Chanelle Hayes - Baring My Heart (7 page)

That pretty much set our relationship in stone and, as anyone close to me will tell you, when I develop a grudge against someone, it goes deep.

From then on, it was all-out war between us. She made me cry several times and actually called me a bimbo in front of the whole class! That was a ridiculous accusation because I wore mainly jeans and vest tops to college and would never have
dreamed of turning up in a tiny skirt like some of the other girls in my year. I hated the whole trashy Paris Hilton look and thought Victoria’s style was much more sophisticated. But for some reason, because I liked to look after my appearance and always had nice make-up, manicured nails and a matching bag, this silly woman seemed to think I was some brain-dead slapper.

I never really got what her problem was. Especially as most people thought my worship of Posh was vaguely amusing. And you know what? Her blatant dislike of me only encouraged me to annoy her as much as I possibly could. So I’d try to copy as many of Victoria’s looks as possible, tearing out pictures from magazines and searching for similar clothes on the high street. I loved the way she’d make a simple jumper dress with a belt or a granddad shirt look so effortlessly cool.

And, as you’ll soon find out, my obsession with Posh was soon to hit a whole new level.

I
know I shouldn’t have let it get to me but my problems with my Spanish teacher at Greenhead tarnished my whole college experience. Before that, I had always been the teachers’ favourite at school, so this felt a bit like rejection. I hated it. I’ll also admit that, because this was such a brilliant college, I was only an average student there, which made me stop working as hard. I know it’s ridiculous and makes me sound very spoiled but I thought, ‘What’s the point in even staying here?’

After dropping out towards the end of my first term, I got a full-time job at a call centre with Halifax bank and was also waitressing at Oulton Hall Hotel, near Leeds. Hardly the road to academic glory that I had planned to pursue but at least I was earning decent money. My parents were obviously disappointed, as I’d worked so hard to earn a place at Greenhead, but they didn’t want me to be miserable either. And they perked up when I started my A Levels again at New College in Pontefract that September – which was a much better choice for me. For
starters, my Spanish teacher there, Lola, was absolutely lovely, so I happily got back into my studies.

That year, there was a major item on my to-do list: I was desperate to learn to drive and get my own car, so I could be more independent. My only way of doing this was to borrow the money from my parents, so I made a detailed financial plan, which I presented to Dad. I thought it was so grown up because it showed all my incomings and outgoings and how long it would take me to pay them back the £3,500 I’d estimated I needed. I gave him this sheet of A4 paper with all my mathematical scribblings on it and I’d written at the bottom:

How could he resist that? Even though I was generally such a pain in the arse, he got me the car, which was so sweet. Then I started driving lessons with this fantastic woman called Anne, who had the patience of a saint. But on the odd occasion my dad did take me out for a practice, we’d end up pulling over at the side of the road screaming at each other and then he’d drive us home. Still, I passed first time, so I can’t have been that bad.

Having my own car made life so much easier when I was going to and from college in Pontefract every day, plus juggling two part-time jobs at the same time – and I saved a fortune on bus fares! Overall, I was very happy at Pontefract but it was around this time when I realised that Nick and I were starting to drift apart. Don’t get me wrong, we still got on so well but our goals
in life were poles apart. He was drifting along, working as a lifeguard at a local pool, which was fine for him, but I felt he lacked drive. It sounds cruel and I don’t mean it to but I’ve always been headstrong and had lots of big aims and plans for the future. Ambition is one of the things I admire most in men – I think Simon Cowell should be everyone’s role model! It’s not that I fancy him (he’d be far too old for me) but I love the fact he came from a normal background and has got to the amazing heights he’s at now. It’s not about money either; the determination to succeed is what attracts me to someone. I just think Simon’s brilliant. I’d give my house to meet him!

Anyway, there was no big scene between Nick and me but, as I was looking ahead to my eighteenth birthday that November, it became clear that our two-year relationship was over. We’d booked a holiday to the Dominican Republic but, just before we were about to go, I backed out – even though it had cost us £1,000 each.

‘Nick,’ I said as we sat side by side on the couch. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

‘Er, yes, I guess I do.’

‘And that I’ll always love you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Well, I think I’ve grown to love you as my friend, rather than my boyfriend. Does that make sense?’

‘It does actually, yes.’

‘Do you hate me for saying it?’

‘Massively. I don’t think I’ll ever talk to you again.’

‘Are you being serious? Don’t wind me up, Nick.’

‘No, it’s OK, really. I’ve kind of been thinking the same thing.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yeah, I think we’ve just sort of moved on, haven’t we?’

