If I’d stopped to think about it in any depth, I’d have acknowledged how lucky I felt. Nick Russo was the first guy I’d ever slept with and he was sweet and kind and funny, and showed no dickhead tendencies whatsoever.
The last night finally came. My stomach had been in knots all day and I was alternating between a longing to handcuff Nick to the bed and savour every moment, and wanting to curl up in a corner and cry.
We went out to dinner, for once without our merry band of friends.
‘We can’t let this end here, Cooper,’ he said as he held my hand so tightly that it felt as if he was dislocating my knuckles.
‘How can it not?’ I implored. ‘We live on opposite sides of the country, we can’t drive and we’re skint students.’
The truth was, I could probably make the trip to his home in St Andrews by bus and train, and he could travel to see me too. The distance wasn’t insurmountable, but geography and logistics weren’t the real issue here.
You see, I adored him. This had been the most perfect two weeks of my life, I had lost my virginity to the most amazing man and I could see the future. If we tried to continue this at home, it would get lost amongst protracted separations, late night phone calls and living in different towns. Even in my sun-damaged, alcohol-poisoned, euphoric state, I knew that we were much too young for this. Eventually, we would both meet other people and it would end horribly, with tears and tantrums, recriminations and regret. I didn’t want that. I wanted to remember this forever for what it was – the best episode in my life ever.
I tried to explain this and, eventually, his sad eyes told me that he got it.
‘Tell you what, Cooper, one day I’m going to come and find you. Then, we’ll get married and live in happily shagging bliss for the rest of our lives.’
‘You promise?’ I asked, smiling.
‘I promise,’ he replied, as he squeezed me tightly, then kissed me goodbye.
I never saw Nick Russo again.
3 Believe – Cher
I pour another coffee and attack a box of Marks & Spencer’s chocolate eclairs. I’m having trouble eating them because of the huge smile that’s still on my face. Nick Russo. I haven’t thought about him for years.
It’s strange too, to think about the person that I was then: fearless, full of energy, embarking on every day like it was a great new adventure. But then, everyone is indestructible when they’re seventeen, aren’t they?
Sure, I was sad when I returned from holiday. I spent two weeks mooning around, listening to Commodores records and crying on the shoulders of anyone who would listen. Thank God for the eighties shoulder pads.
Then I decided that I was bored of being boring and set off in pursuit of another drama. Over the next couple of years, I would think about Nick periodically, but that soon faded as he was replaced by the next love. And the next. And the next.
I think about calling Kate back, but I doubt she’ll have finished with Hot N Spicy yet. I briefly consider phoning Carol instead, but she’s a nightmare to get hold of and never answers her phone.
These days, Carol is still single, still beautiful and is the figurehead of the Elegante fashion house, spearheading all their advertising campaigns: ‘Elegante – The Nineties label for the Thirties Woman!’ Despite the more than healthy financial rewards, she’s pissed off because now everyone knows she’s circling thirty and she reckons that her appeal to rich, shallow men seeking a trophy girlfriend to lavish with copious amounts of expensive gifts, has decreased by 25 per cent.
In saying that, it doesn’t seem to have deterred her current beau, who does something in finance and has just awarded her a Harrods charge card. She’s probably there now, sipping champagne in Chanel, while I’m drinking tea and dipping my dressing gown sleeve in dishwater. It would be so easy to be bitter.
I decide to call Jess instead, but I get someone else in her office and I don’t want to admit that I’m just a pal calling for a chat, so I blatantly lie.
‘Could you please give her a message for me? This is her mother here. Could you tell her that my new hip replacement has fallen off and I need her to call me back immediately?’
‘Oh, you poor dear,’ she coos. ‘I’ll pass it on immediately.’
Ten minutes later, Jess calls back. Her job as researcher for the Right Honourable Basil Asquith, MP, keeps her really busy, especially as it involves extracurricular activities that go WAY above the normal duties involved in serving your country. More of that later.
‘How’s your hip, Mum?’ she chortles.
‘It’s facing the wrong way, dear, I just keep going around in circles,’ I reply.
She laughs. ‘Are you phoning about tonight?’
God, I’d forgotten all about it – our monthly night out. Kate normally reminds me, but I clearly distracted her with my woes earlier. ‘What’s the plan? Can Carol and Kate make it?’
‘Eight o’clock at Paco’s and, yes, they’re both coming.’
Fantastic! I haven’t seen Carol for weeks. ‘I’ll be there, but that’s not why I called. I’ve just been thinking…’
‘Don’t do that, you know it gives you a migraine.’
‘Sad but true. But anyway – guess who I was thinking about, and it involves sex.’
‘Brad Pitt. Patrick Swayze. Tony Blair.’ A pause. ‘Actually, that last one might have been me,’ she admits.
‘I thought you came down on the other side of the political divide?’
