Friday 7 April 1978 – The One Who Waited Too Long
Robbie dressed with intent – cropped punkish hair, ripped stonewashed jeans, and a faded Carnaby Street patterned shirt half-tucked into an old army surplus jacket. John Player Specials in the top pocket. A line of eyeliner he’d deny if asked.
Julie-Anne had called. Suggested a walk. He imagined a kiss. Maybe a hand-hold. Maybe everything they had to say had been said over the last 18 months. There’s a lot of growing to do from 14 to 16.
They’d been sweet on each other. Once.
It was their party, but Robbie had vanished.
Kizzy was left stringing posters across the playroom, pulling Rod Stewart off her bedroom wall, Led Zeppelin from her brother’s, and placing a David Cassidy centrepiece above the record player. Robbie was on a mission: to find the perfect cardigan. Not just any cardigan—a Starsky-style cardigan, long enough to hang like confidence. He’d seen it in the Radio Times and now believed it would unlock something in Julie-Anne.
He was fifteen. She was fourteen-and-a-half. He was trying on identities, much like outfits. That Easter, it was Rod Stewart with a hint of David Soul. A scarf knotted like a woolly medallion. A cheese-patterned shirt tucked into his Supertramp trousers.
Julie-Anne arrived wearing a beachy maxi dress and plaits around her forehead. Her hair was golden, and her eyes were observant.
“Very Paul Michael Glasier,” she said. “But he can’t sing.”
Kizzy pulled Robbie aside, whispering harsh truths. “Feign lack of interest, and she won’t be interested. She knows you fancy her. Everyone knows. Just go.”
He didn’t. Not at first. When he looked up, Ed from school was already at Julie-Anne’s elbow, coaxing her to dance without even making eye contact. Robbie opened a can of beer and hoped for courage.
Then came the soft toy apocalypse. Someone raided the cupboard and hurled Kizzy’s childhood back into the party. Bears, ducks, and rabbits are flying overhead. Robbie joined in. His teddy—a massive one named after a character in Play School—landed squarely on Julie-Anne.
Right in the face.
Her eyes watered. But she smiled.
Later, during Dr Hook’s slow set, David tried his luck. Julie-Anne looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Robbie.
David gave up. “She wants to dance with you. She won’t even tell me where she lives.”
Kizzy declared the party a success. Robbie had made a start.
That night, Robbie couldn’t sleep. So he wrote a letter. A long one.
The next morning, he cycled across town and posted it through Julie-Anne’s letterbox.
That afternoon, the phone rang.
“David’s been calling all morning,” she said. “I told Mum to say I was out. I liked your letter. I couldn’t ignore that.”
They spoke for hours. Planned to see Jaws. Agreed to queue for two hours if necessary. Talked about teddy bears and photobooths. Bought a Roger Dean poster together. He walked her to the bus. No kiss. But her smile lingered.
The next morning: snow.
Sledges. Laughter. Snow in hair. Julie-Anne was dropped off by her dad, collected by the season. They rolled and giggled, walking home like a couple not yet named. Kizzy liked her. Robbie felt like he was learning a new language.
They had drifted apart over the last six months. Since returning to school that academic year Robbie had developed an edge. An unnverving, unsettled streak that Julie-Anne didn’t want to match. She felt comfortable with who she was and where she was.
They met under a streetlamp. She wore a parka and carried a worksheet and Polos.
They walked.
He joked about their history teacher. She didn’t laugh. He brought up Wuthering Heights (“the song, not the book”). She blinked. He asked about her rabbit. She smiled faintly.
It didn’t land.
They said goodbye. A flame flickered and went out.
2028 — Robbie (Voiceover):
“Julie-Anne was safe and sweet and a first love – almost. But by Easter ’78 we’d decouple, I was drifting, fragmenting, changing. She wasn’t. She was just the same.”
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