Welcome to My World

It’s been a relaxing break, which is a relief because the World Cup ended up being stressful. Wayne was gutted about losing, but I told him he’d just got to let it go, there was no point moping around. However, that’s easier said than done. For the first few days after he came back from Germany, Wayne was narky – well, he wasn’t narky exactly, but he was upset and he didn’t want to do anything. I told him that he should leave it behind, because he will have more World Cups coming up, and that one was over now.

It’s funny to talk about something being over because we’re still so young and things are just starting for both of us. We were only away for a week, but this holiday more than any other, and the weeks in Germany leading up to it, made me think about how much my life has changed over the last few years. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, but being away with friends and family makes you take so much more notice of everything – the good and the bad.

It was floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, not far from the beaches of St Tropez, only a couple of days away from going back home to Liverpool, that I decided to start writing this book. I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines. Because everyone I meet asks me the same question: What has it been like, going from that sixteen-year-old schoolgirl in the lower sixth at St John Bosco High School in Croxteth to the amazing life I’m fortunate to live now? ‘That must be an unbelievable feeling,’ they say. ‘What does that big change feel like?’

That’s what I’m always asked, and I have never really answered before. Not what it’s honestly been like. Not how it feels deep down to be this ordinary Liverpool girl who, all of a sudden, found myself in the spotlight. Then living this dream, because sometimes it still feels like a dream: appearing in magazines like Vogue and Marie Claire; waking up to find myself on the front page of the Sun and the Daily Mirror because the day before I’d been out shopping (shopping!); the paparazzi following my every move; columnists from all the different nationals talking about me like they know me. It’s a good and bad dream, with the good thankfully outweighing the rest.

I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines.

This book starts on holiday, after the World Cup in Germany and Baden-Baden, because for the previous month or so it had felt like the so-called WAGs, including me, had been in the newspapers every day, and the life I’d been living for the past four years, all the brilliant things that had happened, had been squeezed into just a few weeks.

Germany had been crazy. All the press attention surrounding the WAGs was unbelievable. The WAGs? I don’t even like that label and here I am using it. That’s the power of the media. I don’t know which newspaper came up with the name in the beginning but it just seems to me like a sneery way of describing all the England footballers’ wives and partners. So, from here on in, this is a WAG-free zone! Anyway, back to Germany…People said afterwards that we must be pleased because of the amount of coverage we got, but none of us ever asked for it. Admittedly, some of the girls enjoyed it, but others didn’t. I don’t know…it was such a weird one, but I don’t think we deserved that much attention. The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars. They said there were divides, that there was a competition to see how many column inches each of us could get. Fair enough, some were more interested in that kind of thing than others, but there were never any problems between the girls. Loads of the wives and girlfriends have got kids, so that hinders everyone from all going out together at once.

The fact is, like in any walk of life, you get on better with some people than you do with others. I get on well with Steven Gerrard’s wife, Alex, and I think that’s because we both come from Liverpool and we have loads in common – but it’s also because the first time I ever went away with England, before the Euros in Portugal in 2004, she was the first girlfriend I met properly and got on well with. I’m friends with Jamie Carragher’s wife, Nicola, as well, who’s also from Liverpool.

The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars.

Who else did I get on with? Elen, Frank Lampard’s girlfriend, I got on really well with her. They’ve got a little girl, but she had a nanny so Elen could do a lot more than some of the other mothers. Elen is Spanish but also speaks fluent English – however, sometimes she didn’t understand everyone’s accents and just laughed at us.

Then there was Cheryl. Cheryl Tweedy (well, it’s Cheryl Cole now). I’d met her at another match a while back but this was her first trip away with the team. A few months before, I’d actually been to see Girls Aloud perform in Manchester and she’d invited us – me, my friend and my cousin – backstage afterwards. She’s so funny and has a great sense of humour.

The first time I met Cheryl we were in a box watching one of the England matches. There was me, Victoria Beckham, Paul Robinson’s wife Rebecca, and then Cheryl came in all on her own. Victoria saw her and asked her to come and sit with us. People don’t appreciate how hard it is to go to a match for the first time when everyone’s in little groups and seems to know one other. It’s intimidating.

Before the Euros in Portugal in 2004 we had all gone to La Manga in Spain for the build-up to the tournament. I was seventeen years old, and I hadn’t flown out with the rest of the wives and girlfriends because I’d had to stay behind in Liverpool to sit my AS exams. So when I arrived Wayne met me at the hotel, helped me take my stuff up to the room and then we went down to the pool. I’d never met any of the girls before, didn’t know who anyone was, and Wayne turned round and said, ‘Oh, I’m going off to play golf now.’ I didn’t know anyone, so I said, ‘You can’t do that!’ So Wayne pointed to a group of people lying round the swimming pool and said, ‘’Ere y’are, go and sit with them over there.’

