I Was Born for This(15)

‘Jimmy,’ he says. ‘Come on.’

‘Did you, though?’ I ask.

‘No. I swear. I would take a blood oath with one hand on your Bible if you had it with you.’

‘You’re literally the only one who could have taken it.’ I load up the photo on my laptop. ‘Look, we’re in my bedroom. It’s night-time.’

‘It could have been someone at a party—’

‘I wouldn’t be asleep if we had anyone else in our house. Obviously.’

Lister slumps back against the compartment wall. He actually looks a bit annoyed. ‘I can’t believe you think it’s me. I know I’m stupid but I’m not that stupid.’

‘You’ve done stuff like this before. The Twitter suitcases thing.’

I instantly regret mentioning it when Lister looks up at me, hurt.

‘I – that was an accident –’ he stammers. ‘And I’m still really, really, really sorry about that. I swear I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself—’

‘You seriously swear it wasn’t you?’

‘Jimmy, I swear. I think I’d remember sending a photo to a gossip website.’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s such a weird thing to do, why would I do that?’

Okay.

I think I do believe him.

‘Who else could’ve taken it, then?’ I look down at the photo. Whoever took it was literally standing right next to my bed, staring down at us. Lister leans forward and looks at it with me.

‘What if,’ he says, sitting back up and staring at me with wild eyes, ‘someone broke in?’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. It happens all the time to celebrities. Fans break in and just … spy on them. Take photos. Steal a couple of things, maybe. I’ve heard so many horror stories about K-pop band members where they got home and there’d be a fangirl hiding in their wardrobe or they’d wake up in the middle of the night and there’d just be a girl watching them from the other side of the room—’

‘Lister,’ says Rowan sharply without looking towards us, but it’s too late. My palms have started to sweat again. A fangirl, dying to know whether Jowan is real, sneaks into our apartment and hides, waiting for the proof that she desperately wants. And we hand it right to her after falling asleep midway through a Brooklyn Nine-Nine marathon. Next, she installs a camera in our bathroom, films us naked, posts it online. Then there’s a camera in our bedroom, which films us doing other stuff, personal stuff. Then she hides in my wardrobe, ready to step out and stab me in the neck –

‘Jimmy,’ says Lister, snapping his fingers in front of my face. ‘You’re spacing out.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not a big deal. You know what? I bet you just fell asleep when we were having a party and forgot about it and someone walked in and thought you looked cute.’

I don’t believe him.

All I can see is some girl waiting to kill me in a wardrobe.

Rowan continues to give Lister the silent treatment for the rest of the flight. He still thinks Lister took the photo.

The shipping itself isn’t a major inconvenience to any of us. If anything, it keeps the fans interested. They think Judgement Day will eventually come and there’ll be a big reveal that Rowan and I are secretly in love.

There won’t. We’re not.

I suppose sometimes it makes me feel a bit awkward. Knowing that a fair percentage of the people who come to meet us or see our concerts have probably read extremely explicit fanfiction about me and my best friend having sex. I got curious once and had a look at some of it, which was a mistake, because it just made me feel really uncomfortable.

But it doesn’t matter. They keep believing and we know the truth and keep on going. Nothing really changes and everyone is happy. So that’s fine.

Lister escaped most of the fanfiction stuff, somehow. He’s always been a bit separate from Rowan and me. Rowan and I are generally considered attractive, by magazines and blogs and stuff, but Lister is so lusted over that he’s been asked to model for Gucci four times. Rowan and I have been friends since we were seven, but we only met Lister when we were thirteen. Rowan and I wanted to start a band, and we forced Lister to be part of it at the last minute because he was the only kid we knew who could play the drums.

It’s always sort of been Rowan and Jimmy, plus Lister.

We still love him of course.

But that’s just the way it is.

When we land at Gatwick and start collecting our stuff together, Lister walks over to Rowan, perching on his table, and says, ‘Come on, Ro, you know I wouldn’t do something like that.’

Rowan shrugs and doesn’t meet Lister’s eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Lister stands up and wraps his arms round Rowan’s chest. ‘Ro Ro. Don’t be angry at me. I’ll do the washing-up for a week.’

Rowan can’t stop himself smiling. ‘There’s a higher chance of The Ark winning Best Country Artist than you doing the washing-up for a single day.’

Lister lets him go and smiles and, for the moment, all seems to be forgiven, but when Lister skips away to his own chair, I watch Rowan’s smile fade away into nothing.





‘And they’re giving you enough to eat?’ asks Dad.