The Day I Left My Wedding Dress On A Train free porn video

The Day I Left My Wedding Dress On A Train ANNE-MARIE: "I'd had my wedding day all planned out ever since I was a little girl, I'd been obsessed by weddings ever since my Auntie chose me to be a flower girl at hers. I knew the type of venue I wanted, the flowers, the colours my bridesmaids would wear, the music I'd dance to, I had a good idea about the kind of man I wanted to marry too. And of course I had my dream wedding dress. I would be a fairy tale princess for the day, gloriously gliding down the aisle in the most beautiful silky white ball gown, a huge poufy skirt with layer upon layer of a gorgeous tulle petticoat underneath which would glisten in the sunlight as it dragged a long train elegantly behind it. The bodice would be fitted, corset like but with pretty off the shoulder mini-sleeves, and a gorgeous arrangement of ribbons at the back to fasten me in, the whole thing flaring out beautifully into the stunning skirt below. I'd wear a veil for tradition, and perhaps a tiara too, with more sparkly jewellery and peep-toe white heels to complete my look. If I could have asked for just one thing to happen in my life, it would have been to have the chance to wear my dream wedding dress on my dream wedding day. And my dream looked to have come true. I met a great guy, Mark. He treated me well and made me smile in a way few others could. He always put me first, plus he was super rich and incredibly handsome! I was 24 when he proposed to me, he was 32. He got down on one knee as we were watching the sunset and slipped a huge diamond ring onto my finger. We spent almost two years planning the wedding as we wanted everything to be perfect. He said I could have anything I wanted, money was no object. So slowly, I pieced together each part of my dream wedding day. We booked a castle, yes, an actual castle! With it came a beautiful chapel for the ceremony, the castle grounds for the photographs, and then several rooms inside, including the ballroom for the reception and after party. A horse drawn carriage would take me there, followed by a fleet of vintage cars for my bridal party. Our florist had just won a national award for her work and our catering company was headed by a chef with multiple Michelin stars. My hairdresser offered to close down her salon for two days so she and all her staff could commit solely to me and my bridesmaids, my beautician did the same and called in favours from several other top make up artists. I chose my seven closest friends to be my bridesmaids, with my oldest friend Olivia promoted to Maid of Honour. Their dresses were lilac, my favourite colour, and the colour scheme carried on throughout my own bridal bouquet and the church flowers. For my hen weekend we flew to Paris and spent a day at a luxury spa, followed by a second day experiencing the famous French cuisine and Parisian nightlife. For mine and Mark's honeymoon there was only one destination I considered, The Bahamas. Three weeks of exquisite sandy beaches, endless cocktails and relaxation. We sent out 200 invitations, everyone replied saying they would come. But of course the one aspect of planning my wedding I was most excited about was choosing my wedding dress. Olivia and I took a long weekend and travelled into London by train, booking ourselves into a hotel for two nights. We had done plenty of research beforehand and had made appointments at half a dozen bridal shops, we had also pencilling in several more shops we intended to turn up at unannounced, if we had the time. I had the vision of my dream dress locked away in my mind, and I hoped not to have to deviate away from it too much. I must have tried on more than forty dresses over two days, but as fun as that was, I was beginning to stress about noting being able to find 'the one'. But then, just as I was imagining having to choose something a little different to the one I'd been dreaming of, I found it. The designer dress was everything I had ever dreamed of, and more. It had the large silky white skirt, the train, the petticoats, the sparkle, the corset, the ribbon and the pretty off the shoulder mini-sleeves. It was the ultimate princess dress for the ultimate bride. I adored it the moment I laid eyes on it, and trying it on only confirmed my love for it. I cried, Olivia cried, the shop assistant cried. It was expensive, very expensive, but it was worth every penny. In finding this dress, my dream had come true. I went back to London several times over the course of the next few months, for dress fittings and to choose my accessories. My final trip to the capital, three weeks before my wedding day, was to pick up my dress and take it home. Everything else had been planned and was ready to go, collecting my dress was the final, most important piece of the jigsaw. Everyone was desperate to know what it was like, and while I loved describing it in detail, no one aside from Olivia was going to see it before the big day. She couldn't come with me this particular day though, so I was on my own as I went back to the shop to collect it. My dress was packed away into a huge beautiful white box, labelled proudly with the logo of the bridal shop. The staff made me promise to send them some photos of my big day and then enthusiastically waved me off into a taxi heading for the train station. Thankfully the train was on time and also fairly quiet, meaning I could, without the guilt of making someone else stand