Kissing behind the sports hall, I knew Wayne Clarke was not like the other boys at school: he was shy and polite, and smelt lovely – of Yves Saint Laurent aftershave. At only 13, our romance was sweet and innocent.
We were too young for proper dates. We didn’t have enough pocket money to go to the cinema, so school and the local park were our hang-outs. Six months into our teenage romance though, Wayne and I split when I moved schools. ‘I’ll miss you,’ he told me. ‘Until we meet again.’
I didn’t see him again though until I was 19 and popped into a menswear shop in Birmingham. By this time I was married with a baby, so
