by Becci Fox
But there was one thing getting in my way of going all out with the celebrations, and that was Ryan. I wouldn’t recommend hiring friends to assist with personal transformations, that’s all I’m saying. He totally dissed my diet regime, which is ridiculous cos it had worked just fine for me so far. We call it ‘Shit Yourself Thin’. You simply eat loads of sugar-free Polos and the pounds drop off. The only downer is you can’t leave the safety of your bathroom while you’re on it. So I was perfectly in control of my body, but that wasn’t enough for Ryan. He wanted to make me over like some Barbie doll, but one that’s all sweaty and angry. Then we’d go for a drink afterwards like we’d never had a cross word between us. It was pretty emotional being gym bitches.
Our main arguments were about when to go to the gym and what to do when I was there. All gym machines made me want to up-chuck, so we resorted to Power Plate, which would have been alright if it weren’t for him shouting, ‘Tighten up and breathe’. How you meant to do both at the same time? I refused to do swimming as it would ruin my hair. I tried a Zumba class down Queens Road but I can’t follow dance routines. I can’t help it if I’m a freestyler. But we finally found something I was born to do: kick-boxing. Ryan even got me these gorgeous pink Lonsdale boxing gloves. Turns out I pack a real punch.
As I was going out in public after our workouts, I would spend ages in the changing rooms doing myself up. I swear Ryan thinks I wake up like this. I would see the same women in there day in, day out, and we’d all be in there for hours swapping make-up, tonging hair, talking shit. I mean, I only did it for a few months, but this was these women’s full-time job. As Mum is her own boss, she dips in and out of the health club social scene, but usually she goes down David Lloyd in Chigwell. It’s an older crowd there, wandering around in sports gear and chittering away. People are lunching and carrying around tennis rackets, but I swear they don’t know where the courts are. Nice life if you want it.
So once I’d said my goodbyes to the changing-room girls, we’d take our cars down the King Will. You might think, what’s Becci doing down an old boy boozer? But the King William IV, to give it its proper title, is a classic example of a West Essex pub. The interior is white, cream and bleached wood and it’s got a gorgeous outside bit so you can tan as you drink. The only shitter is that bloody Jack Tweed is always down there when I am. Straight after Jade Goody’s funeral he was there. Straight after one of his many assault trials, he was there. Straight after waking up, he was there.
So anyway, Ryan and me would spend most of the time moaning about our love lives over a bottle of rosé. Truth is we were both looking for the same thing: a successful bloke to radically shake up our lives. But we were too proud to admit this to each other. I mean, I’d been single for over two years by that point and Ryan had never had a boyfriend. Don’t go thinking either of us was sex-starved, though. We’d both been with men who nearly got the boyfriend title, but there was always a major flaw which meant they never quite made it. I’m sorry, but I’ve seen some people (my sister) settle for second best just because their ovaries were clanging. Me and Ryan have standards; so shoot us.
It was while we were at one of our post-gym King Will sessions that I got my first text from Ben after a nine-day silence. Oh yeah, he was all about personal appearances before, but now texting was suddenly acceptable. Clearly Ben was all about playing games, but he’d met his match. Our conversation went like this:
HIM: What you doing this Saturday night, babe?
ME: Sorry, who is this?
HIM: It’s Ben.
ME: Sorry hun, hadn’t saved your number.
HIM: So do you want to go to a charity night this Saturday? Woolston Manor.
ME: Not if it’s boxing.
You might think that’s a weird response, but seriously, I’ve been to so many charity boxing matches round here it’s obscene.
HIM: Nah babe, it’s a fashion show and party.
ME: Yer, then defo.
HIM: Pick you up in a taxi.
ME: Cool. Laters, hun.
I was well pleased with that, but Ryan said I’d been cold and it was an epic fail on the flirting front. But I couldn’t do flirting because I didn’t know where I stood in his game. Ryan just doesn’t get the way us breeders operate.
I was right to be cautious because when the cab rocked up on Saturday night, Ben was there but so was his manager. You know, the guy who was shopping for girls at One9Five. I’ve genuinely forgotten his name so I’ll just keep on calling him Gino. So when I saw Ben in the back and Gino in the front, I felt a bit deflated.