There were two girls with their boyfriends: one of the couples was the Chelsea footballer Wayne Bridge and his girlfriend, and the other was Everton’s James Beattie and his partner. My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say. I didn’t even know their names. I ended up asking stuff like what day had they turned up at the hotel, even though I knew exactly when they’d arrived – with everyone else! So it’s hard when you’re the new girl.

My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say.

During the World Cup the newspapers made out Cheryl didn’t mix with the rest of us and she and Victoria hung out on their own together all the time, but that wasn’t the way it was. She might not have come out in the evening all the time but we met up and went out for lunch and she’s a lovely girl. Victoria was criticized in the same way. There were headlines saying how she never mixed with anyone. But she was with us in the hotel, and travelled on the coach to matches with us all and the families. We had a great dinner one night, when my best friend Claire came along, but the press don’t really want to report that kind of thing. It makes a better story to say there were divisions in the camp.

After the World Cup was all over, the newspapers used us, the wives and girlfriends, as an excuse as to why the team didn’t get any further. But that’s all it was, an excuse. If England had won the World Cup they would have said that having the wives and girlfriends over in Germany was a good thing. But, let’s be honest, the families haven’t been allowed to travel with the England team in the past and I can understand if it’s true that the FA will not in future be making official arrangements for the girls. But before we start blaming anyone, let’s be clear. We’ve only won the World Cup once and that was in 1966 when we had home advantage. Why were we in the papers so much? It’s not that we asked for the attention. If you think about it this was the first World Cup played out in the digital age and the era of celeb-obsessed media. It was a European tournament, only two hours ahead of England, and the photographers with their state-of-the-art technology had no problems meeting their editors’ deadlines. From day one, the newspapers decided we were the other story and were going to turn us into headline news whether we liked it or not. As far as the press were concerned the girls were seen as fair game for criticism and sometimes ridicule, and, in the end, easy to blame for England failing to win the tournament.

On the day of what turned out to be England’s final match, against Portugal, we had to get up really early in the morning. Everyone was excited, because the further we went in the tournament the more exciting it got. Especially now we were against Portugal, who’d knocked England out in the 2004 European Championship. Everyone was saying that we’d get our revenge and win this one. There was me and Claire, my dad, my granddad, my elder brother Joe, my youngest brother Anthony and my cousin Shaun. We’d taken a vote among the families and decided to go by coach rather than plane. It was about five or six hours to travel from our hotel in Baden-Baden to the ground in Stuttgart.

I remember things that have happened to me – days out, nights on the town, events I’ve been to, work contracts, modelling shoots – by the clothes I was wearing. In general I’ve got a terrible memory, but show me a photograph of myself and I’ll immediately be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing. It’s weird, but I’ve always been like that.

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges. I remember not wanting to wear jeans, as I’d done at previous games, just because it was too hot. However, I didn’t travel in those clothes, I went in a Juicy tracksuit. Quite a few of the girls had jogging bottoms on because it was such a long journey to the ground. I know the newspapers said there was competition between the girls as to who could wear the most designer labels but it really wasn’t like that. That’s not to say you don’t check out what everyone else is wearing. That’s only natural. It’s the kind of thing you do automatically if a girl’s wearing something nice or interesting. Well, I do. Wayne tells me off all the time about it. And my mum too. When I was younger she used to say that one of these days I would get a smack! But I don’t do it in a horrible way. I’m just interested in fashion. Wayne says that if we’re in a restaurant and someone’s wearing something I like, I just look and keep looking for ages. He will be talking to me and I’ll ignore him until he starts moaning at me to stop staring!

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges.

Me and Wayne have this ritual. He always calls me when he’s on the coach on the way to the game. I just say good luck and what have you, and that’s it. I know before the World Cup there was all this talk about whether he’d be fit enough to play, but Wayne was desperate to make it to Germany and there was never any doubt in his mind that he would go. He just loves playing football. Even in our hotel in Baden-Baden, Wayne would come over for a few hours and he’d be playing football in the room and the corridors with my brother Anthony. They’d both be kicking a ball about, and I’d be saying, ‘Come on lads, don’t you ever stop!’ Luckily they didn’t break anything. They were like big kids. So you can imagine what he felt like, what we all felt like, when he was sent off in the Portugal match.

