Liam and I met in the scorching summer of '98. Scorching in Ibiza, I should say; I'm sure it was as drab and grey in England as at any other time of the year. Having had a taste of the hedonistic high-life the previous year, I was back on The White Isle for a second season of shenanigans. At that time I was 22, single, and free as a bird - my only concern being earning enough pesetas to secure my entry to the best nightclubs and sink several "wodka con lima." My mate Kez and I would return to our apartment at dawn before scuttling off to work at an after-party bar in San Antonio. The party never stopped.
One evening, I was working as a PR or 'prop' outside Charlie's Bar, coaxing passing holidaymakers into the bar with the promise of free schnapps shots, when a young guy with chiselled cheekbones and an unusually defined cupids bow sauntered up to me. Ready for the usual cheesy chat-up patter, I was all ready to shrug off his advances, but instead of the regular lines I was used to, he introduced himself as Liam and started talking about a few friends we had in common. A fresh change from the norm, we chatted animatedly for a while, whilst I drank in his good looks and assessed his character. I sold him some tickets for Amnesia later that evening and off he went, whilst I continued working.
Several hours passed, and suddenly Liam reappeared at the bar, explaining that his friend had got a tad intoxicated and was back at the apartment, unfit for a night's clubbing. Would I like to go with him instead? he asked shyly. Although I had guest list for the club and didn't need the ticket, I readily agreed and off we went to dance til dawn. It was one of those nights where everything just slots perfectly into place: we went to the front of the queue with my guest list connections, breezed in for free, were ushered up to the VIP bar, met lots of fun people and generally had an amazing time, laughing and dancing to the intoxicating Balearic beats, loud house music pumping, heavy bass reverberating in our chests.
As the sun came up, we stumbled out of the club, blinking in the daylight, buzzing from a fantastic night. Not wanting the night to end, Liam came back to my flat and we stayed up all day, listening to music and chatting about everything and anything we could think of, my flatmates coming and going and saying hi. There were no awkward silences, no pauses for breath, it was like we had so much to say to each other, there was no time to waste.
By the evening we were exhausted, and Liam went back to his apartment, where his mate was waiting, furious to have been passed over for a girl. Things were a tad frosty between the two of them after that, and Liam and I spent the rest of his holiday together, parting tearfully when it was time for him to leave.
Back in England, Liam would write to me and even sent me a few books he thought I'd appreciate. I'd look at the photos we'd taken together and long to be reunited with him once more. He lived in Essex, me in Kent, so it was only an hour's drive, once I returned to the UK at the end of the summer season.
The last month of the season passed slowly, the shine having gone from Ibiza for me now that my heart was back in England. Within 6 weeks of our meeting, I was packing my suitcase and locking my apartment door for the last time, excited to be going home. It was early October.
The second my flight touched down at Gatwick, Liam was en route to my parents' house in Bexley, so desperate were we to see each other again.
And that was it. We vowed that we would never be apart again.
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