Confessions of an Essex Girl

by Becci Fox

  ‘I’ll have you know there’s a lot of evidence that he might not be a shit. First off, he’s got a tattoo on the inside of his arm that says “family”, so he loves his family, right?’

  ‘Nah, that would just creep me out if I saw that on a bloke’s arm. It’s all a bit Reggie Kray.’

  ‘Shut up! It is not. It means he’s devoted to his people. Secondly, I haven’t had to spend a penny on our dates, so he’s generous. Thirdly, he’s amazing in bed . . .’

  ‘Yeah, because he’s had the practice,’ Brooke butted in.

  ‘Good, I’m glad he has. I don’t want a virgin who’s been saving himself, do I?’ I replied defensively.

  ‘I got to say, something does seem different about this. I mean, you’re always overexcited after date one, but by date two you’re trying to work out how to get out of it.’

  ‘Yeah, because they never live up to how I pictured them to be. They’ll do something lame like say something proper soppy or expect me to get a round in.’

  ‘Becs, you are one of the funniest girls I’ve ever met. I honestly want to jump out of a window just to stop the laughter pains sometimes. But this Ben bloke is just so serious. I don’t get how it works.’

  ‘Yeah, cos he’s putting on a front, isn’t he. It’s like how Charlie’s a right laugh but he can’t be mucking around when he’s guarding the entrance to the VIP Lounge. All sorts would be getting in then. You’ve only seen Ben’s public side, but he’s much softer when it’s just the two of us.’

  Brooke was clearly bored of me droning on about Ben, so she grabbed a marker pen and wrote ‘family’ on my arm. I wasn’t impressed. I grabbed the marker pen and wrote ‘minge’ on her foot. We laughed so hard I honestly pissed myself a bit. I once told Brooke that Amanda Seyfried off that Mamma Mia! film had ‘minge’ tattooed on her foot because Colin Firth told her to or something, and we had a major fight because she said I was making shit up as always. We didn’t talk for about a week. You know you’re best friends when you’re able to have these blazing rows because it means they feel like a sister to you.

  Tattoos are generally a sore point between us because when I got my feather tattoo on my lower back, we had a huge bust-up. She claimed I had stolen her tattoo idea and then she called it a ‘tramp stamp’. That’s what you call proper jel behaviour.

  And she got more jel as the days went on because I was spending all my time with Ben. I suppose she’d got used to us being a double-act, so I don’t think she was very happy for me. I couldn’t help that, though, could I? I mean, she was always jetting here and there, so it wasn’t like she didn’t have a life. But she’d send me a lot of pass-agg texts like, fort u mite b bz . . . wil buk tan 4 1, or whr u gon? . . . wd b gr8 2 c u. That sort of stuff. And those are word-for-word texts. Takes me bloody ages to work them out.

  And I was busy out and about at Ben’s events. He had two test races in April which I went to watch. I think he came second in both, but there was no question, he was an incredible driver. He had no fear on the road and no self-doubt off the road. I won’t deny it, seeing him race was a major turn-on. He was all kitted up in his racing gear and he’d look all brooding when he took off his helmet and gloves. Men doing dangerous things and taking off helmets is my thing. It’s the same reason I love the film Top Gun so much.

  But it was really Ben’s focus that made me so hot for him. He was more disciplined than any footballer when it came to his lifestyle. Ryan was so right about Ben’s workout regime. He went to the gym nearly every day, so thanks to him, I was able to spend time with Ben down the Repton Park gym. And he seriously monitored his diet – it was all about the protein. He didn’t really get drunk either, and he wasn’t really a coke-head, just every now and then. He was just so in control of himself because he was hungry for success. When you see firsthand what these footballers get up to in clubs, it’s no wonder the England team are so shit.

  The best thing about these races were the overnight stays in these amazing hotels where I spent most of my time in bed or in a hot tub. That’s my kind of weekend. Some evenings we did more of the hob-nobbing, like in Woolston Manor. He’d gained a lot of sponsors so it showed how seductive he could be to both men and women.