‘So, for the record, are we splitting up?’

‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’

‘Well,’ I said and smiled, ‘can we be official best friends from now on then?’

‘Seeing as you put it so nicely, there’s nobody I’d rather be best mates with.’

And as he gave me a playful punch on the arm, that was it. We were through. Talk about the smoothest break-up in history. No blazing rows, no fighting over possessions, no tears. How civilised! If only my love life could always have been such a breeze.

Being single again not only allowed me to concentrate more on my studies but also on the other super-important thing in my life: Victoria Beckham! I think it’s fair to say that this was the year my Posh obsession went sky high.

I still made lots of effort to dress like her but the one thing that had always been difficult for me to copy was her long, luscious hair extensions because they were so ridiculously expensive. One time, I raided £2,000 from a savings account that Mum and Dad had set up for me, just to pay for some. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t over the moon when they found out the hard-earned cash they’d stashed away for my future had gone towards paying for some poor eastern-European girl’s cast-offs to weave into my own hair.

‘That was our little nest egg for you,’ said Mum sadly. ‘And now there’s nothing.’

God, I felt terrible. Sorry again, Mum and Dad!

However, there were no such hair challenges when Victoria very helpfully cut her hair short into a drastic bob. I was thrilled – this look was going to be a cinch to replicate! So I marched straight down to my hairdressers, saying, ‘Give me a Pob, please, right now!’

That haircut made me look even more like her and people on the street would often stop and do a double-take, especially if I was wearing big sunnies and my VB jeans. You can imagine how
ecstatic I was when people pointed out my likeness to her. It began happening frequently whenever I glammed up for a night out and I bloody loved it! I even started posing like her and pouting, which Zoe, Alison and co. thought was hilarious! Somebody telling me ‘You look like Victoria Beckham,’ was the ultimate compliment and always gave me a real high. It might seem daft now but so what? Who was I harming?

A lot of people have asked me over the years what I made of the whole Rebecca Loos scandal and how I could still hold the Beckhams up as role models after David reportedly cheated on Victoria while he was playing for Real Madrid in 2004. Well, I’ll admit I was mortified when all that came out but I flatly refused to believe it and would say to everyone, ‘No, Victoria’s denied it. Trust me, it didn’t happen.’

But whatever did or didn’t go on in Spain, that desperado Rebecca still makes me sick to this day. I remember a few years back, I was meant to be doing a shoot for the
Daily Star
and I heard that she was going to be there the same day doing some pictures. So I phoned in and said, ‘I’m not coming in – I refuse to be in the same studio as that tramp!’

While I stayed loyal to the Beckhams through and through, one thing still eluded me. I had never met Victoria and I knew I wouldn’t truly feel satisfied in life until I’d managed to arrange that little feat.

After putting her pop career to one side, Victoria had, by now, established herself as a designer and published a lovely glossy fashion book called
That Extra Half An Inch
. And when I heard she was going to be signing copies at Selfridges in London, it became my life’s mission to see her in the flesh once and for all.

I had to take the day off college for it and convinced my friend Jamila – who I’d met at Halifax – to come with me. We drove all the way down from Wakefield, which I remember was
particularly scary as it was the first time I’d driven to London since passing my test. Along with 3,000 other fans, we stood in this never-ending queue for hours but I’d have happily stood there for a week just to meet her. As we inched nearer and nearer to Victoria, I was so nervous I thought I was going to black out. I still remember it like it was yesterday – she was wearing a lovely black dress with black tights and stilettos, and was impossibly tiny. I recall thinking she looked like a little ant, albeit a very beautiful one! And contrary to what people always say about her being miserable and cold, she was smiling loads too and seemed very warm. As we finally reached the front of that queue, I basically turned to mush. I never normally get star-struck or lost for words but I just couldn’t think of anything to say. All words vanished from my head as she signed my copy of the book and I blurted out, ‘People say that I really look like you.’

What a cringe-worthy thing to say! But, to this day, I still can’t believe her reply. Looking up from the book and taking me in with her big brown eyes, she smiled and said, ‘Well, that’s a huge compliment to me.’

No effing way! To be told I was good looking by Victoria Beckham was literally the best thing anyone had ever said to me. It really was one of the greatest moments of my life. I went home on cloud nine and stayed up there for several days.

