-Chapter 2-
When you're seventeen you don't really think about dying. Don't get me wrong, it happens, I know it does. One day you've got your headphones in and you don't notice the boy racer speeding round the corner until his white Honda Civic ploughs into you. There are accidents, you get sick, you trip up and fall on the train tracks, or you do what my dad did and chase down a bottle of whiskey with a couple boxes of pain killers. One minute you're there and the next...poof...you just aren't. It gets everyone eventually.
But as far as utterly insane deaths go, getting shot by a naked member of the band One Direction has to be up there with some of the craziest.
My sister Chantelle has no idea what is going on either. Caught up between what I can only guess is shock, pure terror and utter adoration, I don't blame her for bursting in to noisy, trembling tears
Don't they always say that you should never meet your heroes? And my sister's hero happens to have a gun in her face.
I've still got my eyes on Harry Styles (and Jesus Christ I still can't believe I'm saying that and this is happening) but the sound of my sister wailing makes me want to knee him right in the groin. If the gun were removed from the equation, I'm about one hundred percent sure that's what I would do.
Harry Styles hears Chantelle too and the gun waivers.
From behind me, I worry that Joey has spotted that small moment of weakness. I can feel him tensing up, the way that a cat might before it's about to pounce.
"H- Harry?" I start, trying to speak calmly but also quickly, before Joey does something dumb. "I...it is Harry right?" He doesn't correct me. My hands go up and I try my best to force a smile, "I'm Tish, this is my brother, J-"
"Don't," he breathes in sharply, taking a step back as I gingerly take a step forward and the gun gets higher than ever.
"Look just...tell her it's okay," he says nodding to Chantelle.
"You'd convince her more if you put the gun down," I say, doing my best to keep the shaking out of my voice. "Do you need help, is that it? What's happened?"
He shakes his head and says after a crazed, bitter laugh, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." The half formed smile makes him more recognisable in that moment. Afterall, we're not used to seeing our popstars naked, terrified and pointing guns. "I need money...I need...trousers....I need...just, please."
One minute I'm convinced he's not going to shoot us and the next he makes these desperate demands and I'm back to being afraid again. If he wants money, he has the wrong bloody house. Looking around at the peeling wallpaper, stucco sticking up the cracks, anyone could see that we aren't exactly rolling in money.
"Look," I say. "You've had a bad bump on the head...you're confused...we'll get you some money and some trousers when you put. the. gun. down."
It isn't working. I almost want to join Chantelle and start crying too.
"He isn't here anymore," I add desperately, my voice a whisper passed between the two of us. "The man in the suit chasing you. It's okay, he's gone. I saw him leave." After he shot and killed one of our neighbours, I neglect to add.
There's a moment when I forget to breathe, my heart skips a beat and a strange heavy hush falls over us with only the sound of the tv chattering on in the background. Harry lowers the gun, his eyes then flickering towards the screen as something pushes past me.
Everything moves in slow motion and I'm screaming, "Joey!" before I even realise I have my mouth open.
Harry, too preoccupied with the sight of himself on the television, doesn't fight back when Joey grabs him round the waist, pushing him to the floor. He gives up the gun easily but tries to scrabble upwards. The boys tussle and I hear Joey grunting as he claws at the face of the boy from One Direction, before Harry Styles jerks his head up and looks back at the TV.
"What is that? Where is that? Someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on."
Joey, gasping for breath, pulls away from Harry and his place on the floor. "You first. But maybe after you put some pants on."
*
"January 2011. Until a couple days ago, that was as far back as I can remember," says Harry before opening his mouth for another heaped forkful of beaked beans. Normally, I'm not one to care about what other people think of me and my family but I have to admit that, despite myself, I was mortified to present him with a plate of beans on toast garnished elegantly with a packet of cheese and onion crisps.
Not that he seems to mind. He's sat on our sofa with the plate balanced on his knee, stuffing his face like it's manna from heaven.
It's surprising how quickly Harry Styles seems to have recovered from the business with guns and nudity now he has a pair of trousers and some substandard cooking in front of him. My siblings and I on the other hand can only watch him eat with the same gormless expression.
