From The London Times - February 1994

FAMILY LIFE - The Shoplifting Mother

Even a Woman who can afford to buy anything can become desperate

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Carolyn, 49, has been married to Alan, 52, for 25 years. For 15 years they lived in a Buckinghamshire village, until Caroline was caught shoplifting and their lives were turned upside down. The names have been changed...

When Alan was made president of an international cosmetics company four years ago, our lives changed drastical1y. We'd always enjoyed a good lifestyle - a huge country house and a London base, two holidays a year, and private education for our children, Luke, now 25, and Kate, 23.

Then, with Alan's new appointment, we became rich. We had more money than we knew what to do with, a privilege for which we sacrificed a normal family life.

Alan started spending most of the year abroad. I could have accompanied him on some trips, but I decided to stay at home so that Luke and Kate, who were both at university. would have some sense of security. But with the children away as well, I became terribly isolated.

I had always been happy as Alan's "right-hand woman", accompanying him to social functions and entertaining his clients, but suddenly, that role had ended. I was only ever really needed at Christmas for the usual round of parties. By Christmas 1990, Alan was working in London a Jot more, but even then he would spend evenings at charity galas and events. For the first time in my life I began to feel lonely and depressed.

Shopping had always been my most effective form of therapy, but having plenty of money to spend and being able to buy anything I wanted made it suddenly seem rather boring. One lunchtime, I went on one of my regular local shopping forays to buy a coat. I looked at several different ones, then walked around the store. I do not know what made me do what] did next, my actions were neither considered nor calculated. As 1 walked away from the coats, I passed the oddments bin. full of rather nasty bits and bobs. I picked out a cotton scarf and simply placed it under my coat. I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. My face was flushed and my heart was pounding, but I managed to nod at the sales assistant as I left the shop - without paying for the scarf. Unbelievably. I felt a remarkable sense of achievement when I got outside. I had taken a huge gamble and won.

Back at home I stuffed the scarf into a bedroom drawer. I didn't even bother unwrapping it. The next day, I walked into our local delicatessen, where] spent nearly £ 100 on groceries. On the way out, I couldn't resist sneaking a box of shortbread into my bag. I felt the same exhilaration as in the dress shop.

After that, my "shopping" sprees became a regular occurrence. I became addicted to the idea of walking lout of a shop with something, anything. I took the most ridiculous, things - a leather wa1let, a lipstick. They all ended up stuffed in the back of the wardrobe, unopened.

I hoarded my treasures, but the real buzz came from the anticipation of the next haul I'd invented my own secret life and, to be quite frank, I felt rather proud of myself. I had no sense of shame or guilt.

One Saturday evening, seven months after this all started, my mother called. She wanted me to pick up a prescription for my father which they would collect the next day when they visited. I made a dash for the chemist before it closed. I hadn't thought about taking anything that evening, I was too preoccupied with the prescription. But on my way out I was stopped by the manager, whom I knew well. He took me to the back of the shop and asked me to open my handbag. I was amazed to see a bottle of perfume, not my own brand, with its price tag still attached. I honestly did not remember taking it. When he caned the police, I broke down in tears, insisting that I had no idea how the thing had got into my bag, but he showed no sympathy, not even when I offered to pay for the perfume.

I was questioned by two police officers at the local station. I had never felt so humiliated. I felt cold and absolutely terrified of how Alan would react. I called home. Kate answered. She left a message for Alan, who was at a function in London, and then came to the police station. I was a wreck, but Kate was so calm. She told a woman police officer about the strain I'd been under. Her unquestioning belief in me was so comforting. I was amazed how well she coped in a crisis.

It was almost midnight when Kate drove me home. She C poured me a stiff gin and tried to convince me that what had happened was a silly mistake that anybody could have made. I didn't dare tell her about the other things I'd taken. Alan got home at 2am. As I explained everything, he stayed deathly quiet and then started apologising to me. He felt guilty that he'd failed me in some way. He promised to make things up to me. At one point, he even talked about giving up his job, but that made things worse because I didn't want him to blame himself.

The next day my parents came as planned. We had decided to keep the news from them, but conversation was terribly strained. Alan disappeared for a walk for what seemed like hours. I knew he couldn't fully understand why I had done it.

Later, in the kitchen, my mother asked me what was wrong. I broke down and told her about the episode in the chemist. She was visibly shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened in our family. I knew I'd let her down terribly. She and daddy left shortly after I had told her. She never told him, but she has never really forgiven me for the stress I put the rest of the family through.

The next week, I confessed everything to my GP. I still didn't know whether the shop owner wanted to press charges, and the pressure had taken me dose to breaking point. My GP thought I was having a nervous breakdown and, on his advice, I started to attend counseling, but my problems were far from over.

About two weeks after the incident, I was informed that the shop owner was to press charges against me, and I received a court summons. My solicitor warned me that a drawn-out court case would mean prolonged local press coverage, so advised me to plead guilty.

I realised I would have to tell Luke, as news of the court case would soon get around. He came down from Manchester university for the weekend and Kate offered to break the news to him. Luke has never been one to show his emotions, but he walked into the sitting room and put his arms around me, in a "never mind, mum" sort of way. He seemed desperately embarrassed, as I was. He didn't demand any explanation, and for the rest of the weekend he acted as if nothing had happened.

Alan took a few weeks off work. Outwardly he was very supportive, but I suspected that deep down he resented me. After all, I was responsible for this sudden upheaval in our lives. I knew he was anxious that my criminal activities might cost him his job. He became withdrawn, but he came with me to court. Throughout the hearing I felt numb, as if I were in a bad dream.

After paying out legal fees and compensation, I foolishly believed the nightmare was over. But news travels fast in our village and everybody had heard about the court case. One by one, our friends drifted away. Alan took me away for a holiday to Antigua, but the atmosphere in the village didn't improve when we returned.

It was Alan who suggested that we move to New York. He had mentioned it several times over the years, but I had always said no. I'd loved the village too much. Now it looked like our only solution.

In New York, I started up my own small business in interior design. We have a beautiful home and Alan travels far less. Secretly, I think he's terrified to leave me. We've made new friends and I don't feel the same emptiness I felt in Britain. I've come to terms with what I did, and I don't believe I would ever have contemplated shoplifting, had I not been so desperate. It was a cry for attention, for which I paid the price.

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