‘Alright, babe,’ said Ben as I got in. ‘You remember Gino, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, how could I forget.’
‘Hello, Becci. Can I just say, I love that dress you’re almost wearing,’ Gino said with the most intense stare. Such a sleaze. I was wearing a seriously short dress that night, but I wasn’t about to hide the results of my workout hell. I had put a gold shimmer oil all down my legs so they looked unbelievable. I was wearing this red dress which clung to every curve and at the back there was a zip that went all the way from top to bottom. Brooke was with me when I bought it, and she said it was the kind of dress just asking to be unzipped. Duh! That was the point! I also had this fab black and white snakeskin bag and I was wearing black Armani shoes which have a huge bow on the front. I suppose I had gone for a pretty sexy look, but that Gino could bog right off. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.
‘You look as fit as fuck, babe,’ said Ben, pulling me towards him for a full-on pash. That was more like it.
‘Thanks, hun. Don’t look so bad yourself.’ I really had to contain myself because he was wearing this grey suit with a grey waistcoat, white shirt and black tie. I can’t even begin to tell you what that does to me. It was so David Beckham. If I’m about to have sex with a man wearing a suit, I won’t let him take it off. We’ve all got our quirks, but mine’s a bit more dangerous. That’s why I can’t work at the Stock Exchange. I’d be some sort of raging nympho.
If there’s a wedding fair at Woolston Manor, you’ll almost definitely find me there, so it felt like a bit of a treat going to an actual do. Although another fashion show so soon after Essex Fashion Week wasn’t lighting my fire. Now, that had been a right laugh. I mean, I’d seen Lydia off TOWIE dressed in a cling-film outfit, I’d seen Jessica’s bad hair extensions because I was sat behind her, I’d seen a dog fashion show, drunk from a champagne fountain and got my picture taken with Nanny Pat. What’s better than that? It’s mental all the attention and perks lavished on the TOWIE lot now. I know a few local salons offer free treatments to people like Jessica and Nanny Pat and the rest of the TOWIE lot in exchange for a bit of publicity via Twitter. But then Gemma heard through the grapevine that some of the girls started taking the piss and asking if stylists could come over to the house all the time to give blow-dries before a night out. The TOWIE publicity monster can get out of control round here sometimes, but you got to keep your business head on and know when their patronage has stopped doing you any favours. You just have to look at the TOWIE tweets to see all the stuff the girls are blagging. I’d totally be doing that if I was them, though, because I’m just as shameless.
Just as I heard my favourite sound, the popping of corks, I suddenly felt a bit uneasy. I turned round to see why I had a burning sensation on my back, and there was Bucket giving me the once-over. What gives with that girl? I wish she’d bloody move counties. She seemed to be wearing a really weird silver dress, which is when I realized she was actually in the fashion show. She may have been modelling, but I consider that work. Meanwhile, I was on a date with a ridiculously good-looking racing driver. I thought, up your bloody bum, Bucket. It’s like she heard, because her eyes went really squinty with rage.
‘Babe, I’ve got to chat up some potential sponsors. You’ll be alright on your own, won’t you, sweet cheeks?’
‘Yeah, no worries. But I’d hurry up if I were you. Some hot-shot fashion designer might whisk
me off to Milan.’
‘Babe, it’s a fashion show for a shop in Loughton.’
‘Yeah, but still . . .’ I didn’t bother finishing my sentence because he’d already gone. I’d lost my date for a bit, but it was fine because he sent a glass of champagne my way which was nicely done, so he was back in my good books.
I’m pretty good at talking to everyone and anyone, so I scanned the room for a victim. Sat at a table was Chloe Sims and her cousin Joey Essex, who were at that point newcomers to the show. And yes, his surname really is Essex, although he wasn’t actually born in Essex so it’s not all that neat. As with everyone in West Essex, Chloe clamoured to get a part in the second series of TOWIE and got a starring role. And with her teeth too! Seriously, she could eat an apple through a letterbox with those gnashers. It doesn’t help that she had them bleached proper white and got lip fillers to complete the look. And her boobs are out of control. She looks like a real-life Picasso painting. I’m sorry, but I can’t hold in what I see. And I feel bad because she’s a really lovely person and she was there with her daughter, so I could see she was an amazing mum too. In fact, you remember Chloe’s wedding-themed thirtieth birthday? The flower girl was Madison, but I love the fact Chloe never exposes her to the cameras. She’s very protective of her.