Chantelle curls up on the foot rest by the sofa, her dark eyes very wide and very round, Joey hovers in the space between the kitchen and the rest of the main room not sure if he should be in 'protect the family mode', while I pretend to wash up a saucepan.
I must be the closest to pulling myself together, crossing my arms, yellow rubber gloves still on my hands. "So you think you have amnesia?"
I thought that only happened in soap operas.
"No. No I don't think I have amnesia," his face darkens again and he goes back to shovelling beans. That is an I don't want to talk about it signal if ever I heard one. I ignore it.
"We do want to help..." I gesture to the beans. "You can trust us. Honestly. You're wearing Joey's boxers for god's sake." As well as Joey's giant baggy jeans, adidas hoodie and Reebok trainers. That's quite possibly the weirdest part about such a weird night. Harry Styles, all skinny jeans and Jack Wills sweaters dressed like half the kids from our estate. It isn't right. It isn't normal.
"Tish, can we not talk about that?" says Joey from the corner with a shudder.
Harry Styles sighs and nods. "Okay....You saw in there. That person on the screen. That's not me....it can't be me, looks exactly like me- but it isn't. Now, look, two days ago I woke up naked in a fish tank and I knew that..."
"Hang on a minute, back up. You woke up naked in a fish tank? And you're just gonna skim past that little detail? Jesus!"
"Fish tank. Regular tank. It was something. One minute...I think I'm asleep, its 2011 and then here I am."
"Did you get in a DeLorean with a Flux Capacitor?" I can't help but ask.
"No. I did say you wouldn't believe me if I told you," says Harry. " There's an imposter. There has to be."
"That's why you said you were the original. The original Harry Styles"
"I mean, I'm on the telly in America," he says, leaning forwards to pinch his temples as if he's puzzling things out, "When I first woke up, I saw a newspaper that says I dated Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift. Those are things people usually know about."
I frown, thinking about it too hard and making my head hurt, "And you're sure that you're not-"
"Yes," he says darkly. "I know who I am."
And I want to believe him, I really do. But part of me is thinking that he's just a really accurate lookalike, and that the bump on the head Joey gave him is worse than I thought. And another part is looking around for the hidden cameras, trying to remember whether I accidentally signed up for a prank show. Harry Styles (now with a ? added onto his name) can see the scepticism on our faces.
"I remember everything before that. My mum, my sister, the old band...going up for the X Factor. I just wanted people to hear me sing," he chuckles humorlessly to himself, looking down at the beans and becomes very quiet. "And...now I'm supposed to be famous...right? The band is supposed to be popular...even madder than it was on the Xfactor... my face is in the paper... and I have no idea when all this happened. I missed all of it....two years. I haven't seen my mum in two years."
Joey nods sagely, "That sucks. Taylor Swift is well fit."
"But...surely your parents would have noticed?" I shake my head because...because it's utterly bonkers and yet I know what I've seen. The Live Show, the man in the suit calling out his name and...probably the most convincing of all the look on his face when he realised he hadn't seen his mum in two years. "Surely someone would know. And why? Why do it? Why go to all the trouble of abducting you and keeping you alive for that long? I know there are some right nutters out there. But they actually put someone in your place. Someone who looks so much like you that no one in the whole world knows the difference. I don't understand it."
"I don't know. But I think this might have something to do with it," Harry Styles tips his head up and looks at all of us, pulling at the edge of the hoodie he's wearing and rolling it up.
And I'm yelling again, holding my hands in front of my eyes, "JESUS, NO!" Though it wasn't a very long look, I'm pretty sure the image is seared into my brain. An angry long, red scar that runs across his hip bone, swelling up, scabbing over, making me want to puke and poke out my eyes at the same time. Harry Styles is laughing a little, Joey is laughing a lot and even Chantelle is giggling as I make whimpering noises.
"That's awesome. What is it?" asks Joey, in between laughter.
"I think that's where my kidney came out of. I'm not sure."
"What do you mean you're not sure?" I finally say, peeking a little through my fingers to see if it's safe. It is and he's lowered his shirt.