With me in the stand that day was Claire, my best friend and Wayne’s cousin, my dad, my granddad and my younger brother Anthony sitting together, then my other brother, Joe, with my cousin sat further down with Wayne’s mum and dad, his brother John and Wayne’s Uncle Eugene. To be honest, I never saw what actually happened. I’d seen Wayne go over and confront someone and when he does that I get nervous. I watch other people on the football pitch having a go at each other and, much like everyone else, I think it’s good entertainment, but when Wayne’s doing it I hate it. I was saying to myself, ‘Oh, Wayne, pack it in. Don’t.’ Then the referee calls him over, and I saw him reaching inside his pocket and I thought, ‘Oh, he’s getting a yellow card.’ But then when a red got pulled out the whole stadium just went silent. The place was packed with England fans. All silent. Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee. And I just sat there not knowing what to do.

I could feel everyone looking at me. My dad enjoys a match but he’s not the type to get worked up over football, but I heard him screaming, ‘Heeey!’ Everyone was jeering Ronaldo. Even then I still didn’t know what had gone on, so I couldn’t say anything.

Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee.

Wayne had been sent off and there were all these people asking if I was all right, and I was just saying, ‘Yeah.’ That was all I could say. I was in shock really. All I could think about was that Wayne was going to be devastated. He was going to be gutted. I’d seen him kick some hoarding or the bench or something, and I just thought, ‘Oh no.’

Afterwards there were pictures of me in tears all over the newspapers. I was upset, but I never properly cried. I filled up because you just get this horrible feeling inside you. There were people around me crying, saying it wasn’t Wayne’s fault, that it shouldn’t have been a red card. Cheryl Cole ran down to me and said, ‘Just don’t worry about it, it weren’t his fault.’

Everyone was mad at Ronaldo. Phones were going off all around me with messages coming in. I received a text from a friend of mine saying that Ronaldo had just winked at his manager, but at the time I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t have a clue. Then, of course, the match went to penalties and when the team lost you just realized that it was five or six hours back to the hotel on the coach, knowing you’re going home and our World Cup was all over. You just think, ‘What are the lads feeling now?’ Wayne phoned me and said everyone was gutted and upset. Ronaldo? Like Wayne said. On the day, they were playing on different teams. They play together for Man United but for those 90 minutes they were internationals representing their countries in the World Cup Finals so both were going to do whatever they could to win. Afterwards the press tried to make out there was a problem between the two of them, but they were texting each other straight after the game.

After England went out of the tournament, me and Wayne flew back to Liverpool. The paparazzi followed us everywhere. We went straight to my mum’s house in Croxteth, and because the press know we’re either going to be there or at our own house in Cheshire they were sitting outside waiting. We spent a few days at home, then packed to go on holiday. This time around I’d already had most of my stuff ready and washed at the hotel because I knew it was going to be a quick thing coming home and going away before Wayne had to be back at Manchester United for pre-season training. Honestly, usually I’m terrible at packing, leaving it all to the night before. Normally I’ll get my mum to help and she’ll be the one saying, ‘Do you really need that pair of Lanvin leopard-print shoes?’ Otherwise I’d end up taking everything. Not that I didn’t try to take everything! There were eight of us flying on the jet and the helicopter, and we were limited to one suitcase each, but me and Wayne had the biggest cases!

It’s no secret that I like my clothes, and there have been stories in the past about how many bikinis I own.

If I was going away for two weeks then I’d probably take more than fourteen bikinis, but some of those might be ones I’d bought the year before.

We were only in France for a week, but I brought about twelve bikinis with me. I always buy Missoni bikinis – I love their colours and details. Topshop do great bikinis, George at Asda have a lovely range too and then there’s always Juicy. That year I had a big thing for sunglasses. I bought loads of pairs – Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Dior – I never thought I’d like the fashion for bigger frames but the Dior ones look nice on me, and Fendi, the aviators. I bought them in a tan colour just as the summer was starting. Kate Moss had the same ones. Great minds think alike, eh! Then I got another pair in dark brown because I wore them all the time.

With the bikinis, like any girl, I do think about my body and I’m always aware of the paparazzi.

On holiday I tried not to think about them but, to be honest, I hadn’t been one hundred per cent happy with the shape I was in and I didn’t think I was looking my best.

While we were in Germany I hadn’t been eating healthily or going to the gym. There’d be loads of carbs: potatoes and pasta with sauces. There wasn’t that much to do, so we’d go out to lunch and have a glass of wine and then go out for an evening meal really late at night. My eating hadn’t been normal for a while, but at the end of the day the important thing was getting away and relaxing with Wayne.

