The Repair Shop’s SUZIE FLETCHER breaks years of silence on being trapped in a coercive marriage

My husband Rob wasn’t a great one for inviting people round, so I clearly remember the time he asked our new neighbour over for a beer.

It was shortly after we’d set up our third home together: a lovely rented homestead in Colorado, from which I ran a thriving saddlery business. Somehow all three of us – Rob, me and the neighbour – had ended up in the garage.

‘Yeah, this is going to be my domain,’ Rob said. ‘It’s my man cave and it’s just going to be for the lads, so you won’t be welcome, Suzie.’

I wasn’t expecting this from Rob. Why was he showing off in front of our neighbour, who seemed like a really sweet, normal guy?

‘I’m going to put up centrefolds,’ Rob continued.

When we’d visited my family back in England, American-born Rob had been shocked by the pornography for sale on the top shelves of newsagents’ shops. But today, in front of the bloke from next door, he was going on about having posters showing naked women on the walls. It was as if he was trying to make me feel rubbish about myself by belittling me and battering my self-confidence.

Not wanting to hear any more, I walked out, slamming the door behind me.

I didn’t realise that Rob had followed and was right behind. The door scraped over his toes and took a layer of skin off. There was this frightening roar from him. He was in a lot of pain, but I’ll never forget the pure fury in his face. I knew I was in trouble.

I raced to the hall and he came after me. But I’d run in the wrong direction, a place from which there was no escape. I was cornered.

That’s when he got me with his forearm under my throat. Rob had once been a competitive wrestler so he knew the move well. It was easy for him to lift me up until my feet no longer touched the carpet.

I honestly thought I was going to die. He was choking me and could easily have killed me. I don’t know why but eventually he let go.

I was profoundly shocked. I’d always thought it could never happen to me. Not that. He would never hurt me. Now I knew what my husband was capable of.

‘If you make me violent,’ he said afterwards, ‘it’s your fault.’

I was in such a state that I just nodded. ‘And I’ll tell you right now,’ he went on, ‘if I leave a mark on you, I’ll make sure it’s where nobody can see it.’

Later, when I looked in the mirror, I ran my fingers over the bruise around my neck. Has it really come to this, I asked myself. What can I do? Go home?

I pushed that idea to the back of my mind. Yes, I’d screwed up by following my heart and not using my head. I’d moved to the US in my early 30s, and within three months of touching down in Denver I’d been swept off my feet by Rob and married him. But I didn’t want anyone telling me I was a failure. And there was no way I wanted to be any trouble to Mum and Dad either.

So I stayed. I delved deep and unpacked my usual coping tools: work and my love of nature and animals. And I developed a new ability: how to swerve a bullet.

My heart was in my boots when I walked into The Repair Shop’s Big Barn for the very first time in 2017. To be truthful, I was feeling totally out of my depth.

I’d been back in the UK for only five weeks, having lived in the US for more than two decades. Over there I’d been married to Rob for 15 years, had my own farm filled with horses and dogs and built up my highly successful business. But then it had all gone wrong.

Physically, mentally and emotionally, I was exhausted. It was time to come home.

While I was packing to move back to England, my big brother Steve had started on The Repair Shop as its clock expert. During various video calls, he told me how much he loved doing it. ‘Well, if they ever need a leather specialist, tell them about me,’ I’d joked. It really was a throwaway comment, but Steve asked the production team.

Jay, along with my brother, really helped me to start believing in myself. Pictured alongside presenter Jay Blades

I never imagined for one moment they’d say yes. Was I completely crazy, to be putting myself through this, on top of everything else?

But Steve understands me better than anybody else in the world and he knew it was a safe environment at The Repair Shop. Of all people, he would never put me in a position where I couldn’t cope. So here I was, walking on to a TV set for the first time in my life and feeling like a total impostor.

Specialist silversmith Brenton West was a newbie that day, too. Ben, the director, introduced us and everybody else in the barn. Then he showed me to my bench.

It was a classic ‘first day at the office’ scenario – except it was going to be filmed. Imagine that?

‘I’ve never done this before,’ I told Ben. ‘Would you mind if I just watch and see how it goes?’

‘Er, no,’ answered Ben. ‘That’s not how it works.’ And before I knew it I was meeting Tom, who turned up with a terrific old Louis Vuitton trunk that had belonged to his great-grandfather. It had been left in a damp place and the leather was worn and fragile. 

On the surface were dings and dents but its frame was strong, so I thought I could repair it. I was nowhere near as confident as I looked on screen, however. Fortunately, Steve was by my side, helping me figure out what to do. A lot of love and saddle soap brought that old trunk back to life.

Not long afterwards I met Jay Blades. ‘I’ll be honest,’ I told him, ‘I feel a bit lost.’

