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But that was the end of the calm. The following Sunday one of the Sunday newspapers had printed a big picture of me. The telephone didn’t stop ringing, with aunties and my nan, everyone, calling up asking whether we’d seen it. Me in my puffa jacket right down to my knees and my school uniform underneath. Whatever I feel about the press now, there’s no denying that when you see yourself in the newspaper for the first time like that it’s an exciting feeling. You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too. That day, I must have looked at that same picture at least fifty times. At least. But not once did I think what it would mean or what to expect in the years to come.
That was 2003, and although it seems like ages and ages ago it really wasn’t that far back. But things were different. In those days I can’t remember there being the same interest in footballers’ wives and girlfriends. Yeah, there was Victoria and David, and there was Footballers’ Wives on telly, but in real life the newspapers weren’t interested in taking pictures of footballers’ girlfriends for no reason – there had to be a story to go with it. Sure, I was seeing Wayne, and the way things were going with us I expected we’d be pictured together at some stage, but no way did I ever expect the press to be interested in just me.
You laugh at yourself being in this national newspaper, and it’s strange, and funny, but it’s exciting too.
It’s comical to see that picture again, and to think of the stories that followed. Back then, the majority of newspapers wrote negatively about my dress sense, yet today the same people describe me as a style icon, and commentators say that the fashion industry closely watches what I wear.
The Guardian has said I am ‘the leading style icon for British young women today’, while the editor of Vogue, Alexandra Shulman, who I did a shoot for, once wrote in a newspaper that I was ‘a phenomenon of our time’. My word! I’m not sure whether I would go so far as to describe myself as any of those things, but I do love fashion, and always have ever since I can remember.
It’s flattering to know that there are young girls and women out there who look at what I’m wearing and are inspired to go for a similar look.
I can never quite get over it when that happens. In Germany, a few of the girls went out for dinner one night and I was wearing a cream Alice Temperley dress with bell sleeves. I didn’t realize what an impact that dress had made until I returned home and the girls at Cricket, my favourite shop in Liverpool, told me it had been ‘manic’. As soon as the photograph appeared in the newspapers their phone never stopped ringing, with girls wanting the same dress. They could have sold thousands, apparently. In a different situation I’d be one of those girls ringing in. If I see someone else wearing a top or skirt that I really like, I’ll be the first to go out and buy it for myself.
Cricket is this top boutique with great labels. Justine, the owner, who’s become a friend, is great at saying what’s in and helping to put outfits together. She’s played a big part in how my style has developed over the past few years. It’s not surprising that people knew where to call for the Alice Temperley dress because everyone associates me with Cricket now. Sometimes you’ll get girls
Shhhh! Don’t tell everyone…
I don’t believe in slavishly copying anyone’s look from top to toe. The key to creating your own individual style is to borrow from others, add your own ideas into the mix, have confidence in your own fashion sense and, most importantly, have confidence in yourself.
Here are my six golden rules of fashion:
1. Never be afraid to experiment
An item of clothing will never hurt anyone.
2. The more money you spend doesn’t necessarily mean the more style you buy
Team up designer with high street and a touch of vintage.
3. Accessorize! Accessorize! Accessorize!
That doesn’t mean go all bling, but you can change the accent of an outfit just by adding a simple scarf or necklace.
4. Be true to yourself
Don’t be a fashion victim, wear what suits you no matter what the magazines say this season.
5. Less is more
Don’t go trying to over-dress in everyday situations. You can look good without looking like you’ve just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.
6. Have fun
If you look in the mirror and like what you see then that’s the only compliment you need.
from as far away as places like Milton Keynes travelling up to Cricket just to see me shopping and have their picture taken with me. I’m really grateful for the support but I do go shy when things like that happen. I just think, ‘That’s amazing, they’ve come all that way just to see me!’ One time, I was out shopping in Liverpool when a mother and her young teenage daughter ran up asking if they could pose for a photograph with me. They’d been to Cricket and missed me so they thought they’d try one of my other favourite shops. I suppose they had a few to choose from! Things like that make you feel really self-conscious but it’s also lovely to know people think that way about you.
