I Was Born for This(26)

How could someone have broken in and taken that photo while we were actually in the flat? Months ago? We have an alarm, we have secure windows and doors. Remind me to pay someone to install CCTV as soon as possible.

I try to put it all out of my mind and I have a shower. I wash all the hairspray out of my hair, still there from last night’s performance. I wash off all the aeroplane sweat and the crusty remnants of foundation from my face. I brush my teeth and clean my ears and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I inject my weekly testosterone into my thigh and stick on a plaster that has Dennis the Menace on it – a present from Grandad. I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and sit down on the edge of the bath for a few minutes. The bathroom light keeps going off every few seconds, leaving me in the dark.

Turns out it’s only 6.30 p.m. by the time I’m out of the shower, which I at first think is a good thing – an entire evening to do what I want, aka sleep – but then Lister says, ‘Guess I’ll invite some people round, then.’

I’ve changed into pyjamas and am making a cup of tea, Rowan has not moved from the sofa he collapsed onto half an hour ago, and Lister has taken all his clothes off bar his boxers, laid down on the rug, and is eating a packet of Monster Munch.

‘Fuck off,’ I mumble. ‘You’re not inviting people round.’

‘Bliss is coming round, though.’

‘That’s different. Bliss is Rowan’s girlfriend.’

‘It’ll only be a few people.’

I bring my cup of tea over to the sofas and sit down. ‘I thought you wanted to rest?’

Lister rolls over towards me. ‘This is resting.’

‘You just wanna get drunk.’

Lister blinks. ‘Well, yeah, pretty much.’

Before we got famous, Lister showed little sign of being into the party lifestyle, beyond being mildly disruptive at school. But as soon as we started making money Lister’s love for the finer things reared its head. He started throwing lavish parties. Buying expensive cars and designer clothes. Hooking up with people left, right and centre. And drinking lots and lots of alcohol.

‘Just do it by yourself,’ I say.

‘Jimmyyyyyy.’ Lister starts stroking my leg. ‘Why are you so grumpy all the time?’

‘Can’t you throw parties when I’m not here?’

‘Why do you hate parties so much?’

Because I am a neurotic, highly anxious and unsociable boy with very serious trust issues and a low tolerance for personal space invasion. And I have had a really awful day.

‘I just do.’

‘I’ll hire security.’

‘You’d better.’

Lister stares at me for a moment, and then turns to Rowan. ‘Any objections, Rowan?’

‘Yes,’ says Rowan, but doesn’t say anything else.

‘Right, then. I’m calling everyone.’

The number of people who know where our apartment is causes me a very large amount of concern daily. We don’t get people knocking at our door, thankfully – one of the benefits of living in a posh apartment block with decent security – but most gossip magazines and blogs know. A strong percentage of fans know. And a lot of celebrities know, mainly because of Lister’s parties.

Lister Bird knows everyone. Literally. Lister knows musicians and singers and rappers and bands. Lister knows producers and models and actors and the aristocracy. Not that he particularly goes seeking it. Everyone just wants to be friends with Lister Bird.

They want to be friends with me too, but it’s not like I’m gonna let that happen, am I?

‘Everyone’, as Lister usually refers to it, turns out to be around fifty people. Our apartment goes from haven to club in approximately two hours. Lister gets the Bluetooth speakers working and puts on a playlist. By 7.30 p.m., Lister is buzzing people in every five minutes, and by 9 p.m., our apartment is unrecognisable. The first time this happened, I had someone fit a lock on my bedroom door the next day.

‘You should have told him no,’ says Rowan. We’re sitting on a sofa in the living room again, but there are about thirty other people in here too, drinking and laughing.

‘I did,’ I say.

Rowan sighs, and then looks at me. ‘We could just go and sit in my room, if you want? Play some Splatoon?’

I shake my head. ‘People will wonder where we are.’

‘Oh, who cares?’

I wish I didn’t care.

‘When’s Bliss coming?’ I ask.

Rowan sinks back into the cushions. ‘Should be here soon, I think.’ He pauses. ‘I told her not to come, what with all these people around. But you know what she’s like.’ He puts on a voice. “You already invited me round, and if Lister can fucking invite fifty fucking people round your fucking house, I can fucking come round whenever I fucking like!”

I laugh. ‘I miss Bliss.’

‘Me too.’

I keep seeing people walk past and sneak a look at us. A lot more than normal.

‘I think I might call her, actually,’ says Rowan. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and stands up. ‘She said she’d be here half an hour ago.’

He walks away from me and starts talking to Bliss, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. His expression quickly drops and gets annoyed, as it often does when talking to his girlfriend.