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‘Yeah, I think so,’ I say.
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Someone’s given me the wrong guitar, but I can’t try to find the right one because one of our stage crew is fixing my angel wings onto the back of my jacket while we stand backstage during an ad break. Someone is combing Lister’s hair for him. Rowan’s changing into something black so we’re all matching.
The Ark likes theatricality.
‘Hey, where’s my guitar? This is Rowan’s spare,’ I ask the air around me. Someone swaps the one I’m holding for my actual guitar and I hang it round my neck. It’s not even really ‘my guitar’, anyway. My guitar, a lower-end Les Paul that my grandad snagged for £50 from a boot fair for my birthday when I was eleven, is safely locked away in my apartment. The guitar I’m holding right now is probably worth over five grand.
Rowan, changed now into a black bomber jacket with embroidered doves on the front, comes up to me, and grabs me by the arms.
‘How you doing, Jimjam?’
‘What?’ I ask, not understanding the question.
He squeezes my arms, then rubs them soothingly. ‘Are you calm?’
‘Am I calm?’
No. I am never calm.
‘I’m calm,’ I say.
‘Sure?’
‘Yeah.’
Rowan pats me on the head, just to be sure. I brush my fingers over my cross necklace again.
Lister joins us. He’s swapped his burgundy jacket and white T-shirt for a black button-up. He looks the most excited out of the three of us, which is no surprise.
‘Remind me, what are we doing?’ he asks, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘“Joan of Arc” or “Lie Day”?’
Rowan laughs and I groan.
‘Do you ever pay attention to anything?’ I say. ‘Were you high during sound check?’
Lister shoots me an offended look. ‘God, sorry, Dad!’ This kind of makes me chuckle, and then Lister smiles, a real old rare Lister smile, and continues, ‘Okay, for real … which is it?’
We are used to this now. Maybe a little too used to it. We won Best Newcomer earlier. Of course we did – everyone on the internet said we were going to. When we step up to perform, everyone cheers, even though we’re newcomers, even though we’re only just starting to get known in America. None of that phases me, though. Overexposure, I guess.
But when we step out onto the stage, shrouded in darkness, I get a rush of adrenalin and I can’t stop smiling because finally we get to play our music.
Like I said, The Ark likes theatricality. We don’t just stand there and play – which is fine, but it’s not us. Lister is centre on drums and Rowan and I stand behind him on a raised platform, playing various instruments depending on the song – keys, guitar, Launchpad (me), cello (Rowan). We always wear black.
I am always wearing angel wings. It’s a tradition.
When we started out, we’d play with shoddy instruments in the back of pubs and post videos of our garage recordings to YouTube. But tonight, we stand on a stage wider than three houses, and when Rowan gives us a nod and starts to strum the screechy opening bars of ‘Joan of Arc’, the LED screens behind us light up a bright, blinding orange, and we’re lost in the dry ice mist.
Then begins our intro – a low, distorted robot voice that we play at the beginning of every tour show. It was my idea at the start of our last tour.
I am not afraid, said Noah
I was born for this
I mouth along. It always makes me smile, reminding me of all the Bible stories Grandad used to read to me when I was little. It’s a slight variation of a Joan of Arc quote too. I love tying all the parts of ourselves together.
I find myself shouting ‘West Coast!’ just because I’m so excited, and the audience cheer right back at me. Weird how it never seems to hit me until the music starts. Until the music starts, I’m just floating through it all. Waiting to get to the next song so I can breathe again.
Born to survive the storm
Born to survive the flood
Our platform starts to rise into the air. The light changes and I glance around to look at the LED screen. It’s a giant Renaissance painting of an armoured woman wielding a sword. Joan.
Then lights are on me, just as the voice speaks its final words.
Believe in me
Said Noah to the animals
And two-by-two, they ascended
Onto the ark
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‘the voice had promised me that, as soon as i came to the king, he would receive me.’
– Joan of Arc
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I am jump-scared awake at 11.14 a.m. by Juliet making a sound resembling that of a goose passing into the afterlife.
I sit up. Juliet and I slept in one of her nan’s spare rooms. Mac slept in another. Weirdly, Juliet seems to have brought most of her possessions with her – the wardrobe is overflowing with potential outfits for Thursday and the floor is littered with assorted Ark merchandise.
‘Did I just dream that,’ I say, ‘or did you just shriek very loudly?’
‘I think I am dreaming,’ says Juliet.
Juliet is staring at her phone like it’s a solid bar of gold.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask.
‘Jowan,’ she says, and then turns her head and stares at me. ‘Jowan.’
I take a moment to process.
Because saying Jowan like that, like it’s a magic spell, like it’s the name of an entire country – there is only one thing that she could mean.
‘You’re joking,’ I say.
She simply thrusts the phone at me.
On screen is a news article.