I have my own icons who I admire. Kate Moss is always someone I’ve really loved for her sense of style. With her it just seems so effortless, as though she could wake up in the morning, throw anything on and it would look great. I wish I could do that. Of the other British girls, I’m a big fan of Cat Deeley. I love the way she puts her clothes together. She’s always fashionable but she never looks as though she’s trying too hard, managing to go out all glammed up but pulling it off in a casual way. Sienna Miller used to be a favourite of mine when she first arrived on the scene – she has the figure to carry off a lot of stuff that I could never get away with. At the moment I really like girls like Lindsay Lohan and Mischa Barton – they’ve got a lovely ease about everything they wear and they are always introducing new fashions and labels onto the scene.
I’m always looking at magazines for ideas, whether it’s Vogue, Elle or Marie Claire for high-end fashion, or mags like Closer, who I write my column for, and who are a great source for high-street designs. I really like to mix. If someone asked me to describe my style I really couldn’t pin it down other than to say I’m a real girl’s girl when it comes to fashion. I prefer pretty, girly-girl clothes as opposed to going for the drop-dead-sexy look.
In terms of my style, the one thing I’m certain of is that I always go with my own mind. I might love fashion, but I’m not a follower. I’m totally of the view that the most important rule in fashion is believing in what you like and trusting in your own sense of style. All my family and friends will recognize that stubborn streak in me!
If there’s a dress or a top that I like, then I’ll wear it no matter what other people think. Fashion is all about experimenting, and sometimes you’ll experiment and get it wrong, but that’s part of the fun of dressing.
Finding your own style is all about trying things out to see what suits you and not being a slave to the latest trend.
You’ve got to mix things up a little, combine designer with high-street with vintage. I might buy a pair of designer pants, but if I need a plain top I’ll go to a high-street store. If you find it’s not working when you get home then take it back! As I say, there’s nothing wrong with making mistakes. There have been quite a few times that I’ve looked at myself in a newspaper and thought, ‘Why did I wear that?’ But hopefully I get it right more times than I get it wrong.
My big bugbear is when the newspapers write that I have a stylist, as though I haven’t got a mind of my own and the only reason I’m still not walking around in a five-year-old three-quarter-length puffa jacket from H&M is because someone’s told me it’s no longer in fashion this month! I don’t employ a stylist and it really annoys me when people say otherwise. I remember watching This Morning just after I’d signed my contract to front the George at Asda range. There was a big story about how much I was earning and they had a national gossip writer from the Sun on the show. She was saying that my stylist had done a great job of transforming me, telling everyone that the way I presented myself, walked and everything, was totally different from the first time I’d met her. The problem is people watching that programme will hear something like that about me and think it’s true. A journalist from a national newspaper is on national television telling everyone she knows me, so why would anyone think otherwise? Except it was all made up. I’ve not been through some expensive Eliza Doolittle transformation. I can dress myself, thank you very much.
That’s one of the real downsides of being in the public eye; the way rumour suddenly becomes fact. A newspaper can print a story about you today, then tomorrow the whole wide world believes it’s the gospel truth. I’m not blaming the public, because not so long ago I used to believe near enough everything I read in the newspapers. Like everyone else, I used to think there must be some truth there. I’ll write more about all the rumours and rubbish that’s been said about me later on in this book, but it is really annoying when people believe everything they read, and sometimes I’ve found myself having to put them right. I always remember sitting in a hairdresser’s in Liverpool and I could hear this woman in the back having her hair washed and talking about me. It was around the time when me and Wayne were going through a rough patch and the newspapers were full of me throwing my engagement ring away in the squirrel park near to where we used to live. I was sitting there and the next thing I heard was this woman say, ‘Oh yeah, so-and-so’s taken the kids to the squirrel park, you know, where that soft girl Coleen McLoughlin threw away her engagement ring!’ I’m sure she knew I was listening, which made it all the more annoying. In the mirror, I could see the girl who was washing the woman’s hair and she just looked embarrassed. Eventually the girl told her that I was only a few feet away. For once, I couldn’t stop myself from putting her right.
‘You shouldn’t always believe what you read, you know,’ I told her.
