The Boy I Loved Before by Jenny Colgan

Author:Jenny Colgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-04-02T16:00:00+00:00

Any thoughts I might have had about being a tad underdressed were dispelled when we got to Earls Court. There had to be five thousand teenage minxes there, milling about inside. In fact, we were verging on the oldest. Lots were there with their parents, dragging baby sisters in tow, giving the thing the weird aura of a monster creche. Pink fuzzy Deely-boppers appeared to be back, I noticed.

We, however, quickly dumped my dad at the front gate so he didn’t have to come in with us and we could make it look as if we’d travelled over on our own. ‘I’ll just wait for you,’ said my dad, taking out his Evening Standard.

‘Dad, it’ll be hours. Why don’t you go home … surprise Mum and take her a fish supper or something?’

He looked at me. ‘Your mother never eats chips.’

‘She loves chips, though. She’d really like it. Please, Dad. Go on.’

He thought it over for a minute. ‘She always did love chips, your mum.’

‘Go on. It’ll be good.’

He sighed. ‘All right, then. But if she gets annoyed at me, I’m blaming you.’

‘She won’t,’ I said, fervently hoping this was true.

‘OK. I’m picking you up here. And here …’ He held out his hand. In it was a tenner and – bliss – a top-up card for my phone.

‘I’ll be outside,’ he said gruffly. ‘Be careful. Don’t take any drugs.’

‘Darius says no to drugs,’ said Stanzi.

‘Good for him. And I’ll see you right here at ten thirty.’

I sneaked a look at my Swatch. It was six p.m. The support acts, of whom there appeared to be about nine hundred, started at seven thirty. The man himself didn’t appear to be turning up for about three hours. Christ, half of this lot would be asleep by then.

‘This is great,’ said Stanzi.

‘I can’t believe people are queuing three hours early.’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? I wanted to come down at four, but Mama wouldn’t let me. Cow.’

We passed one of the many stands dedicated to branding all things. Stanzi was in bliss.

‘Look at this!’

‘Who would pay twenty-five pounds for a T-shirt?’ I asked, being a sixteen-year-old version of my mother, without thinking. ‘Oh. You.’

‘I work hard Saturdays,’ said Stanzi. Then she picked up the baggy, cheaply made shirt. ‘Mind you – I don’t know. Do you think he’s really going to like me better in a big T-shirt than in my Zara fishnet lace tops?’

‘No, definitely not,’ I said. ‘And it’s going to make it harder for you to play it cool. You know, with his name and face printed on your front. Almost makes you look a bit easy to get.’

‘By having his picture on my front?’

‘Yes.’

‘My big baggy front.’

‘Yes.’

She thought about this and concurred.

‘Come on,’ I said, as the queue inched forward infinitesimally. ‘I’ll try and scam you a beer.’

‘Beer is horrid.’

I took a mad stab in the dark from remembering my own sweet tastes. ‘A Snowball, then.’

‘Voddy Red Bull more like.’

‘Oh yes. Yum.’

From inside the booming arena came a muffled thudding.

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