Victoria Cilliers - I Survived: I married a charming man. Then he tried to kill me. A true story.

Victoria Cilliers is a trained physiotherapist who served in the British army, reaching the rank of Captain. Today she works as a physiotherapist for the Ministry of Defence. She has two children and lives in Wiltshire. I Survived is her first book.

Sunday, 5 April 2015

Oh god, I thought. I dont want to do this. I was a professional jumper with thousands of jumps behind me, but this would be my first skydive in over a year and, as the small plane climbed, everything felt familiar but it also felt wrong. My mind kept wandering to my two babies waiting for me at home. April was almost three years old and Ben was only five weeks. I should be with them, not here.

The jump had been my husband Emiles idea, something we could do together, hed said, which is mainly why I agreed. I also thought it would prove one way or another whether I still enjoyed skydiving, or whether I should give up my role as an instructor.

In the end Emile didnt join me as he couldnt find anyone to look after the children, but hed encouraged me to jump by myself.

I rose from my seat in the small aircraft as it circled above the airfield, and clambered to the open door near the tail. The jumper in front of me leapt from the plane and disappeared into the clouds. Now alone, I crouched by the exit, strapping my helmet up tightly. Sound engulfed the plane in a roar of engine and wind, and my nerves bubbled. Still, I couldnt back out now. Just get on with it, I told myself. Then you can go home.

My helmet was strapped in place with the visor lowered over my eyes, but I gave it one last tug to make sure it wouldnt budge. Below the plane was a 3,000-foot drop and as I stared down, searching through the clouds, I spotted the airfield. It looked like a dot on the ground and I started to feel sick. I held my breath, waiting until the previous jumper was far enough away. Its now or never, I decided. Pausing for a split-second, I pushed my fears to the back of my mind. Without another thought, I jumped.

The cold air hit my face and immediately I felt calm. I know what Im doing, I thought, letting the relief wash over me. Expertly, I spread my arms out in front of me, maintaining control of the fall, and with my right hand I reached for the parachute strapped to my back. I found the toggle at the base of the rig and pulled down, deploying the parachute. Its canopy billowed out above me but instead of slowing me down, I felt an uneven jolt.

Thats odd, I thought, looking up. I was shocked to see that the lines keeping me tied to the parachute were twisted. This is nothing I havent fixed before, I told myself, and immediately my mind went into autopilot. I kicked through the air in a circular motion, skilfully unravelling the ropes. As they came free I felt a second of relief, quickly replaced by horror.

Im still not slowing down.

I tried releasing the brake lines and pulling hard on the opposing riser to the spin, but that didnt help either. It didnt make sense. My eyes were fixed on the parachute above me, willing it to cooperate, but no matter what I did, I couldnt control the violent spinning. When none of the solutions my training had taught me seemed to work, I knew what I had to do. Im going to have to cut it away. It had to be a snap decision. With the ground hurtling closer and closer, I hurriedly pulled the cut-away pad on the harness, detaching the main parachute, and deployed the reserve handle. It was a back-up parachute for emergencies like this and I knew it was the only option now.

I held my breath, preparing for the sudden jolt the reserve would give, but as it opened I felt nothing. I snapped my eyes up. The reserve had only half inflated and now I was spinning wildly. The parachute threw me across the sky until I was almost upside down. I tugged at the risers, trying desperately to gain some control. The children need me, I thought. I have to sort this out. But it was no use. Plummeting helplessly, still pulling down on the risers, fighting to survive, all my attention was focused upwards. I had no idea how far I was from the ground.

Why dont you tag along and see what the armys about, Vicky? my friend Kate said.

She was going to an officer training presentation for the military, aimed at medical and nursing students interested in joining the Royal Army Medical Corps.

I had moved to Glasgow to study physiotherapy at the university there and, while I had been a member of the cadets at school, joining the army as an adult was something I had never seriously considered before now. It could be fun though, I thought to myself. I was always keen for new adventures and, at a loose end, I agreed to go along.

As soon as the presentation began, with action shots flashing across the screen, the prospect of excitement and service in the military captured my imagination.

There are endless opportunities to work in different places, one of the presenters at the front of the lecture room told us, flicking through a slideshow of officers treating people around the world. Many of our officers end up travelling all over the globe, its a life-changing experience.

What if I did join the army? Where would it take me? I knew already that my dad would be supportive. Both of his parents had experience of military service and he would be so proud if I carried on the family tradition. Watching the gallery of pictures flick past, I imagined the fast-paced life of the army and what it would be like in training, learning military skills and going on operations. It would be a far cry from my loving and comfortable childhood.

I was born in Edinburghs Western General Hospital in 1975. My mum was Scottish and my dad was from Devon. They met in the students union at Edinburgh where my mum was a nursing student and my dad was studying to be an actuary. My childhood had been reassuringly normal. Mum and Dad had a warm but disciplined approach to parenting. At a push, I would probably say I was a daddys girl, but not notably so I adored both Mum and Dad and the happy life theyd created for me. Mum gave up her job as a nurse to stay home and bring me up, while Dad went out to work (he started as a programmer for Standard Life and worked his way up to an information systems development manager). When my little brother Christopher came along four years after me, we became the perfect nuclear family who all sat down to dinner every evening. Haddington, some twenty miles east of Edinburgh, was a quiet town in the eighties and we could be left safely to our own devices. Busy with school and activities in the week, I filled my weekends with horse riding. I absolutely loved the horses, figuring I could quite easily spend my entire life tending to them. I was a secure and well-balanced child who couldnt imagine that anything would threaten life as I knew it. It wasnt until I was fourteen years old that my first taste of heartbreak arrived.

What is going on with Mum and Dad? I asked Christopher one day, cornering him in the living room. He simply shrugged.

Who knows, he replied, not seeming to take much notice of the change in the house. Its probably nothing.

I wanted to believe him, but I had suspected something wasnt right for weeks. It was as though the whole house swelled with an unspoken secret. My parents seemed unusually quiet as we sat round the dinner table, and Id catch them sharing knowing glances and whispering when Christopher and I were out of earshot. One day I saw Dad muttering something to my mum by the half-open bedroom door. He saw me and closed it completely. Something is definitely going on, I thought, unable to ignore how carefully they were keeping us from reality.