‘Oh, I didn’t know you were there!’ she said. ‘C’mon, then, let’s see it!’
She was talking about the ring. I was fuming, but I also felt really ashamed because I could sense everyone in the hairdresser’s staring at me. I didn’t know what to do, and maybe I should have ignored her, but all I could think of was to prove her wrong. So I showed her my engagement ring, the one I was meant to have chucked away, still on my finger, where it belonged. She just looked and went, ‘Ahh, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ And I went, ‘Yeah.’ That was it. She never apologized.
I used to gossip about celebrities like everyone else. My mates and I would chat about what so-and-so’s been up to, pore over their lives in newspapers and magazines, but now I’m always telling people not to believe what you read unless you know for sure yourself or it’s an interview with the person themselves.
I’ve had an up-and-down relationship with the newspapers. For the past couple of years, ever since I appeared in Vogue, on the whole I’d say they’ve been writing really positive things about my fashion, but in the beginning there was a lot of criticism about the clothes I wore, saying I looked a show, how I was the Queen of Chavs and all that rubbish. I’ve never really known what a chav is, I don’t think anyone knows. They’d criticize me for my Juicy tracksuits and my moon boots, or because I was wearing loads of Burberry. I don’t wear loads of Burberry. Not that I’ve got anything against them because it’s a great British fashion brand, but I’m not a slave to any designer. I wouldn’t say the criticism upsets me exactly – hey, even I look back on those moon boots and wonder why I ever wore them – though it can get annoying and a bit tiring. Don’t get me wrong. I know the press has a job to do. I also understand that the successful careers Wayne and I are lucky to have depend to an extent on media interest and coverage. But I don’t believe that gives the media the right to take over your whole life and continually invade family privacy.
I’m more into girly-girl fashions than the sex-siren look!
Everyone seems to have their opinion on my sense of style. Even Wayne. He prefers me in my normal casual stuff, like jeans and a T-shirt. Mind, he has also said that my bum looks massive in my Juicy tracksuit, but I don’t take any notice! Wayne just likes me in normal gear. He’s not big on me showing a lot of flesh off. Not that I’m much of a one for split skirts and low-cut tops.
I don’t really wear short skirts unless I’ve got tights on, but now and again I wear a top that’s cut a bit lower than usual. Or I might wear a chiffon dress or something similar.
It’s at those times when Wayne suddenly becomes Mr Fashion Expert! ‘I can see your knickers through that!’ he’ll say to me, or, ‘What are you wearing that for?’ If he thinks I’m not taking any notice, he’ll tell me to go and ask what my dad thinks. That’s his ultimate tactic: ‘Ask your dad!’ The reason is because Wayne knows that if my dad thinks I’m wearing something unsuitable he’ll moan to such a degree that I inevitably cave in and change. Not long ago, I’d been invited to a Childline charity do in Liverpool and I had on a sheer white dress. My dad took one look and said, ‘You’re not going out in that, are you?’ In the end, he made such a big fuss about it that I went upstairs and borrowed one of my mum’s underskirts. Trouble was, my dress was a bit shorter than the underskirt so I had to chop a few inches off the bottom. All night, frayed cotton was dangling down from under my dress, and every five minutes I had to keep getting a lighter out and burning them off! Very ladylike.
The same thing happened the other week. My mates and I were going to the local pub and I was wearing a white chiffon dress. Dad went on and on about being able to see my knickers, so much so that I nipped upstairs and put another one of Mum’s underskirts on. I should keep a few in stock really!
Dad’s one of the few people I will listen to when it comes to fashion. Maybe he’s one of the expensive styling team of mine that some journalist was referring to!
Fashion is the one subject that people are always writing to me about via my column in Closer. I’ve loved clothes ever since I can remember. As a young girl I always loved dressing up. When I was really young, I’d be in the post office asking for Just Seventeen to look at the fashion pages, and my mum would tell me to change it because it was too old for me. During the summer holidays I’d stay at my nan’s house, and every morning we’d go up to the shop for the morning paper and she’d say, ‘Go pick a magazine.’ And I’d always come back with OK! I must have been about eleven years old, but I really enjoyed seeing what all the celebrities were wearing and what their houses looked like. I can still remember seeing photographs of Donatella Versace’s home when I was really young, and thinking how amazing it must be to live somewhere like that.
