Welcome to My World

This book is for the people most important to me in life, the ones who matter the most and the ones who have loved and influenced me throughout my life and still do so today.

Two very special people who I love very much. Thank you for giving me the life I love and have loved, for the continuous love and support you have always given me and continue to give me.

Our Joe and Anthony

My mates, our kids, the lads! I love you and thanks for all our laughs.

Rosie

You are a very special little girl who has brought so much love and happiness into our family. We all love you x (A sister I thought I would never have.)

Wayne

My friend, my rock, my lover. I love you so much; you mean the world to me. Thanks for just being you!

This book isn’t an autobiography, I’m too young to write one of those. Instead it is the story of the last few years and all the experiences I’ve faced. It’s as much about my life as it is my love of fashion, style and beauty. And, of course, shopping! Hopefully I’ll be able to tell you what it’s really been like living in the spotlight while trying to stay true to myself and my background, and I’ll share some of what I’ve learned along the way. Since the hardback was published, my life has changed even more, so I’ve updated the story in chapter 21 with what’s happened since then, including my new, exciting wedding plans! It really has been every young girl’s dream come true.

Welcome to my world.

chapter one croxteth, baden-baden, monaco, cannes & st tropez

It’s the summer of 2006. England’s World Cup is over, and me and Wayne are aboard a yacht called The Willsea, spending a week sailing round the French Riviera. We flew in to France by private jet, then took a helicopter to Monaco before sailing to St Tropez, then on to Cannes.

After Germany, we just wanted to go somewhere and totally relax. Wayne likes Barbados, that’s his favourite holiday spot, but we’d been going there for the last two years and didn’t want to travel too far this time, and I wanted to try somewhere in Europe. At the football there had been loads of talk among the wives, girlfriends and players about chartering yachts, because doing this made it much easier to deal with the press attention – or so we thought – and that made our decision.

The Willsea is a 100-foot yacht, with four bedrooms for guests – two double rooms and two singles – all with en suite bathrooms. Upstairs there’s a dining room, a living room, a kitchen and another three bedrooms where the staff sleep – the captain, his right-hand man, the cook and two waiters. There are decks where you can sunbathe, eat or do whatever you want. Eight of us are on this trip: me, Wayne, my Auntie Tracy and Uncle Shaun, and two other couples who are friends of ours.

Wayne hates the sun, so when we go away he usually likes to stay in the shade, or he’ll go and watch DVDs. The weather has been amazing but he’s been quite good on this trip, and I think it’s because we’re with a group and it’s been really enjoyable going out with the others. It’s also been nice to have time to ourselves as well, just the two of us lying out in the sun. Of course, Wayne is putting on loads of sun cream to stop himself burning. Factor 40, I think.

It’s funny to talk about something being over because we’re still so young and things are just starting for both of us.

It’s been a relaxing break, which is a relief because the World Cup ended up being stressful. Wayne was gutted about losing, but I told him he’d just got to let it go, there was no point moping around. However, that’s easier said than done. For the first few days after he came back from Germany, Wayne was narky – well, he wasn’t narky exactly, but he was upset and he didn’t want to do anything. I told him that he should leave it behind, because he will have more World Cups coming up, and that one was over now.

It’s funny to talk about something being over because we’re still so young and things are just starting for both of us. We were only away for a week, but this holiday more than any other, and the weeks in Germany leading up to it, made me think about how much my life has changed over the last few years. Sometimes it’s easy to forget, but being away with friends and family makes you take so much more notice of everything – the good and the bad.

It was floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, not far from the beaches of St Tropez, only a couple of days away from going back home to Liverpool, that I decided to start writing this book. I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines. Because everyone I meet asks me the same question: What has it been like, going from that sixteen-year-old schoolgirl in the lower sixth at St John Bosco High School in Croxteth to the amazing life I’m fortunate to live now? ‘That must be an unbelievable feeling,’ they say. ‘What does that big change feel like?’

That’s what I’m always asked, and I have never really answered before. Not what it’s honestly been like. Not how it feels deep down to be this ordinary Liverpool girl who, all of a sudden, found myself in the spotlight. Then living this dream, because sometimes it still feels like a dream: appearing in magazines like Vogue and Marie Claire; waking up to find myself on the front page of the Sun and the Daily Mirror because the day before I’d been out shopping (shopping!); the paparazzi following my every move; columnists from all the different nationals talking about me like they know me. It’s a good and bad dream, with the good thankfully outweighing the rest.

