Well, what else am I supposed to do?’

We both had hysterics. If anyone could have seen the state of me they wouldn’t have believed I was the same girl in our glossy wedding pictures, not at all.

I remember feeling very relieved when the Chelsea deal was finally done because there’d been months of uncertainty around this time, although I must admit I had no clue whatsoever how much trouble Ashley’s departure from Arsenal would cause. He was branded a traitor for leaving the club he’d been with since his childhood, and he had to put up with a lot of abuse, both on and off the pitch. It completely shocked me. I had totally underestimated how the fans would react. Ashley was absolutely
hated
, and as his wife I found that very hard to deal with.

He never talked to me about his football much, but we spoke about how he was perceived in the media and how gutted he felt. My heart went out to him, because I knew from my court case what it was like to be so publicly criticised and misunderstood.

Ashley’s autobiography had caused trouble too, because in it he described his anger at being offered £55,000 a week by Arsenal.

‘People might take that the wrong way,’ I told him when I read the manuscript several months before the book went to print. I was thinking how my friends back in Newcastle might read this. It was a hell of a lot more than most people earned in a year, let alone a week.

‘I’m not saying £55,000 isn’t a lot of money, I’m saying it’s less than other players get, and that Arsenal still pays me like a junior even though I’m a senior player now. It’s not about the amount, it’s about the respect.’ The passage stayed in the book, and Ashley was then branded an arrogant money-grabber as well as a traitor.

‘I’m gutted,’ he said all over again.

‘Come here, I know you’re not like that at all. It’ll pass, you’ll see. The papers will have something else to write about next week.’

This wasn’t quite the fairytale start to married life I’d hoped for, but then again I was experienced enough by now to know that in my life, there were always bumps and crashes after every high.

It wasn’t long before it was Ashley’s turn to tell me not to worry about what was in the press, when the papers started speculating that Girls Aloud were splitting up. We’d released our greatest hits album,
The Sound of Girls Aloud
, and went on to do our
Greatest Hits
tour and so I guess the rumours were inevitable, especially as Nadine had decided to move to America. The stories weren’t true, though. We’d had our third number one with a cover of ‘Walk This Way’, which we recorded with the Sugababes for Comic Relief in March 2007, and we had no intention of splitting up.

‘You know what, that was our fifteenth consecutive top-ten single,’ I said to Ashley. ‘It’s so frustrating! Why would we stop now?’

As a group we’d become more efficient than ever, too. It didn’t even matter that Nadine was living in the States, because Hillary Shaw had our diaries so well organised that we slotted everything into far less hours than we ever did in the beginning. As far as I was concerned, being in the group was still my dream job, and it annoyed me intensely to think people were just waiting for the dream to end.

‘Chill out, babe,’ Ashley said. ‘I’m so sick of having the papers making trouble for us. Don’t let it get to you, it’s not worth it.’

I knew he was right, and I felt closer than ever to Ashley. It was like we knew each other inside out, and we were just so perfect for one another.

‘I’m gonna watch the fight tonight with the boys,’ Ashley said. It was 8 December 2007, and the boxing match between Floyd Mayweather and Ricky Hatton was taking place in Las Vegas.

Because of the time difference, it wouldn’t be on until the early hours of Sunday morning.

‘I don’t mind if you want to stay over at John’s,’ I said. ‘If you’re having a drink there’s no point in getting a taxi home at 4am.’

I always treated Ashley like a free spirit. I’d seen a lot of possessive women when I was growing up, and I never wanted to be like that. He rarely went out with his mates because we both liked nothing better than being at home together, but I never told Ashley he couldn’t go anywhere or do anything.

Our marriage was very strong. We were best friends and we never, ever argued, even when there was potential for trouble. For our first wedding anniversary, for instance, Ashley bought me a Bentley as a surprise present. I’m not into cars the way he is and I didn’t want it, but I didn’t want to offend him and so I took it out for a drive. I’d literally only gone round the corner when two things happened that really put me off. First of all, I pulled up at some traffic lights and there was an elderly man next to me in a tiny little Polo. He’d probably fought in the war, and there I was, swanking it up beside him in a Bentley. It just so felt wrong, and I wanted to hide my face. Then, another Bentley drove past me and flashed its lights, as if we were in some select club. ‘You
lemon
!’ I thought, and drove straight home and told Ashley the car had to go.

‘It was a lovely thought, but I’ve already got a car, and I just don’t need another one.’

‘OK, if that’s what you want,’ he said. There was no drama, and the car went back to the showroom without a fuss.

Anyhow, Ashley went out with his mates the evening before the fight, and I told him I’d see him in the morning. John was a mutual friend of ours and I trusted Ashley implicitly. Why would I not? I knew they were going to have a drink and go to a club before the fight, but that didn’t bother me in the slightest.

We were used to having nights apart. I’d been away earlier in the year doing our
Greatest Hits
tour, and only recently I’d been to America to film for a TV documentary I was making called
The Passions of Girls Aloud
.

The idea was that each of us would try our hand at something we’d always wanted to do. Nadine decided not to take part, saying singing was her only passion, but Sarah opted to learn how to play polo – God knows why! Nicola wanted to create a make-up range for pale skin, Kimberley auditioned for a role in a West End musical and I chose to learn street dancing.

My goal was to win a part in Will.i.am’s video for his new single ‘Heartbreaker’, and I flew to LA to be taught how to do it.

Ashley was busy playing football, and so I took my mam with me. It was my first time in LA, and I was amazed by it. I felt like I was on a movie set wherever I went, and I didn’t understand why strangers kept smiling at me and telling me to have a nice day.