‘Stop there,’ Jay said. ‘This is very, very simple. The only thing you’ve got to do is be yourself. Don’t try to be something you’re not, because the viewers will see through that.’

Jay and I talked for hours that night. He shared his life story, and even though we come from very different backgrounds, we are both dyslexic and have had our share of hard knocks. I felt an incredible connection with him. He, along with my brother, really helped me to start believing in myself.

That late-night chat with Jay was a turning point in my life. It was the beginning of my own restoration.

My dad used to joke that ‘horse’ was the first word I spoke. I was obsessed with these enormous, powerful creatures from the youngest age. So it was no surprise to anybody when, at 16, I went off to train as a master saddler at Cordwainers College in London.

It was the place to learn about leatherwork – Jimmy Choo was a student there before he became a shoemaker to the rich and famous.

By my late 20s I’d worked in numerous saddleries, been married for the first time and divorced, fallen in and out of a few other relationships and travelled halfway around the world.

It wasn’t till I was 33 that I was offered the break that would take my life in a whole new direction.

The owners of a new tack shop in Boulder, Colorado, whom I’d met by pure chance in New York, were looking for an English master saddler. I jumped at the opportunity.

I have no intention of ever being in a relationship again. After everything that’s happened, I now question what I find attractive in a man

Does anything ever prepare you for instant attraction?

I was just three weeks into my new life in America when I first clapped eyes on Rob. He was well built and muscular, with long blonde hair and a moustache. I can still picture him now as he walked with this swagger towards me along Boulder’s main street, wearing shorts, a cut-off white T-shirt, white trainers and reflective sunglasses.

Blimey, he’s nice, I thought as we walked past each other.

A few paces later and I couldn’t resist turning around to take another look.

He had done the same. He smiled at me.

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ I thought, cursing because he’d caught me looking. But I also had butterflies in my stomach. That was the day I met the man I was going to marry.

Our relationship moved quickly. We seemed to fly the course, taking jumps such as our first kiss and meeting each other’s friends straight away.

On the way to our first date in Rob’s pick-up truck he told me a bit about himself. He worked in construction as a heavy machine operator, in charge of handling the big diggers on excavation and trench-building projects.

My imagination went wild. I could just picture him pulling a cigarette from a packet of Marlboro Red, those reflective sunglasses shutting out the sun’s glare. Perhaps he’d wear a cowboy hat and faded Levi’s. It was another world to me – and an incredibly exciting one.

In those early days I was so starry-eyed that I didn’t analyse some of the more negative things that Rob revealed about himself. On our second date, he came to meet me straight from work.

As soon as I got in the truck, I saw a very different person from the one I’d been dancing with the Saturday before.

‘Oh, I just had a few Budweisers on the way,’ he told me. He’d obviously been drinking as he drove over to collect me.

‘I’ve been telling the girls at work about what fun we had the other night,’ I said as we drove away.

‘Why are you talking to other people about us?’ he asked. His voice had changed – it had become nastier, slightly aggressive even.

Suddenly I didn’t feel comfortable. Deciding this wasn’t a situation I wanted to be in, I made a plan to get out when he next stopped.

But he didn’t stop. He put his foot down and headed for the main road out of town. By now I felt panicky. Where was that person who’d so intrigued me just days before?

Rob must have noticed I’d gone quiet. ‘Look, I’m tired,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

Hands up. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I gave in and we had a lovely evening. Years later, as I unpick these events, I can clearly see that there was trouble on the horizon.

But like many people falling in lust, then love, I didn’t want to see the faultlines. If I did sense the cracks, I made excuses. I applied a healing balm, as I would to any damaged leather.

Alcohol and domestic violence go hand in hand. Rob’s temper got worse when he drank heavily.

I remember returning to the farm on a Saturday – after he had struck me in the neck – when he’d been having beers all afternoon. It was like the devil had got into him as he watched me unload the truck. I knew I was in trouble.

‘I’ve worked out how to have you killed,’ he said in a slow and sadistic way. ‘And I will get away with it.’ He then went on to explain how. I won’t go into the details but I knew he was serious.

Later that week, he did what he always did and apologised: ‘You know I love you. I love you more than anyone else loves you.’

I was confused, but I went along with it for fear of what he would do if I questioned him. Apparently, this pattern of breaking up and making up is common in coercive relationships – not that I realised that was my reality.

Another problem between us was money. Very early into our relationship, I was earning loads more than Rob. People trusted me and my skills were in demand.

Life can go off-kilter, but in my 60s I haven’t lost the ability to be inspired. Suzie is pictured on This Morning on June 6

Rob wasn’t happy with this situation – a woman doing better than a man. So he began whittling away at my confidence.

‘Don’t forget I made you,’ he told me one night. No, you did not. I thought it but I didn’t dare say it. It’s not just the body that recalls trauma, the mind never forgets physical abuse.

