GUILTY UK - Helen Bailey, 51, Royston, 11 April 2016 #1

[faybradshaw]

February 2016:
When it comes to grief, I have both good news and bad news for you. The good news is that however bleak and despairing you feel right now, you won’t always feel this way, I promise you. The bad news is that there is no fast-fix for grief; no amount of counselling, hypnosis, holding of crystals or drinking Merlot will cure your grief, and believe me, I’ve tried them all. Nor does finding a new partner cure grief, because if it did, new widows would be given a subscription to an internet dating site along with their husband’s death certificate. But still the perception remains that once Prince Charming Mark II turns up on a white horse to help you put the wheelie bins out, your grief is over.


Twenty-four hours after my husband, John, drowned whilst we were on holiday in Barbados in February 2011, came the first of many, ‘You’re young, you’ll soon find someone else” comments. I didn’t want anyone new, I wanted my husband, and the thought of even holding hands with a strange man was abhorrent. At forty-six, I was convinced that I would be alone, forever.

And then, about six months after John died, and at a time when life was so painful I was praying to spontaneously combust in the street rather than continue to live without him, something horrific happened in Marks & Spencer.

Whilst taking a shortcut through the women’s underwear department, out of the blue, I had a seriously X-rated thought about Ian, a widower I’d met through an online bereavement group. Our messages to each other had been entirely platonic: he wrote about the grinding despair of living with his teenage sons, but without his wife; I wrote about my struggles trying to bleed my temperamental radiators, something my husband used to do. I stood amongst the lace-trimmed bras, horrified, sweating with guilt. At home, I hid photos of my husband in a drawer: I couldn’t bear to look at him knowing that - in my mind - I’d been unfaithful.

The guilt over something I hadn’t yet done with a man I hadn’t yet met and who hadn’t even hinted at romance followed me everywhere, and when one morning my first thought wasn’t to look at the empty pillow next to me, but to grab my phone to see whether Ian had sent me a text, it plunged me into a spiral of despair and confusion.

When months later Ian and I eventually met, instead of a white horse, he turned up in a battered red Ford Mondeo estate with a Micky Mouse car aerial topper. He wasn’t my type and completely different from my husband, but even so, I gave him a speech about how I didn’t want a relationship ever again. He gave a speech telling me he didn’t either. To make sure that we both knew where we stood, after he left, I emailed him a synopsis of our discussion.

We continued to meet, as friends, but then we decided to go on a proper posh-clothes going-to-a-restaurant date, something neither of us had done for more than twenty years. It was a disaster. I was too anxious to eat and ended up sobbing hysterically that I still felt married. It’s still up for debate whether I pushed him out of the taxi or he jumped, but what was clear to both of us was that it was too much, too soon.

The funny emails and witty texts stopped.

Life felt even darker than it already was.

But we missed each other, and after more talking, we fell in love. Far from feeling strange to hold a different hand, it felt absolutely wonderful.

At first, I kept our relationship quiet, not through shame that I’d begun to date before the first anniversary of John’s death had passed (though this didn’t sit easily with me), but because if I had fallen in love too quickly with the wrong man I wanted to make that mistake in private. When I finally revealed that I was dating in my blog, Planet Grief, some widows were angry with me, disappointed that I’d gone back on my earlier conviction that I’d never fall in love again.

It’s now over four years since Ian and I met. Two years ago we bought a house together. We plan to get married. New love doesn’t erase old loss and cure grief, but brings with it complicated emotions and painful reminders. It’s not easy living in a household that has only come together because of the death of other people, but losing those we love has made us cherish what we have now.

I was never going to fall in love again, and no one is more surprised than me that I did.

This is so sad, knowing what took place not that long afterwards. He betrayed her in the very worst way possible.

 

[Alyce]

Thanks for that Milly.

Helen's book is well worth reading. I began to read it when she was first reported missing ( I kept hoping she would have turned up before I finished it ) and although I didnt read all of the contributions by the widows and widowers, I did read all of Helen's story. She was such a good writer, she really drew you in and made you want to read on. She had the ability to make you feel as though she was sitting chatting to you and she dealt with the grief, horror and humour of her situation so very well and must have given hope to hundreds if not thousands of other people who had ended up in her situation.

