Confessions of an Essex Girl

by Becci Fox

  I so wasn’t worried because I’ve seen him do this time and time again. Jake’s a lover, not a fighter, but one day I swear it’s not going to work out for him. About five years ago, we had a close encounter while we were waiting for a cab near Nu Bar. A bloke walked past and called me an ugly cunt because I’d told him to bog off earlier that night. So Jake starts squaring up to this guy in that same way. I’m telling him to leave it, but he’s not giving up until I get an apology. Then this guy whips out a knife. I’m not kidding you.

  Jake turns to me and goes, ‘Get my phone out your bag,’ and I say, ‘What you going to do, call for back-up?’

  ‘Nah, I’m calling Mum,’ he replies.

  He was actually serious. It was so random that the bloke pissed himself laughing and said something about respecting a man who loves his mum. So I then got my apology and Jake opened his arms for the customary hug. Mum screeched up in the BMW within ten minutes and the bloke waved us off, knife still in hand.

  After the commotion, I spotted Jamie and Gemma talking and him taking down her number. What the fuck, I thought. I suppose I hadn’t given him any attention since quite a few people had shown up to my do, and I couldn’t be neglecting my friends. Still, I didn’t like this single Gemma. I found Russ and Rob, who had turned up drunk, and told them to go talk to her. They totally obliged and I made a beeline for Jamie.

  ‘Alright, you having a nice night?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, it’s alright in here, isn’t it? I thought it’d be a bit claustrophobic, but now I’m here, I feel like I’ve gone up in the world. I could get used to your elite ways.’

  ‘That’s what I always say about VIP too!’ I squealed, even though it was a really shit ‘me too’ comment.

  ‘You don’t remember me at all, do you?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, have we met before?’ I said, racking my brains. ‘Was it at one of Jake’s filthy white-collar boxing matches?’

  ‘Nah. Think again, love.’

  ‘Do you work with him?’

  ‘Sort of. I can’t believe you don’t recognize me even a petit pois,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘What you talking about?’

  ‘I’m the bloke that pissed you off at the Billionaire Club and in the cab. Told you we’d meet again.’

  It was a major light-bulb moment.

  ‘You’re joking? But you didn’t look fit then,’ I said. I don’t know why, but Jamie had brought the rude side out of me before and it was happening again.

  ‘Oh, ta very much. So I looked minging to you in Monaco?’ he asked.

  ‘To be honest, I was drunk, and when people wear bad threads I get face blindness. I remember them horrible shorts,’ I said.

  ‘Since I’m dressed a little better tonight, I’ll give you that. But I was hoping I’d made some sort of impression on you.’

  He was actually looking hurt! I was saved from having to answer by Russ, who was dancing with a tray of shots in my face singing, ‘Go shawty, it’s your birthday, we gonna party like it’s your birthday . . .’

  ‘Nah, I’m alright, babe,’ I said, trying to brush him away.

  Russ stopped singing. ‘Drink it,’ he said, picking up a shot and pressing it to my mouth. Two After Shocks later, Jamie’s appearance made even less sense.

  ‘Are you not really blown away by the coincidence? I mean, I can’t get my head around this,’ I said once I’d got rid of Russ.

  ‘All it is, I know Jake from travelling in Thailand. Jake invited me out for a big Essex night. I’ve never been here before, so I thought I’d see what all the hype’s about. Oh, and you may have popped up on my Facebook as “someone I might know”. In fact that did happen, so that is a bit of a lucky coincidence,’ he said, realizing he’d given away far too much information. I sometimes think Facebook is a bit bossy and meddling, but in this instance I was glad I’d been given a second chance with this guy. We could start again and I would be perfectly civil.

  ‘So if you’re not from Monaco, where you from?’

  ‘Hackney,’ he replied. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t hide my disgust. ‘You not feeling it?’ he asked.

  ‘No offence, but I just can’t imagine living there. It looks well depressing. Just saying.’

  He made a face that suggested he wanted to rip the piss out of me and I suddenly had a flashback to him calling me Miss Hoity-Toity. I really am.

  ‘Each to their own, I suppose,’ he replied, smirking. ‘I reckon I could show you a few things round Hackney that would totally change your mind.’ He’d now put his arm round my shoulder as he waxed on about this bar and that. It was pure textbook flirting.