‘You wouldn’t have survived without me,’ he carried on. Oh yes, I would have. I also said this to myself. I never wanted to be pinned against a wall and nearly choked to death ever again.

If we were ever apart, because of my work or when I went home to England, he phoned regularly to check up on me. Life got trickier once we had mobile phones because he’d ring constantly and go ballistic if I didn’t answer.

Back home in the US he’d continually accuse me of flirting with others, but at the same time belittle me by saying I wasn’t feminine. ‘That’s what a real woman looks like,’ Rob said nastily one day, pointing at the centrefolds in the garage. And I truly began to believe him.

The thought of these dreadful situations still makes me tense up inside. I don’t think I’ll ever entirely get over what happened to me. My radar is always on. I look around and I can spot a bully at ten paces. There’s an energy and way about them that makes me recoil immediately.

I call them smiling assassins, because they’re usually charming. They are in families, at schools, in relationships and in the workplace.

These kinds of people realise they’ve got the power. In an abusive relationship, like mine, they may well be telling everyone that ‘she has a screw loose’ or something else demeaning. I see this pattern of behaviour in places I wouldn’t expect. These days I’m wise enough to steer well clear.

Why did I stay? I’ve asked myself this a thousand times.

Of course, if I’d been thinking straight my family would have rallied round me.

My brother Steve had an inkling that there were problems. Once he asked me directly if Rob had been abusive. When I said ‘yes’, he was appalled. ‘I know you live four-and-a-half-thousand miles away, but I’d move mountains to get out to you if he hurts you,’ he said.

So from then on Steve and I had a code word. It was ‘goodie’, which was easy to slip into one of our video calls if needed. As in: ‘Oh goodie, the weather is fine today.’

But I never used it. Should I have? Maybe if I’d had access to wonderful charities such as Women’s Aid I’d have read the warning signs sooner. At a time when I had nobody to turn to, perhaps the information, the stories of other victims of domestic violence and access to help would have given me a lifeline out of my marriage.

I can’t rewrite my story, but perhaps by being honest and sharing it, someone might recognise what’s happening to them. Then they can act on it. Perhaps they will seek professional advice. Or even just walk away.

The human brain is fascinating, and what I’m about to reveal still feels strange, but I do believe strongly in my sixth sense – it adds another beautiful layer to life.

Being part of The Repair Shop has healed me from the inside out. Using my skills in such a positive way has brought me joy and confidence (pictured on the show)

It was the autumn of 2012 and I was sitting with one of my customers on the tailgate of my truck outside their property. I didn’t know her well but I had this premonition I felt compelled to share.

‘I’m about to tell you something really weird,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why I’m going to tell you this and why I feel this, but I don’t think my husband is going to be alive in a year’s time.’

It was so off the cuff but I needed to let it out. On the way home, I called a friend to tell her, too.

‘Write down this date,’ I told her. ‘It’s October 12th. I don’t know why I think this, but something tells me that we’ll lose Rob on that date.’

And that’s what happened. We’d had no idea he was ill. But almost a year to that day, Rob was in the final stages of dying from pancreatic cancer. I never told him about my strange premonition, nor my gut feeling that I would be freed from our marriage one day – I just didn’t know how.

In the weeks before his death he said to me one evening: ‘I hope it wasn’t all bad.’ That made me feel very sad. Despite everything, I loved him very much.

That was ten years ago and I have no intention of ever being in a relationship again. After everything that’s happened, I now question what I find attractive in a man. But I know it starts with kindness and consideration.

Being part of The Repair Shop has healed me from the inside out. Using my skills in such a positive way has brought me joy and confidence.

I don’t think any of that would have been possible without such a caring group of people around me.

Steve, Jay, the team of experts, the camera crew, the producers, the directors and the people behind the scenes have always been kind and believed in me.

Life can go off-kilter, but in my 60s I haven’t lost the ability to be inspired. I dream that one day I will open another saddlery business.

Meanwhile, in my daily life, I try to keep things as simple as possible. I get up early with the birds. Every single day I think about all the things for which I’m grateful and note what makes me happy. There’s plenty of love and laughter in my life.

Just recently I found the last proper anniversary card Rob gave me before he became ill. ‘Thank you for putting up with me this long,’ he’d written. ‘I hope you’re happy at this stage of our lives. I know I am and it’s because of you and us. I love you.’

I am happy at this stage of life. My life.

© Suzie Fletcher, 2023

Adapted from The Sun Over The Mountains: A Story Of Hope, Healing And Restoration by Suzie Fletcher, to be published by Radar on June 8 at £20. 

To order a copy for £18 (offer valid to 24/06/23; UK p&p free on orders over £25), visit mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937.