THE ARK’S JIMMY KAGA-RICCI AND ROWAN OMONDI CAUGHT SLEEPING TOGETHER AT LONDON APARTMENT
My heart starts to hammer. My palms start sweating.
I scroll down.
While their fandom’s theories concerning a relationship between The Ark’s Jimmy Kaga-Ricci and Rowan Omondi have previously been considered nought but the sexual fantasies of fourteen-year-old girls, a new piece of interesting evidence has emerged from the depths of the internet.
We’ve acquired a photograph appearing to show Jimmy and Rowan sleeping next to each other in a bed. They appear to be inside their SW3 apartment (in which Jimmy, Rowan and Lister live), as a London skyline can be clearly seen through the large window next to them.
Is this fandom conspiracy real? You decide! Jimmy and Rowan look pretty cosy to us!
The photo does indeed show Jimmy and Rowan sleeping next to each other on a bed. Rowan is on his front, one arm slung over Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy’s head is tilted ever so slightly towards Rowan.
It’s adorable.
It’s like it’s been Photoshopped.
It’s better than any piece of fan art I have ever seen.
‘I have died and gone to heaven,’ I say. I put the phone down on the bed and turn to Juliet. ‘What is happening right now?’
Juliet has both of her hands on her face. ‘I’m dying,’ she says.
‘You don’t think – I mean – the title of the article was kind of misleading, but—’
‘Look at them. Look at them. They’re cuddling.’
I look at the photo again. They are sort of almost nearly cuddling.
‘They’re cuddling,’ I say.
Juliet flops down onto the bed.
‘This is the beginning,’ she says, ‘isn’t it?’
Of course it’s the beginning. It’s the beginning of everything we ever dreamed of. Jimmy and Rowan standing up and showing everyone that love is real. That even amidst all the shit, there is some pure goodness in the world.
Juliet suddenly flings herself out of bed. ‘I need to tell Mac.’
Having forgotten that Mac exists for the past few minutes, I am suddenly sprung back to reality.
‘Oh yeah. Don’t bring him in here, though.’
Juliet gives me a confused look until I point at my scarf-less head, and then she gives me a thumbs-up and leaves the room.
Once she’s gone, I load up the image on my own phone. When did this happen? There was nothing about this when I checked Twitter after I got up to pray earlier this morning. Amazing how everything can change within the space of a few hours.
I stare at it. It’s beautiful. God. It’s so beautiful. Jimmy is so beautiful. Rowan is so beautiful. They love each other so much. I want to cry. Nobody will ever love me like that. Doesn’t matter. Jowan exists. There’s something good in the world. There’s a point to being alive.
Every single day I wish I knew the full story. I wish I knew how they met. I wish I knew the things they say to each other. Who’s louder. Who’s the joker. I wish someone had recorded their every interaction and I could sit down and watch them all from start to finish.
I’ll never know, though. But at least we have this.
Enough to make me believe.
When Juliet calls ‘Angel, do you want breakfast?’ through the door, I realise I have been sitting in bed looking at the photo for over ten minutes.
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Please don’t let me die in a plane crash. Please. I mean, I’m on a plane every other day so if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be me. Can you imagine dying in a plane crash? All those people screaming in an oversized tin can. Knowing they’re gonna die. Can’t even call your grandad on the phone. Sounds like something that would happen to me.
I’m curled up in my first-class seat, clutching my cross necklace, counting down the minutes until we land safely back in London and the chance of me dying a fiery metallic death is back to ‘relatively low’. I know the chance is low anyway. I know that. But I can’t stop thinking about it, and the more I do, the faster my heart beats and the harder I find it to take a full breath. At this rate, I’ll flood the plane with my own sweat. Create a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Suddenly, Rowan yanks up the blind that shields my seat from the rest of the cabin. He looks furious, but then his expression drops into something softer, and he says, ‘Jesus. You all right?’
I release my necklace and wipe my hand on my joggers.
‘Planes,’ I say.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Rowan opens the compartment door and sits down on the table next to my seat. ‘You know you’re more likely to—’
‘To die in a car crash, to get struck by lightning or to get eaten by a shark than to die in a plane crash. I know.’
‘Oh.’
There’s a pause. My breathing has calmed down.
‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘What’s up?’
He sighs, then glances around the cabin. There are a few people staring at us, which isn’t unusual. I’ve already caught two people taking photos of us when they thought we weren’t looking. Not that I confronted them about it.
Rowan shuffles further inside my compartment, shuts the door, then pulls up the blind so no one can see or hear us. He drops his iPad into my lap and touches his fingertips to his lips.
I look at it, confused. ‘Did you get stuck on Candy Crush again?’
He gestures at the iPad and doesn’t say anything. The expression on his face suggests that this is not a Candy Crush-related issue.
I pick up the iPad and look at it.
On screen is a picture of me and Rowan sleeping in my bed in our London apartment.
