At which point, he remembered he was fourteen and a teenage boy.
‘Yeah. Eh, me too. Did you bring me a Toblerone from the Duty Free shop?’
I spent all afternoon on the phone to the girls, announcing my return. Thankfully, Jess was already home from Aberdeen Uni for the weekend, Sarah said she’d jump on a train from Edinburgh, Carol had come back for a photo shoot in Glasgow, and Kate was working in the salon but she finished at 6 p.m.. All of which made for the hasty organisation of a full-blown homecoming celebration that evening. It was ridiculous. I kept thinking that only the night before I had been lying beside the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with and now, after abandoning him without explanation, I was planning a night out on the town.
What kind of terrible person was I? It’s just for a couple of weeks, I told myself. You just need some breathing space. He’ll understand. And if I was only going to be home for such a short time then I really should make the most of it.
The guilt lasted about ten more minutes before I immersed myself in the dilemma of what to wear. I wanted to look as stunning as I could manage without liposuction and a breast reduction.
I settled on black skintight trousers (I’d seen Grease twelve times) and a black vest. I pulled my hair up and secured it in a band on top of my head. Four inch stilettos which threatened to disfigure my feet for life completed the outfit and I was ready to go.
The girls had suggested meeting in Winston Blues, a new pub/club that had opened locally whilst I was away.
As I entered, the butterflies in my stomach were doing the twist. I looked around for a familiar face and saw one at every corner. My God, it was like a St Mary’s reunion. It seemed like everyone from my year at school was there and there wasn’t a stranger in sight.
Callum and his mates were sitting in one corner and beckoned me over, but before I could move, I heard the roar of multiple hands doing a drum roll on a tabletop. Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’ blared from the speakers as I turned to see the source of the racket. It had to be them. The ‘We did Benidorm and survived’ team were dressed to the nines. It was so good to be back.
A gallon of cocktails later, we were on the tables, on bar stools and, for the more sensible amongst us, on the dance floor. Who needed aerobics when we had Slippery Nipples and Duran Duran?
Much later, I made my way to the ladies’ to repair the inevitable damage caused by heat, sweat and drinking multicoloured cocktails. The crowd was dense and as I battled my way through it, I felt like I was storming a picket line. Someone pushed me from behind, obviously in a rush and having a toilet emergency. It was too much for the four inch stilettos. They teetered for a second before collapsing and taking me with them. I was halfway to the ground, trying frantically to land on my bum with some semblance of dignity when a hand reached out and grabbed me, pulling me back up. I looked up into the laughing face of Mark Barwick.
Mark Barwick. The first, second and third love of my life. Actually, we split and got back together so many times we probably made it to double figures. I’d been besotted by his floppy brown hair and huge hazel eyes. I had started seeing him when I was twelve because he reminded me of David Cassidy, but he was more than just a pretty face. He was funny and crazy and full of surprises. Every girl in my class had a crush on him and he loved it. It was a relationship of ‘firsts’. He was the first guy who ever kissed me – a real kiss, with tongues. He was the first guy who ever felt my breasts. He was the first guy who ever told me he loved me. Not that we had full sex – that came later with Nick Russo – but he was the first guy I wanted to marry. Granted, I was fourteen when I decided that, and I’d changed my mind by the following weekend because he refused to come and see Flashdance with me at the cinema.
That was the problem with us. We were way too young, he was way too stubborn and strong willed and so was I, and the result was five years of brilliant highs and huffy lows.
‘Falling at my feet again, Cooper? That’s nothing new,’ he laughed.
Did I mention that he could also be arrogant, overconfident and witty?
‘Just as long as you don’t expect me to do anything to your anatomy while I’m down there,’ I replied tartly, hoping my face wasn’t making it obvious that I was delighted to see him.
Fate intervened and the lights in the club came on. Shit, why hadn’t I made it to the toilets before this happened? I knew my make-up was landsliding down my face and shining like it had been turtle-waxed.
‘How are you getting home?’ he asked.
‘Walking.’
‘In those heels? You’ll end up in Casualty. Tell you what, I’ll come with you – for protection purposes only, of course.’
I should have said no. I should have fled the scene, but there was no way I could move at speed in those shoes. Instead, I just nodded.
I said goodbye to the girls, who had all paired up with their
