I Was Born for This(70)

As we’re forcing our way out of the crowd, Jimmy clutches onto my hoodie with one hand, like a scared toddler. Is this weird? Probably. I love him more than my own fucking life.

And then we’re free.

And that’s twice this week that I’ve saved people from being harassed because they’re famous.

What even is my life?





She appears in the crowd like I’ve conjured her out of the air.

Angel Rahimi.

She’s kind of lanky, with a thin, bony face. A small tuft of black hair shows just beneath her headscarf.

I’m too busy trying to remember how to breathe to pay attention to what she’s doing, but suddenly we’re out and walking fast through the station. She’s got one arm round my shoulders but it doesn’t feel constricting. Instead, it feels oddly comforting. Like she’s my mum or older sister.

‘Just … we’ll just keep going until we get somewhere quieter,’ she says, but I don’t think she has any more idea where we’re going than I do. People keep staring, and a couple of people snap photos. Can’t stop them. Can’t do anything.

She walks us all the way through the station until she ducks left into a shop and pulls me right to the back of the room.

‘I think we’ve lost them,’ she says, glancing behind her. Then she laughs. ‘Wow. I’ve always wanted to say that.’ She puts on an American accent. ‘I think we’ve lost ’em.’

Why am I holding on to her hoodie? I quickly drop my hand.

‘Thanks,’ I say, but it comes out all croaky and weird.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks. There’s genuine concern in her eyes. ‘That was pretty intense.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, but I’m not fine, not really. My heart is still racing and my hands are sweaty and shaky. Typical. Why am I like this? ‘Are … you okay?’

‘Dude, I’m fine.’ She shakes her head in amazement. She’s bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. ‘That was ridiculous, though. Why didn’t you bring a bodyguard with you?’

‘I …’

What the fuck have I done?

The contract. The recording. Rowan. Lister. I just up and left.

Angel holds up both of her hands. ‘Don’t worry, sorry, you don’t have to explain any of it. Like, I’m one to talk, aren’t I? I’m the most ridiculous person alive.’

She doesn’t give me time to say anything in response. She swings her bag off her shoulders and opens it up, then withdraws a jumper.

It’s in there. Oh, thank God. She’s got it. She wasn’t lying.

It’s not lost.

‘Probably best not to … get it out in the middle of a train station,’ she says, grinning, and then laughs at herself. ‘That sounded like a euphemism.’ She holds out the jumper. ‘Just … just keep the jumper. It’s old. I don’t need it.’

I cautiously take the jumper from her. I can feel the knife inside it. I can feel the exact shape of the handle.

Thank God.

‘Okay … I’ll … I’ll leave you alone now,’ she says, still smiling. She steps back slightly and slings her rucksack back on. ‘It was …’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I know this was probably very awkward for you but … I’m really happy that I got to meet you and talk to you.’

The sincerity in her voice is different to how the normal fans sound. It’s different from the screeching way they say our names, from the forced extremeness that they think that we changed their lives.

‘I’m really glad I got to help you,’ she says. ‘After all you’ve done to help me.’

‘I … haven’t done anything,’ I mutter.

‘You have,’ she says, smiling. ‘I promise you have.’

And then she nods and turns away.

And I find myself grabbing her hoodie sleeve again.

‘Wait,’ I say.

She turns back, confused. ‘Y-yes?’

‘Can you just … stay with me for a bit?’

‘Yes … yeah, sure …’ She stays very still. I drop my hand from her arm.

‘I … don’t want to be on my own,’ I say.

‘That’s okay,’ she says. ‘I hate being on my own too.’

We stand still for a moment.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ she asks.

I hug the jumper against my chest.

‘Not really,’ I say.

‘Could you … could you call someone?’

‘No,’ I say.

‘What do you want to do?’

What do I want to do?

And then it hits me.

Grandad.

‘I want to go home,’ I say.

‘Home?’

‘I want to go home.’

‘Like … like your apartment?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Home. My actual home. Where I grew up.’

‘Oh,’ she says, surprised. But then she’s nodding like it’s the best thing I’ve ever said. ‘Yes. Yeah. Of course. You should do that.’

‘Will you come with me?’

I ask the question before I’ve thought about it properly.