My Fight to the Top (20 page)

I used to catch her in there all the time, flirting and flicking her long dark hair. I spotted what was happening immediately – I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.

I went in one day and confronted her. ‘Why are you here?’ I demanded.

His face went bright red and she spluttered a load of rubbish. The pair of them had ‘Guilty’ written all over their faces. Sam scurried away and I turned to Michael. ‘Why is she in your office?’

‘Because she’s asking me about fabrics,’ he said.

‘Fabrics? That’s got nothing to do with you. You don’t manage her, why is she always in your office? And what’s more, why are you always closing the door when you leave it open with other staff?’ I went on. No answer. ‘Are you having an affair with her?’

Michael stood up behind his desk. ‘You need to be sectioned,’ he shouted.

A few days would pass and then there was something else. It kept happening. There was always another red flag waving in my face. There was one night where Michael took a bottle of red out of the wine rack. ‘Where are you going with that? I asked.

‘Sam’s just texted me. She’s got no wine. I’m just going to deliver this to her next door,’ he said.

That is so out of character, I thought. He would never normally do that. ‘Okay,’ I said, shrugging. Fifteen minutes passed and he was still not back. I started to pace up and down the kitchen. Thirty minutes later: still no sign of Michael. My heart raced with anxiety. Something was up. Michael came home an hour later. ‘What took you so long?’ I demanded.

‘We were just talking,’ he said.

For an hour?
‘What were you talking about?’ I said.

‘Ah, she was just upset with a few things.’

I was constantly asking Michael if he was having an affair and his answer was always the same – ‘You need to be sectioned’ or ‘You’re nuts’. Michael told everyone, even my mum and dad, that I was going mad. ‘You’re dreaming up all these things.’

He told my mum and my best friend Ilene that I needed to see a doctor and that I needed medication. I started to think, Maybe I am mad? If someone keeps telling you that you’re crazy it’s hard not to believe it. It had the same effect as him calling me fat over the years. I started to believe I was this big, ugly monster. ‘No, Michelle, snap out of it,’ I shouted. The writing was on the wall. I wanted to flush him out so I told my friends he was having an affair – I told Ilene, my mum and dad, my PA and my head of finance. I said to everyone that the signs were there.

‘They are having an affair,’ I swore to Ilene.

‘Michael? I don’t think so. What makes you think that?’ she said.

‘Because they are, because she’s flirting with him constantly and he’s different…’ I broke down. ‘He’s different with me,’ I sobbed.

The problem was, I had no concrete proof. There were 101 signs and my gut was telling me – that same intuition I used to suss out people growing up in the East End. I became a woman possessed. I had to know to put my mind at ease. Our arguments became so bad that Michael kicked me out of our bedroom. ‘Get out. This is my room,’ he said.

I grabbed my pillow and moved to the spare room. Maybe it was for the best because I couldn’t lie next to him, imagining what he was getting up to behind my back. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. I felt so lonely and I remember pouring my heart out one night to Carol Vorderman. We’d been good friends since starring in
Celebrity Apprentice
together and I often gave her my flat in London if she needed somewhere to stay.

We were both in our jammies, curled up on my couch with a glass of wine when I started crying. I’d been confiding in Carol for a while that I thought Michael was having an affair but it had all become a bit too much. I was distraught. ‘He wants to get me sectioned,’ I cried. ‘How can he say that to me?’ I shook my head in despair. Carol was really worried about me. She gave me a big hug and tried to calm me down. I had explained to her how it was all just so hurtful. Yes, I’d been unhappy for a long time and, yes, the unhappiness was my fault for staying with him but that was no excuse for what I thought was betrayal. It was a really low blow to be having an affair with
my
designer, in
my
guesthouse.

‘My friends are starting to question me; my kids think I’m a nutcase. Even my mum and dad are saying, “There is something not right about our daughter.”’

‘You need to put your mind at rest,’ Carol said. ‘If he’s telling everyone you’re a nutcase and need to be sectioned, you need to find out the truth for yourself.’ I started playing around with the idea of hiring a private detective. Carol told me she knew some friends who could put me in touch with someone.