One of the reasons I was so obsessed with OK! was because it was also my Auntie Tracy’s favourite magazine. Auntie Tracy is my dad’s sister, and when I talk of fashion icons there’s no one who’s had a bigger influence on my style than her. She was always the young auntie – there’s never been that many years between us – and she has always looked stylish. Auntie Tracy used to save me her fancy shopping carrier bags so I could use them for my school gym kit and she was also the person who introduced me to Cricket. I was the typical young niece, in awe of my trendy auntie, eyeing up her handbags and the shoes she wore, wishing they were mine. My nan and granddad own a pub, The King’s Vault in Garston, and I remember a family party there when my Auntie Tracy came along carrying this little black bag, with a clasp and a long strap, by Moschino. Even though I was only small I remember thinking, ‘I can’t wait to grow up so I can have a bag like that.’ I’m worse than she is now! These days, we’ve got the same taste in fashion – we’ve even turned up at matches to watch Wayne wearing the same clothes, a jumper by See by Chloé. Auntie Tracy’s was black and mine was pale pink. If I like something she’s wearing I’ll go out and buy it, and she does the same with me!
My mum would tell you that when I was a kid and it came to clothes I was an absolute nightmare. All I ever asked for on birthdays or for Christmas would be clothes or shoes, and I would cry and cry until she bought me what I wanted. I was never into Barbies like other girls, I just wanted a good wardrobe! One year it was a black velvet jumper-dress with gold sequins. I must have been about seven years old.
My mum said she would never put me in black. She didn’t think a child should wear black. She’ll tell you that I screamed and screamed, wanting this special dress for Christmas, until eventually I got what I wanted.
Afterwards, my mum, who was probably tired of my screaming by then, bought me these tights and little black boots to complete the outfit. Very disco! I think it’d be very in now!
My obsession didn’t even stop at clothes. At seven years old I started wearing glasses, and I loved them. The optometrist came to school one day to check everyone’s eyes, and when I failed my mum thought I’d done so on purpose! ‘Do you want to wear glasses, Coleen?’ she asked me, thinking I’d made it up to be trendy. I hadn’t. I was short-sighted. I might not have wanted glasses to start with, but once I had them there was no stopping me. The first pair I ever bought had multicoloured frames, and from then on I made them my own thing, a way of individualizing my uniform. I always remember a pair of Moschino glasses I owned which had question marks on the arms. They were great but I’ve got to confess, some of the glasses I wore were bad! These days I wear lenses.
In my early teens I went through a stage when all I wanted to wear were tracksuits. My mum was never really happy about that, she always preferred it when I dressed like a girl. But that was the trend around Liverpool for girls my age – Lacoste tracksuits and nice white trainers. My friends and I used to go out and hang around the shops; in its own way it was our fashion statement. That was part of me, going through those stages every young girl does when she’s finding her own style.
My mum and dad always said that while we were at school they would provide for us, so we could devote our time to
Oh! Please! No! Don’t!
There are many reasons to get on your mobile and call the fashion police, but here are some pet hates of mine that should be avoided at all costs:
1. Very short skirts with high heels
Unless your name happens to be Beyoncé and you are singing a little song called Crazy in Love you have no excuse. It’s not sexy.
2. Visible thongs above trousers’ waistbands
The modern-day female equivalent of the builder’s bum. Very unattractive.
3. Seeing double
If you are appearing on Strictly Come Dancing then fine, but otherwise girlfriends and boyfriends should not be seen out wearing matching outfits. Unless they’re around six years old, in which case it’s officially cute.
4. Cleavage overload
Message to all those girls who take their fashion tips from men’s magazines: keep them hidden and keep them guessin’.
5. Silly hats
Equestrian helmets and Pierrot clown cones may be good for fancy dress, but never mistake eccentricity for individuality.
schoolwork and exams. During the summer holidays, I used to go with my Auntie Pat and Auntie Shelagh to clean the chalets at Pontins – the money was good and I’m sure we used to clean more chalets than anyone else! – but when I was sixteen I found myself a Saturday job in New Look in Liverpool.