I know people thought I was a bit strange but my adulation of Victoria was all so innocent. Surely it’s no different to being a One Direction fan nowadays – although I never stalked Victoria or tried to break into her hotel room! But just in case you’re wondering, I do still love the Beckhams today. When I see cute pictures of David cuddling and kissing their toddler Harper, I totally melt. There simply can’t be any better father figure in the public eye. They do everything for their kids and they always have. Regardless of what people think of me and the choices I’ve
made in my life, those are exactly my values.

Overall, I have a lot to thank Posh for. If I hadn’t looked a bit like her, I would never have got any of the opportunities that later came my way. So Victoria, on the off-chance that you’re reading this, I’m eternally grateful to you!

Y
our 18th birthday is meant to be one of the most memorable occasions of your life, isn’t it? Well, in typical Chanelle style, mine didn’t quite go according to plan!

Mum and I had organised a huge party for loads of family and friends for the Saturday my big day fell on and she had even made me the same birthday cake Victoria Beckham once had, which was in the shape of a Muller Lite yoghurt pot with fruit on the side. On the Friday night, I’d been planning a quiet evening at home to prepare my liver but Rachel suggested we went for a quick drink in the pub after our shift at River Island finished. It really was only meant to be a swift one – we were still in our highly attractive uniforms, after all! We used to pop into this pub regularly after work and would always order a glass of Liebfraumilch. We thought we were so sophisticated – ha!

Even though I can’t stand the stuff now, we bought a whole bottle that evening and sat there getting really hammered. Later, we ended up going to the roughest club possible, in Dewsbury, called Frontier, and we just had the best night ever, dancing,
drinking and laughing. It was one of those unplanned occasions that just turns out all the better because it’s so spontaneous. But then, on my actual birthday the next day, we woke up at separate ends of my little single bed, with a greasy half-eaten cheeseburger lying next to my face on the pillow and Rachel cuddling the remnants of a kebab! We felt so unbelievably rough at my party. Everyone had made such a massive effort and there we were drinking lemonade. Oh dear.

Over the next few months, I got my head down at college and started a new part-time job in a bar called Tryst, in Wakefield. And one Saturday night, I experienced one of those real thunderbolt moments as I clapped eyes on the most gorgeous guy I’d seen in ages.

His name was Ian and he was tall, dark and unbelievably fit. But, boy, did he know it! He was one of those guys who worked the room with his eyes, knowing he could have any girl he liked. His brazen confidence (and buff body!) reeled me in straight away.

‘All right, gorgeous?’ he said, winking at me as I served him a drink. Bingo! ‘Has anyone ever told you that you look like Victoria Beckham? Except you’re more foxy!’ Double, triple bingo!

Funnily enough, I was wearing a pair of VB jeans, which I quickly pointed out.

‘Very nice,’ he said and nodded, checking out my bum.

By some small stroke of luck, Ian was mates with Rachel’s boyfriend, which provided the perfect excuse for us to be introduced.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ he said with a grin and I felt my face flush like some kid in the playground.

‘You too,’ I said, smiling back and praying that my hair hadn’t gone disgustingly flat in the heat of the bar.

‘What time does your shift finish?’ he asked. ‘Fancy joining us for a drink later?’

‘Mmm, fast worker!’ I thought. But he definitely liked me. Result!

‘Oh, I’m working until closing time,’ I said, silently cursing. ‘And I’d better get back to it or I’ll get the sack.’

‘Well, can I take your number?’ he asked. ‘Let’s hook up another time.’

I always try to act coyly when I first meet a guy I like but who was I kidding here? He was seriously hot and this was
butterflies-in-the-stomach
territory. I gave him my number and spent the rest of the night trying not to look at him every five seconds. Whenever I did catch his eye though, I felt a bit giddy.

‘When am I taking you for dinner then?’ he texted late that night.

Screw my rule about not wanting to seem too keen.

‘How about tomorrow?’ I replied.

He took me for a pizza and it felt like we’d known each other years. He was so charming and we didn’t stop laughing the entire time.

‘I think this could be the start of something good,’ he told me when he dropped me home. And before I had the chance to reply, he gave me a slow, lingering kiss, which quite literally left me breathless.

I floated off to sleep that night and, when I switched my phone on the next morning, a text beeped in. It said, ‘Thanks for the best night. You’re not only beautiful but loads of fun too. Can’t wait to see you again.’

From that moment on, we were inseparable and, though Rachel was quick to warn me that he was a bit of a player, I laughed it off.

‘Ian’s never been with a girl for more than a couple of weeks,’ she said. ‘So, please, be careful.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I assured her. ‘Thanks for your concern but he honestly doesn’t seem that type at all.’