up, take over an entire four seat block - one for me, one for my handbag and the two seats opposite for my dress box. The journey was only to take just under an hour and at no point did I intend on letting my precious cargo out of my sight. The train got gradually busier as we stopped at each station though, so I moved my handbag into my lap so that someone could sit in the extra seat if needed. Soon after I'd done this, someone did ask to use the spare seat. I was just one stop away from my station when a blind man fumbled his way across the carriage with his white stick out in front of him. He was clearly struggling and seemed a little stressed, so I helped to guide him into the seat next to me. I told him I was getting off at the next stop and he told me he was too, he was only travelling the short distance after he had mistakenly got off at the wrong stop earlier that afternoon. A few minutes later the train made its approach to my station and sure enough the blind man stood up from his seat next to me and, without asking for any assistance, began to edge slowly towards the doors. A few other people also prepared themselves to get off, so I quickly came up with a plan in my head - I would let them disembark first, including the blind man, then I would be able to safely carry my dress box off the train to the platform, and then on to my car which was waiting for me in the carpark. My plan was immediately changed however when the blind man turned back towards me and politely asked if I could escort him off the train. I couldn't say no to him, so quickly adjusted the plan - I would help him off the train first, then as everyone else was getting off, I'd jump back on to collect my dress, then get off again before the doors closed. As long as I was quick, there would be sufficient time to do this. So I took the blind man's arm and, as the train stopped and the doors opened, carefully helped him down onto the platform. He smiled and thanked me, but just as I let go of him, someone cut across him, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. He dropped his stick and landed shoulder first onto the concrete. Instinctively I ran to him, as did one other woman who had also just got off the train. He seemed initially ok and keen to stand up, so after locating his stick, along with the other women, I helped him stand up and escorted him to a nearby bench. Seeming slightly embarrassed by the fall, he thanked me again and assured me he was fine. Everyone else on the platform quickly disappeared and I turned back to the train door. To my horror, the door was already closed. Then I heard the guard's whistle and the train began to slowly pull away. I was stunned and frozen to the spot. Through the train window I could see the box, my dream wedding dress inside it, still on the seat where I had put it. I screamed and shouted but the train carried on moving, soon it had cleared the station and was out of sight. Few people were left on the platform, only one person stopped to ask me what I was so upset about. I was inconsolable, I was numb, I didn't know what to do. Finally, after several minutes of crying, I composed myself and went off in search of a member of station staff. The man at the desk was no help at all, offering little more than a phone number for the lost property department. The next train was in an hour, I could get on that and travel to the next station in the hope someone had got off with my dress and was waiting for me - or I could wait where I was and hope that someone would do the opposite and bring it back to me. I sat in my car and sobbed. I called the lost property phone number but an automated voice told me they weren't open again until Monday. I then called Olivia and told her the story. She tried to assure me that everything was going to be fine but I found it difficult to believe her. My wedding, years in the planning, was three weeks away and I had just lost my ?10,000 wedding dress. Mark tried to fix things the only way he knew how, by throwing money at the situation. He offered to buy me a replacement dress, but there just wasn't time, not to find my dream dress again. It was a one of a kind dress, I had to get it back. So I decided to try and stay positive and put all my efforts into finding it. The next day I contacted the local newspaper to put out an appeal, which they did. I posted on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and every other social media output I could think of. I called a local radio station and spoke about my story on air. I was highly embarrassed as I knew some of the guests from the wedding would probably hear me, but I knew doing this was a much better alternative than never seeing my dress again. I called the lost property department of the train company several times throughout the next week but nothing had been handed in. I took things further and asked for them to check any relevant CCTV from my journey, but annoyingly the cameras on my train had failed that day and there was apparently no evidence of anyone leaving any of the stations with the dress box. I was losing all hope, I had even resorted to looking at second hand wedding dresses on EBay. Considering the experience I'd had in choosing my dress from the expensive bridal shops in London, I found this very depressing. I was seriously considering postponing my wedding, but then, with just a week to go, I received a text message out of the blue from someone claiming to have my dress. I still