‘On second thoughts, that won’t be necessary,’ I said wiping the tears from my eyes. I guess there was still a part of me that thought we could work things out. I was dreading my 40th on 8th October – I wasn’t in the mood at all. How was I going to be able to put on a brave face with everything that was going on? I suppose I’d become an expert in throwing on a smile when I had to perform.

Michael asked me at the last minute, ‘What do you want?’

I’d made a massive effort for his 40th. I’d even got Leona Lewis to sing at his party and then I took Michael and all our friends on holiday to Barcelona. ‘What do I want? You have to ask me?’ I replied. ‘Can’t you be creative yourself? I was so angry and hurt. I ran through a load of party options in my head and I kept coming back to the place that I felt would help me through this difficult time. Somewhere that gave me strength. ‘Michael, I would like nothing fancy,’ I started. ‘I would like to have my 40th in the place where I grew up. The place that means so much to me. The place that taught me everything.’

I remembered my mum’s words: ‘Michelle, remember where you came from, who you are.’

‘I want my birthday in Coia’s Cafe on Duke Street.’

Michael was taken aback. ‘Coia’s Cafe in the East End? You don’t really want to have it there. What’s all the press going to think, what are all our friends going to think?’

I stood my ground. I defended my turf. ‘I don’t care what everyone thinks. I don’t care if the press writes, “The bra tycoon has her 40th in a café that sells ice cream, curry sauce and chips.” That’s where I want it to be,’ I said.

I couldn’t have wished for a better birthday. All my friends showed up. My mum and dad loved it. My family were thrilled and most of them could get there just by walking across the road. The only person who didn’t come was Sam, thank god. The menu was ‘Michelle’s favourites’: curry sauce and chips with pink champagne and pudding was a knickerbocker glory. I wanted to show the people of the East End that I had not forgotten where I was from. Some of them might have thought that just because I was successful I’d turned my back on them. I’ll never turn my back on them, never. That’s who I am. I’ll never pretend to be someone I’m not.

Stay strong, be positive. We all struggle sometimes.

‘
R
emember, you should never step over the line when it comes to your staff,’ I warned Michael at the work Christmas party in 2011. I was so embarrassed. Michael and Sam had been flirting with each other all afternoon. She’d been giggling into his ear and flicking her hair. Michael had been ignoring the rest of the staff. It was a Christmas get-together and we were supposed to be going around the team to give them all a bit of time. He only spent time with Sam. I felt awful. I felt humiliated in front of everyone. I wanted my husband to come home with me at 7 pm and we had a massive argument.

‘You should leave now. Let the team get on with it as they can’t enjoy themselves as much with us being around,’ I insisted. I left on my own. I couldn’t sleep until I knew Michael was home. It got later and later and all the while my anxiety levels got higher and higher. I was pretty much pacing the bedroom by the time I eventually heard the taxi pull into the drive and then the two of them giggling. Michael had come home with
her
at 3.30 am.

That was it – that was the final nail in the coffin for me. I’d had enough of this heartache. No one makes a fool of me. I confronted Michael and we had this explosive argument. We barely spoke for the week leading up to Christmas Day. Things were so tense between us. I was still sleeping in the spare room and I was still raging with him but I was determined to make it a good day for the sake of the children.

I pulled Michael aside to make a truce. ‘Please, let’s make this a good day for the sake of Rebecca, Declan and Bethany,’ I pleaded.

Michael agreed that we would talk and get on, which was a massive relief. He got on with making the turkey – he was always the chef of the house. I ran around, cleaning up and making everything look perfect for the kids and the family who were arriving any moment. Michael took the turkey out of the oven to cool down before carving. He then just walked out of the house – walked out on us on Christmas Day.

‘Michael,’ I screamed after him.

‘Dad, Dad, where are you going?’ all the kids were crying. He just got in his Porsche and left. I burst into tears. I didn’t have any words left. It was truly awful. I was crying and the kids were crying. It took me back to the heartache and tears when I was growing up and we spent Christmas in hospital by my dad’s bedside.

