Confessions of an Essex Girl

by Becci Fox

  ‘Well, surprise, sur-fucking-prise,’ I said, giving it some attitude.

  ‘Alright, babe?’ was all he had to give back.

  ‘Nah, I’m not alright as it so happens. I’m less than alright because you’ve played me for a right mug. You’re a complete psycho. You just fuck around with people’s heads.’

  All his mates sucked in their breath and laughed.

  ‘Shut up, will ya?’ he said, turning to them. ‘Come over here so we can talk private,’ Ben said to me, holding me by the elbow and pulling me into a corner.

  ‘What’s wrong, hun? Can’t handle women without your bitch Gino around?’

  ‘You’re a silly little girl, Becci. Stop shooting your mouth off just cos you’ve had a skinful,’ he said, glaring at me. What a slap in the face. This was the first time I’d seen Ben show his nasty side, and it was ugly. I was a bit taken aback, to be honest, which then made me well up. I blame the champagne; it always makes me a bit emotional.

  ‘C’mon, stop making a scene,’ he said, trying to stand closer so no one could see me.

  ‘I’m not. I don’t see why I’m the silly one when you’ve completely disrespected me.’

  ‘I’ve respected you more than anyone, hun,’ he replied. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh my God, if that’s ultimate respect, I’d hate to see you dissing someone. And when did you say sorry? Maybe I couldn’t hear you behind that blonde that was sat on you.’

  ‘I left a note with the flowers,’ he replied, not reacting to me.

  ‘Well I didn’t get them, so I wouldn’t know. What did it say?’

  ‘I said I’m sorry for what you saw and that I hope you could get over what was, at the end of the day, a lack of communication. And then I said I’d understand if you didn’t want to see me again but I’d leave the ball in your court,’ he said.

  ‘That is the worst sorry I’ve ever heard. You’re too much of a coward to have said that to my face and you’re brushing off the fact that you swopped me with that American prick like me and that girl were two vintage cars. You don’t have the right to do that to people. It might have been marginally OK if I’d been landed with a hot bloke, but no, you expected me to do some old wrinkly pervert.’

  ‘Babe, I think you’re overthinking this. It was just sex and a bit of business all rolled into one.’

  ‘Babe, I think you’re underthinking this. It’s not just sex, it’s slave trading.’

  ‘Well the other bird wasn’t complaining, so I don’t think she suffered. And I don’t think you’ve suffered much the whole time we’ve been seeing each other. I’ve treated you well, taken you nice places and bought you pretty things. What more could you want?’

  I was starting to wish I’d prepared a really coherent speech which I could shove down his throat but I was all out of argument, so I finally said, ‘Well, if you don’t get it, then you never will. The truth is, the only nice thing about you is your wallet. And one more thing . . . Having “family” written on your arm is proper sad.’ And then I strode back to the girls all confident.

  ‘Oh my God, did you totally own him?’ said Brooke.

  ‘One hundred per cent. He didn’t know what hit him,’ I replied, too ashamed to admit I’d had a less than satisfying result. I was mentally kicking myself. He actually still had a hold on me. The only solution? Drink more champagne.

  Things started looking up a bit when I got a text from Ryan. He didn’t have a ticket but he wanted to break into VIP. Finally, a mission. None of us could slip our wrist bands off to pass through the fence so that option was out. Because I was at that point where you’re convinced everyone’s your mate, I just decided to go up to friends and strangers asking them if they knew how I could get someone in. Even Micky Norcross didn’t know and I thought he was Mr Essex. I was going to ask Mr Joey Essex, but he was looking a bit uptight so I left it. Then, just as I was about to ask the bald guy off MasterChef, Ben steps in my path.

  ‘What do you want?’ I said as aggressively as possible.

  ‘Your mate just needs to tell security he’s a guest of Jon’s from Santander. That’s how you get people in, babe.’

  ‘Oh, good one. You using that codeword to get in a group of escorts for later?’ I said, instantly regretting the lame comment. He just walked off. Whatever. So I texted this to Ryan and before we knew it he was skipping over to our table.

  ‘Oh my God, Ryan,’ the girls yelled, ‘how d’you do it?’

  ‘It’s Essex, innit!’ he screamed back, and grabbed Brooke from behind and started dry-humping her.