I wanted to put down on paper what the last four years have really been like – never mind what you read in the newspapers and the pages of magazines.

This book starts on holiday, after the World Cup in Germany and Baden-Baden, because for the previous month or so it had felt like the so-called WAGs, including me, had been in the newspapers every day, and the life I’d been living for the past four years, all the brilliant things that had happened, had been squeezed into just a few weeks.

Germany had been crazy. All the press attention surrounding the WAGs was unbelievable. The WAGs? I don’t even like that label and here I am using it. That’s the power of the media. I don’t know which newspaper came up with the name in the beginning but it just seems to me like a sneery way of describing all the England footballers’ wives and partners. So, from here on in, this is a WAG-free zone! Anyway, back to Germany…People said afterwards that we must be pleased because of the amount of coverage we got, but none of us ever asked for it. Admittedly, some of the girls enjoyed it, but others didn’t. I don’t know…it was such a weird one, but I don’t think we deserved that much attention. The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars. They said there were divides, that there was a competition to see how many column inches each of us could get. Fair enough, some were more interested in that kind of thing than others, but there were never any problems between the girls. Loads of the wives and girlfriends have got kids, so that hinders everyone from all going out together at once.

The fact is, like in any walk of life, you get on better with some people than you do with others. I get on well with Steven Gerrard’s wife, Alex, and I think that’s because we both come from Liverpool and we have loads in common – but it’s also because the first time I ever went away with England, before the Euros in Portugal in 2004, she was the first girlfriend I met properly and got on well with. I’m friends with Jamie Carragher’s wife, Nicola, as well, who’s also from Liverpool.

The newspapers went over the top, following our every move, detailing how much we were spending, how much we were drinking, the fashion wars.

Who else did I get on with? Elen, Frank Lampard’s girlfriend, I got on really well with her. They’ve got a little girl, but she had a nanny so Elen could do a lot more than some of the other mothers. Elen is Spanish but also speaks fluent English – however, sometimes she didn’t understand everyone’s accents and just laughed at us.

Then there was Cheryl. Cheryl Tweedy (well, it’s Cheryl Cole now). I’d met her at another match a while back but this was her first trip away with the team. A few months before, I’d actually been to see Girls Aloud perform in Manchester and she’d invited us – me, my friend and my cousin – backstage afterwards. She’s so funny and has a great sense of humour.

The first time I met Cheryl we were in a box watching one of the England matches. There was me, Victoria Beckham, Paul Robinson’s wife Rebecca, and then Cheryl came in all on her own. Victoria saw her and asked her to come and sit with us. People don’t appreciate how hard it is to go to a match for the first time when everyone’s in little groups and seems to know one other. It’s intimidating.

Before the Euros in Portugal in 2004 we had all gone to La Manga in Spain for the build-up to the tournament. I was seventeen years old, and I hadn’t flown out with the rest of the wives and girlfriends because I’d had to stay behind in Liverpool to sit my AS exams. So when I arrived Wayne met me at the hotel, helped me take my stuff up to the room and then we went down to the pool. I’d never met any of the girls before, didn’t know who anyone was, and Wayne turned round and said, ‘Oh, I’m going off to play golf now.’ I didn’t know anyone, so I said, ‘You can’t do that!’ So Wayne pointed to a group of people lying round the swimming pool and said, ‘’Ere y’are, go and sit with them over there.’

There were two girls with their boyfriends: one of the couples was the Chelsea footballer Wayne Bridge and his girlfriend, and the other was Everton’s James Beattie and his partner. My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say. I didn’t even know their names. I ended up asking stuff like what day had they turned up at the hotel, even though I knew exactly when they’d arrived – with everyone else! So it’s hard when you’re the new girl.

My Wayne went off to play golf for hours and I went over to sit with these people without having a clue what to say.

During the World Cup the newspapers made out Cheryl didn’t mix with the rest of us and she and Victoria hung out on their own together all the time, but that wasn’t the way it was. She might not have come out in the evening all the time but we met up and went out for lunch and she’s a lovely girl. Victoria was criticized in the same way. There were headlines saying how she never mixed with anyone. But she was with us in the hotel, and travelled on the coach to matches with us all and the families. We had a great dinner one night, when my best friend Claire came along, but the press don’t really want to report that kind of thing. It makes a better story to say there were divisions in the camp.