have the chain of texts. UNKNOWN SENDER: HELLO, I HAVE YOUR WEDDING DRESS. YOU LEFT IT ON THE TRAIN, IVE BEEN TRYING TO TRACK YOU DOWN. ME: OMG, THANK YOU SO MUCH! YOU HAVE SAVED MY LIFE. CAN I COME AND COLLECT IT FROM YOU?! UNKNOWN SENDER: YES OF COURSE. I HAVE TO WORK THIS WEEK BUT YOU COULD DROP BY ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON TO PICK UP? ME: ANY CHANCE I COULD PICK UP SOONER? WEDDING IS ON SATURDAY!! UNKNOWN SENDER: NO SORRY, VERY BUSY THIS WEEK, FRIDAY IS THE ONLY DAY I CAN DO. I WILL LOOK AFTER IT UNTIL THEN. ME: OK THEN, AT LEAST I KNOW ITS SAFE! Unknown Sender: I WILL TEXT YOU MY ADDRESS LATER, MY NAME IS ZOE I was elated to know my dress had been found. The slight disappointment of not being able to see it again until Friday, the day before the wedding, was heavily outweighed by the fact I now knew my wedding would go ahead as planned. I logged off EBay, texted Olivia and for the first time since the incident on the train, I was able to smile. The next week was frantic, but in a good way. Everyone was telling me how excited they were and I was making regular trips to the castle to see the preparation of the chapel and ballroom taking shape. At the back of my mind I was constantly thinking about picking up my dress and was never quite able to properly relax, although Zoe texted me again on the Wednesday with her address and confirmation of when she would be free on the Friday. It was about a half an hour drive to get to Zoe's house, I set off at 3:30pm and made it there just after 4pm, the time we had agreed. It was not an area I was used to, but after checking the address on Zoe's text message and comparing it to the location on my sat-nav, I was confident I had made it to the right place. The first thing I noticed about Zoe's house was the front garden and how overgrown and in desperate need of some attention it was. A few dog toys were scattered along the path and there was a broken garden chair on its side by the front window. I wasn't usually one to judge on first impressions, but this wasn't a great start. I knocked on the door and immediately heard a dog bark excitedly. A few seconds later, through the misted glass, I could see a man approach and shoo the large dog away into an adjoining room. The door then opened and the man made himself seen. I introduced myself and asked for Zoe. I was then taken aback when he told me that he was Zoe, although in fact he wasn't. His name was actually Joe. All this time I had presumed that I had been texting a woman, but a simple case of auto correct gone wrong had changed everything. It wasn't the first time that had happened to him apparently, his phone would often change 'Joe' to 'Zoe' for some reason. He was older than me, mid to late 30s perhaps. His skin was pale and his scruffy dark hair was thinning. By the look of his stubble he hadn't shaved for a few days and judging by the grubbiness, the clothes he was wearing were perhaps now on their second or third day. But he seemed pleasant enough and gave me a friendly smile. Joe invited me inside and showed me into his front room. I remained standing and immediately the dog ran over and made a fuss of me, licking my leg before calming down and sitting down at my feet. The room smelt musty and it seemed dark, despite the curtains being open. Beer cans and scraps of paper littered the floor and the few pieces of furniture all seemed to be pointed towards a large flat screen television. There was a tatty old couch with a small table next to it, an overflowing ashtray sat on top, and a 1970s style armchair in the corner, covered in dog hair. Joe apologised for the mess and blamed it on the fact he had been in work all week and so hadn't had time to tidy. I told him that was ok, and engaged in some small talk, asking if he lived here with his wife. He smiled and replied he wasn't married and only shared the house with his dog, whose name was Rover. He then left the room briefly, returning a minute later with my wedding dress box. Aside from a few scuffs on the top, the box looked just as it did when I'd last seen it. Joe explained that he had been on my train and seen the incident on the platform with the blind man. When he realised I'd left the box behind, he decided to hold onto it and try and track me down to return it to me. Initially not knowing what was inside, he admitted that curiosity had finally got the better of him when he'd got home, and he had seen inside the box, although he hadn't taken the dress out fully. I thanked Joe for contacting me and arranging for me to get my dress back. I offered a small financial reward, but he declined, instead he just wished me well for my big day. I left his house and took my dress back to the car. Joe had seemed pleasant enough, but his dirty house and hairy dog made me nervous, I just hoped that he had been telling the truth and my dress had stayed well and truly inside its box for the duration of its stay at his house. When I got home, Mark, who I had been living with for over a year already, had left. He had arranged to stay the night at a hotel with his best men, meaning I had the house to myself that night, although Olivia and my bridal party would be round first thing in the morning for the start of my big day preparations. I took my dress up to the spare bedroom where I had already cleared a large space to hang it up. With it having been in the box for so long, giving it a few hours on the hanger was important, to allow its shape