Stacking shelves, I heard a tinkle of bells. Customer, I thought, as I hopped behind the cash register at my family’s corner shop.
In walked Pete Bridgeman, then 18 – like me.
It was 1990 and I’d always liked him coming to the shop.
I thought he was cute.
‘Anything else?’ I asked, feeling myself blush.
‘Just your number,’ he winked.
Cheeky!
We dated for two years after that, until – like a lot of young loves – it fizzled out.
Life went on. I married and had two sons, Nathan, now 23, and Christopher, 19.
I heard Pete married, too, and had a son, Carl, now 23.
But in November 2009, I plucked up the courage to send Pete a Facebook message.
I waited for a reply nervously, and…
