I Was Born for This(85)

Lister has found alcohol, by the way. He has a large glass of wine in one hand.

Rowan stares at me. ‘Right.’

We all sit in silence for a minute. Lister puts down his wine glass, picks up my old guitar, and starks plucking at it.

‘You can see it’s not the same as it used to be … right?’ I ask desperately. Echoes of our past selves are dancing around us. Lister jumping on my bed, banging drumsticks on my wall. Rowan grumbling when he can’t get a microphone to plug into my computer. ‘You can feel it’s … it’s not the same?’

‘Why should things stay the same?’ Rowan asks.

‘Well … maybe they shouldn’t, but they’re getting worse. The contract, the fans, the rumours … it’s all getting worse.’

‘What, getting more rich and famous? Millions more people loving our music? That’s worse?’

‘Is that what you want?’ I ask. ‘Wealth and fame?’

‘No, I just …’ Rowan shakes his head. ‘I just can’t understand what’s bothering you.’

‘It bothers me that I can’t go for a walk when I want to,’ I say. ‘That I can’t go and see my grandad when I want to.’

Rowan watches me.

‘It bothers me that I don’t enjoy being in a band any more,’ I say.

Lister glances up at this, stopping strumming on the guitar.

‘Okay. Okay. I get it.’ Rowan sighs. He rubs his forehead with one hand. ‘Look … Jimmy, I’m not trying to tell you that any of that is fair. But … it’s just the deal we’ve been dealt. It’s what we have to put up with in return for being, let’s face it, some of the most privileged people on the planet. I know you want everything to be perfect, but nothing is ever going to be perfect. You’ve just got to put up with the bad things and wait a bit longer until our waiting pays off. In a year’s time we’ll be famous in America and you’ll look back and wonder what the fuck you were ever worried about!’

‘And what if I keep waiting and it never gets better?’ I ask.

‘It will.’

‘No, you don’t fucking know that, Rowan.’ I raise my voice. ‘I’m not going to just sit and wait for things to change any more. I’m changing things. I’m doing what I want for once.’

‘And you don’t give a shit about what we want? You don’t give a shit about all the stuff we’ve done together the past six years?’ Rowan splutters. ‘We just played music together and had fun for the first time in months. Maybe years. Don’t you care about us any more?’

‘Obviously I do, but it’s not good any more.’ Why doesn’t he understand? Why am I the only one who feels like this? ‘I can’t keep lying every single day. Turning up to events, smiling and waving and pretending to be happy. I can’t keep living like this.’

‘You sound like a baby,’ Rowan says.

‘And you’re still being a condescending twat—’

‘Can you both fucking stop?’ snaps Lister. ‘Jesus, I haven’t ever heard you argue this much in my entire life.’

Rowan and I fall into silence.

‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ says Lister.

‘Well, what do you want us to do, then, Lister?’ says Rowan, rolling his eyes.

Lister takes a large gulp of wine.

‘Maybe we should go,’ he says, looking at me.

‘What, me and you?’ says Rowan, looking at Lister.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I don’t think Jimmy wants us to be here any more.’

He stands up from the bed and walks out of the room.

Rowan watches him go, and then takes one last look at me, before standing up and following him.

And as bad as it sounds, I feel relieved.





While I’m glad I got a lot off my chest to Juliet, she’s still very annoyed that I don’t want to leave and go home with her.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she says, while we’re sitting in the kitchen listening to Rowan and Jimmy shout at each other. ‘It feels wrong.’

I know what she means. It feels like two planets are about to collide.

I find Jimmy in the lounge by himself. He glances up at me as I come in and sit down next to him. His eyes are a bit red.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Hey,’ he says.

I feel like we can communicate without talking.

‘You still want to leave The Ark?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah. Erm, yeah. I think so.’

I nod and look down. ‘Okay.’

This is it, then.

This is the end.

I have helped to end the only thing I ever cared about.

‘Why do you like The Ark?’ he asks, looking up at me. His eyes are so big and brown. I know them so well, I know every part of him, the way his hair gets fluffed up at the side, the soft line of his jaw, the slight hunch of his shoulders. And yet, I don’t really know anything.

‘You are … the damn light of my life,’ I tell him. ‘When everything is bad, when I wake up and want to go back to sleep and never wake up, you’re there for me.’

‘I’m not,’ he whispers.

‘You are.’ I swallow nervously. ‘If you want it to end … I understand.’ I pat my chest. ‘But … I guess … you’re ending a part of me too.’