About time

Sipping on my drink, I weaved my way through the crowd and joined my mates.

‘That boy keeps looking at you,’ one of them smirked at me.

‘I’m going to need another drink,’ I laughed.

In 1991, I was 19 and at the local community centre in my hometown, Burton, where one of my friends was throwing their 18th birthday party.

Training to be a hairdresser, it felt good to let my hair down.

Now, I was so nervous.

The boy in question was Garry Holmes, then 21.

We’d gone to the same school, but at two years older than me, we’d never spoken before.

I’d always had a crush on him, and now I couldn’t believe it when he started walking towards me.

Wearing a white, pink and green stripy jumper, he looked dashing.

‘Having a good night?’ he asked