It was simply that I needed more money to buy clothes for myself. Not only that, but I’d just started seeing Wayne, and his birthday was coming up in October. Then it would be Christmas, so I really wanted to earn some extra money to buy him presents. I worked at New Look on Saturdays, and in the run-up to Christmas I’d work late-night Thursdays. Dad used to come and pick me up afterwards because he never liked the idea of me catching the bus home at that time of night.
Because I was interested in fashion it was a great job, and I used to get fifty per cent off all the clothes. My contract meant I had to buy New Look clothes to work in the shop, which I was more than happy about because they used to have a nice designer range by Luella at the time. I really enjoyed the independence the job brought me, and having my own money coming into my bank account. And Wayne got his birthday presents – an Armani cardigan and a pair of wireless headphones.
A couple of years ago, GMTV’s fashion expert, Caryn Franklin, wrote a kind article in the Daily Mirror about me entitled ‘The Making of Coleen’, saying how I’d made ‘the transition from schoolgirl to sophisticate with ease’. I don’t know about ease, but it’s been fun. The last few years have seen me grow up, and so has my style and fashion sense. It’s been a fashion journey that, for better or worse, has taken place in the public eye. As for that first photograph of me, well, if I’d have known I was going to be in the newspapers then maybe, looking back, I might have restyled a few things. For starters, I think I’d have gone for flat ballet shoes with white socks, not the navy ones I was wearing. And I would’ve had my hair different – a loose ponytail rather than the tight pony I wore at the time. And I’d be wearing a smarter, tailored jacket. The three-quarter-length hooded puffa jacket would be history. That would be the first thing to go!
chapter three always a liverpool girl (#ulink_01658f66-2ad4-57a0-a991-b189f4259fa3)
Before I go any further, maybe I should tell you a little bit about my background. There are six of us in my family: my mum Colette, dad Tony, oldest brother Joe, who’s nineteen, then Anthony, who’s eighteen, and our little eight-year-old sister, Rosie. You might have seen Rosie on the TV programme I made with Sir Trevor McDonald highlighting the problems of caring for disabled children, a subject close to my heart. Ever since she was born, Rosie has suffered from a rare genetic disorder caller Rett syndrome, which means she needs twenty-four-hour care. We’ve always had foster children coming to live with us in the house, and Rosie came to us as a two-year-old. We loved her so much we didn’t want to let her leave, and my mum and dad adopted her. We’re a really close family. Wayne has always spent a lot of time round my mum and dad’s house and he has become close to us too.
I was born in Oxford Street Hospital, in Liverpool’s city centre, on 3 April 1986. Coleen means ‘girl’ in Gaelic, it is to Ireland what Sheila is to Australia. I’m not actually named after anyone, but my dad has Irish roots and his granddad came from County Mayo.
My mum was just eighteen when she married my twenty-one-year-old dad, yet it took them seven years of trying to have a baby, and fertility treatment, before I eventually came along. Then, when I finally appeared on the scene, I nearly died.
My earliest memory is of being in hospital with my mum sitting by the bed crying. I was four years old when I caught chicken pox and I was ill for days and not getting any better. Then one night my mum tried to get me out of bed and I couldn’t walk properly, I just kept falling over all the time. They called the doctor and as soon as he saw my condition he sent me down to Alder Hey Children’s Hospital in Liverpool. There they immediately diagnosed me as having encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) caused by the chicken pox. I was put on all kinds of drips and stuff, and at one point the doctors told my mum and dad that I might not pull through – that I might have only forty-eight hours to live. I’ve still got those memories of all the family coming to visit me and me crying my head off. Eventually, I came out the other side, but I had to learn how to walk all over again. Now I’m in the fortunate position of being able to help others by being an ambassador and fundraiser for the hospital that did so much to help me.
One of the reasons my mum and dad started fostering was because they’d tried so hard to have kids and when the time was right they decided they wanted to give something back. It was after we’d all started school, and my mum felt she had the time on her hands that could be of benefit to others. They waited until we were at an age when we – Joe, Anthony and I – could understand what fostering meant and what it would mean to the family. They sat us down and discussed fostering with us, and said they would only do it if everyone was happy. We all thought the idea was a good one.
