During my early teen years, Lily and I realized we liked boys, loved to dance, and were not shy about drinking alcopops, like all our friends.
One day, two handsome new boys arrived at school, a Brit named Ian and a Canadian named Jeff. Jeff had this unusual international accent, which made him super cool. My girlfriends drooled. Everyone wanted to hang out with them. All the girls fancied him and tried to let him know. Jeff split time between his parents in the UK and Canada.
By contrast, Ian and his family had moved down from Manchester and spoke with a northern accent. His mum was lovely and let him have cool parties where booze was allowed! I made sure to get myself invited, and we all drank bottles of alcopops, Hooch, and Smirnoff Ice. Those parties were a blast.
At those social gatherings, Jeff introduced us to Thug Bones N Harmony’s, Crossroads. The song became a party anthem, as did Tupac’s Changes, Montell Jordan’s, This is How We Do It, and Puff Daddy’s, I’ll be Missing You.
~
One of Ian’s parties did get me into trouble.
I had my first fondle with the then boy of my dreams, David. He was gorgeous, with intoxicating dimples, a charming smile, and perfect pearly-white teeth. Before that night, he’d been dating another good friend, Katherine. But at Ian’s party he decided he wanted to get close to me instead. I guess it wasn’t the right thing to do, sloppy seconds and all that, but it wasn’t the first—or the last time—I would make a foolish choice.
David and I slipped into the night when no one was looking. We kissed under a full moon, and he tenderly caressed me over my clothes. The incident was kind of exciting for a young teenager, so I decided to put all the details in my diary. Mum accidentally discovered the darn thing under the bed whilst she was cleaning. She was appalled at the revelation. “I can’t believe you would write this!”
I responded, “I can’t believe you would spy on my personal life.” Not the best retort. Mum grounded me immediately and indefinitely!
~
I’m now 15, hanging out with the cool kids and going to Ian’s awesome parties. There was no romance between Ian and me—we were just good friends and still are to this day.
Suddenly, Ricky, the school’s “bad boy,” started chasing me.
Ricky was one tough lad. He was the self-proclaimed leader of the “naughty gang,” smoked like a chimney under the subway, and skipped classes whenever he wanted. But nobody said anything to anybody.
For some random reason I’d caught his eye, despite my bad perm and braces.
“We should go out together,” he said in the school playground.
“Sorry, I’m not interested,” I replied. I found Ricky intimidating and not the least bit attractive. He could have gone out with any girl he wanted; most would have jumped at the chance. Oddly, the more I rejected his advances, the more determined he became.
I didn’t know what to do; my friends convinced me I’d made the right decision—bad boys are just plain bad, and I should steer clear. My school head of year, Mr. T, must have heard of Ricky’s obsession. He said in a scribbled note, “Vicki, you’re too good for him.” He added, in the written passage of my leavers’ book, something that would probably get him fired today.
“You’ve blossomed from a caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly with quite a nice tush (bottom), too.”
At the time, I thought nothing of it; I found his comment amusing. I’ve since wondered what attracted an intelligent male educator to the nice tush of a 15-year-old?
~
A girl, two years above us, named Vicky (same name, different spelling), who really wanted to go out with Ricky, became insanely jealous. She started calling me “Little Miss Plain Jane” in the school halls.
I quickly learned that jealousy could make people work in mysterious ways! Vicky went from taunting to bullying to calling me all kinds of nasty names and tripping me up in the school halls.
It went on for months. I was terrified. It got to the point that I felt afraid to go to school because the crazy Vicky frightened me.
The ordeal came to a head at a school disco. I was dancing to Mark Morrison’s classic, Return of the Mack, when Vicky wrapped her hands around my throat, trying to strangle me. “If you don’t leave him alone, I’ll kill you.”
Her actions sparked a raging fire I didn’t know existed. I lashed out, pushing her back in defence. Vicky was shocked that I’d fought back and walked off.
Ironically THAT Vicky taught THIS Vicki another valuable life lesson. Don’t let the fear of something paralyze you; always stand up for what you believe. I also learned something else: bullies are cowards. The Vicky incident made me stronger as a person. I never allowed anyone to push me around afterwards—until I met the devil.
6.
MY FIRST LOVE
“When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.”
― Arrigo Boito
1997…
Fake college ID’s and some partying led to a bloody foot and prince charming coming to the rescue.
I had two passions as a high school teenager; pass my school GCSE (a qualification taken by school students aged 14–16, at a level below A level) exams and continue to rock socially with sleepovers at my friend Lily’s house and our bowling nights.
Lily’s mum would drop us at the bowling alley, dressed in high heels, lips smeared with Rimmel Heather Shimmer glossy lipstick, and oozing CK One perfume, which reeked of orange, mandarin, papaya, bergamot, lemon, jasmine, nutmeg, and rose.
As soon as Lily’s mum was out of sight, we would head for our favorite local seafront bars and clubs: Mr. Bees, Steamrock, and Montana’s.
Lily’s mum never said a word about our bowling alley dress-ups. I assume she was either naïve or just decided to turn a blind eye—more likely the latter. Even the club bouncers appeared to fall for our glamorous makeovers and phony ID’s.
Our goal was to have a good time and spend no more than £20 for drinks and cloakroom. One summer night, we had been dancing up a storm in Montana’s to 90s classics; Mouse T, I’m Horny, Ultra Natee, I’m Free, and The Weather Girls, It’s Raining Men.
Someone accidentally dropped a glass on the dance floor and cut my foot open. I was oozing blood but couldn’t get into the ladies’ room because of the horrendous queue.
That’s how I met Will.
Will, whom I’d never seen before, was also at the club that night. He must have seen me bleeding and panicking because he arrived armed with a ton of tissues.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, offering a warm smile.
Gently, he cleaned up my foot and reassured me that I would be okay. He was utterly charming, and I felt butterflies in my tummy. I didn’t want him to leave, so I played the damsel-in-distress. It worked, we sat and talked for hours in a dimly lit booth, since dancing was out of the question.
The very next day, I was back working at the beach hut. Will again appeared like magic! I was surprised but pleased, very pleased. I must have mentioned where I worked during our chat.
“I just wanted to check on my patient,” he smiled. That’s when my heart skipped a beat for the first time.
The gesture was romantic, his smile and charm even more so. I thought to myself, “Goodness, the man is two years older, studying at college, and interested in little old me!”
I felt like the cat who got the cream. Will was more than a fun guy with piercing blue eyes and a fabulous laugh. He owned a cool car—a gold Ford Escort. (Remember I was a teenager.)
After