Cheryl: My Story (30 page)

I’m not sure how I functioned that day. There were dancers over from America to perform ‘Fight For This Love’ on the BRITs with me and I think that helped, because I assumed they knew nothing about my personal life.

I was dying inside, but when I was working I didn’t have to face it. I focused on the music and just threw myself into the choreography for the whole six hours we rehearsed. I was exhausted, but I didn’t even enjoy taking my lunch break, because then I had time to think about Ashley.

That night I went through the same routine as the previous night at home, doing my own thing in the house and then lying beside Ashley in bed and crying myself quietly to sleep.

I didn’t think about moving into another room. It was the least of my worries, to be honest. I don’t know if I thought ‘why should I?’ or whether I still held out a tiny, teeny bit of hope that he might talk to me if I was there beside him – but he didn’t.

The phone rang, at 5 o’clock in the morning again.

‘Hello, Hillary. Another one?’

‘I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, darling.’

‘Thank you. I’ll not be reading it.’

I told Ashley and went to work.

‘I can’t handle …’

I slammed the door and went out. It was actually Valentine’s Day, though I didn’t realise it until later. On previous years Ashley had taken me out to gorgeous restaurants and given me the most beautiful presents, like diamond necklaces. It was never important to me where we ate or what gifts he bought me; being with him was what mattered. He was my best friend as well as my husband, and when things were going well I just absolutely loved being with him. There was a natural chemistry between us and we always laughed and had a lovely time together, wherever we went and whatever we did. Our friends were always saying what a perfect couple we made, and if I’d had a magic wand I’d have turned back the clock, I thought. I wished none of this had ever happened, and I just wanted my man and my marriage back, the way things were before.

Unfortunately, as the week went on it became more and more obvious that wasn’t going to happen. The routine of taking 5 o’clock-in-the-morning calls from Hillary went on for four days, and every day it was like Ashley put another brick in the wall between us. I tried a few more times to get him to speak to me, but the more I tried, the thicker the wall became. In the end it was so thick that Ashley had closed himself off completely.

I still hadn’t read anything after the very first story, and I banned Hillary, and everyone else, from telling me anything at all about any of the other stories. I wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth, or not at all.

‘Just keep it all away from me,’ I said as the BRITs drew closer. ‘I can’t go on live TV with all this information in me brain. And there’s no way I want to ruin that performance. He’s not taking me music away from me on top of everything else.’

I had calls from the girls and from my family, who were all saying the same thing: ‘I can’t believe he’s done this to you, again. Keep your chin up.’

Nobody I spoke to was questioning whether the stories were true, and I wondered what the hell had been said that I didn’t know about. I knew it had to be bad, but I wasn’t ready to face it.

I hated the fact that people I loved were suffering too. Part of me wanted to know what they had read that I hadn’t, but even just being near a newspaper made me feel ill. If there was one on the table when I took my lunch break I had to move away from it, because the smell of the newsprint made me feel physically sick.

Until now, newspapers had always reminded me of puppies. Hearing my dad’s voice brought back a very strong memory of when we first had our Dachshund Monty as a tiny puppy. I could see my dad putting newspapers down when we were training him, but now I felt like even that memory was tainted.

The night before the BRITs I had a final fitting to do. The stylist came to the house and we used the room next door to our bedroom, but I don’t think I even told Ashley what I was doing because I wasn’t speaking to him at all by now, or to his mam. I literally just walked past Sue if I saw her in the house, because I couldn’t deal with talking to her, knowing she would be fiercely loyal to Ashley.

I didn’t speak much to my own mam either. I just needed space to think for myself. I didn’t want anybody else’s opinion, and I didn’t want everybody’s eyeballs on me. I needed to get away, to make up my mind about what I was going to do next.

I had warned Ashley the last time that I would divorce him if he ever cheated on me again. I could remember my exact words: ‘If anything like this
ever
comes up again I’m divorcing you. You’re lucky I’ve come back this time and if you
ever
disrespect me like this again, it’s all over.’

Ashley knows I’m a woman of my word and I started to think that my warning was the reason he had clammed up. He knew what he’d done, and the more he said, the more he would be making me leave him. That’s what was going through my head. Our marriage was over. I could feel it, but I hadn’t had the chance to breathe, and I needed time to myself before I made the decision.

By the day of the BRITs I had already planned my escape. I’d prepared to fly to LA, because when I’m there, or at least once I’ve got past the paps at the airport, I don’t generally get chased. The American press is very different to the British tabloids; it’s a much more positive relationship. They’re not looking for dirt or for an angle on a story that doesn’t really exist, they just want a nice glossy picture and when they have that they generally leave you alone. The American public didn’t know me, and so I’d be able to have my freedom back, and space to think away from the madness at home.

When I told Hillary my plans I also said to her, ‘I told you last time and I’ll tell you again, I’m leaving this industry. I’m out. I do not want anything to do with it.’

‘Cheryl, just get through this show, have your break and we’ll talk again in two weeks.’

Of all my friends and family, Hillary was the only person who was not telling me to leave Ashley at this point. Even my mam, whose powers of forgiveness are superhuman, told me she couldn’t bear to see me go through any more pain. ‘Cheryl, you’ve only just got back on your feet again and started putting on a few pounds and looking like your old self,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to suffer any more.’

Hillary was a lone voice, telling me: ‘Don’t do anything rash or you might regret it.’ Hillary’s a very wise woman, and she knows me very well, so I did my best to listen. She knew I’d be having a mental freak out as soon the BRITs finished, and I guess she was trying to slow me down, and stop me doing anything crazy, like instructing divorce lawyers as soon as I touched down in LA.

