I Was Born for This(61)

I’m not at our apartment. I’m in a hotel room by myself. Somewhere close by the O2. I lay there for a full minute, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to remember what I’d just been having a nightmare about, before recalling that it had been a dream about losing Grandad’s knife, and in actual fact that had also happened in real life, and I should probably just go back to sleep and never wake up ever again.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table. A text from Cecily telling me to wake up.

Today we sign our new contract.

I’m glad I’m not in my apartment, anyway. Not safe there. Anyone could come in and take a picture of me.

Here isn’t much better, though.

God.

I don’t want to do stuff like this any more.

Please.

I just want to stay in bed.

We never eat breakfast in hotels. Sometimes someone picks us up some food from somewhere, but we can’t eat in public places. Sometimes that means we just don’t eat.

By nine o’clock, we’re all in the car and on the road towards the TV studio, which isn’t technically that far away but driving through London is always a nightmare. Lister has a glass bottle of water in his hand and keeps holding it up to his forehead. Rowan keeps drifting off, his cheek pressed against the window. Outside, it’s raining.

Every time I remember about Grandad’s knife I get the strong urge to grab Lister’s glass bottle and smash it on the floor. Instead, I opt for digging my fingernails into my palm, which turns out to be a very bad idea when I remember that there’s a big cut in the middle of my hand.

Once Lister and Rowan are asleep, I slide up the shutter between our section of the car and the driver’s section. I take out my phone and dial Grandad’s number.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Grandad, it’s Jimmy.’

‘Jim-Bob! I didn’t expect you to call today. How are you doing?’

‘We’re in the car on the way to a TV thing … and then we’re signing our new contract.’

He chuckles. ‘Ah yes, the new contract. Are you excited?’

I wish I was.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘Did you have a good birthday yesterday?’ asks Grandad. ‘Did you do anything special? We’re going to have to celebrate the next time you come and visit your old grandad, you know!

‘Yeah …’ Oh yeah. It was my birthday yesterday. ‘Yeah, they … Lister and Rowan got me a cake and … everyone sang “Happy Birthday”.’

When am I going to get to visit Grandad next? Who knows when I’ll have my next day off? What if he dies before then? What if I’ve already seen him for the last time?

‘Lovely. I knew I could count on those boys to celebrate with you, even if you’re all very busy,’ says Grandad. ‘I’ve got your present all wrapped up on the kitchen table, ready for you to unwrap next time you’re down here.’

If I wasn’t in a car, I would run there right now.

‘I can’t wait,’ I whisper.

‘Everything else okay, boyo? Not feeling as down as you were on Tuesday?’

‘Grandad, I’ve—’

I start the sentence with the intention of telling him about his knife. But I can’t. I can’t admit that to him. Admit what a fucking useless, terrible, pathetic excuse for a grandson I am. I lost the one precious thing he gave me, the one thing I was going to keep for my entire life, just as he kept it for all of his. It was special. Important. And now it’s gone.

‘I’m feeling fine,’ I say, trying not to let my voice waver. ‘I’ve got to go now, though.’

‘Ah, very busy I see! Not to worry, lad. Give me a call at the weekend, won’t you?’

‘I will do. I love you.’

‘I love you too. Bye, now!’

‘Bye.’

I hang up and wipe my cheeks on my sleeve.





I get dressed, pack up my stuff and leave the house without saying goodbye.

Okay, I leave Dorothy a note saying thank you, but I say nothing to Juliet.

It’s not like we live near each other. It’s not like she’s going to talk to me online ever again. No use sticking around and making things awkward.

I’m not a big fan of facing things like this head on.

Would much rather just put it out of my mind and think about something else.

Friends come and go. Right? I’ve been through this already so many times before. Friends are good for a while, but eventually, you have to move on. ‘Best Friends Forever’ is an imaginary concept. No one can be friends forever.

Not with me, anyway.

Doesn’t matter.

It’s all good.

I’ve still got The Ark.

When I get home I can watch some of the videos people took at the concert.

Yeah.

Good.

I’m excited.

I’m happy.

I’ve got something to look forward to.

I put The Ark on my iPod once I get on the tube. Jimmy’s voice in my ears, singing to me. But the lyrics don’t sound like they used to. They sound like a cry for help.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, Dad, it’s me.’

‘Fereshteh! Oh good, I was hoping you’d call this morning. Your mother thought you were going to message us last night and obviously you didn’t so she barely slept and woke up so grumpy this morning—’