  ‘Sorry, hun, but Hackney isn’t a patch on Essex. They got clubs like this there?’ I asked, actually willing him to mock me.

  ‘We wish – now I’ve seen the light, I don’t know how I’m gonna face clubbing in Hackney again,’ he replied. ‘But you gotta at least give me a chance to win you over. One night in East London with me, Miss Fox, and you’ll never want to leave.’

  I pretended to deliberate, he pleaded and eventually I gave him my digits. It was my genuine number too. Sorry to say, I fake-number people about fifty per cent of the time. There’s blokes asking every weekend for it, so if I gave them the real deal, about a thousand men would have my number by now. I suppose that means five hundred men actually do have my number. That’s proper high, now I think about it. Anyways, after he took my number I was about to get a whole lot more flirty with him, but I was stopped in my tracks. There was Gem looking over at me, all emotional. It didn’t look good since he’d been taking hers only ten minutes ago. I made my excuses and went over to her.

  ‘Just like it always used to be,’ she said with her eyes all welled up.

  ‘What you talking about?’

  ‘It’s just like at school. Blokes humouring me but what they really want is you. And right in my face too.’

  ‘That’s not true, Gem. You’re being oversensitive.’

  ‘I got eyes, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, but he wasn’t taking my number. He was taking the shop’s number. His sister’s getting married and I told him we’d cut him a deal.’

  ‘You lying?

  ‘I swear on my nan’s life I’m telling the truth.’ Well, Nan wouldn’t mind me using her name to spare Gem’s pain. She was right, it was bang out of order to go straight in there after her. Though I got to say, she’d been well touchy since being single. Flying solo didn’t suit her.

  I wish I could say the rest of the night was as memorable, but it just descended into pure messiness. I will fess up now, I snogged the footballer’s mate, who turned out to play for Cardiff City. I’m ashamed to say that I clocked a tan line where his wedding ring had been and I carried on snogging him. I know it’s wrong, but I did say no when he asked to come back to mine. So you see, I have limits, and I’d only pulled him so Gemma had a clear run at Jamie (I didn’t know I was doing that at the time but that would have been my intention). I didn’t realize that Jake’s mates had all gone, so it was left to muggins to get him home. They didn’t even say goodbye, which was rude. It did flash through my mind that maybe Jamie was disappointed by my naughtiness, but then again, we’d only flirted and I can’t control who tries it on. If you don’t like it, jog on.

  When the cab dropped us off home, I was adamant I was going to sleep in my old bedroom instead of the cottage. Jake was bored of me so he didn’t bother arguing. But as I got up to the landing, I just felt this wave of nausea and I projectile-vomited red sick right outside Don and Jackie’s bedroom. It even hit the wall.

  ‘Ummmmmmmm, they’re going to be well pissed off,’ whispered Jake like we were kids again.

  ‘Shit,’ I slurred. ‘I can see the After Shocks.’

  But then Jake did the nicest thing he’s ever done in our entire lives. He shoved me in my bed and then cleaned up after me. The ultimate display of brotherly love! I owed him big time because he’d done it proper quietly and you couldn’
t see anything the next day. If Don had found out, he’d have moaned about me ruining his carpets again. He needs to change the record.

  Gemma and Grant clearly weren’t through. She would have contacted everyone to call off the wedding if that was the case. So like the good friend I am, I decided I would take matters into my own hands. We’d all got tickets to the highlight on everyone’s calendar, the Duke of Essex Polo at Gaynes Park near Epping, so I texted Grant to say we were all going and to make sure he got himself down there too. I mean, this was the event where Lydia first met Arg. If they could get it on there, then so could Gem and Grant.

  I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t going, that’s how big a deal it is. Even Mum and Dad were going. I can only explain it as like being at an amazing wedding, but because there’s no bride to upstage, you can really go for it. I spent weeks finding the perfect outfit because in the back of my mind I was thinking I’d find romance there too. Anyone who is part of the Essex elite would be there. The polo was on in early July so that would be six weeks and no word from Ben. The longer it went on, the more bitter I got, and that’s just not my style. I was going to make the polo my big comeback and I needed the dress to go with it.

