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,