to naturally re-form. There was now the added incentive of getting rid of any potential unwanted stale smell caused by it having been kept in Joe's house for almost three weeks. It was a warm evening so I opened the window to let some fresh air into the room and then began carefully lifting the dress out of the box. I had barely made it to the top of the bodice when there was a loud knock at the front door. Dropping the dress back into the box, I dashed downstairs and opened the door, it was Olivia and my bridesmaids. They immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the house, closing the door behind me. They told me they were taking me out for cocktails and wouldn't take no for an answer. I was reluctant to go with them, I was tired and stressed from my trip to pick up the dress, but they promised we wouldn't stay out too late and insisted I enjoyed my final evening as a single woman. I always loved a night out with the girls, and after the first cocktail I managed to relax a bit and begin to enjoy myself. We made a rule to ban any wedding chat and instead to only talk about our usual subjects of shoes, shopping and celebrities. The worries I had about my dress were quickly forgotten and I convinced myself that everything would be perfect the next day. But how wrong I was. It was 11:30pm when I made it home. I was very tired, so after forcing myself to go through my night time beauty regime, I went straight to bed, I didn't even think to go into the spare bedroom to check on my dress, which I had forgotten was still in the box. I woke at 7am the next morning, the day of my wedding. Half an hour later Olivia knocked on the door, somehow she looked wide awake and amazing, despite having been out as late as me the night before. She was soon followed by a procession of my bridesmaids, hairdressers and make-up artists. The house was a buzz of activity, and after having a soak in the bath, everyone began fussing over me in a way a bride should be fussed over on her wedding day. A couple of hours passed as I was having my hair and make-up done, before Olivia and I went upstairs to my bedroom to get dressed. All along I had intended to share this special moment with just her, rather than have a dozen people with me in the bedroom, I'd have found that far too stressful. And anyway, everyone else had their own beauty routines to complete before we were ready to leave for the chapel. When we got to my room, Olivia immediately asked me where my dress was. It was at that moment I remembered what I had been doing just before they had arrived to take me out for cocktails the night before. I told Olivia that the dress was in the spare bedroom, but I'd forgotten to hang it up last night to air. She assured me it didn't matter as the box was designed to protect the dress from anything on the outside and any creases we found could easily be smoothed out. This put my mind at ease, but not for long. Olivia disappeared to the spare bedroom for a moment and then came holding the box, placing it down on the floor in front of me. Then she began to slowly lift the dress out of the box, as I had started to do the previous evening. This time though there were no interruptions and soon the dress was free of the box. This was the first time I'd seen it since picking it up from the shop, three weeks ago. My heart immediately sank. Conscious I'd just had my make-up done, I tried desperately not to cry, but Olivia could tell by my reaction something was wrong. I was devastated. Joe had lied to me, my dress HAD been taken out of the box. It had been worn. The first thing I noted was a small grey stain on the bottom of the skirt, I wasn't immediately sure what had caused it, but it was right at the front and was very noticeable. Then I saw a second, larger, darker stain further up the skirt. It was as if someone had spilled something in their lap whilst sitting down and quickly tried to brush it off. As I took a closer look at this stain, the smell suddenly hit me. The dress didn't just smell stale and musty, there was an overpowering odour of cigarettes. As I inspected the dress more closely, more and more defects were identified. The train was filthy, both underneath and on top. It was like it had been dragged across a dirty floor, with evidence of a dog having sat or slept on it at some point too. One of the delicate little buttons at the back was hanging loosely from its thread, and the ribbon used to fasten the bodice had begun to fray at the edges. Further stains on the outer skirt were identified in varying sizes and colours, some appeared to be the result of discarded cigarette ash, others looked to be splashes of beer. Then I lifted up the skirt to examine the attached tulle petticoat underneath, there was even more damage. There were several large tears and rips, perhaps caused by the dog having made a swipe at the material with his claws. But perhaps worst of all was a large yellowing stain right at the front of the petticoat, and also on the underside of the dress. Hidden underneath, no one else would know it was there, but me knowing it was there was more than enough. I knew exactly what it was, and it was disgusting. There was urine on my wedding dress. Someone else's urine. Olivia looked at me with a comforting smile but struggled to find any words to match. In my head I couldn't help but picture Joe wearing my dress in his house, lying back on his dirty couch, drinking cans of beer and smoking his cigarettes with