I Was Born for This(76)

‘I thought you weren’t his friend?’

‘I’m not. I’m just … I’m just a fan.’

‘Ah.’ Piero nods. ‘And you wanted to help Jimmy.’

‘He needed help and … I was the only one who could help.’

‘How gallant.’

‘Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do,’ I whisper.

Piero shrugs. ‘I don’t think there was a right or wrong there. There rarely is, in my opinion.’ He leans forward suddenly, linking his fingers together over his knees. ‘You know what I think, my love?’

‘What?’

‘I think that Jimmy needs to solve his own problems. And I think you need to solve yours.’

He doesn’t say this in a mean way, like he wants me to leave or anything. He says it in this gentle tone, like he feels sorry for me.

‘I know a fair bit about the fans of Jimmy’s band,’ says Piero. ‘I may be eighty-four, but I keep myself informed about what goes on in this world.’

He pauses.

‘And the saddest thing about you fans,’ he says, ‘is that you don’t care about yourselves.’

I stare at him.

‘You would give your lives for these boys. You cling to them like you’re reaching out to a god. They practically keep you alive. But beneath that, and if you took all that away, you fundamentally do not value yourself.’ He sighs. ‘All your love is given away. You leave nothing for yourself.’

‘I-I don’t think we’re all like that,’ I stammer.

‘But I think you are,’ says Piero, looking directly at me.

‘You … you don’t really know me.’

‘I know that you came to a tiny Kentish village, from London, with a boy you barely know in real life, without telling your friends or family, just because he seemed a bit unsettled.’

I feel a pang of sudden dislike for Piero Ricci.

‘I know he asked you for help,’ says Piero, ‘but the trouble is, while asking for help is always good, it’s impossible to keep relying on others to solve your problems for you. There comes a point where you have to help yourself. Believe in yourself.’

‘Are you talking about Jimmy or are you talking about me?’ I say.

He smiles and says, ‘You tell me.’





Grandad was kind of right. I don’t think I’ve been under-eating, but my old clothes fit me again, despite thinking I’d grown and broadened out. How am I just as thin and small as I was at fourteen? It’s not like I’ve been starving myself. Have I?

My bedroom feels smaller. It does every single time I come back here, like it’s gradually shrinking and one day it’ll crush me completely. I’ve barely changed it since I stopped living here. There are band posters on the walls. Stickers all over the wardrobe. Stuffed toys on the bed. An old guitar in the corner of the room. The bedsheets are black and white stripes. I add the art book Grandad gave me to the bookcase, then change my mind and put it on my bedside table instead.

I strip out of my clothes, making sure to take my knife out of my jeans pocket. I feel its weight in my hands. Strange how comforted I feel just holding it. Strange how I feel so much for one simple object. Even if I threw it away, nothing would change.

I put it on my bedside table too and then get into bed in just my boxers. I’m still kind of damp, and my hair is still wet, but the duvet is thick and warm and snuggly. Feel like I’m sinking and I could keep on sinking until I disappear into the bed and emerge into another universe.

I’ve done something stupid, coming here. Just to have a little cry on my grandad’s shoulder. My own little pity party.

I’ve done something even more stupid, asking some fangirl to come with me, just because people on trains scare me, and I thought she was a nice person.

But there is one thing I am sure of. One thing I know is the right decision now. Not stupid. Not sad. Not pitiful.

I’m freeing myself.

I’m leaving The Ark.





‘hold the crucifix up before my eyes so i may see it until i die.’



– Joan of Arc





Everything is chaos from the moment I wake up on an air bed in Piero Ricci’s study, surrounded by piles of art books, being stared down by a large painting of Jesus.

I don’t even have to go on Twitter to hear the news. I get a little notification from the BBC News app, which I rarely use. The title is:

The Ark frontman Jimmy Kaga-Ricci goes missing during chat show recording

Bit dramatic. But kind of realistic.

I guess no one knows where he is.

It also appears that I have gone missing too, judging by the number of missed calls, texts, and Facebook messages I have from Juliet.

Juliet Schwartz

Angel are you okay?? Fair enough you wanted to go home but are you safe?? Did you get home okay? I’m really worried I haven’t seen you tweeting or on Tumblr or anything. did you get home okay? Please just message me or call me back. You’ve just disappeared and I’m really worried.

There’s also a text from Dad.

Dad

Heard on the radio that one of your band boys has gone missing? Sounds serious. Hope you’re okay. Text me soon. xxx

Thank God, he doesn’t know where I am. I text him back. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Probably just a media overreaction.