To know now that someone has decided that she can no longer be on this earth, moving forward with her life and succeeding in new directions is an absolute tragedy.
And that is even before I think of the way in which he disposed of her body ( and Boris ) as though he was putting out the trash - and knowing what would then be happening to her body, day after day.
I may turn out to be completely wrong in my current judgement of him - but at the moment I feel as though he possibly gained pleasure from choosing this place to put Helen into - he finally taught her a lesson because she had gone against his wishes and she didnt want to give him those 30 years that he went on about, she no longer wanted to fund his lifestyle and he was now therefore going to punish her for that.

 

[michelle230]

Looking at the listing it's scheduled for "after 2pm" tomorrow.

 

[ZaZara]

https://www.facebook.com/groups/125906664118992/?fref=nf

Facebook hates me!
I still have to register, and I won't.

 

[MillyM]

I wonder how long before they will give out the post-mortem result.

 

[ZaZara]

This is so sad, knowing what took place not that long afterwards. He betrayed her in the very worst way possible.

I thought about reading the book, but I honestly don't know if I will be able to.

 

[faybradshaw]

I thought about reading the book, but I honestly don't know if I will be able to.

Yes, it's what I thought, I don't think I can either.

 

[Alyce]

Today at Royston



RIP Helen x

 

[Tortoise]

Here's a link to a tribute page set up on Helen's blog Planet Grief


http://planetgrief.com/2016/07/16/goodbye/

 

[Katharine]

February 2016:
When it comes to grief, I have both good news and bad news for you. The good news is that however bleak and despairing you feel right now, you won’t always feel this way, I promise you. The bad news is that there is no fast-fix for grief; no amount of counselling, hypnosis, holding of crystals or drinking Merlot will cure your grief, and believe me, I’ve tried them all. Nor does finding a new partner cure grief, because if it did, new widows would be given a subscription to an internet dating site along with their husband’s death certificate. But still the perception remains that once Prince Charming Mark II turns up on a white horse to help you put the wheelie bins out, your grief is over.

Twenty-four hours after my husband, John, drowned whilst we were on holiday in Barbados in February 2011, came the first of many, ‘You’re young, you’ll soon find someone else” comments. I didn’t want anyone new, I wanted my husband, and the thought of even holding hands with a strange man was abhorrent. At forty-six, I was convinced that I would be alone, forever.

And then, about six months after John died, and at a time when life was so painful I was praying to spontaneously combust in the street rather than continue to live without him, something horrific happened in Marks & Spencer.

Whilst taking a shortcut through the women’s underwear department, out of the blue, I had a seriously X-rated thought about Ian, a widower I’d met through an online bereavement group. Our messages to each other had been entirely platonic: he wrote about the grinding despair of living with his teenage sons, but without his wife; I wrote about my struggles trying to bleed my temperamental radiators, something my husband used to do. I stood amongst the lace-trimmed bras, horrified, sweating with guilt. At home, I hid photos of my husband in a drawer: I couldn’t bear to look at him knowing that - in my mind - I’d been unfaithful.

The guilt over something I hadn’t yet done with a man I hadn’t yet met and who hadn’t even hinted at romance followed me everywhere, and when one morning my first thought wasn’t to look at the empty pillow next to me, but to grab my phone to see whether Ian had sent me a text, it plunged me into a spiral of despair and confusion.

When months later Ian and I eventually met, instead of a white horse, he turned up in a battered red Ford Mondeo estate with a Micky Mouse car aerial topper. He wasn’t my type and completely different from my husband, but even so, I gave him a speech about how I didn’t want a relationship ever again. He gave a speech telling me he didn’t either. To make sure that we both knew where we stood, after he left, I emailed him a synopsis of our discussion.

We continued to meet, as friends, but then we decided to go on a proper posh-clothes going-to-a-restaurant date, something neither of us had done for more than twenty years. It was a disaster. I was too anxious to eat and ended up sobbing hysterically that I still felt married. It’s still up for debate whether I pushed him out of the taxi or he jumped, but what was clear to both of us was that it was too much, too soon.

The funny emails and witty texts stopped.

Life felt even darker than it already was.

But we missed each other, and after more talking, we fell in love. Far from feeling strange to hold a different hand, it felt absolutely wonderful.