In the beginning, we looked after newborn babies, who would eventually go on to be with couples who couldn’t have kids and wanted to adopt. I can’t pretend that wasn’t sometimes hard on us. We quickly got attached to these kids and it was difficult to see them go, but, like my mum and dad said, we were giving them a good start. That’s how we came to have Rosie. At other times we’d have children with disabilities come to stay for the weekend every now and again, to give their parents a rest. At the moment we have this little boy called Jake who’s got Down’s syndrome. He comes once a month to stay with us – I say ‘us’ because I spend so much time at my mum and dad’s house that it still feels like home. When my parents first met, my mum was a nursery nurse, but she gave up work to bring up her family. Dad was a bricklayer, but in the end he had to give up because of prolapsed discs in his back, and so now he devotes his time to Rosie, fostering, the local hospital and the church. My dad is quite religious, and religion and the church – we’re Roman Catholics – have always played a big part in our lives. My first Holy Communion at the age of seven is still a very special memory for me.
However, as much as dad is religious, it’s never been something he’s imposed on us. At the age of sixteen we were all given the choice of whether we wanted to go to church any more, we weren’t forced to go. Nowadays, I don’t go as much as I’d like to, but I do go every now and again.
Up until I was four we lived in Garston, where my dad’s family comes from, in a two-up, two-down. Then, afterwards, we moved to Croxteth to the council house where my mum had grown up. My mum’s mum had died of cancer before I was born and my granddad lived on his own. He moved out to be with his girlfriend, and we moved in, but later he came back to live with us. It’s always been the family home. In the end, with conversions for Rosie, we had five bedrooms. The house was always full. My mum’s got a big family – two brothers and five sisters – and my dad has two brothers and two sisters, and every Saturday all the family used to come and visit. My memories of that house are that it was always busy and warm, like any family home should be. I say ‘was’ because last year I was lucky enough to be able to buy my mum and dad a new house. It’s not that far away from Croxteth, but it has just a little bit more room and privacy. Having said that, Auntie Shelagh and her partner, Mick, are going to rent our old house in Croxteth. I love the thought that Auntie Shelagh’s moving in. She used to come and look after me and my brothers whenever my mum and dad took disabled kids to Lourdes and Disneyland when I was younger. Auntie Shelagh moving in just means the house still remains the family home, which is really lovely.
I’ll always be a Croxteth girl and Liverpool will always be home. It’s a friendly city. Everyone is down to earth and has a great sense of humour. We used to live just on the border between Croxteth and Norris Green, and when I was younger I would hang out in Norris Green, but as I got older I spent more time in Croxteth. I enjoy it up there, I feel safe, and there’s always someone you know around. All the neighbours have seen me grow up from a little girl to where I am now. That’s great, because I can just go to the shops and people won’t treat me as any different from anyone else. It’s just normal. When everything in my life isn’t always so normal, it’s nice to go back there.
I went to school in Croxteth. My primary school was St Teresa’s in Norris Green and then I went to St John Bosco High School in Croxteth after that. I always loved school, but I also loved the lesson breaks and chatting with my mates. I wouldn’t say I was a brainy kid, but when I tried hard I did well. I was always in the top sets, worked hard, did my homework, and ended up with ten GCSEs – A* in Performing Arts, As in English Language, RE and Technology/Textiles, and Bs in Maths, English Literature, French, Spanish and Science. I was on the Student Council, and involved in loads of different stuff, and in the sixth form the rest of the year voted me Deputy Head Girl. A year before I’d set up the buddy system. It was a counselling service that allowed girls in the younger years who were having problems to come to an older pupil for advice or help instead of going to a teacher. It worked because some kids are scared of taking their problems to a teacher and they would rather talk with someone of their own age.
When I went to see the careers advisor we chatted about what I was going to do in terms of university. For me, the choice was either Performing Arts or Media.
