Adele’s bestie Laura Dockrill on the relatable agony of teen love
She’s besties with Adele and she’s married to a rock star – but Laura Dockrill’s story of insecurity, love and “the one that got away” is something we can all relate to.
Books
Don't miss out on the headlines from Books. Followed categories will be added to My News.
Imagine you’re in love with your best friend.
Secretly, obviously, because you’re an anxious, insecure teenager, so you longingly pine in silence.
You know everything about this person; how they take their tea. How they brush their teeth. The sound of their breath when they sleep. Their laugh – like liquid gold. How they smell – washing powder, faintly of cigarettes, fresh air (big trees and dirt), escape and adventure. How their bobbly socks look close-up, in real life. The shape of their teeth. Their favourite song. What they’d order from a menu. What their bedroom looks like.
It’s first love and it’s a lot.
Now imagine you and that person no longer speak. For hours, days – at first – but the stubborn silence rolls into weeks, months; before you know it, years pass.
And then, imagine – that person gets a little bit famous.
Let’s be real, I never saw myself writing a love story. I left that to fairy tales and Backstreet Boys songs. Until I accidentally became the lead in my own romance and the world as I knew it turned upside-down.
I was a 14-year-old chubby grunger caught in a rainstorm, when I met the friend of a lifetime; Hugo. We grew up side by side, like Geminis, sat back-to-back sharing a headphone. We’d wait for the night bus in the rain together, except I never wanted the bus to come just so I could shiver on the dark road beside him for longer. We would speak every night on the phone for hours, the landline was a lifeline.
Hugo told me he liked me early on but I, so insecure, laughed it off – no, he couldn’t possibly mean me – so cramping was my poor self-esteem at this raw, teenage, crushing age, I laughed it off and, I’m ashamed to say, set him up with one of my friends. I would regret that choice for a very long time. Still, we settled into our role of ‘Best Friends’ and denial very nicely. Comfy, cosy, safe. We wrote letters and sent mix tapes: letters I’d spray with perfume.
We had a secret handshake. I’d hold on – for my life – to the back of his BMX as we cruised the South London backstreets, (me wearing my skateboard-brand trainers that had never touched the grip paper of a skateboard) even now, when I hear bike tyres on the street I get tingles. We kissed each other’s mates – even though every time he did was an arrow to my soft heart.
The whole world knew that I was truly, madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with him: my friends knew it, my family knew it. My cats probably knew it.
He must’ve known it.
But somehow it took me five whole years to understand that these strange feelings that made my heart soar, my hairs stand on end, my tummy fizz with a kaleidoscope of butterflies, was love. I knew he was the one for me in my bones, like how one knows milk is off. So it was only fair to make him aware of this fact. Aged 19, I find myself courageously saying the words ‘I love you’ to him out loud. Unfortunately, when this overdue event took place, I was drunk, happened to be in a shower and wearing a bikini for the first time in my entire life. Don’t ask.
But, it turns out, my confession was a big shock. Hugo was utterly unprepared. He had no idea of my feelings towards him whatsoever. He didn’t know what to say. In fact: he said nothing at all.
It would be the last time I would be alone with him for over ten years.
Hugo went on to tour the world and meanwhile, my miniature world remained still – stuck, local. It felt like everyone knew the music of the one person I had the phone number of, and yet, couldn’t pick up the phone to call. I thought of him all the time, did he ever think about me? Until, one day, just like that, he suggests we meet for coffee.
I don’t want to give too much away but I will say that as I write this very piece, I’m interrupted with a soft knock on my office door; it’s a very appreciated hot cup of tea from my husband, he’s just returned from walking our little boy to school.
‘What are you writing?’ Hugo asks.
‘About us.’ I reply.
He smiles and says, ‘that’s nice.’ And closes the door behind him.
The critically-acclaimed I Love You, I Love You, I Love You by Laura Dockrill is out now, published by HQ Fiction. Tell us what you think – and share your own tales of love lost and love found – at The Sunday Book Club group on Facebook.
Originally published as Adele’s bestie Laura Dockrill on the relatable agony of teen love
‘Rows of cardboard cartons, in each one a small baby’
How nurse Vivian Bullwinkel survived one of World War II’s most horrific events is a remarkable Australian story. Less well-known is that she headed back into a war zone three decades later, as Grantlee Kieza relates in this extract from Sister Viv.
How Shane Watson fixed his focus – and his game
Cricket legend Shane Watson turned his own game around by changing his mental approach. In The Winner’s Mindset he reveals how to change your own life – a timely read as Australians settle in for the Boxing Day Test.