I can vividly remember stepping out on that stage at the BRITs to sing ‘Fight For This Love’. ‘You’ve ruined our marriage, Ashley, I’ll not let you ruin me career.’ That’s what I thought.

It was the thirtieth anniversary of the BRITs, I was on after Jay-Z and Alicia Keys and there were 40 dancers on stage with me. I was just thinking, ‘Like hell I’m gonna mess this up. I’m getting through this performance, I’m giving it my best shot, and then I’m out of here.’

The song is all about strength, and I was so determined to be strong that night I think you can almost see the power coming out of me. I’ll never forget it, and I was buzzing when I came off stage. I’d felt half dead all week, but it’s impossible not to put on a show like that without feeling an adrenalin rush, and mine lasted for hours.

After the show I packed my suitcases instead of going to the BRITs after party, and I told Ashley early the next morning: ‘I’m out of here.’

If he’d have said, ‘I’m sorry, Cheryl, I’m ready to talk to you honestly and openly,’ it would have been different, but he didn’t. He had let me lie in bed beside him for five nights now, crying myself to sleep, and he hadn’t given me one word of comfort. It was absolute hell not knowing the truth and he must have known that, but he did nothing to ease my pain. There was no trust and no communication left in the marriage, and so I had no choice but to leave.

14
‘I’m divorcing you’

‘I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t,’ Ashley texted, but it was too late. I was boarding the flight to LA and now it was
his
turn to be left in the dark, because I didn’t tell him where I was going or how long I was going to be away, and now I had to switch off the phone.

Lily travelled with me to LA. She didn’t ask questions or say anything at all about Ashley; she was just there for me. She understands that I’m not one of those people who wants to talk and talk; I just like to deal with my own thoughts and feelings.

I had some peace and quiet in my head for the first time in days, and tears started rolling down my cheeks as I thought about my life. I was angry and hurt and upset, but I was also very proud that I’d done the BRITs and got on this plane without falling over. I think one of the few emotions I
didn’t
feel was humiliation. I knew it was something that must be being talked about – how humiliating it was for me after taking Ashley back last time – but I honestly didn’t feel that.
I
had been loyal in my marriage, and I hadn’t done anything to humiliate
myself
, so why would I feel humiliation?

It was a 12-hour flight, and so I had a lot of thinking time. I thought about Ashley lying there in bed, not knowing where I was going, or when I was coming home. He had looked absolutely exhausted when I left, even though he’d been lying down for the best part of a week. It was mental exhaustion. He must be going through some kind of a breakdown. How could he not communicate with me when it was obvious our marriage depended on it? You absolute
idiot
, Ashley, I thought.

It was a blessing that I had to switch my phone off on the flight, or I would definitely have been tempted to start texting him. Despite what he’d done I actually felt terrible for leaving him there, worrying, because I knew how horrible that was.

I had no idea how much I would need Lily with me until we arrived at LAX Airport. There had been one or two paps when I left Heathrow, but here there were at least 50, some with video cameras and TV crews. They all crowded in on us at once, calling out: ‘Hey, Cheryl! What’s happening in your marriage?’

I held Lily’s hand tight and the two guys who were picking us up literally had to barge their way through and squeeze us into the car. Lily and I ended up squashed into the same seat, it was all such a scramble. It was terrifying. I was close to tears and panicking like mad, and I didn’t breathe properly again until we got inside our hotel in West Hollywood, which thankfully had an underground car park with direct access to our rooms.

I went on a bit of a crazy one once we got there, calling up all the friends I had in LA and going out drinking and clubbing every night. I was running here, there and everywhere, running fast, trying to escape. I figured nobody in LA knew my business and nobody would be judging me, so I could just let my hair down. The paps at the airport would sell their pictures to the British tabloids, because the American public didn’t know me or have any interest in me.

One night I went out for something to eat with a guy I’d met when I was doing Will’s ‘Heartbreaker’ video. We talked mostly about music, because that was what we had in common. He said nothing about Ashley, and I assumed he didn’t know a thing until right at the end of the meal when he looked me in the eye and said, ‘Your husband’s a douche bag, by the way.’ I was a bit drunk by then and I just laughed it off. I knew it was only his way of offering me support, but I wasn’t impressed.
I
was allowed to criticise my husband, but I didn’t appreciate someone who’d never even met Ashley getting involved.

On the Saturday night I went out clubbing with Brian Friedman, the
X Factor
choreographer who’s a good friend, and I also met up with Derek Hough, having called him as I’d promised to do next time I was in LA.

‘Wow, I didn’t think you were coming out here so soon!’ Derek said, as it was only a few weeks since we shot the ‘Parachute’ video.

‘No, nor did I,’ I replied. ‘I’ll explain later.’

Of all the people around me, Derek was the only one I felt comfortable confiding in. We’d worked together for about four or five days in total on ‘Parachute’ and had called and texted each other a few times since. We’d also done a gig in Munich together a few days after making the ‘Parachute’ video and enjoyed each others’ company, but really we hardly knew each other. I just followed my instincts, because he seemed such a genuinely nice person; someone with a good soul.

Derek listened as I unloaded over several drinks, and I felt myself relax a little. I remember it was a Saturday, because at the end of the night I had a look at the
News of the World
online. The time difference meant it was already Sunday morning in the UK, and I’d had a text from someone back home alerting me to another story, one I was told I couldn’t ignore. I was drunk by then or I wouldn’t have looked at it, and I’m sorry I did.

There was a picture of Ashley with an American girl sat on his knee. Ashley was kissing her cheek and had a stupid, soppy drunken look on his face, a look only I would know. The girl said it was taken in Seattle, when Ashley was on a tour with Chelsea in July 2009, and while I was busy working on
The X Factor
.