his big wet dog at his feet. Occasionally he would get up and walk around his filthy house, stopping off at his bathroom whenever he felt he needed to, with no thought of protecting the dress. The stains were not the result of one impromptu dressing up session, he had almost certainly done it several times over the past three weeks. He'd quite possibly done it after I had arranged to come and pick the dress up, during the week he told me he was busy at work. Olivia tried to remain positive and told me the situation was salvageable. She told me once I had the dress on, the stains would be less visible, and my perfume would mask any unwanted smell. I wanted to believe her, I really did. I had no other alternative, there was no other dress to wear at this late stage and everyone else was ready for the wedding. Reluctantly, I agreed to put on the dress. It seems amazing to say 'reluctantly' as it was the dress of my dreams, I had been waiting for this very moment since I was a little girl. I took off my robe to reveal my exquisite bridal underwear which I had put on a short while earlier, and carefully stepped into my dress. Olivia laid the train out behind me as the petticoats puffed up delightfully underneath my large skirt. She pulled each of the lace ribbons in turn to tighten my bodice and fastened the delicate buttons, including the one which was hanging precariously off its thread. Then she dropped to her knees and began smoothing out my skirt, trying her best to remove any crease or defect she saw, of which there were sadly many. There was no hiding the stains though, or the smell. The dress was dirty, and I felt slightly repulsed wearing it. The thought of actually having to wear it all day actually made me want to cry. Putting on my sparkly tiara and attaching my veil made me feel a little better, these had been bought separately so had not been anywhere near Joe's house. My something borrowed was a necklace worn by mother on her wedding day and my something old was a bracelet worn by my grandmother on hers, but to anyone else looking in, my wedding dress could easily have qualified as either of those things. I slipped my feet into my peep-toe white heels, sprayed a generous amount of my especially chosen wedding day perfume and paused for a moment to compose myself. Then I turned towards the mirror for the big reveal. The initial reaction, for the first few seconds at least, was one of excitement. But very quickly I remembered everything that was wrong with the dress and any excitement I had drained away. There was no hiding the stains, rips and tears, or indeed the smell, everyone would know my dress was second hand. Olivia disappeared downstairs briefly and came back up with the rest of my bridal party. They gave me the usual gasps, 'wows' and 'oh my gods' and told me I looked beautiful. They were holding back though, I could tell, and I knew the reason why. Olivia would never admit to it, but I'm sure that she had given everyone some warning about what had happened, and asked them not to mention it at all when they saw me. To be honest, without everyone's positivity at that moment, genuine or fake, I don't think I would have made it out of the house. I did leave the house though and as I was helped into my horse drawn carriage, my petticoats consumed me as I sat down in the way I'd always imagined they would. It would have been the most feminine and exciting moment of my life, if it wasn't for the fact I knew Joe had experienced something similar in his living room a few days earlier. I got lots of attention as the carriage weaved its way through the streets, no one waving at me could see what was really happening, thankfully. There was a pleasant breeze and plenty of sunshine, it was the perfect day for a wedding. At the chapel I paused at the main door and took a deep breath before walking down the aisle with my bridesmaids and my father. Mark was waiting for me at the front, his first reaction was to ask if I was OK, his second was to tell me I looked beautiful. That spoke volumes, he could tell something wasn't quite right with me. The ceremony went by quickly and we said our vows. All I could think about whilst standing at the front was when I'd be able to take my dress off and change into something else. Now a married woman, Mark and I posed for photographs in the castle gardens. I refused to do close-ups, my theory being in the long shots at least, the stains on my dress wouldn't be visible and I might just be able to pass as a fairy tale princess. But I knew whenever I looked back on the pictures in the future, I'd remember what had really happened that day. At the reception I was able to relax a little. We had our meal and the men did their speeches, everyone then partied late into the night. No one spoke to me about my dress, it was as if an agreement had been made not to talk to me about it, it had become the elephant in the room. Occasionally I would forget what had happened begin to enjoy myself, but then suddenly my mind would switch back to thinking about Joe wearing my dress. He had almost certainly enjoyed wearing it more than I had. I couldn't wait to take it off. Mark and I left for our hotel slightly earlier than planned. When we got to our room I immediately asked him to help me out of my stained dress and my disgusting petticoat. Throwing it all in a big pile on the floor, I jumped straight into the shower; I was desperate to cleanse myself of the experience of having shared my