  But we were kind of weird when it came to our friends. Like he wouldn’t come out with my lot and I wouldn’t hang out with his. I mean, for all I know he was taking other women home with him. Considering the circumstances I met him under, I’d have been surprised if he wasn’t. I was no angel either and indulged in a few cheeky snogs, but I can’t handle dating two men at once, not after the affair experience. It’s just proper time-consuming.

  So why was I bothering with Ben if I had his card marked? Simply because I was enjoying life with him in it. Just so you can fully grasp how much fun the two of us had together, let me tell you about the Mayfair experience.

  When Kate and Wills got married – you know, the royal wedding – there was a lot of love around. I kept banging on about how London would be the place to be that day, so Ben surprised me with a stay at the Hilton Park Lane and an afternoon of shopping on his card followed by drinks and dinner at the Mayfair Hotel.

  Wait, though, it gets even better. At dinner, he gave me my favourite kind of blue box. No, it wasn’t a ring but this gorgeous Tiffany double-hearted diamond necklace I’d spotted earlier in the day. In my eyes, if a bloke gives you a gift for no reason and he’s actually heard your shopping hint, it means he really wants to make you happy. My sister’s husband Tony buys her a new wedding ring every anniversary. She never likes them, but she always expects them. Where’s the romance in that? She even gives them names, so there’s gym wedding ring, holiday wedding ring, night wedding ring and wedding ring. She only really loves the original. My gift from Ben meant more than all her silly rings put together. Considering I’d been beautifying myself for four days and had avoided carbs for the same amount of time, I’d say an expensive Tiffany necklace was about right. I didn’t want the night to end after dinner, so Ben suggested we hit a club called Aura just around the corner.

  As with all restaurants and clubs we’d been to, Ben seemed to know everyone at Aura, including Jonny Dodge, one of the owners, who is well fit but short. Looks weirdly like a stockier and posher Joey Essex. Turns out he’s the man to know in motor sport if you like to have a good time around Grand Prix season. Some people got shoved off some seats so we could sit at the table (I should say I felt terrible but I didn’t), and then Ben ordered a magnum of champagne which I thought was a bit much for just the two of us, but then I realized he’d done it to impress not just me but the entire club. Everyone knows when you’ve ordered a magnum here. The music shuts down, wild west gun shots and horns are played and the spotlight goes on the flash Harry. Why’s nobody doing this in Essex? It’d go down a storm if you were given props every time you splashed serious cash.

  So anyway, Kate’s wedding reception may have been kicking off in Buckingham Palace, but there was only one princess in town that night. The champagne was flowing and I danced with everyone and anyone. Ben doesn’t do dancing, just intense watching, so when I saw him coming over to me on the dance floor, I didn’t know what to think. Then he just walked behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist and went, ‘I want to fuck you right here, right now.’ I mean, it was seriously hot.

  We tried to go in the toilets, but those bloody toilet attendants are everywhere these days, so in the end we made our way up Piccadilly, stopping for a quick fumble on every dark street corner until we got back to the Hilton. I don’t do walking, so that just shows how off my face I was. I don’t think we even had sex when we got back because I seem to remember waking up in my new pink bandeau dress. Or maybe we did. But I do remember waking up in the most luxurious bed I’d ever been in. Imagine sleeping on a thick duvet with another duvet on top. I’ve actually recreated this bed in my own place, it was that life-changing. But anyway, we had a late checkout, so we just chilled, ordered food, watched Friends.

  I
didn’t want the day to end, but Essex was calling.

  I’d had seven missed calls from Gemma while I’d been hitting the town. Obviously I couldn’t call her while I was making the most of my London high life. When Ben finally dropped me home late Saturday afternoon, I called her as soon as I’d kicked my heels off. When she picked up, she was sobbing, but it was angry sobbing. Way worse than when her eyelashes fell out.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Up town with Ben. What’s going on, hun?’

  ‘Why have you been ignoring my calls? I needed you,’ Gemma said with more shallow sobs.

  ‘Hun, I’m here now. Talk to me.’

  ‘It’s so awful, Becci. I don’t know what to do. Grant’s done it again.’ I knew what this meant. He’d cheated on her again.

  ‘How did you find out?’ I asked.

