The Daisy Wyatt Interview
She sparked a global scandal, made history, and has been on the receiving end of endless fan mail and death threats. Vanity Fair editor Rachel Black sat down for an exclusive tête-à-tête with Daisy Wyatt and found out just how a bookie’s daughter from Yorkshire became arguably the most famous woman of the 21st century.
I first meet Daisy Wyatt in intimate surroundings; after the location of her hotel in North London was leaked to the press, she was forced to take refuge in a small guest house. I can see straight away that Wyatt feels more at home in this cosier environment. She wears simple jeans and a cardigan, and her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders in what has become known as her signature style (and has been imitated by many of her fans).
When I comment on her newfound status as a style icon among everything else, she laughs, then looks away. Clearly, then, Wyatt is a girl for whom appearance has never been a priority – although she possesses alabaster skin to die for, and her eyes have a soulful, pensive quality that make me wonder if, in another lifetime, she might have been an actress.
Wyatt, née Sullivan, was born in Harrogate, the only child of Mick and Carol. Her mother died when she was a toddler, and she was raised by her father. “He did the best he could,” she says now, her voice warming as she speaks of him. “He would always go without to make sure I had books, shoes, school uniform.” When I ask Daisy what her father thinks of her newfound notoriety, she refuses to answer. It can’t be easy, I go on, for her to maintain a semblance of ordinary family life, when she has been hounded by a media circus for much of the last year. “It’s amazing what you can get used to,” she says defiantly, which I suppose is just as well, considering where she is headed in less than a month.
“Did you know,” she asks, gazing into the fireplace of this tiny parlour, “that there was more coverage on my wedding day than the Royal Wedding?” I tell her yes, I do know. Every channel imaginable gathered a panel of talking heads to express their opinion; everyone from Jeremy Kyle to the Archbishop of Canterbury had their say.
I want to ask her about Edgar Wyatt, her first husband, but he is on the long, long list of subjects I have been forbidden to discuss. Still, since I will never again have the chance to be in the same room as Daisy, I feel it is worth the risk.
“Are you still in touch with Edgar?” I ask, preparing for her to flinch, or for her expression to harden.
“Not for a very long time,” she answers, remarkably calmly.
“He has been markedly silent since the story first broke last Spring. Why do you think that is?”
“He’s a good man. A better person than I, certainly. I hurt him terribly, but he would never seek to profit from that.”
“It is common knowledge that you and Edgar were on your honeymoon that night in Cornwall.”
Daisy raises an eyebrow.
“That night?” She smiles. “You mean the night my life changed forever?”
“The night the entire world changed,” I say. It is a date seared into living memory. The night that humankind first made contact with alien life.
“I was just out for a walk,” Daisy mumbles, clearly tired of telling the tale. “Ed was in the camper sleeping. I went down to the beach, fancied paddling…”
“And then, like a comet, it appeared,” I finish for her. Every man, woman and child in the world knows the words to this bedtime story.
“Yes,” she says. “My first thought, although it seems ridiculous now, was that I would die that night. I thought it was an asteroid, or meteor, that would drop into the ocean like a pebble into a pond, and the ripples would send a tidal wave to snuff me out.”
“But that’s not what happened,” I prompt her, aware that our interview time is running out. Soon Daisy will be ushered out of this B&B and sent to a new, more highly confidential location.
“No, that’s not what happened. Although my life did end that night, in a way. The life where I worked in Ladbrokes and married my sweetheart. Nothing was ever the same again…” She tears up, and I decide to push her no further. We all know how this story ends.
A saucer, so similar to those in the films, descended from the clouds, spinning out of control. It crashed into the water, skipping just like Daisy’s pebble, until it collided with the beach, a mere twenty yards from where Daisy stood. Edgar, having heard the unearthly sound, ran from their VW to find Daisy, and together they watched as the saucer opened, and the first extra-terrestrial to set foot on Earth staggered, injured, onto the beach.
The rest is history.
Edgar and Daisy split soon after, around the same time that Downing Street and Buckingham Palace introduced the visitor to the world. Following the break-up, as more and more ships gathered around Earth to meet the new neighbours, Edgar became unavailable for comment, retreating to his family home in Leeds, where his loved ones closed ranks. Daisy found it harder to shake the press. First, she was known simply as The UFO Chaser’s Wife. But months later, when her marriage with Edgar had been annulled, she did the unthinkable.
Daisy Wyatt, née Sullivan, became the first human woman to marry an alien.
“I never wanted to make history,” she tells me now, as her guardians tell me my time is up. “I just fell in love.”
And what more is there to say, really? It is a twist, albeit a groundbreaking one, on the oldest story in the book. Soon, Daisy will set yet another precedent by being the first person to leave Earth on an alien ship. As we stand, shake hands, and part ways, I sense fear in Daisy, as well as endless wonder. Hers will be the first eyes to see her husband’s home world; she will explore the galaxy in ways that Earth’s astronauts can only dream of. An indescribably adventure, yes, but also a daunting one. I wish her every happiness as we part ways, and can only hope that this second honeymoon is an improvement on the first.