  ‘Way to keep a low profile,’ I muttered.

  ‘Oooh, who pulled your chain?’ said Ryan, coming over to me. ‘Come on, babe, let’s hug it out, yeah? I’m well chuffed you got me in.’

  To be fair, we all get overexcited when we blag something. It’s part of the buzz. I was just pissed off that Ben could add that to the list of favours he’d done me.

  *

  Around 7 p.m., the two marquees were gearing up for the after-parties. That’s when the people with evening tickets flood in, and then polo gets a whole lot less glamorous. For starters, these tickets only cost £45 so they’re anyone’s really. If you add the evening crowd to an already sloshed day crowd, you get pure messiness. There are two different vibes to the night too. You got the Players Marquee, which is over-eighteens with big DJs playing all night, then you got the Dukes Marquee, which is ‘strictly over-thirties’ and puts on bands. I mean, they’ve made the Dukes an older crowd, but that doesn’t make it any more upmarket. If that many people are tanked up on champagne, you’ve lost the battle.

  We had a reserved booth in Dukes, and me, Mum and Tasha were dancing on the white sofas before they’d even put the music on. It was up there that I realized we were the booth behind Chantelle Houghton and Alex Reid, who were supposedly the honorary guests at the polo and apparently had ridden horses and knocked balls about during the day. I hadn’t seen a thing. But once they were in the marquee drinking, I watched them like a hawk. In my opinion, it’s the worst-concealed ‘showmance’ I’ve ever seen. When you start dating someone new, you can’t get enough of each other. Even if you’re arguing, there’s chemistry. Not so Chantelle and Alex – they only perked up when their mates arrived. I will put a zillion pounds down at Paddy Power that them two don’t grow old together. I’m fine with people dating people they’re not into as long as they’re having a good time with each other. I’ve done it myself and I personally find three months is the very limit. But if you look as miserable as those two in the early flushes of love, what’s the point? It’s their life if they think getting married and having kids is a good idea. I’m just saying that maybe her hunger for fame means she’s making some odd decisions. Honestly, a proposal on TV?

  However, I’m not one to talk as I clearly lost my head over Ben because I was hungry for the high life. I suppose if I’d been famous, I would have spoken out about my humiliation on This Morning to a sympathetic Holly and Phil. Then I’d probably reel Ryan in to be my boyfriend so I could go back on This Morning to gush about how I’d found love again and how we dreamed of marriage and kids. And then I’d be humiliated again when the papers ran CCTV footage of him kissing Will Young, so I’d be invited back on This Morning and probably Jeremy Kyle . . . Now I think about it, I can see how addictive it all is.

  My surveillance was interrupted by Gemma, who fell up the step into our booth. Classy. ‘Is your brother here yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, he came in here earlier, but he’s with his mates in the Players Marquee now,’ I replied.

  ‘Why don’t we go over there and see him?’ she said.

  I was all suspicious by this point because she’d never shown any interest in Jake before, but I humoured her. We gathered up the other two and made our way over just as the heavens decided to open. It went mental, with everyone racing around, tripping over tables just to get undercover. By the time we got to Players, we were drenched through. The others w
ere laughing hysterically, but I sobered up as soon as I realized my big hair had died. Epic flatness. I tried to put it in the back of my mind when I spotted Jake raving it up like a lunatic. When I pointed him out to Gemma, she looked disappointed.

  ‘Is Jamie not there then?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so, hun. You not heard from him then?’ I asked, suddenly getting her agenda.

  ‘Nothing. And I didn’t get his number either.’

  ‘I can totally get it off Jake for you if you like?’

  ‘Nah, don’t worry about it,’ she replied, looking defeated.

  I know that feeling when you’ve made a real effort because you’ve imagined this bloke’s going to be there that night, and you’re all geared up for the first moment he sees you but instead you’re faced with disappointment because he’s a no-show. We’ve all been there. But the thing is, there was somebody looking adoringly at Gemma, but she hadn’t seen Grant yet. When I pointed him out, her face dropped. Had I totally misjudged this one?

  ‘What’s he doing here,’ she hissed.

  ‘It’s a free country, Gem. Anyone can come if they can afford a ticket,’ said Brooke.