wedding dress with a man. There was no chance for Mark to see me in my bridal underwear, which I'm sure he was disappointed about, but I couldn't wear that any longer either. Instead I returned to bed wearing one of the hotel robes. We went on our honeymoon to The Bahamas as planned, and thankfully by then I was able to relax and forget about what had happened, for a few weeks at least. While we were away Olivia had arranged to have my dress dry cleaned, but I had no intention of wearing it again. I forced myself to look at some of the wedding photos when they came back. Some were quite nice, my bridesmaids in particular looked stunning in their lilac dresses, but the long shots of me didn't tell the full story. Life carried on and I tried my best to move on from the huge disappointment. I had been given the wedding of my dreams, but it had turned into a nightmare. I thought about confronting Joe at his house to tell him how he had ruined my wedding, but was talked out of doing this by Olivia, I was still just too angry. I never told Mark the full story, I didn't want him involved, and it was too late to do anything about it now anyway. He asked me later why I had seemed so down on the day of the wedding, I just told him I had been on my period, and that I had fallen on the way out of the house and scuffed my dress. Whether he believed me or not I don't know. Despite the nightmare of my wedding day, I was enjoying being a married woman. A couple of months after our honeymoon, Mark had to go away on business so I found myself with a few days to myself. On one of these days I made a spur of the moment decision and returned to London for a shopping trip. I had a really nice day, I enjoyed wandering around the malls and boutiques, spoiling myself and spending a bit of money, it really helped cheer me up. After my day of shopping I went back to the station to catch my train home. It was as I was waiting on the platform that I saw him. I saw Joe. He was waiting for the same train I was. All the pleasant thoughts I'd been holding onto all day suddenly disappeared and were replaced by the anger I'd worked so hard to move away from. I found myself wanting to march over to him, I wanted to shout in his face and tell him how much I hated him for what he did. But somehow I managed to stop myself. But then he saw me. He smiled and walked over to me, as if he was greeting an old friend. He asked me how I was, and how my wedding day had been. I couldn't believe the way he was acting and what he was saying to me. He must have known he had ruined my dress, and there was no way in the world I wouldn't have known it was him who had done it. I refused to say anything back to him, but he carried on regardless, smiling and making polite conversation as if we were the best of friends. I felt myself getting angrier and angrier with him. How could he be doing this? This man had ruined my ?10,000 designer wedding dress and wrecked my dream wedding day, the one I'd been planning in such detail my whole life. And yet he carried on, smiling and talking to me, telling me how beautiful my dress had looked when he'd taken it out of the box to look at it. I broke my silence by asking him if he had tried it on - he admitted that he had, once or twice. I was seething. My mind went back to picturing him wearing my dress in his dirty living room, and then I thought of me, wearing it after him on my wedding day. Somehow I had managed to control my temper, but then he turned away from me and lit a cigarette. That was the trigger - the smell of his cigarettes, the odour of which could never be removed from my beautiful dress, or indeed from my memory. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I just couldn't stop myself. I was just so angry with him. His back was turned away from me, it was an easy shot. I dropped my shopping bags to the floor and ran at him, pushing him off the platform and onto the train tracks. He hit them hard, his head banging against the steel rail. There were screams from the other passengers on the platform, a train was coming. I was frozen to the spot. People were shouting, desperately trying to stop the train and to get him off the tracks. Some were shouting and screaming directly at me, but I couldn't hear what they were saying, I was in a daze. Then the police came and took me away. There was chaos at the station, all caused by me. Deep down I knew Joe wouldn't have survived the fall onto the tracks, but it was still a numbing shock to be told that he had died at the scene. I was in tears in the police car, I was inconsolable. I wanted to speak to Mark, for him to tell me everything was going to be OK, but no one could get hold of him. And I guess that leads us up to here. I didn't mean any of this to happen. It was an accident, a moment of madness. I hated what Joe had done, he ruined my wedding and I wanted him to be sorry for what he did, but he just didn't seem to care. He didn't deserve for that to happen to him though. I'm sorry. If I could turn back time, I would. I'm so sorry...." DCI MURRAY: "OK, I think we have everything we need now, we have a confession. Anne-Marie Cooper you will be charged with the manslaughter of Joseph Baxter. Sargent McFadden will take you to the front desk and tell you what happens next. Interview terminated at 17:23." ANNE-MARIE: "Manslaughter? No, it was an accident... I didn't mean any of this to happen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.... Please, no....."