After the World Cup was all over, the newspapers used us, the wives and girlfriends, as an excuse as to why the team didn’t get any further. But that’s all it was, an excuse. If England had won the World Cup they would have said that having the wives and girlfriends over in Germany was a good thing. But, let’s be honest, the families haven’t been allowed to travel with the England team in the past and I can understand if it’s true that the FA will not in future be making official arrangements for the girls. But before we start blaming anyone, let’s be clear. We’ve only won the World Cup once and that was in 1966 when we had home advantage. Why were we in the papers so much? It’s not that we asked for the attention. If you think about it this was the first World Cup played out in the digital age and the era of celeb-obsessed media. It was a European tournament, only two hours ahead of England, and the photographers with their state-of-the-art technology had no problems meeting their editors’ deadlines. From day one, the newspapers decided we were the other story and were going to turn us into headline news whether we liked it or not. As far as the press were concerned the girls were seen as fair game for criticism and sometimes ridicule, and, in the end, easy to blame for England failing to win the tournament.

On the day of what turned out to be England’s final match, against Portugal, we had to get up really early in the morning. Everyone was excited, because the further we went in the tournament the more exciting it got. Especially now we were against Portugal, who’d knocked England out in the 2004 European Championship. Everyone was saying that we’d get our revenge and win this one. There was me and Claire, my dad, my granddad, my elder brother Joe, my youngest brother Anthony and my cousin Shaun. We’d taken a vote among the families and decided to go by coach rather than plane. It was about five or six hours to travel from our hotel in Baden-Baden to the ground in Stuttgart.

I remember things that have happened to me – days out, nights on the town, events I’ve been to, work contracts, modelling shoots – by the clothes I was wearing. In general I’ve got a terrible memory, but show me a photograph of myself and I’ll immediately be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing. It’s weird, but I’ve always been like that.

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges. I remember not wanting to wear jeans, as I’d done at previous games, just because it was too hot. However, I didn’t travel in those clothes, I went in a Juicy tracksuit. Quite a few of the girls had jogging bottoms on because it was such a long journey to the ground. I know the newspapers said there was competition between the girls as to who could wear the most designer labels but it really wasn’t like that. That’s not to say you don’t check out what everyone else is wearing. That’s only natural. It’s the kind of thing you do automatically if a girl’s wearing something nice or interesting. Well, I do. Wayne tells me off all the time about it. And my mum too. When I was younger she used to say that one of these days I would get a smack! But I don’t do it in a horrible way. I’m just interested in fashion. Wayne says that if we’re in a restaurant and someone’s wearing something I like, I just look and keep looking for ages. He will be talking to me and I’ll ignore him until he starts moaning at me to stop staring!

On the day of the Portugal match it was roasting. I had on this little grey jacket over a vest from one of the high-street stores, black denim shorts and Marc Jacobs wedges.

Me and Wayne have this ritual. He always calls me when he’s on the coach on the way to the game. I just say good luck and what have you, and that’s it. I know before the World Cup there was all this talk about whether he’d be fit enough to play, but Wayne was desperate to make it to Germany and there was never any doubt in his mind that he would go. He just loves playing football. Even in our hotel in Baden-Baden, Wayne would come over for a few hours and he’d be playing football in the room and the corridors with my brother Anthony. They’d both be kicking a ball about, and I’d be saying, ‘Come on lads, don’t you ever stop!’ Luckily they didn’t break anything. They were like big kids. So you can imagine what he felt like, what we all felt like, when he was sent off in the Portugal match.

With me in the stand that day was Claire, my best friend and Wayne’s cousin, my dad, my granddad and my younger brother Anthony sitting together, then my other brother, Joe, with my cousin sat further down with Wayne’s mum and dad, his brother John and Wayne’s Uncle Eugene. To be honest, I never saw what actually happened. I’d seen Wayne go over and confront someone and when he does that I get nervous. I watch other people on the football pitch having a go at each other and, much like everyone else, I think it’s good entertainment, but when Wayne’s doing it I hate it. I was saying to myself, ‘Oh, Wayne, pack it in. Don’t.’ Then the referee calls him over, and I saw him reaching inside his pocket and I thought, ‘Oh, he’s getting a yellow card.’ But then when a red got pulled out the whole stadium just went silent. The place was packed with England fans. All silent. Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee. And I just sat there not knowing what to do.

I could feel everyone looking at me. My dad enjoys a match but he’s not the type to get worked up over football, but I heard him screaming, ‘Heeey!’ Everyone was jeering Ronaldo. Even then I still didn’t know what had gone on, so I couldn’t say anything.