It was a great holiday. The idea was to sail around the south of France and drop in on places like Cannes and St Tropez and other ports along the way. One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final. Then we’d sail out to sea to sunbathe or maybe fool around on the jet-skis. We went to outdoor restaurants where the trees were full of fairy lights, really lovely, then clubs like VIP in St Tropez and beach bars like Nikki Beach where magnums of champagne are going round and everyone’s dancing until the early hours. We arrived in Cannes on Bastille Day and ate out under the stars at a private table at the end of a jetty in the harbour, while the most amazing firework display you could ever imagine, thousands of rockets, went off above our heads.

One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final.

The whole holiday was fantastic. We’d be in the VIP area of a club, when it wasn’t so long ago that I used to go to nightclubs and think, ‘Oooh, look at them in the VIP area.’ Being with other people made me think about everything all over again and enjoy things through their eyes. All our friends, they would be going, ‘Just think, we’re doing this, and next week we’re back to work.’ It’s great for me and Wayne to have family and friends like that around us because they bring us back down to earth. We try not to take things for granted but sometimes we forget how lucky we are.

It’s lovely to share such experiences with other people, but unfortunately they also get to see the more unpleasant side of being in the spotlight. The speedboats full of paparazzi, constantly circling. Reading stories about us in the newspapers the next day that are just not true. The attention we receive when out for the night, girls coming up to Wayne with no other intention than to make money out of a story.

I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways.

Whenever a girl asks for a photograph, they always say the first shot hasn’t worked out so they can have another. Always. Once we came out of a restaurant in Monaco and two girls came up asking to have their picture taken with Wayne. So Wayne posed while it was taken and then they asked for another one. On the second picture one of the girls started putting her arms all around Wayne, and you know that if that photo was sold to the newspapers they could just make up a story. It’s hard for Wayne because the fans are so supportive and play such an important part in his working life, but some people have different agendas other than simply having their picture taken with him. On that occasion I got hold of this girl’s hand and went, ‘You’re getting your picture but you don’t need to do that!’ She was French and asked if I was his girlfriend. I said it didn’t matter. In St Tropez it was unbelievable. Things like that make you see how sly people can be. Some girls can be really evil. I trust Wayne but I don’t always trust the people he might find himself around. People are so aware of how much money they can make from a small photo these days.

All that happened in just a few weeks, so you can imagine what the last few years have been like. At times it’s been crazy, like a fairytale, an amazing journey. I’m no longer the sixteen-year-old girl who appeared in the newspapers for the very first time after walking to school in that knee-length puffa jacket! I’m twenty-one years old now and I’ve grown up inside and out. I’ll always be the girl from Liverpool, but my life has changed in so many ways. And this is my story so far.

chapter two question: what’s my favourite sport? answer: cricket (#ulink_d75f6df1-e3ae-530b-af23-7c91a55d6870)

From the very first day I appeared in the newspapers, people have been talking about my clothes and my fashion. That picture of me in the lower sixth, walking to St John Bosco High School, is always going to be with me. I look at it now and can’t help but laugh. It’s not something that makes me cringe, or that I’m ashamed about, because that was me back then. A sixteen-year-old, strolling to school with my puffa jacket on.

I’d been going out with Wayne for a good few months by then, and that day he was heading off to play for England. He’d been round to our house in the morning to pick something up, I can’t remember what it was, but the paparazzi must have followed him. Not that I was thinking about newspapers or photographers when I set off for school that morning. It was just a normal day. I’d meet up with my friend Kate and the two of us would take the same route as always, maybe chatting about last night’s telly or something similar. Then, that day, a man jumped out from behind some bushes and started taking photographs of me. Photographers really do hide behind bushes! He was snapping away, and I was shocked, but what do you do in that kind of situation? I sped up and kept walking. It just felt really weird.

Further up the street there was a block of flats with a car park in front. Kate and I passed it every day. You wouldn’t normally look twice at it, except on that day there was a car there with its bonnet open and a man peering inside, fixing his engine or something. That’s the way it seemed, except that the moment we walked past, the same man had a camera in his hand, pointing it at me over the top of the car bonnet, clicking away, taking pictures of me.

‘That’s unbelievable!’ That’s all I could say. That’s all my mates could say when I got to school. There was just this girly panic among my friends, like, what was happening? The buzz and chatter was still going on throughout assembly, so much so that one of the teachers came over to have a word. When she found out what had happened her first thought was to call my mum as soon as possible.

Mum went ballistic, but not quite how I’d imagined. I was on the phone telling her all that had happened that morning and her first worry was whether she would make the front pages the next day! ‘What if they got me?’ she asked me. ‘I’ve just been on the drive with nothing but my nightie on, pushing the wheelie bin out for the bin men!’

I said, ‘Oh, Mum! What do they want a picture of you for? They don’t want a picture of you and the wheelie bin.’

Maybe they did! But it made sense at the time and calmed Mum down a little.