  ‘She Facebooked me, the bitch,’ she yelled. This was the most furious I’d ever heard her. ‘She wrote, “I know you’ve been seeing my boyfriend. I’ve seen the texts. Fuck off and get your own bloke.” Can you fucking believe the cheek? So I replied, “Who the hell are you? I’m engaged to Grant and live with him. Pretty sure that makes him my boyfriend, you stupid cow. How long you been seeing him?” Then she didn’t reply to that.’

  ‘Good one, Gem. Who the hell does this girl think she is?’

  ‘I know! I just can’t believe this bitch found me on Facebook to warn me off him. It’s so humiliating.’

  ‘So have you seen Grant?’ I asked

  ‘I told him not to bother coming home last night. But he came round this morning and tried talking to me through the letterbox. I just didn’t want to hear his shit. And he had a black eye.’

  ‘Hit by a girl, I reckon. The shame,’ I said, trying to make her feel better.

  ‘And he’s gone to stay with Charlie.’

  ‘That’s what best men are for.’

  Grant and Charlie had been best mates at the Catholic school next door to Essex Hogwarts. Same school that Arg went to, but they were a few years above. We met them from hanging out at the bus stop after school. I didn’t even need to get the bus home, but this hotspot was where the romances began. So Gem started going out with Grant in the last year of school, but I didn’t get with Charlie until the summer I finished uni. The problem was, once Charlie and I became an item, the four of us got a bit too cliquey. Nothing worse than regular double dates in my view. And those boys were so loyal to each other, Charlie would never let on about Grant’s cheating or give me any details. I respected Charlie for that because I so would have run straight to Gem.

  ‘Where’s Brooke, anyway?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s on the way back from Ibiza but she’s about tonight. Please come over. I need you both here.’

  ‘You don’t even need to ask. But we’re not sitting about moping. We’re going down Sugar Hut, hun.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  ‘You’ve got to, Gem. It’s the only way through this. When we’re banging back our first Sambuca, you’ll know it makes sense.’

  I was a little bit worried that Brooke would be a bit off with me because I’d only seen her once in the whole of April, but she was totally happy to see me. I think she might have been doing my own technique back at me, which is to kill people with kindness. And it worked, because the nicer she was, the guiltier I felt. It did cross my mind I’d become a boys’ girl. I decided I was going to make amends for my absence and give the girls my full attention that night. I wouldn’t even text Ben.

  Gemma perked up as soon as she clocked my new Tiffany necklace. She’s one of those girls that has proper happiness if something good’s happened to her mates. Brooke made a comment loaded with sarcasm, something like, ‘What did you have to do to get that then?’ She was just jel, as always.

  I don’t think I’ve told you about the first time I met Gemma and Brooke, but it’s very telling of all our natures. Me, Gemma and Ryan met at school when we were eleven. One day, early on in the first term, a very little Gemma stood at the front of our class and held up a quid. She then said, ‘I just found this pound by the lockers. Has anyone lost it?’

  I immediately piped up, ‘Yep, that’s definitely my pound.’

  It wasn’t. But the lovely trusting Gemma passed it over to a horrible deceitful me, and from then on we were bosom buddies. I was a shyster at such a young age.

  I don’t have a first memory of Ryan – he was just always there, the centre of attention. But he was so tiny and skinny back then, with glasses. You wouldn’t even recognize him if I showed you a picture. Then I met Brooke at university. I went to Liverpool because I’d read it had the best social scene of any university. I was not disappointed. Turns out the ladies of Liverpool have exactly the same attitude to life as the Essex girl, but they’d easily beat us in a fight. It was so Desperate Scousewives. Brooke was in my halls and, being the friendly person I am, I went to each room to introduce myself. I knocked on Brooke’s door and heard a noise. I opened the door to find her lying on her bed reading a magazine. She just looked at me like I was a piece of shit. I muttered, ‘Alright? Just thought I’d say hello. I’m in the room two doors down from you.’ She replied, ‘Yeah, OK,’ and went back to reading her magazine. How rude is that! But that’s Brooke. You’ve got to earn her respect before she gives anything of herself.

  We both did Business Studies, but I wouldn’t say the subject was in the forefront of our minds. Some bloke came huffing into class once and went, ‘Shit, have you heard about the share crisis?’ and I went, ‘Oh my God, what’s happened to Cher?’ People did not get tired of taking the piss out of me for that one.