  ‘Oh shit, he’s coming over,’ said Gemma, gathering herself. Me and Brooke slowly backed away from the scene as it was clearly about to kick off. We went into the crowd and hit the dance floor.

  I had to do a double-take when I saw Jake’s dancing companion was Tasha. They properly don’t get on. She thinks he’s a waste of space and he thinks she’s a snob. They’re both right. But you know what, alcohol can really reunite a family sometimes, especially when a song plays that allows you all to indulge in the Essex Shuffle. Anyone who clubbed in Essex in the Nineties will have blocked this exotic dance from their memory. To make it work, you’d need some garage tunes going on, something like ‘Sweet Like Chocolate’ by Shanks & Bigfoot or anything by MJ Cole. The Shuffle was only done by women and required you to hold your purse like a dumb-bell in your leading hand. You’d then move your hand in a motion that looked like you were opening and closing a drawer. You’d alternate that move with a subtle bounce and a step. You’d bounce-step forward like this with your purse-hand still going, and then you’d bounce-step back again. Your face could never show any sign of excitement, just a bored look of disdain. And that’s the Essex Shuffle. It couldn’t be done to anything energetic like Baby D’s ‘Let Me Be Your Fantasy’. That would have been a major faux pas.

  Tasha used to come back from places like the Castle in Woodford or the Country Club in Chigwell and get me and Jake doing it with her in the living room. I wanted her life so badly, but my first club experience in Faces in 2000 was the exact moment the Essex Shuffle was being phased out. I mean, I witnessed it, but I didn’t see it in its heyday. Gutted! So, despite our differences, the Essex Shuffle is one thing that bonds the Fox kids. When they played that Nineties club classic in the Players Marquee, the place didn’t know what had hit them. We were off. But I stopped in my bounce-step tracks when I could feel someone staring at me. I was hoping it wasn’t Ben, but to my horror it was much worse. Bloody Bucket.

  I should have known Vicki P. would pop up at some point that evening. She was looking at my dance moves like this was how I seriously danced. So I just danced harder and let her know I was having a good time. Bucket hates nothing more than girls enjoying themselves.

  After about twenty minutes of dancing, I thought I’d go and check on how Gemma was doing. I did a slow walk past and heard Grant say, ‘How many girls do you know who got an engagement ring and satnav?’ As lines went for winning back a girl, it wasn’t the best, so I didn’t have high hopes for this ending happily.

  I was so done with the Players so headed back to the Dukes Marquee. Brooke and Ryan were already back in the booth. Clearly they’d disassociated themselves from me as soon as they saw me doing the Shuffle. Mum and Dad were on the dance floor twirling around to some band called Kid Creole and the Coconuts. Don’t ask, but my parents love this man and used to play his music so loud when we were kids. He was the main reason they’d come to the polo, if you can believe that. He was just an old man with three young birds singing tropical songs. I didn’t get it.

  ‘Your mum is such a mover,’ said Brooke.

  ‘Tell her that, she’ll be well chuffed,’ I said. She was looking lovely in this strapless white dress.

  ‘Look at the pins on her too, and such a tiny waist,’ said Ryan admiringly.

  ‘She did used to be a professional ice-skater, you know.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Brooke and Ryan said in unison.

  ‘Swear to God, she was up there with Jayne Torvill.’

  ‘Awww, they’re so sweet together. I hope I end up like that,’ Brooke said, spilling champagne on herself.

  I haven’t even told you the Don and Jackie Fox love story yet, have I? Picture this: it’s the late 1970s and there’s Mum looking like Jo Wood and Dad’s there looking like Harrison Ford. They were so beautiful. Dad was a bit of a player and he’d worked his way through most of the women in Essex, which is why him and his mates went for a night of ice-skating in South London. They were after fresh blood. They get there all mouthy and lairy when Dad clocks Mum doing this incredible skating display. Dad claims he said to his mate, ‘That’s the girl I’m going to marry.’ So he kept going back there until she noticed him. He was completely under her spell. See, that’s what I mean about players. It only takes one woman at the right time.

