Read Online The Boy I Loved Before by Jenny Colgan - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenny Colgan
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had it pretty much figured for one of those extremely convincing dreams. Any moment, the Queen and a big hippopotamus were about to crash through the window and take me flying. Until then, I was going to make the best of it. I stared and stared. This looked like my face from at least ten years ago.
I had a crop of spots on my forehead. I moan about the occasional pimple now, but Iâd forgotten what it was like when they used to grow in small fields. But apart from that, my skin was fresh, rosy ⦠I turned round. I disappeared. I stretched out a long, white thin arm. Oh my God. How could I not have known this wouldnât stay for ever? How could I not have realised that years of pizza and red wine could have an effect on this? When I was really younger, I thought I had an enormous arse and spent my entire time covering it up. I turned round again. OK, it wasnât Kylie, but in absolutely nobodyâs world was this a big arse. Wow! I jumped up and down. Nothing wiggled at all. Look!
Look! Hip bones! Bones! Oh my God! OK, my hair was a frizzy disaster, with what appeared to be pink bits dyed in, but thatâs OK, I know about expensive haircare products. I wished it wasnât a dream, because this could have been so much fun. As if my body had turned into a Barbie doll, I could dress up and parade around. This was the best dream in the entire world.
âGet out of the bathroom! Youâre going to be late for school!â
Now, this was too much. Oh my God. School. Tashy and I sitting up the back of English, giggling our heads off.
No, I should just wake myself up before a monster came or something. Iâm always quite lucid when I dream anyway. I always know that something wonât happen. Iâd probably end up trapped in the bathroom, desperately knowing I was late for school on a test day and â¦
I have never felt water flow over my hands in a dream. I have never turned a tap on and got wet.
âHurry up!â
The door was banging. And I had to realise: that wasnât Ollieâs voice. That was my dadâs.
Bloody hell.
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I stood in the shower for a long time, shaking, although I turned the water up as hot as it could go. What the hell was happening to me? It couldnât ⦠this was impossible. What was I doing standing, washing myself (with impossibly pert breasts. Jesus, these were up by my neck!) in our old blue bathroom suite?
I thought. What had happened yesterday? I had gone to
the wedding. I had met Clelland. I had fallen out with Oliver. I had made a wish over a wedding cake â¦
It couldnât be. It couldnât.
You know when something terrible happens and everyone says âDonât panicâ?
Now, I believed, was the time to panic.
Â
Â
Slowly, very slowly, I reached out of the shower and put a towel round my tiny waist.
I was back in my nightie, and my dad pushed past me into the bathroom. I barely caught sight of him. Jesus. Had I ⦠travelled back in time? What was it, 1987? I caught my breath. So I could ⦠what? Bet on general elections? Ooh, maybe go discover Take That! Maybe I could marry Robbie. Heâd be older than me too. Was Jonathan Ross still free? He turned out to be a pretty good bet. Are the Backstreet Boys still children?
I stumbled back into my bedroom and leaned against the wall, my eyes closed, my heart racing a mile a minute.
Hang on, I should stop just planning on not-yet famous people I want to get off with; do something properly. 1987. Maybe I could save that baby who fell in a well! Oh my God! I have to save Princess Diana! Ooh, I can become the most successful medium thereâs ever been! I started to get feverishly excited. What could I invent? Did Dysons exist yet? Ooh, mobile phone stocks! I was going to be so rich!
I shook my head. This was nuts.
Â
Â
Opening my eyes, I took in a picture of â oh, for Godâs sake â Blue on my wall. And Darius, I noticed wryly.
I had a crop of spots on my forehead. I moan about the occasional pimple now, but Iâd forgotten what it was like when they used to grow in small fields. But apart from that, my skin was fresh, rosy ⦠I turned round. I disappeared. I stretched out a long, white thin arm. Oh my God. How could I not have known this wouldnât stay for ever? How could I not have realised that years of pizza and red wine could have an effect on this? When I was really younger, I thought I had an enormous arse and spent my entire time covering it up. I turned round again. OK, it wasnât Kylie, but in absolutely nobodyâs world was this a big arse. Wow! I jumped up and down. Nothing wiggled at all. Look!
Look! Hip bones! Bones! Oh my God! OK, my hair was a frizzy disaster, with what appeared to be pink bits dyed in, but thatâs OK, I know about expensive haircare products. I wished it wasnât a dream, because this could have been so much fun. As if my body had turned into a Barbie doll, I could dress up and parade around. This was the best dream in the entire world.
âGet out of the bathroom! Youâre going to be late for school!â
Now, this was too much. Oh my God. School. Tashy and I sitting up the back of English, giggling our heads off.
No, I should just wake myself up before a monster came or something. Iâm always quite lucid when I dream anyway. I always know that something wonât happen. Iâd probably end up trapped in the bathroom, desperately knowing I was late for school on a test day and â¦
I have never felt water flow over my hands in a dream. I have never turned a tap on and got wet.
âHurry up!â
The door was banging. And I had to realise: that wasnât Ollieâs voice. That was my dadâs.
Bloody hell.
Â
Â
I stood in the shower for a long time, shaking, although I turned the water up as hot as it could go. What the hell was happening to me? It couldnât ⦠this was impossible. What was I doing standing, washing myself (with impossibly pert breasts. Jesus, these were up by my neck!) in our old blue bathroom suite?
I thought. What had happened yesterday? I had gone to
the wedding. I had met Clelland. I had fallen out with Oliver. I had made a wish over a wedding cake â¦
It couldnât be. It couldnât.
You know when something terrible happens and everyone says âDonât panicâ?
Now, I believed, was the time to panic.
Â
Â
Slowly, very slowly, I reached out of the shower and put a towel round my tiny waist.
I was back in my nightie, and my dad pushed past me into the bathroom. I barely caught sight of him. Jesus. Had I ⦠travelled back in time? What was it, 1987? I caught my breath. So I could ⦠what? Bet on general elections? Ooh, maybe go discover Take That! Maybe I could marry Robbie. Heâd be older than me too. Was Jonathan Ross still free? He turned out to be a pretty good bet. Are the Backstreet Boys still children?
I stumbled back into my bedroom and leaned against the wall, my eyes closed, my heart racing a mile a minute.
Hang on, I should stop just planning on not-yet famous people I want to get off with; do something properly. 1987. Maybe I could save that baby who fell in a well! Oh my God! I have to save Princess Diana! Ooh, I can become the most successful medium thereâs ever been! I started to get feverishly excited. What could I invent? Did Dysons exist yet? Ooh, mobile phone stocks! I was going to be so rich!
I shook my head. This was nuts.
Â
Â
Opening my eyes, I took in a picture of â oh, for Godâs sake â Blue on my wall. And Darius, I noticed wryly.
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