SO SAD IT WAS OVER

Laurie Graham THERE was only one thing more surprising to me than the fact that, aged 15, I acquired a boyfriend — and that was, aged 15-and-a-half, I lost him. Had the warning signs been there? How should I know? I’d never been ‘there’ before. His name was Barry but everyone called him Baz. He wasn’t particularly goodlooking or athletic or cool, but neither was I. He was the kind of boy you could comfortably take home to your parents. Mine liked Baz. They often told me so, not least after he’d dumped me. Baz and I enjoyed a blissful summer of picnics with pre- and post-prandial snogging. I’d try his surname on for size, doodling it in the margin of my log tables. Did I notice a cooling on his part? No, I can’t say that I did. The trouble with Baz was that he was basically a kind, considerate boy and ending a love affair requires a ruthless streak. He had already been eyeing my replacement — a much prettier girl called Colette. Everyone knew, except me, but how pityingly tactful they all were. It was the mid-Sixties. Nowadays, my humiliation would be all over social media like nettle rash. Yes, Baz and I were seeing less of each other. We had O-Levels looming. I thought we were just being sensible. What a dimwit. While I was studying, Baz was mugging up on how to get past first base with Colette. What happened next was so mortifying the memory of it still makes me want to bite my pillow. One of Baz’s mates asked me out. His proposal was so lukewarm any normally savvy girl would have smelled a rat. Instead, I said ‘but I’m Baz’s girlfriend’, and he blushed and shot an anxious glance across at the bike sheds where Baz was no doubt lurking, waiting to hear if he was off the hook. I did go on that date. The plan was to make Baz jealous. Ha! I sat through Carry On Cabby with a lead weight in my heart. Years later, I heard Baz married Colette. So he never did have to learn how to say, ‘It’s over.’