I Was Born for This(67)

‘No,’ I say.

Lister grabs the window frame and sticks his head outside. ‘Jimmy, don’t! I was only joking about running away! I’m serious! This isn’t funny any more—’

I could go and find Angel. I could go and get Grandad’s knife back.

‘What about the contract?! And the recording?!’ Lister calls. He has to shout for me to hear him now. ‘We need to go back!’

I turn round and look at the near-empty car park. It’s silent apart from the pattering of the rain.

‘Where are you going?!’ he shouts at me.

Oh God, I could go anywhere.





Here’s a weird thing I think about in situations like this: What Would Jimmy Do?

Obviously I pray and stuff, like, to actual God, but often I find thinking about Jimmy is a bit more useful, because I can visualise his personality and imagine how exactly he might deal with this precise situation. Asking for help from Allah is all very well and usually does make me feel better but it doesn’t usually help me make any immediate decisions.

What would Jimmy do in this situation?

Would he go back and apologise to Juliet and be there for a friend who is clearly going through a rough time?

Or would he focus on the task at hand – returning Jimmy’s knife?

Except … the Jimmy in my head isn’t Jimmy, is it?

I don’t know what Jimmy would do at all because I don’t know anything about him.

God.

This isn’t helping, is it?

I keep thinking that maybe I imagined what happened yesterday.

Wouldn’t surprise me.

Maybe I’ve lost my mind a bit.

Maybe the monotony of my life has been getting to me.

‘So … are you coming back?’ Mac asks after I’ve been sitting there for a few minutes, going over both the options.

Juliet or Jimmy.

My best friend or The Ark.

‘I … don’t know,’ I say, my voice hoarse. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.

Mac sighs. He takes this as a no.

‘I’ll leave you to decide, then,’ he says. ‘I’m going back to Juliet.’

And he gets up and leaves.

As soon as he’s gone, I shine my phone torch into my rucksack so I can take another proper look at Jimmy’s knife.

I mean, it’s a good thing I took it. It would have got lost forever if I’d just left it. Someone would have found it and thrown it away, or sold it, or whatever. And it looks precious. It looks important to him. It’s got ‘Angelo L. Ricci’ engraved on the side.

Angelo. Sounds almost like Angel. Kind of funny, isn’t it?

It must have belonged to his grandad or great-grandad, or something. His Italian side is on his mum’s side, so it can’t have been his father’s. It looks older than that, anyway. It looks pretty antique.

I wonder how much it’s worth. Probably a lot, if it’s old.

I need to give it back to him. I’ll message him. I’ll tell him I have it.

I glance up at the departures board. I’ve got twelve minutes until my train home leaves.

Juliet or Jimmy?

It’s an obvious choice, right?

I need to talk to Juliet.

Jimmy will have to wait. I can message him on Twitter later. He’ll probably never see it anyway.

Juliet is the priority today.

I need to talk to her.

I need to repair the mess I’ve made.

I stand up, swinging my rucksack onto my back and taking my suitcase in one hand. I turn to start walking away to the door.

That’s when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I fish it out and look at the Twitter direct message on the screen.

Jimmy KagaRicci @jimmykagaricci

want my knife back. where can you meet me?





Jimmy KagaRicci @jimmykagaricci

want my knife back. where can you meet me?

Wasn’t hard to find Angel on Twitter.

I typed ‘The Ark Angel’ into the Twitter search bar, and then scrolled through the results until I found her – various tweets about coming to the concert, and a selfie of her and a few other girls at a pub tweeted a couple of days ago. She’s got a photo of me as her own display picture. Why do they do that? Why don’t they use their own face as their display picture?

Even her Twitter handle is ‘jimmysangels’. That doesn’t even make any sense.

I send the message with shaking fingers.

I don’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed. I mean, I should be. Messaging a fan and asking for my knife back. What’s happening to me?

God, I could do anything right now.

I’ve walked all the way across the car park and am now walking down the pavement next to a road. Up ahead are various hotels, mostly for the people who come to the studio to work, and a big restaurant area. And there, just outside a Nandos, is a taxi bay. With several taxis waiting inside.

Oh my God, I’m doing this.

My phone starts ringing. Rowan.

I click the reject button.

I start running towards the taxi bay. There are only a few people walking around. They won’t notice me. It’s fine.

I pull my hood up and over my forehead.

I’m going.

Oh God.

I’m running and grinning too. Is this happiness?