I Was Born for This(75)

He starts offering comforting words, nothing of any real substance. I don’t really know what to do, so some time in the midst of this, I slip out of the room and go and sit in the living room. Doesn’t feel right for me to be in there, and seeing Jimmy cry makes me more uncomfortable than I could ever have anticipated. I’ve read about him crying in fanfiction hundreds of times. But real life is different. Crying has no romance or drama in real life. It’s just sad.

A radio is on in the living room. Other things in the room: several potted plants and cacti, a large TV, an iPad, a reading lamp, heaped bookshelves, a grandfather clock, and photographs of family members all over the walls. I approach and have a look. Jimmy is there again and again and again. Sitting in a woman’s lap as a baby. Running around in a garden as a toddler, long brown hair flowing behind him, holding a daisy in one hand. A primary school photo in a bright red jumper. A twelve-year-old Jimmy with spiky hair and black cargo trousers, singing and playing guitar in a pub. There’s even a photo of two adults who I can only assume are Jimmy’s parents – a short, serious-looking south-Asian man in a business suit and a tall, thin-faced woman with scraped-back hair. Jimmy doesn’t resemble either of them very much.

In one frame, there’s The Ark’s GQ magazine cover from last year – ‘THE REINVENTED BOY BAND’ – Jimmy in the centre in sharp focus. In another, there’s what looks like a poem written in primary school, and it catches my eye, because the title is ‘The Angel’. I start reading it.

When all was bad in Jimmy Land

He wished for someone to rescue him

To make him part of a famous band

And fight off things dark and grim

‘Jimmy’s gone off to bed now.’

Piero’s voice makes me jump and spin round.

He chuckles. ‘Oh, sorry, my love, did I make you jump?’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, smiling. ‘I was just snooping around.’

‘Looking at all our memories?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wrote that gem when he was about seven, I think.’ Piero sits down heavily into an armchair and pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘Always had a knack for words.’

I sit down on a sofa. ‘Is he … okay?’

Piero barks out a laugh. ‘Well. No. No, he’s not.’

There’s a pause. What should I say? It’s clear that Jimmy’s having some sort of emotional breakdown.

‘He’s had a very severe anxiety disorder for several years,’ says Piero with a heavy sigh. ‘Panic attacks. A lot of paranoia. Started fairly soon after his grandma died, then got worse as all this band malarkey got more intense. Used to see a lot of that when I was a boy. My father had it after the war.’

I guess I knew that he’d got some sort of mental illness after I saw the panic attack. Piero makes it sound way more serious than I’d been thinking, though.

‘Runs in the family, I think,’ Piero continues. ‘My daughter has it mildly. It killed my father, in the end, though. He didn’t tell anyone. Refused to talk about it. Never cried. When he popped off they said it was natural causes, but it was too early for that, in my opinion. I could see it. It was the anxiety. After leaving his home country as a boy … after that bloody war … it was too much. He found being alive excruciatingly painful.’ Piero nods towards a sepia photograph of a man in a suit. ‘Angelo Ricci, his name was. Almost like your name, eh?’ He chuckles.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘So it’s a good thing to see the boy crying,’ says Piero, almost cheerfully. ‘Jimmy thinks about everything. Overthinks, really. He’s got a very strong imagination. He’ll imagine things that aren’t ever going to happen and convince himself that they will. It hasn’t been this bad for quite some time.’ He looks at me. ‘But at least he lets it out. It’s ten times worse if you just keep it inside.’

It sounds kind of like he’s telling me something, but he continues talking before I can think about it too hard.

‘Do you know whether there might have been anything to set it off?’

Of course. The Jowan rumours, the Rowan and Bliss fiasco, the mob at the meet-and-greet, his meltdown in the bathroom.

‘The Ark are going through a bit of a crazy time in the news,’ I say, not too sure how much I’m allowed to reveal to Piero.

Piero nods. ‘I see.’

There’s another pause. Piero stares blankly into the fireplace, before suddenly saying, ‘And why are you really here, my love?’

‘What – what d’you mean?’

He chuckles. ‘Any fool can see you and Jimmy aren’t friends.’

I swallow a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, er … well …’ I look away. Shit. What do I say? The truth is too weird. Maybe Jimmy wouldn’t want him to know the truth about the knife.

‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ I say. ‘Nobody knows I’m here.’

‘Oh really?’ Piero crosses his legs. ‘Just felt like it, did you?’

‘Yeah.’ My voice lowers. ‘I just … wanted to help. Help Jimmy, I mean. He needed help and … well … I love him, so …’

‘You love Jimmy?’ He raises his eyebrows.

‘Not like … not like I’m in love with him. I just … he’s just …’ I can’t explain it.