At first, I kept our relationship quiet, not through shame that I’d begun to date before the first anniversary of John’s death had passed (though this didn’t sit easily with me), but because if I had fallen in love too quickly with the wrong man I wanted to make that mistake in private. When I finally revealed that I was dating in my blog, Planet Grief, some widows were angry with me, disappointed that I’d gone back on my earlier conviction that I’d never fall in love again.

It’s now over four years since Ian and I met. Two years ago we bought a house together. We plan to get married. New love doesn’t erase old loss and cure grief, but brings with it complicated emotions and painful reminders. It’s not easy living in a household that has only come together because of the death of other people, but losing those we love has made us cherish what we have now.

I was never going to fall in love again, and no one is more surprised than me that I did.

Thank you MillyM for sharing this from Helen. She indeed was very gifted with writing talent. What she wrote here is so very true in every sense. I find myself thinking about her alot and it is so sad. It appears she wrote this in February of this year...what happened in just about two months. I am mystified. Just so heart breaking....

 

[mrazda71]

Even if Stewart had nothing to do with the sudden death of his wife, we can certainly surmise that he enjoyed the subsequent windfall, given his eyebrow-raising flashy car purchase so soon afterwards. I can't be the only one who finds it a little unseemly that he treated himself to something so ostentatious (it's hardly a family vehicle) while his two sons must have still been in deep mourning.

I'm of the opposite thinking ...and think that a death can ignitd in others a powerful desire to live life to the fullest.

When my mum died very unexpectedly from a massive brain hemorrhage, my middle aged Sister decided to leave her husband of 25 years, got a job she'd always wanted but didn't have the confidence to go for, learnt to drive, passed her test and bought her dream car and ... got herself a much younger man!

I wouldn't consider it distasteful to buy whatever car you liked whenever you liked following a bereavement - I draw the line at hooking up with a new partner within weeks but anything else, live while you can.

 

[mrazda71]

February 2016:
When it comes to grief, I have both good news and bad news for you. The good news is that however bleak and despairing you feel right now, you won’t always feel this way, I promise you. The bad news is that there is no fast-fix for grief; no amount of counselling, hypnosis, holding of crystals or drinking Merlot will cure your grief, and believe me, I’ve tried them all. Nor does finding a new partner cure grief, because if it did, new widows would be given a subscription to an internet dating site along with their husband’s death certificate. But still the perception remains that once Prince Charming Mark II turns up on a white horse to help you put the wheelie bins out, your grief is over.

Twenty-four hours after my husband, John, drowned whilst we were on holiday in Barbados in February 2011, came the first of many, ‘You’re young, you’ll soon find someone else” comments. I didn’t want anyone new, I wanted my husband, and the thought of even holding hands with a strange man was abhorrent. At forty-six, I was convinced that I would be alone, forever.

And then, about six months after John died, and at a time when life was so painful I was praying to spontaneously combust in the street rather than continue to live without him, something horrific happened in Marks & Spencer.

Whilst taking a shortcut through the women’s underwear department, out of the blue, I had a seriously X-rated thought about Ian, a widower I’d met through an online bereavement group. Our messages to each other had been entirely platonic: he wrote about the grinding despair of living with his teenage sons, but without his wife; I wrote about my struggles trying to bleed my temperamental radiators, something my husband used to do. I stood amongst the lace-trimmed bras, horrified, sweating with guilt. At home, I hid photos of my husband in a drawer: I couldn’t bear to look at him knowing that - in my mind - I’d been unfaithful.

The guilt over something I hadn’t yet done with a man I hadn’t yet met and who hadn’t even hinted at romance followed me everywhere, and when one morning my first thought wasn’t to look at the empty pillow next to me, but to grab my phone to see whether Ian had sent me a text, it plunged me into a spiral of despair and confusion.

When months later Ian and I eventually met, instead of a white horse, he turned up in a battered red Ford Mondeo estate with a Micky Mouse car aerial topper. He wasn’t my type and completely different from my husband, but even so, I gave him a speech about how I didn’t want a relationship ever again. He gave a speech telling me he didn’t either. To make sure that we both knew where we stood, after he left, I emailed him a synopsis of our discussion.

We continued to meet, as friends, but then we decided to go on a proper posh-clothes going-to-a-restaurant date, something neither of us had done for more than twenty years. It was a disaster. I was too anxious to eat and ended up sobbing hysterically that I still felt married. It’s still up for debate whether I pushed him out of the taxi or he jumped, but what was clear to both of us was that it was too much, too soon.