Part of the trip involved going out onto the streets of Compton, a deprived district, to dance with a character called Tommy the Clown. He’s a famous reformed drug dealer out there who uses street dance to help inspire kids, and I felt a real connection to him.

It was an emotional experience, bringing back memories of drugs in my old neighbourhood in Heaton, and all the death and pain I associated with drug taking. It was inspiring to me too, though, and I would have really loved Ashley to be there with me. I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it, but when I got home it was hard to put it into words. It was one of those ‘you had to be there’ experiences, but little disappointments like that were just something we had to accept as part of our lifestyle.

We both had great jobs, we were young, we had no kids and no money worries. We were very, very fortunate, and though we didn’t like to be apart, we didn’t ever complain about it because we knew how lucky we were.

‘How was the fight?’ I asked brightly when Ashley came home after that boxing match.

‘Horrible. I got too drunk and I can’t remember it.’

He didn’t look at me and seemed very dismissive, walking away from me. I had a bad feeling in my gut, but I thought it was just typical of me, being a worrier. I told myself Ashley must be very hungover and could probably do without me questioning him, so I left it. My marriage was strong and I trusted him to tell me if there was something I needed to know. He never said another word about it, not until he was forced to, more than six weeks later.

9
‘Something happened … but I don’t know what’

‘D’you want a cup of tea?’ Ashley asked.

We were in the bedroom, it was about 11pm on Thursday 24 January 2008 and he’d been acting weird all evening. I said I didn’t want a drink but Ashley went downstairs anyway, and I decided to follow him. He hardly ever made a cup of tea, and I sensed something was off. I found him on the phone in the hallway, and he was clearly flapping. I could tell he was talking to his agent, which set my heart beating ten to the dozen. Then
my
phone rang, and it was Sundraj.

‘Can you talk, Cheryl? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.’

‘What is it?’

I was standing just a few feet away from Ashley now, staring at him, and I could feel my body going into shock. Ashley was looking straight back at me with a worried look on his face, still talking to his agent.

Sundraj had no idea Ashley was right in front of me like this, and he was clearly trying to break it to me as gently as possible that the news involved my husband.

‘I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you …’

‘Will you please just spit it out, Sundraj? What the hell is going on?’

‘A girl has come forward and said she’s had sex with Ashley.’

I just froze, and I don’t know whether I even said another word to Sundraj. I was still staring at Ashley, and I could hear him asking his agent what was going to be in the story, and telling him that I was here, on the phone to Sundraj.

At the same time, I was hearing Sundraj tell me the story would be on the internet at midnight, and in tomorrow’s
Sun
newspaper. The claims the girl was making went back to last December – the night of the boxing match, and as soon as I heard that, I knew this wasn’t one of those ludicrous made-up stories, invented out of nothing.

It was completely surreal, hearing two halves of two conversations, knowing that Ashley was being told the same things, at the same time. I put the phone down and Ashley carried on talking. I felt the colour fall out of my face as I stood there, rooted to the spot. It was like on a cartoon, when they wipe all the colour out in one fell swoop and the character’s face goes white. It felt exactly like that had happened to me, and then I started trembling uncontrollably.

‘What’s going on?’ I shouted the second Ashley got off the phone.

I was expecting, wishing, him to say: ‘It’s a lie’, but he didn’t.

‘Like I told you before, it was a horrible night. I got too drunk and I can’t remember it.’

I was in proper shock now, convulsing and wanting to vomit. To me that was like he was admitting it. In that moment I didn’t believe a single word he was saying, not a word, and I was so angry with myself for accepting his pathetic story in the first place. Why hadn’t I asked his friends what had gone on, or made him tell me what he
did
remember? He must have had some idea what he’d done.

‘I don’t believe you can’t remember anything at all,’ I said. ‘It’s just not good enough. You need to start remembering, and fast.’

‘I’m telling you, I was so drunk, it was horrible. I wish I could remember but I can’t … Something happened … but I don’t know what.’

‘I’m gonna read it online at midnight anyway, but I’d rather hear it from you.’

I wanted to know every detail but I got nothing. Ashley’s exact words to me after that are a blur because I was in such a terrible state. I just know that whatever I asked, all he kept saying, one way or another, was, ‘Something happened … but I don’t know what.’

It was like being tortured, waiting for midnight to come and knowing the hell was only going to get worse. I went and switched on the computer, alone, waiting for the story to appear on
The Sun
newspaper’s website. Ashley was upstairs now, in the bedroom. He knew what was coming and so he didn’t need to read it. That’s what I figured. He was lying to me, and he couldn’t bear to see me read the truth.

I was shocked on so many different levels when I got the story up online. Seeing the girl in question was the first blow. She was a blonde hairdresser, and she looked horrible to me, but it was what she had told the paper that was really disturbing.

My eyes were everywhere, all over the page, reading the details of her night with Ashley. I was looking for something that just didn’t add up, that would make her version of events totally implausible, but that isn’t what I got at all.

The girl said Ashley had been so drunk he couldn’t walk straight, that he was incoherent and that he was vomiting during the sex. I was absolutely disgusted, but to be honest my very first thought was, ‘What a disgrace of a woman. If a man had sex with a woman who was in that state it would be classed as rape.’

My mind was filling up with questions by the second. Had Ashley
really
had sex with
that
woman? I knew what he was like in drink. Physically, how do you even get turned on, let alone have sex when you are that incoherent?