"I mean, I don't know if this is what it feels like to be missing a kidney. I never felt my kidneys when I had two-no one does- so I don't really feel like one is gone now. But that's what they do don't they? Abduct people, sell their kidneys on ebay. And this sort of speaks for itself..." he lifts it once more, and I wish I could control it because I feel like an idiot, but the shriek that escapes my lips is utterly involuntary.
"Stop it."
There's laughter again, Chantelle is practically screaming with it. But I suspect deep down she might only be laughing because Harry is. I look at her and smile, because I can't help but go a little soft when my baby sister laughs. But then I remember the time. It's almost two in the morning and she's still awake. I'm tempted to ignore it, because I'm not sure she'll sleep anyway, not with our new houseguest just a few feet away from her bedroom. But I catch her yawning through her fingers and rubbing the sleepy dust from her eyes when no one is looking.
"I think that's enough of that for one night, Chantelle," I start and she looks at me mutinously as though I've just stabbed her through the heart.
"No...no way....no no no," she starts kicking her legs, repeating no over and over like she's having a baby tantrum. I sigh, she is the worst for going to bed. Whether it's at 10pm or 2am apparently. She's ten, she's mature now, I get it. But really, you aren't a proper grown up until you figure out just how amazing sleep is.
Harry Styles surprises me by yawning loudly, "Yeah I think I'm gonna turn in too, Chantelle. I'll see you tomorrow though, right?"
"Yes."
"Go to bed, Chantelle," I repeat and marvel at how quickly she does.
"Is-is that alright? Me sleeping here?" asks Harry and I realise that he's being serious. Of course, I think I'd be tired too after all of that. If it were true. Which I'm still not one hundred percent convinced of. "Your parents..."
"Mum's gone out for the night. She won't be back til after midday tomorrow. We've all got different dads and all of 'em out of the picture so you don't have to worry about that either." Mine is dead. Joey's went back to his wife. Chantelle's runs a strip club in Spain. My mum doesn't exactly have the best track record when it comes to men. "It's fine. You can have Mum's room. I'll show you now if you like."
If this is a prank, at least I'm going to come off as kind when they show it on the television.
Mum's is the only room with a double bed, that's why I gave it to him but I hadn't realised what a state she'd left it in. Theres a mirror leaning up against the wall, smudged with makeup and fake tan while spread around it are lipsticks, nail polishes, old tissues with all manner of muck trodden into the carpet. Old bras and knickers are flung across the floor and I scramble to pick them up. Though apparently he likes older women. Or does he? Or is that the imposter? I'm still not too sure what any of this means.
"Looks..."
"Harry..." we both begin at the same time. I tip my head and let him finish.
"Looks great. That's all I was gonna say. Thank you...Tish?"
"Tish, yeah, Short for Letitia," I flush. Harry Styles remembers my name. Which makes me hate myself because Chantelle is the fan in our family and I'd rather listen to Muse and also because although he's allegedly Harry Styles, is he actually really the Harry Styles? I mean, supposing all of this craziness is actually true, then the Harry Styles everyone knows and loves in One Direction is the famous one and he's just...like he said, the original. Just some kid who loves his mum and may or may not be missing a kidney.
"I just wanna lie down and sleep for a thousand years," he says heavily, as though reading my mind.
"Watch it though. You might shut your eyes and wake up two years in the future again."
I get a slight chuckle for my terrible joke. "I just wanna go home. That's it."
For a minute I really hope that everything he's saying is one giant lie. Not for me, but for him because otherwise...I can't even begin to imagine what I would do. A thousand thoughts are still running through my mind, a thousand more questions that I have to bite down because he does look tired.
There's one though that I can't fight asking. "Harry?"
"Mmm?"
"I...I wanted to ask about the man in the suit. I didn't want to say anything in front of Joey and Chantelle," I'm biting on my lip now, remembering, "I saw him shoot someone. Dead."
"You didn't call the police did you?" he asks sharply.
"No; we're not exactly the biggest fans of the police round here," I have to admit. "And anyway I was distracted. You pointed a gun at my family, remember? But I'd have thought that would be the first place you would go."
Harry gives a sigh that comes from deep inside of him, the kind that I know really hurts. Once again, just like how it was when he pointed the gun at us, I can see that he is afraid.
"That man in a suit? Tish, he is the police."