Girl On Rewind

  The Ghost of Christmas Past doesn’t appear glowing softly at the foot of the bed. He reminds you of an office you once worked in, somewhere you haven’t thought about for years. He turns up to the sound of  David Bowie's Fashion.  Rod Stewart's Passion.  And he's called Dave.  That 19th December, I was twenty-one. I worked in an office. Dave was the accountant. He was twenty-six, tall, neatly parted light brown hair, a moustache I didn’t like. He’d asked me to see a band in the autumn and I’d said yes without really meaning it. I didn’t fancy him much — or maybe I did, but only because I wanted something to turn out right. I was single and a bit bruised. I had a habit of picking men who didn’t quite pick me back. Ian had messed me around for months. Steve cheated. By summer I’d started laughing again — nights out with friends, my first foreign holiday with the girls. I should have been confident. Instead, I was hopeful in the wrong directions. The office ...

  Friday 2 December 1977 Went to Josephine’s tonight with Andy and honestly, it felt magic . I don’t know how we managed it, but between us we only spent a fiver, and it was £1.50 each just to get in. Drinks must have been cheaper than I realised — I had two brandies, a whisky and orange, and then orange juice later on when I started to feel the warmth of it all. We didn’t need a taxi home either, which probably helped. But money aside, Josephine’s was like walking straight into another world. The lights were all soft purples and pinks, moving across the dance floor like they were alive. Everything shimmered — the walls, the floor, even the people. I kept catching sight of my dress in the mirrors: that blue one, the colour close to Pantone 646, the one with the floaty top layer that curves down just below my tummy. It swings when I dance, and under the club lights it looked almost silvery. I wore my silver locket too, and it kept brushing cool against my skin when I moved. The m...