  We were considered pretty exotic in this sea of northerners, so we learnt early on that standing out from the crowd got us things. I won’t lie, we ate men for breakfast in more ways than one. You could say we crafted our skills with the Liverpool players. Brooke did get chlamydia, though, so that was a bit of a downer in the promiscuous years. After uni we saved Brooke from a life in Billericay and got her to move to the Golden Triangle. Best thing she ever did. I knew Brooke and Gemma would get on despite their differences. If anything, Gemma brings out the best in Brooke. I think that’s why on this night out Brooke was on top form, because we were both desperate to put a smile back on Gem’s face. The thought of anyone hurting her just made us fume.

  Four hours and three bottles of champagne later, we found ourselves outside the mighty Sugar Hut. Now I got to say, it was the first time I’d been here since the second series of TOWIE had kicked off, and I was shocked. There’d always been queues, but nothing like this so early on. The club was firing on all cylinders that month, what with the show being back on and nominated for a BAFTA as well as the launch of Joey Essex’s Sunday night Reem party. We’d nearly come the week before when the club put on a night to celebrate Kirk’s birthday, but my cousin Russ texted to say don’t bother coming. It was rammed with people hoping to see the cast of TOWIE. People like Russ. Such a plum.

  Judging by the queue of people, this night wasn’t looking much better. Seemed to be a load of hen and stag dos. I suppose people think it’s a laugh to come along and release their inner-Essex. A lot of women think they have to wear the shortest skirt possible when they come here, and good for them if they’re having a laugh and putting money in the Essex wallet. A true Essex girl knows how to stay on the right side of sexy, though.

  Anyway, the TOWIE tourists were none of my concern as I zoned in on the doorman, who I knew through Charlie. As usual, we were straight in. And this is one place you need to be in VIP to have a good night. You’re all packed in like cattle if you go to the main club now. The only space is downstairs where the old club tunes play, but who wants to hear that apart from my sister?

  We pushed past all the trashy WEGs hovering around the VIP rope, and as soon as Kirk’s older brother Dan spotted us, he came over to get us. He’s the spit of Mick. Pretty sweet since we hadn’t been there for months. There were a lot of new people in VIP who I didn’t
recognize. The new kids can take your place pretty fast round here. We’d barely sat down on the white couches before a bottle of champagne landed on the table and the blokes were swarming around us. I got talking to one who claimed he was a doctor like in that show House. Like he was some sort of medical detective. What a load of billy bullshit. I made my excuses and got up to find the girls, when I saw two shocking things. Some bird was undoing some bloke’s flies on the dance floor to give him a handjob. Like that was going to do the Essex image any good. Then I turned round to see Gemma snogging the face off some tall skinny bloke. What was everybody on?

  ‘Oi, Gem, what are you playing at?’ I said, pulling her away from this fella she’d locked tongues with.

  ‘Having fun. Still got it,’ she slurred back at me.

  ‘I meant for us girls to have fun tonight. I didn’t mean go snogging blokes. Chicks before dicks, babe.’

  ‘I’m single, can do what I want,’ she said back to me.

  ‘Sorry, love, you are?’ said the gangly bloke. Well rude.

  ‘I’m her best friend and she doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

  ‘Yer I do,’ interrupted Gemma. ‘This is Kev and he’s a semi-pro golfer.’

  ‘And you’re cock-blocking me,’ piped up this Kev bloke.

  ‘Gemma, listen to him. He’s a lemon. And he’s a semipro! What have I told you about this, yeah? They’re all semi-pro, remember?’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck. I’m having fun so let me get back to it.’

  ‘Yeah, just do one, love,’ was Kevin’s contribution.

  ‘I’ll do you in if you don’t watch it, arsehole.’ But the dick didn’t hear me because he was back to groping Gemma.

  It was so early on yet it had all gone so wrong. And I’d totally lost Brooke. She wasn’t even in VIP. I tapped Gemma on the shoulder.

  ‘Not you again,’ said the chump, pushing me away.

  ‘Oh, charming. I want to talk to Gemma.’