Original subtitles

Me, yes, I knew it was legal until very recently.

Because he told me it was legal.

He read it in the Reader's Digest that it was legal in marriage,

so he felt confident.

He felt confident. He was confident he could behave like an animal

at home. He couldn't do that in the street,

or in someone else's home or if we separated or in Scotland even,

but he could do what he liked at home, in England,

behind our curtains.

Curtains made by moi.

Yes, because I was his wife.

I am his wife.

The problem with all the fuss and the change in the laws

is that before yesterday, before last week, I was a person,

a woman married to a man.

And twice a week, that man, my husband, he went to the pub.

And he came home wanting to have sex

and sometimes there would be a bit of a tussle - he'd call it a tussle,

a tussling, and eventually he'd get what he wanted.

He'd make me have oral sex and then the lying down kind of sex.

If he's trying to have sex with me and I get bruised by him,

that would have been something I could've gone to the police about

before but not, not the main event,

not that bit, because that bit was legal.

So a sore arm I could complain about, but not the main event.

Very bureaucratic.

But after he has sex with me, and I know it isn't me wanting it,

because I say no, I don't want it.

And I'm sleeping in my own room now for clarity,

it honestly feels that when I agreed to marry him,

he had a right to access me, body and soul.

And when he hits me or beats me up a little bit,

I would never feel like crying or anything like that,

but after that kind of sex, I cry a lot. Because...

..I don't know.

I think it breaks my heart.

I would say so, yes, but I always try not to make too much noise

about it, not too much fuss,

because I don't want to wake up our little girl.

Especially when he drags me into his room,

that can be a bit noisy and I'm not...

I'm not sort of thinking to myself,

"What's happening to me?

"What's going on, why does he do this to me?"

I'm thinking he's got a point, this is what I signed up to.

Because it is - legally speaking, my body does belong to him.

It was in the Reader's Digest.

This is married life.

No wonder my mother is such a misery guts.

No wonder my neighbour's such a cow.

It was a trick, I fell for a trick, it's a trick.

They're nice to you and then they think they own you

because they do, and all these girls agreeing to sign their rights away.

Silly, isn't it? Isn't it silly?

Ever so silly.

I think if someone sort of grabs you in an alley

and they force themselves on you, OK, maybe I can get over that.

I think I would get over that quite quick, but not...not quickly,

but more quickly. I think I would be over it by now, let's say.

Yeah, I would have preferred that.

If you could choose between the two,

that would have been my personal preference.

But when you have to have breakfast together and do the washing,

wash the sheets, watch the telly together, go to the park together,

do all that and you can see his face,

and this is a face you used to be really attracted to.

Or to really like who he is behind the eyes.

We used to sort of make love or whatever, make love,

make love and...

Make love...

And you can see what he's thinking, and you know what he's thinking,

because you know him very well.

He's your husband.

After a while I find it better to think of him as a pig instead.

"Morning, Piggy," I'll say.

"It's OK, piggy, you're just a piggy, you're a pig, aren't you?

You're living a pig life, you and your pigsty

with your pig snoring, and pig farting, and pig burping,

and your pig meals, and your pig drinks, and your piggy friends,

your pig job, and your pig clothes, and your pig socks and shoes,

and then you have your pig coat, and your pig lunch,

and your pig dinner, and then he has his pig sex with me

and I'm not so surprised because I think that's all part of it -

that's pig life. It's not your fault that you're a pig

and that pigs have pig lives. Oh, poor piggy wiggy.

And I'm just sort of used to it.

And now they've changed the law.

I have to accept he's not actually an actual pig, he's my husband.

And when he wanted to have pig sex, it's not actually pig sex, is it?

Ivy, it's rape, and he's been raping you all this time.

I know, yeah, I do know, but before the law changed

I didn't have to think - I could just get on with it.

I didn't have to do anything about it.

Now I have to get on with him being a rapist, and me being raped.

I've been really worried about that.

I've been worried about how much it might cost, getting time off work,

talking to the police.

I've been worried about what people would say about me

because I work in fashion.

Sometimes people think my clothes are a bit daffy.

They think, oh, hang on why is she wearing that?

Who does she think she is? Now it'll be who does she think she is,

with her rapist husband?

Having a husband who is a rapist now

is even more for me to sort out.

Now I have to worry about being a rape victim too,

I have to say, "Oh, OK, that's OK, I'm a victim of rape.

"More admin, being a rape victim, admin,

"it's just another task on the list for muggins, here."

Before I was a victim of marriage, which sounds quite funny,

like a bit of a good joke.

Anyone can laugh at that, it's quite funny.

And now I have to prove he's a rapist.

Instead of just a pig. If I had told you my husband is a pig,

you'd believe me, no questions asked.

If I said he's a rapist, you want it to be wrong.

You want me to prove it, so they sort of made it my problem

to deal with it. It's a risk, it's another risk

and you just don't know everything it involves.

I don't want to be a rape victim.

So I'm not. Thank you very much.

I'd rather be a wife.

Have I been swearing my head off?

I feel as if I've been screaming my head off.

Have I? Am I?

I haven't, have I?

I'm fine.

I'm fine.

I could take him to court, but I couldn't really,

because I just can't face the pig courts.

And the pig judges, and the pig police

so I've been thinking I'll move out and he can keep our house,

and his job, and all of that and I'll try to start again

from scratch at my mum's, which is fine -

it's home from home, really.

Just like home.

A change in the law.

Just last week.

Bit too late in the day. Too late for me,

too late for you too, Ivy.

There was a time when we'd just got married,

and I wanted to go to Spain.

Said he didn't fancy it.

There was this other time when I wanted to stop eating meat,

and he said he just couldn't. Fair enough.

There was this time I thought I might grow my hair long,

he said it looks daft when you're past your 20s.

There was this time when we ate our dinner in our lap and watched

something, something boring on TV

and there was this time when I waited all day for the plumber.

There was this time when I thought I put the choc-ices in the...

There was this time I planted daffodils...

This time limes not lemons.

This time, bus quicker than car.

This time the curtains time,

looking bored with no time coming, having songs, car time.

Wake early, cries time, back door time, waiting here he thinks time,

joint decision time.

Wake night time, time suck, time drag, time hush.

Time, time, time.

Hold still time, take it time, time over soon, time gone.

Time mine, time mine.

All that lovely time of mine, gone.

Thank you for talking to us, Ivy, you're welcome, Ivy.

Thank you for taking the time. You're welcome.

I've got time.