My mum and dad arrived in the sea of tears. It felt like someone had died. ‘Michelle, what’s happened?’ my mum said, trying to get some sense out of me.

‘He’s left us,’ I sobbed.

‘Oh, Michelle,’ Mum said and cuddled me. There was nothing much she could say; the damage had been done. It was the worst Christmas I’ve ever had in my life. The dining room was all set up but no one ate there. The kids sat at the kitchen table but I was too distraught to have dinner.

I knew then, that our marriage was over.

Michael and I had our ups and downs but I would never ever have left him. I would never have filed for a divorce and I would have kept going, kept fighting.

Michael came home the next morning on Boxing Day and we agreed it was over. ‘Well, if it’s over, I’m going to announce it,’ I told him.

Michael shrugged and said, ‘Do what you want.’

I called one of the few people in the media I trust, who I could actually call my friend. Mark Hollinshead is managing director of the
Trinity Mirror
and the
Daily Record
. He could immediately hear in my voice that something was up. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you wanting to see me on Boxing Day?’ he asked.

‘I just need to talk to you, Mark,’ I fought back the tears.

‘Sure, I’ll meet you for a coffee at 2.30 pm,’ he agreed.

I was waiting for him at the back of a wee coffee shop called Beanscene in the centre of Glasgow. As soon as Mark sat down, I burst out crying.

‘What’s wrong, Michelle?’ he said, looking distressed. I don’t think he had any idea what I was about to tell him. On the outside, Michael and I came across as the perfect couple who had managed that rare feat of holding down a marriage while running a business together. It was the image that we had projected to the media for all those years.

‘Michael walked out on us on Christmas Day. The marriage is over,’ I told him. He was shocked. ‘I need you to help me,’ I said, wiping my tears away.

‘Yes, of course. What do you need me to do?’ Mark asked.

I took a deep breath. ‘I need you to help me write a press release.’ I felt that if I didn’t write something now there was a chance it could keep going and there was no going back for me now. I’d had enough. There was a way out now and I wanted to take it. Mark helped me and I felt a huge relief that I had made the decision to send it to all the news desks. I know some people reading this will think, Why did you feel you had to tell the world? By announcing to the world we were over, there was no going back, I could finally draw a line under it and move on.

I made sure there was no mention of Sam. I wasn’t doing this out of spite but for closure. The press release read: ‘It is with regret that we report that Mr Michael J Mone and Mrs Michelle G Mone OBE have decided to separate. There are no other parties involved and the split is amicable. Michael and Michelle’s focus will be the welfare of their children, which is their main priority. They will continue to work together in their business, MJM International. This is a private matter and they would appreciate their privacy and that of their family being respected at this difficult time.’

There were paparazzi camped outside my house for days, but I kept a low profile. Unfortunately, I had a business to run, and the show had to go on – with Michael. The marriage was over but the war between Michael and me had only just begun.

Losing all that weight had given me the confidence to see that I deserved better. It was like the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle I hadn’t been able to spot until now. I wasn’t going to take any more shit. I confronted Sam, head on. The first day back at work, I called her down into my office.

‘I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me,’ I started.

‘Uh-huh, uh-huh,’ she said nervously.

‘You’re having an affair with my husband, aren’t you?’ I said. I was calm and collected but seriously pissed off.

She immediately broke down crying, ‘Oh, my god, I would never do that,’ she said as she turned pink. ‘How could you think such a thing. I would never consider going out with my boss. You are my friend. I would never do that to you. I’m having boyfriend issues too. We’ve split up and he won’t marry me,’ she went on.

I finally broke my silence. ‘Okay then, if that’s what you say and if it’s true then I’m sorry for asking you,’ I said calmly.

Sam left and my PA came in after her. ‘I told you she’s not having an affair with him,’ my PA said.

‘She is, she one-million-per cent is,’ I said. I just needed to prove it now.

Sam was going to Hong Kong with Michael and our head technical and operations guys in three weeks’ time to sort through some production issues at our factories. I was going to flush them out like rats. I announced to Sam: ‘I think I’ll come on this trip with you.’ She was taken aback at first as I didn’t normally come out to Hong Kong but then she acted like my best friend.