I only sat with them for a few minutes before she was dragged off for some photos, but from what I remember, she was talking about some older bloke in the show they were trying to make a romantic storyline out of which I now realize was Mick Norcross. She didn’t seem that bothered about the producers telling her what to do and who to do. Why would you when you’re being handed a new career on a plate? I mean, the fact Jessica Wright snogged Joey Essex just shows there’s no limit when it comes to creating a romantic storyline. What next? Lydia’s mum and Mario? Do me a favour.
I spotted Joey Essex joining her for a picture. So skinny! His hair should be in the Museum of Essex, it’s so finely crafted. Me and the girls call that style the Brentwood Bouffant, and I got to admit, I’ve got a thing for it. Gemma thinks blokes with it look like ‘a dandy’, so I think she’s saying it’s a bit gay. I say the look is like Danny from Grease or James Dean, you know – all 1950s, but bigger and better. Gemma and I have a lot of arguments about the bouffant, so I’ll stop there.
Ben eventually found me and introduced me to all the Flash Harries he’d been talking to. Some bloke who ran a restaurant chain, some bloke that did banking, some bloke who did property. I didn’t really listen because I was now quite drunk, and Ben was looking at me in a funny way. He then just gabbled away at me without stopping for breath. Proper wired. Like, when they came round with raffle tickets, he just went mental and bought a whole book. Someone had been at the gak. If there’s one drug an Essex man doesn’t need, it’s one that makes him gobbier and louder, but for some reason it’s the drug of choice round here. But if I think about it, I was drawn to Charlie when he was off his face on coke, so maybe I’ve got a thing for coke-heads? If I’m to be honest, I was liking this less suave Ben because finally I felt like the cool one. He suddenly grabbed me by the elbow and led me out the hall.
‘Oi, where we going?’ I said, trying to keep my heels on.
‘Babe, I’m getting us out of here,’ he replied, searching for the exit.
As much as I wanted to see the fashion show because I was convinced Bucket would trip up, this offer was far more enticing. So yep, I called a cab and we ran out of there so fast, it looked like we’d nicked something. I shouldn’t really say that, because I later discovered that all the money raised did actually get nicked. Isn’t that the lowest of the low? When things like that happen, I find it comforting to know that BHQ also like to get involved in these matters, so I’m pretty sure those thieves eventually got their comeuppance. BHQ aren’t all bad. Especially since I was about to have unbelievably hot sex with the best body in town. I didn’t even notice the ride back to his because we were locked together and his hand was up my dress. I’m sure the taxi driver didn’t mind getting an earful of my whimpers.
Turned out he only bloody lived in Repton Park. Does everyone live here? I was desperate to knock on Brooke’s door and surprise her but there was just no time. It all got a bit frantic with zips being undone, stumbling out of underwear in his hallway and limbs everywhere. Before I knew it, his suit was off. How gutted was I? I was tempted to ask him to put it back on but decided it was too early in our relationship to expose my fetishes. And the thing is, once I saw his ripped body, I decided it was best we did this naked. I was so hungry for him, you know when you physically can’t get enough of someone? We didn’t even make it upstairs the first time. Then we found the bedroom, had sex again. Then we slept for a bit. Had sex again. It was relentless.
There was one disturbing moment, though. I went in to his bathroom in the middle of the night and was snooping through his cabinets like you do. I pulled open a drawer and found it packed with sex toys and makeup. Alarm bells rang and I thought, he’s got a girlfriend. But it was such a random collection of plastic bits and cheap underwear, I reckon it was stuff that women had left behind. Almost like a shagger’s graveyard. I picked out something which turned out to be a vibrator. Then I thought, what if it’s not been cleaned, so I threw it back in and scrubbed my hands.