  I’d been properly blown away by a stunning nude and grey Julien Macdonald dress that I’d seen Cheryl Cole wear. It was as sheer as lingerie, and even though the dress was short, it had this dramatic silk train flowing behind it. Sexy and dramatic! It just so happens I know someone who knows Lily, Cheryl Cole’s PA (yeah, of course Cheryl has a good, honest Essex girl to guard her deepest secrets), so I got them to contact Lily about it. The information we got back was disappointing. Turns out Julien had made it specially for her and it cost £25,000 and borrowing wasn’t an option. But you know you have to own a dress when a year on you’re still thinking about it. Well, that dress totally walked into my life without me even trying. I’d managed to beat Tasha down to let me go to this wholesaler – even though I’m the ‘buyer’ this is the main source of our fights when it comes to the business because, essentially, it’s shopping – and there, staring back at me, was an exact replica of the Cheryl dress. So yes, my dress was actually a wedding dress, but who’s to know that? And it was free. As long as I didn’t get it messy, it was going right back on the shop floor. I was just doing what I do at wedding fairs and modelling the dress, so I was doing Tasha a favour really.

  You’ve got to be well prepared with your beauty treatments the week before the polo. Remember, every Essex woman is treating this like it’s her big day, so you got to book your salon appointments before the rest of them face-aches do. I wanted really massive hair for it, so I asked for way more extensions than my usual. When I got home, Mum said I looked like an American. A bit like Pamela Anderson. My hair colour is way nicer, but I took that as a compliment.

  Obviously I’d upped my sunbeds to three a week, thinking I wouldn’t need fake tan, but I decided two days before that I wasn’t brown enough for my liking, so Brooke had to come over and do me in the tent. Naturally I repaid the favour and did her too. Although we had a proper barney because she sprayed tanner in my hair. We couldn’t actually see anything, but I told her you couldn’t be so cack-handed with blondes and she stormed out the cottage. I was only half-done, so I had to run out in a towel and beg her not to drive off. I have zero dignity.

  So as you can see, tensions and hormones were raging. But because of all the preparation, I was pretty together on the big day. I was still the last one into the people carrier, but I was a lot less late than usual. All the Foxes were there except for Jake, who would be rolling in for the evening debauchery. Tasha and Tony had left my niece Lola with Nan, which meant they were going to get absolutely plastered. And of course, Brooke, the honorary Fox, was riding in style with us.

  ‘Your tits look incredible, babe,’ was the first thing Brooke said as I got in.

  ‘Awww, thanks, hun. You look stunning too,’ I said. ‘But can I just say, one of us is going to fall out of their dress at some point today. So we keep an eye out for any escapees, yeah?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind being a warden at that prison,’ Tony piped up from the front.

  ‘Give it a rest, Tone, and stop earwigging,’ I shouted back.

  I sometimes think living with Tony would be like living in one big Carry On film. He only comes out with the family when there’s no pressing sporting events to watch, so I can pretend he doesn’t exist most of the time. Thankfully, Lola is a Fox through and through, so Tony’s genes haven’t had a chance to contaminate the family yet. If their second child comes out holding a remote control and smelling of Heineken and Bombay mix, that’s a Crook.

  Dad had bought us the ultimate Platinum package, so it was VIP the moment we got to the grounds. There was even a Range Rover to drive us the hundred metres to the entrance, which I thought was the biggest waste of time until I got out and tried walking. With every step, my gorgeous silver strappy heels sank into the grass! I looked around and saw every single woman was struggling up to the entrance. Being July, no one had figured the ground would still be soggy from the previous day’s rain. Sorry, but I’m not a farmer, I’m not familiar with ground conditions. If this had been true VIP, the polo people would have texted all the women not to wear strappy or peep-toe heels. I was sorry I’d ever dissed the Range Rover because all I wanted to be driven to the bar now, but I would just have to style it out. I basically walked on tip-toes everywhere; the real skill is looking like you’re not. Looking back, I can’t believe I kept it up the whole day. The champagne reception took the edge off things a bit.