The funny emails and witty texts stopped.

Life felt even darker than it already was.

But we missed each other, and after more talking, we fell in love. Far from feeling strange to hold a different hand, it felt absolutely wonderful.

At first, I kept our relationship quiet, not through shame that I’d begun to date before the first anniversary of John’s death had passed (though this didn’t sit easily with me), but because if I had fallen in love too quickly with the wrong man I wanted to make that mistake in private. When I finally revealed that I was dating in my blog, Planet Grief, some widows were angry with me, disappointed that I’d gone back on my earlier conviction that I’d never fall in love again.

It’s now over four years since Ian and I met. Two years ago we bought a house together. We plan to get married. New love doesn’t erase old loss and cure grief, but brings with it complicated emotions and painful reminders. It’s not easy living in a household that has only come together because of the death of other people, but losing those we love has made us cherish what we have now.

I was never going to fall in love again, and no one is more surprised than me that I did.

I'm sitting in Costa and 3 things
1, I have a lump in my throat reading this
2, so they were planning to marry (so the engaged/fiance bit must be correct and not just neighbour/police using the term erroneously)
3, I adore her writing style, like she's an old friend filling you in on missed gossip and news ...

 

[Tortoise]

I'm sitting in Costa and 3 things
1, I have a lump in my throat reading this
2, so they were planning to marry (so the engaged/fiance bit must be correct and not just neighbour/police using the term erroneously)
3, I adore her writing style, like she's an old friend filling you in on missed gossip and news ...

Re planning to marry - It's possible the police read this on her blog. It's also possible the family or friends said there had been no engagement. It looks to me as if the police were testing reactions, because it's really not relevant to asking 'have you seen Helen?'

 

[Alyce]

Mrazda, that is a perfect description, like an old friend filling you in on the gossip and news.

I think this is why I - and many others - have been so incensed by her horrendous murder. There is a feeling of closeness to a person I never met. I cant begin to imagine the pain it must be for those who did actually know her.

One comment I read in the Planet Grief blog last night. From one of her friends. Talking about the song that Helen had said she would like at her funeral.

Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I do hope her family knew of this wish


If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelling on now
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.

But if I stayed here with you, girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you can not change,
And this bird you can not change.
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows I can't change.

Bye, bye, baby, it's been a sweet love, yeah,
Though this feeling I can't change.
But please don't take it so badly,
'Cause Lord knows I'm to blame.

But if I stayed here with you, girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you'll never change,
And this bird you cannot change.
And this bird you cannot change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Lord, help me, I can't change.

Lord, I can't change.
Won't you fly high, free bird, yeah?

 

[Alyce]

Re planning to marry - It's possible the police read this on her blog. It's also possible the family or friends said there had been no engagement. It looks to me as if the police were testing reactions, because it's really not relevant to asking 'have you seen Helen?'

Yes could have been found in the blog by the police. Clearly marriage had been discussed but I think the engagement had not gone ahead because Helen had changed her mind about IS and had decided to leave him ( this is my thought only ) -hence why family and friends said there was no engagement.

I also think IS might have hinted or even openly advised neighbours that they were engaged, to further assist in his deception.

And I do wish the media would stop using that pic of him with Helen. I know they always put pics of victim and perpetrator in the same article but showing one of them together just really angers me. I have to quickly scroll past it every time I read the papers.

 

[BatFace]

I agree with you wholeheartedly, Alyce.

 

[Alyce]

I agree with you wholeheartedly, Alyce.

Thanks. I hope you got the updates from me yesterday :winkaway:

 

[mrazda71]

Has it already been said that it looks as though it's not listed for today too?

http://www.thelawpages.com/court-hearings-lists/St-Albans-Crown-Court.php

 

[Alyce]

Has it already been said that it looks as though it's not listed for today too?

http://www.thelawpages.com/court-hearings-lists/St-Albans-Crown-Court.php

Someone said yesterday that it would be after 2pm today so there may still be time for it to show up

 

[mrazda71]

Someone said yesterday that it would be after 2pm today so there may still be time for it to show up

Ah I thought the court lists for the day were drawn up and published, didn't realise they were open to change throughou, thanks