I suppose some women would have been more confused by the make-up, but it’s nothing I hadn’t seen before in an Essex man’s house. Although, I’d only seen that amount in my house. Like my bathroom, his shelves were packed with face masks, scrubs and all sorts of potions. We were proper kindred spirits. When I got back into bed Ben went, ‘You’ve got such soft skin,’ and I thought, ‘He just wants to know what I use.’
In the morning, he totally surprised me by bringing me a cup of tea. He just didn’t look the type to make tea. So as we were lounging about in his ridiculously wide bed, he said, ‘Babe, I’d love to spend the day with you, but I’m playing golf with the boys in about two hours . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. I was about to get ready to go anyway,’ I said, spilling hot liquid on my bare leg.
‘Nah, I wasn’t telling you to get out. You can spend the whole day here if you want. I’m just saying, I’ve got to head out in a bit. I’d rather be in bed with you all day, though.’
‘To be honest, I don’t think you’ve got the stamina,’ I said. I did a little cheeky smile to let him know I was teasing. Some blokes take it all a bit too seriously, so you got to be careful.
‘Well, next time we go out, we’ll see about that.’
I was deliriously happy. There would be a next time! I celebrated with a shower. Obviously, a man like him has a wet room. And obviously he followed me in for one last session, even though I was feeling a bit sore by that point. I made it quick because I was so desperate to get over to Brooke’s and dissect the last eighteen hours of my life. I kissed Ben goodbye for ages and then he watched me walk away, so I had to be all sexy and calm. As soon as I was out of eyeshot, I bounced over to Brooke’s building.
‘So he lives in one of the houses, does he?’ said Brooke. ‘I don’t like them anyway. My flat’s so much cosier.’ People get so competitive about their places round here!
‘And he let you stay over, did he?’ Brooke asked in a totally pass-agg way. She’d been having major issues in that department. Not once in the last year had a bloke let her stay over. I’m guessing that’s because all of them have been cheating on their wives and girlfriends who are due back the next day. The last one she hooked up with was definitely up to no good. She gets there, has sex, goes to the bathroom to find a stack of women’s toiletries. (Yeah, I’m aware I just told you about Ben’s toiletries, but that’s different.) When she quizzes him, he says it belongs to his ex. Then, as they’re having sex again, Brooke spots a card on one of the shelves. It says, ‘Congratulations On Your Wedding’. As he’s mid-thrust, Brooke goes, ‘Are you married or what?’
He replies, ‘No.’
She says, ‘Then what’s that weddi
ng card about?’, and he says, ‘I was married but we’ve separated now.’
Fuck that shit, only newly-weds keep their cards up.
As soon as he’s done, he then tells her she’s got to leave because he’s got golf in the morning. (Yeah, I’m also aware Ben said that too, but it doesn’t stop people staying the night.) When Brooke told me this story, my heart completely sank. I suppose I’m a romantic at heart who believes you should at least let the confetti settle before banging someone else.
But this is the thing – now we’re in the second half of our twenties, everyone’s partnered up, so the odds of sleeping with a cheater are unbelievably high. We want it all in Essex – cosy coupledom and fast living – but those two lifestyles totally clash. I’ll fess up here: Charlie and I actually split because he caught me cheating on him. There, it’s out now. Our relationship had been over for months, so I suppose it was a cowardly way of breaking up with him. And that footballer that I mentioned earlier? That’s the one I cheated on him with. We’d gone to an amazing country hotel together, I’d taken pictures of us in bed together, and I never deleted those pictures. Guess who used the camera next? It was a hard way for Charlie to find out, and obviously with all those steroids he was on, he hit the roof. But you live and learn, and I’d never do that to anyone again. A lot of people drag out a relationship because they’re scared of being on their own, but that’s pretty selfish when you think about it. I would not recommend cheating on someone just to dump them. But sometimes that’s what it takes to realize the relationship’s dead.
The thing is, I get major crushes on people like the footballer and I get this blindness. The passion takes over and all other facilities shut down. So when everything started kicking off with Ben, Brooke had seen it all before.
‘I don’t want to piss on your parade, but don’t go throwing yourself head first into this,’ Brooke said, trying to look all knowing.