  I think I need to explain what the event is about before I go any further. First off, I have no idea who the Duke of Essex is. He never shows up, so either he’s rude or he’s as real as my boobs. Secondly, no one watches any polo or knows the rules. Thirdly, there are two sections to this event: the pleb bit and VIP. The VIP area is enclosed within a pretty white picket fence. There is a really small section of the fence which the plebs can gather at and watch VIPs like zoo animals. And that’s situated right by the toilets, so no famous person can go to the toilet without being yelled for. And if any celebrity is in there longer than ten minutes, the masses know what you’ve been doing. This was the first year the TOWIE lot had gone as proper celebrities and it completely changed the vibe of the event. It felt like a proper celebration. So much so, the polo people flew them in by helicopter to make this grand red carpet entrance. It was amazing. The entire lot of them were there except for Mark Wright and Gemma Collins. I’d never seen all of them in one place before and I proper drank it up. I can’t be down on any of them for thinking they were the mutt’s nuts that day because I would have been worse. I’d say the person loving the fans’ attention the most was Mick Norcross, and the person loving themselves the most was Amy Childs. She walked out the toilets with bog roll attached to her heel at one point so I ran out after her before any cameras spotted her. Did I get any thanks? Did I fuck. Saying that, she must have been having an off day since a few months later, I properly met her at a party in Prezzo down Queens Road (by West Essex Law, an establishment is not officially recognized unless they’ve had a launch party with celeb guests so Prezzo’s hands were tied). She was a lot more chilled out at this do since the fizz was flowing and Peter Andre showed up (without doubt, the nicest male celeb I have ever met – love him). So anyways, bottom line is I had a right laugh with her. What you see on TV is pretty much her, but the girl’s got a smart business head on her. I respect that a lot and if anyone’s going to stay in the limelight post-TOWIE, it’s Amy.

  For me, the party only truly started when Gemma rocked up with all her family in tow. I thought my family was close-knit, but the Coxes are like the Mafia. Gem’s mum remarried about ten years ago, so now she’s got this step-family on top of her own. And they can drink anyone under the table. So there we were, the Coxes and the Foxes on a warm July day at the starting line of a fifteen-hour bender.

  It started out civilized enough, with a
sit-down meal made by the bald guy off MasterChef. We got through the free bottle of wine in the first five minutes. By the time we moved to our table on the lawn to ‘watch’ the polo, I was smashed. I’d already lost my beloved Prada sunglasses. I don’t know why I bother spending money on shades because BHQ will make me either sit on them or lose them in a horrific way. The worst has to have been when my Guccis fell off my head into the brown abyss of a V Festival Portaloo. Oh yeah, I could see them, but no way was I retrieving them, although I reckon some skank probably did. So while I clearly didn’t have my wits about me, at least we had a personal hostess to wait on us. Me and the girls got sensible and ordered three pints of water and had the piss ripped out of us by our drunken parents, which is a bit wrong, isn’t it?

  So anyways, while we were all sat there refuelling, I felt like somebody was watching me. They totally were. I tried to focus on a group of lads who were dressed like they were going to a regatta. Blazers, blue shirts, white trousers and my worst thing, boat shoes. One of them even had a cravat on. Essex boys love any excuse to dress up preppy, and they could pass for a Chelsea person until they open their mouths. And then I recognized one of them, the one that looked like Freddie Ljungberg. Yeah, you got it. There was Ben just staring straight at me. I couldn’t detect even a smidgeon of shame in his face. My heart started pounding so fast and I could feel my breathing get more and more shallow. After a minute, all I could say was:

  ‘Girls, Ben’s standing right over there.’

  They immediately turned round.

  ‘Turn back, you donuts! For fuck’s sake, he knows we’re talking about him now. He’ll get off on it.’

  ‘Fuck, what you going to do?’ said Gemma.

  ‘I’m going to have it out with the arsehole, aren’t I?’

  ‘You can do it, babe,’ said Brooke, squeezing my hand. ‘Here, carry this glass of champagne with you. It’ll make you feel more empowered.’

  I did as she instructed, even though more alcohol was the last thing I needed. I stood up, smoothed down my dress and made sure everything was in place, then I walked on the tips of my toes over to where he was, by the bar. I assumed the position – hand on hip, glass in hand.