I used to love drama classes. Throughout my school years, if you’d asked me what I wanted to be when I got older I would have told you that my dream was to become an actress. In my first year at school we did musicals like Calamity Jane and The Wizard of Oz. I was young so I only got little parts – I was an extra in Calamity Jane and a munchkin in The Wizard of Oz. Later on I was in The Sound of Music as one of the von Trapp kids. I used to love it. I’d also go to drama school at night and I had a couple of walk-on parts in Hollyoaks. I just loved performing. From the age of 13, I also used to go to dance classes and was part of a dance troupe called The Harlequin. I would have loved to have gone to stage school, but you have to be good at singing too, so that counted me out. They reckon you can train a voice to sing but, believe me, they couldn’t train mine!
These days, one of my favourite ways of relaxing is going to the theatre and seeing a show. It’s then that I start thinking about how much I miss that part of my life. Recently, I’ve had invites to go and speak to the people at Coronation Street and do screen tests for Hollyoaks, but when I sat down and thought about it, I felt it was something for the future but not for right now. Maybe later on, when the spotlight on me has died down a bit, I might decide to give it a try. At the moment I think it would be hard for people to watch me on screen and see me as anyone other than Coleen McLoughlin.
I did think seriously about studying for a degree in Performing Arts, but even then I appreciated how hard the industry is to get into and the need for a back-up plan.
At the time, I was considering looking into teaching and journalism as alternatives. That was the way my life was going. Then, when I went into the lower sixth, I stopped enjoying school as much. By the end of that year I’d started going out with Wayne and things were changing for me. It’s not that I began to hate school, it’s just that I didn’t enjoy it like I used to, I was losing interest and my life outside was changing. By the upper sixth I’d started doing bits and bobs for magazines, and I just thought, ‘What’s the point in staying here if I’m not going to achieve the marks I’m capable of?’ When I told my mum and dad how I felt they understood and were totally supportive. Their main priority was for me to be happy, and they realized I wasn’t.
I wouldn’t say I’m particularly gifted academically. I had to work really hard to achieve the grades I did, so my parents understood my feelings, and that there was no point staying on if my heart wasn’t in it. Telling the teachers was really hard. They tried their best to persuade me to stay but I’d already made my mind up. I got on particularly well with one teacher, Miss Tremarco, who’d been my first-form teacher and took me for Performing Arts, and she sat me down and asked me whether I understood what I was doing. But deep down she knew I would have been miserable had I stayed on. My view then and now is that I can always go back to college one day and study, which is something I might well do, but at the time my life was changing and it made sense to leave. I have no regrets about that. I wouldn’t say Wayne was the reason I left school, but he obviously played a big part in my decision.
Wayne Rooney was part of a group of lads who used to hang around a row of shops near to where I lived. Sometimes I would wander past the local shops with my friend Claire, who’s Wayne’s cousin, and we used to see Wayne and his mates. I got on well with them all but Wayne was the cheeky one. He got it into his head that he wanted to go out with me, so whenever we saw each other he’d come out with one or two chat-up lines. ‘Can I have a date?’ he would say, or, ‘Am I gonna get a date tonight?’ My reaction was always the same. I’d never had a boyfriend before so I used to go all shy. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I’d say, then I’d head off home with Claire.
I get on with lads but I’ve never been very good at flirting
I knew Wayne was good at football, but so were a lot of the lads from where I come from, and they’d be picked for the Everton or Liverpool youth team. Not many of them got anywhere.
Wayne was in the local papers, but only if you followed football, which I didn’t, would you have known back then that he was really good. People think Wayne was loaded when I met him but it wasn’t like that.
When we first met we’d do the same things as other kids of our age. Like going round the chippy, hanging out at each other’s houses, and seeing our mates. Just normal stuff.
Wayne, however, was never going to give up that easily. He’d walk past my house and say, ‘I’ve been waiting for the phone call!’ I never had time for boys when I was doing my GCSEs as I was focused on getting good marks. Once they were finished, I finally said yes to Wayne. Well, actually, it wasn’t that clear cut. Beforehand I had chatted to my friend Amy-Louise, who used to live across the road from us, not knowing whether I wanted to go on a date with Wayne or not. He was someone I got on well with but he wasn’t someone who immediately made me think, ‘Yeah, I’d really love to go out with him.’