  Finally Mum caved in and started dating him, but she was doing ice-skating tours around the country which meant Dad was pining for her. In the end, he said she had to give it up if she wanted them to be together, and she did! She quit her passion for another passion. Oh, and then she got up the duff with Tasha so that really put an end to the skating, and then they got married. And then they had two more children by accident too. After Jake, Mum made Dad get the snip. I think they would have been quite happy if it had been just the two of them, to be honest, because they are the most in-love old people you’ll ever see. Mum once told me that the secret to a happy marriage is this: always make an effort with your appearance, don’t nag and never act jel. I thought that sounded a bit old-fashioned, but then I realized Mum avoids major conflicts yet she gets her own way all the time. She’s no martyr, just a tactical genius.

  Although, when it comes to looking good, I have two issues with her. First, she will walk into my cottage when I’m not there and borrow clothes for her nights out with the First Wives Club. I mean, I’m so happy she can fit into them, but it’s proper annoying. The other issue is her dabbles with facial surgery. I was so traumatized in 1996 when she came home after her first session of Botox, I actually cried. I was only twelve, so give me a break. I felt disturbed because she looked disturbed with this super-tight forehead and stunned expression. It was so tight that it made her cheeks look proper saggy too. Then she tried to correct that by putting fillers in her cheeks, so she looked like a chipmunk. The only thing that worked was the eyelift. She got it done down the road at Holly House, which is where I got my boobs done (as did Amy Childs and Jessica Wright), and I reckon it took fifteen years off her. They’re good there at improving your look while keeping it natural. I didn’t want Jordan-sized knockers, just boobs that were a natural tear-drop shape. Spherical melons that look like they’ve been stuck on are so naff.

  Anyways, Mum was really pleased with the result, but in my opinion she still needs to lay off the Botox. It doesn’t make you look younger, but it does make you look rich. If I see a motionless face, I think, they’ve got money to burn, and I will target those same women at a wedding fair. Although Mum’s not half as bad as Cheryl and Sue. You don’t even notice the amount of Botox they’ve had because their lips are so gigantic. They honestly look like something out of the Muppets.

  Talking of which, I’d not spoken to Jake about Sue at any point because I still found it sickening. But when she and Cheryl showed up for the evening’s entertainment, I spotted her and Jake having a w
hispered row outside, which unfortunately backed up Dad’s gossip. So I later cornered Jake about all this because I’d had a few drinks and felt brave enough to hear the very worst. He completely exploded.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ he hissed at me.

  ‘People tell me stuff, hun.’

  ‘Well, don’t tell no one else. All that happened was she gave me a couple of blowies, nothing more.’

  ‘That’s grim,’ I said, trying to force my mind to go blank.

  ‘You wanna hear something grim? She just came up to me and went, “So you fancy having your lolly washed again?” She’s fucking filth.’

  ‘Oh, look who’s got all prudish all of a sudden,’ I laughed, but he didn’t see the funny side. ‘So how you going to deal with this one then?’

  ‘I’ve already told her to do one or I’m telling Mum.’

  ‘Oh cool, so your usual tactic of using Mum for protection. Do you reckon she’ll listen?’

  ‘She’d better or I’ll rip out her new carpets,’ he said, trying to be all menacing. He so can’t pull off hard talk.

  I hoped Mum would never find out or there’d be the biggest showdown Buckhurst Hill had ever seen.

  When I went back in to the Dukes Marquee, Mum and Dad were still dancing. Then I looked over to our reserved area and there was Brooke sat on Charlie’s lap. Why had nobody even told me he was coming?

  This was the first time I’d seen them together and it was like a stab in the chest. Yes I knew about it, but we’d never spoken about it and I’d never had visual evidence, so it was like it wasn’t real. There was no denying it now. My best friend and my ex were seriously getting it on right before me. Even when I went over, she didn’t climb off him. So I sat there like a right lemon trying to think of things to say. I gabbled on about Gemma and Grant, Chantelle and Alex, I told them about the girl I’d seen stamping around in shoes like hooves and how I’d seen one girl in a white dress slip in the mud. They nodded like they were just waiting for me to go. I felt like complete shit. They weren’t making it easy for me, and I think Charlie sensed this because he suddenly went, ‘Brooke, why don’t you get the drinks in?’ and she looked all suspicious. What did she think I was going to do? Jump him?