Then the odd one started shouting, then more, until everyone, the whole ground, seemed to be full of England fans booing and having a go at the referee.

Wayne had been sent off and there were all these people asking if I was all right, and I was just saying, ‘Yeah.’ That was all I could say. I was in shock really. All I could think about was that Wayne was going to be devastated. He was going to be gutted. I’d seen him kick some hoarding or the bench or something, and I just thought, ‘Oh no.’

Afterwards there were pictures of me in tears all over the newspapers. I was upset, but I never properly cried. I filled up because you just get this horrible feeling inside you. There were people around me crying, saying it wasn’t Wayne’s fault, that it shouldn’t have been a red card. Cheryl Cole ran down to me and said, ‘Just don’t worry about it, it weren’t his fault.’

Everyone was mad at Ronaldo. Phones were going off all around me with messages coming in. I received a text from a friend of mine saying that Ronaldo had just winked at his manager, but at the time I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t have a clue. Then, of course, the match went to penalties and when the team lost you just realized that it was five or six hours back to the hotel on the coach, knowing you’re going home and our World Cup was all over. You just think, ‘What are the lads feeling now?’ Wayne phoned me and said everyone was gutted and upset. Ronaldo? Like Wayne said. On the day, they were playing on different teams. They play together for Man United but for those 90 minutes they were internationals representing their countries in the World Cup Finals so both were going to do whatever they could to win. Afterwards the press tried to make out there was a problem between the two of them, but they were texting each other straight after the game.

After England went out of the tournament, me and Wayne flew back to Liverpool. The paparazzi followed us everywhere. We went straight to my mum’s house in Croxteth, and because the press know we’re either going to be there or at our own house in Cheshire they were sitting outside waiting. We spent a few days at home, then packed to go on holiday. This time around I’d already had most of my stuff ready and washed at the hotel because I knew it was going to be a quick thing coming home and going away before Wayne had to be back at Manchester United for pre-season training. Honestly, usually I’m terrible at packing, leaving it all to the night before. Normally I’ll get my mum to help and she’ll be the one saying, ‘Do you really need that pair of Lanvin leopard-print shoes?’ Otherwise I’d end up taking everything. Not that I didn’t try to take everything! There were eight of us flying on the jet and the helicopter, and we were limited to one suitcase each, but me and Wayne had the biggest cases!

It’s no secret that I like my clothes, and there have been stories in the past about how many bikinis I own.

If I was going away for two weeks then I’d probably take more than fourteen bikinis, but some of those might be ones I’d bought the year before.

We were only in France for a week, but I brought about twelve bikinis with me. I always buy Missoni bikinis – I love their colours and details. Topshop do great bikinis, George at Asda have a lovely range too and then there’s always Juicy. That year I had a big thing for sunglasses. I bought loads of pairs – Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Dior – I never thought I’d like the fashion for bigger frames but the Dior ones look nice on me, and Fendi, the aviators. I bought them in a tan colour just as the summer was starting. Kate Moss had the same ones. Great minds think alike, eh! Then I got another pair in dark brown because I wore them all the time.

With the bikinis, like any girl, I do think about my body and I’m always aware of the paparazzi.

On holiday I tried not to think about them but, to be honest, I hadn’t been one hundred per cent happy with the shape I was in and I didn’t think I was looking my best.

While we were in Germany I hadn’t been eating healthily or going to the gym. There’d be loads of carbs: potatoes and pasta with sauces. There wasn’t that much to do, so we’d go out to lunch and have a glass of wine and then go out for an evening meal really late at night. My eating hadn’t been normal for a while, but at the end of the day the important thing was getting away and relaxing with Wayne.

It was a great holiday. The idea was to sail around the south of France and drop in on places like Cannes and St Tropez and other ports along the way. One day we’d be in Monaco dancing at Jimmyz nightclub, the next we’d be in a bar in St Tropez watching France and Italy in the World Cup Final. Then we’d sail out to sea to sunbathe or maybe fool around on the jet-skis. We went to outdoor restaurants where the trees were full of fairy lights, really lovely, then clubs like VIP in St Tropez and beach bars like Nikki Beach where magnums of champagne are going round and everyone’s dancing until the early hours. We arrived in Cannes on Bastille Day and ate out under the stars at a private table at the end of a jetty in the harbour, while the most amazing firework display you could ever imagine, thousands of rockets, went off above our heads.