A couple of weeks later that all changed. One night, Claire and I were on her bike – she was riding it and I was sitting on the back – on our way home, as usual, cycling past the chippy, when the gear chain broke. There was Wayne and a few other lads, my brothers might even have been with him, standing outside the chippy, so we shouted over asking if anyone could fix our bike. I’ve since learned that Wayne’s not exactly Mr Handyman, but he volunteered that night and somehow managed to mend it. Once he’d finished, he asked me out for a date, probably in return for his services! We started talking and the conversation must have been about my drama classes because in the end Wayne wanted to know if I had the film Grease on video, and whether he could borrow it. I said I did, and he could, and so he followed us back to my house to pick it up. I can’t quite remember how it happened, but once I’d fetched the video the two of us went for a walk and we ended up in the churchyard. That’s when we first kissed: around the back of the local church, the Queen of Martyrs. I’m sure he still hasn’t returned that Grease video.
I’d never had a proper boyfriend before, so my dad was really protective. He’s always been protective but in this case he was especially so. Dad used to help run the local boxing club, Croxteth ABA, with Wayne’s uncle Ritchie. Wayne used to go to the club and therefore he knew Wayne a little bit through his uncle Ritchie. That wasn’t a problem. But now his little girl had a boyfriend, and that was something he hadn’t experienced.
On my first date with Wayne we went to the cinema to see Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. I had told my mum of our plans and she told me to ask my dad if I could go. I was sixteen then, so I was old enough to do as I pleased, I suppose. The main reason for asking was because I didn’t know whether I was going to get home later than usual. My dad said, ‘Who are you going with?’ I replied, ‘Wayne.’ It was the first time I’d mentioned him. ‘All right,’ said my dad, ‘just as long as you sit at the back and he sits at the front!’
Dad needn’t have worried. We went with another couple, Wayne’s friend Stephen and his girlfriend Kayley. It wasn’t really a big date. We were kids, only sixteen. We weren’t old enough to go for a drink or a meal like you do when you are older, it was just meeting each other and going to the pictures.
Although I’ve said I remember everything by what outfit I had on, I can’t remember what I was wearing on the night of my first date with Wayne. I remember what Wayne was wearing – jumper and jeans, and a new pair of brown shoes he’d bought specially – but I can’t remember what I had on. What I can remember of that night is realizing how much I really did like Wayne. Whether it was love at first sight, I don’t know. We’d known each other and been friends for so long that things just seemed to grow gradually.
Over the next few weeks and months it became more serious, until the day came when I said to myself, ‘You know what, I really like him.’ Which one of us said ‘I love you’ first? I don’t even know. I can’t remember. I think it was probably Wayne.
chapter four dancing the night away with the stars (#ulink_d4a7ab07-f6ca-58a1-8498-e95009f41fae)
There I was, spinning round the dance floor, a head full of champagne – but not too much! – and Robbie Williams up on stage, only a few feet away, belting out ‘Rock DJ’ – or maybe it was ‘Let Me Entertain You’, I can’t quite remember, but it was mad to see him so near. Everyone was on the dance floor enjoying themselves. It’s past midnight and you look around and there’s P. Diddy, Elle Macpherson and Jade Jagger. You turn again and there’s Sharon and Kelly Osbourne. Then around again and there was David and Victoria and half the England team up on their feet, letting themselves go. Robbie sees us and shouts over to Wayne, ‘Eh, Wazza! Do you wanna come up and join us?!’ It was amazing.
Of all the fantastic parties and red-carpet events I’ve been fortunate enough to attend over the last few years, one of the very best was David and Victoria Beckham’s pre-2006 World Cup party. It was called the ‘Full Length and Fabulous’ party, and fabulous was the best way to describe it.
Normally, when I’m invited to events, such as the Elle Style Awards or The National Television Awards, I’m hopeless at organizing and leave everything to the last minute. Mainly because you can wear whatever you want. But for David and Victoria’s party you had to wear a full-length dress – something I’m not used to wearing because I’m only small – which meant I started planning weeks ahead.