Aged 23 to my 18, he was more mature than most guys I’d met and he didn’t mind when I announced that I was going to call him by his middle name, Spencer, instead of Ian – just because I liked it.

One weekend soon after, I was meant to be going away with Mum, Dad and David to Center Parcs but I spotted an opportunity that was too tempting to pass up.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I told them. ‘But I can’t get the time off from the call centre this weekend after all. And I’m so tired, I think I’m just going to crash here instead.’

They didn’t suspect a thing and merely said, ‘Behave yourself,’ as they left on Friday.

‘Of course,’ I said and laughed, as I secretly plotted my first evening at home with Spencer.

At the last minute, Becca, a really close friend I’d met while working at Cedar Court, begged me to have a quick drink with her because she was going off to South Africa the next day.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘But I can’t stay long. Spencer’s coming over tonight and I am beyond excited!’

When he arrived, I was putting on some make-up and he gave me a puzzled look.

‘Are we going out?’ he said. ‘I thought we were staying in?’

‘You’re staying here. I’m nipping out for a farewell drink with Becca but I’ll be back in an hour. Is that OK?’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll just watch TV, cook dinner and make myself at home.’

In the end, I stumbled in at 2am, blind drunk, which was really lame of me. Instead of the night of passion I’d envisaged, I conked out on the living-room floor, slurring, ‘I want to watch
Ice Age
,’ over and again. What an idiot!

I felt dreadful the next morning but Spencer was lovely about it, despite the ruined meal. With a sore head, I headed to work while Spencer stayed at home. And when I got back that evening, I was stunned to find that he’d cleaned the whole place from top to bottom and made me dinner again.

‘Are you for real?’ I asked him. ‘What’s the catch?’

‘Er, there isn’t one,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I just want to do everything I can to make you happy.’

Well, he was doing exactly that and I’m pleased to report that, on that particular evening, there was no drunken falling asleep, if you catch my drift!

This honeymoon period seemed to go on for ages and we never argued. I couldn’t see why I had been warned about his reputation because he spent every single night with me, or down at the bar while I was working. For one of the few times in my life, I felt truly content with Spencer and, what’s more, Mum and Dad thought he was great too.

‘I’ve never seen you smile or laugh as much as you do now,’ Mum said one day. ‘I think you might end up marrying Spencer.’

‘Do you reckon?’ I said and laughed. I’d never given marriage any thought at all but she wasn’t the only person to say this.

A little while later, Spencer sat me down and said, ‘Chanelle, I’ve something to tell you.’

‘What is it? Don’t tell me: I’m dumped.’

‘No! Shut up. Look, this is hard for me. I’ve never said it to any girl before. But I want you to know that, well, I love you. I want to spend my life with you. That’s all.’

My jaw must have dropped to the ground and I had no idea what to say.

‘Oh, Spencer, that’s really lovely but you don’t have to say it if you don’t mean it,’ I said, taking his hand.

‘I do mean it. I wouldn’t say it otherwise.’

He looked visibly hurt and I could tell he was waiting for me to tell him the same but I wasn’t ready to do that just yet. I thought I did love him but, after my awful experience with Scott, I had to wait a bit longer to be absolutely sure I wouldn’t get hurt again.

Early the next morning, he texted me: ‘Why didn’t you say you loved me back? I’m confused.’ It’d obviously really got to him. So I called Becca and filled her in.

‘Are you mad?’ she said. ‘What’s holding you back? He makes you laugh, you fancy him and he’s fun. He’s caring and thoughtful and your family adore him. Do you need your head testing, girl?’

She was right, of course. I had nothing to be worried about.

A few days later, I cooked him a candlelit meal and, before we sat down, put my arms around him. ‘I know I might not express it very well but this is just to tell you that I do love you.’

He hugged me and said, ‘That means the world to me, Chanelle. I’ll never forget it.’

It felt good for me to let go of the barriers I’d put up too.

After that, Spencer and I got into the habit of giving each other silly little presents. For instance, he was obsessed with brushing his teeth all the time so, every time I was in a bar or club, I’d buy him one of those little balls from the vending machine in the toilets, which contain a tiny toothbrush! It always amused him. He’d make me CDs of ‘our songs’ and he was forever bringing me Mars bars, which were my absolute favourite.

I know it probably all sounds a bit too perfect and I suppose we were one of those sickening loved-up couples that you’d roll your eyes at for canoodling on the bus. So that’s precisely why I was so staggered when it all went so horribly and painfully wrong.