He's married with three children and, amazingly, living in the same town in Devon as my mum.īut what amazed me more than that was how it felt to be talking to him again. I could almost see that sexy grin on the other end of the phone. 'James is trying to get us together again.' 'Hi Helena, it's Ed,' said an instantly recognisable voice. It was a number I didn't recognise, but somehow I already knew who it was. They are a reminder of a time when life was much more simple.Ī few days after the call from James, we were having a family lunch when my mobile phone rang. He was my ideal, my Mr Darcy, no one else matched up - in part because our relationship never came to anything, so there was no drudgery to bring it down.Īnd that's the secret about first loves - the memories are not encumbered by the trials of mortgages, school fees and post-baby bulges. I can honestly say that until I met my husband, no one came close to Ed. With his dark looks and London sophistication, he made Durham's undergraduates seem like gawky schoolboys. He came to my 21st birthday party and even though I had a boyfriend, I was still mad about him and heartbroken when he sped off back to London in the middle of the night to see his girlfriend. I left London to go to university at Durham, but carried a picture of him and always thought about him. Great.Īnother year on, we ended up in bed together. ![]() Two years later, nothing had happened, bar a throwaway comment from Ed that if he ever had to get married, he would marry me. He was tall, dark, handsome, amusing and had the sexiest grin I had ever seen. It was in the bar of Pucci Pizza on the King's Road in Chelsea.
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