It had been a long and tiring day, and Paul wanted nothing more than to crash out on his sofa and stare mindlessly at the TV, regardless of what was on. He knew he couldn’t though, while in the lift going to his flat, he had received a text message from his sister, telling him that she had emailed him and needed a reply insistantly. He dumped his bag onto his sofa before approaching his computer. Since leaving the band, he’d had more free time and had just gotten into the whole ‘going online’ concept. His sister’s email was probably nothing more than her encouragement for him to continue his new life. He sighed, and rubbed his hands roughly over his face before running them over his short crop of hair. He stretched, and switched on the black machine, waiting for it to load, and grabbing a Stella from the fridge as he waited. He opened the can of lager in his hand with a satisfactory hiss as the widget broke from the ring pull, and took a long draught. He set the can down beside his keyboard, and clicked the mouse onto his msn messenger button. A few seconds later, his broadband modem kicked in, and instantly, he was connected. He took another long mouthful as he clicked on his email messages, and tried to ignore the window trying to come up that a one-night-stand had sent up. Why had he given her his email address again? Oh well, he had just learnt how to block people, and swiftly did that before checking through his emails to find his sisters message. There was all manner of the usual Spam, including an opportunity for him to increase the size of his penis, which was only momentarily appealing. Finally he found a message labelled ‘Shareen, xxx’. He clicked on it, and thanks to his Pentium four package, could instantly read it.

“Hi Paul! Just writing to say, we miss you so much! Mama and Papa send their love. I so want to tell you all about Teri and Carlos, but that’s not the point of this email. Amor, it’s been almost nine months since you quit a1, when are you coming home? We all miss you so much, it can’t be healthy for you living on your own, with few friends around Nino, and we’re so worried.
And we’re not the only ones. What’s this about you not calling Mark or Christian since you left? And Ben said you’ve slowly lost contact with him. What’s going on? All the fans are worried too. I was just surfing the net after putting Carlos to bed, and I found all these sites dedicated to . . . well, I’d prefer you to read. Nino, please talk to someone; you’re on your own too much! I’ve left the links on a page in word, and put that as an attachment. Please listen to them, and not yourself, you’re being too negative.
Write back el pequeno!
Shareen x”

Paul rolled his eyes. Was that all? He clicked on her attachment lazily, and saw about thirty links. How much spare time did Shareen have? He clicked on a couple, and coughed up the beer he was currently swigging-these were fan sites, dedicated to a1! What was Shareen thinking? He ALWAYS distanced himself from a1! He calmed down, knowing Shareen had a logical explanation for plaguing him with the works of teenyboppers, and read through the material. A few crappy stories where the fans imaginations had most definitely crossed the line between fantasy and reality, and a few news bites. Well, why not look at what the others were allegedly doing? The first bit of news to jump out at him was ‘a1 day’. Wait, a1 day? Since WHEN? What’s up with those fans, man? He read what people had written about it on all the sites, and all fans were asking the same things-what are you doing for a1 day? Anyone know what’s happening? For a national day, it sounded pretty unorganised. At least one site, an msn group, gave him the date. He found a pad and scribbled ‘Steak sauce-21^st June 2003’. Why was that date so important? Oh, here it is, on ‘a1Soundcheck’-he knew that one, he sort of knew Maz, they’d joked about sharing a nickname before . . . crap joke but why not? So, anniversary of ‘Be the first to believe’. Well, he guessed it could make sense, they were showing they really did still believe in the four of them. Even if they weren’t a four any more. He went back to his hotmail account, and sent a reply to his sister.

“Shareen, POR FAVOR! Stop calling my nino and Amor and el pequeno! I told you-I’m not a baby, not any more! And I’m fine, just because I’m not working on a1 any more doesn’t mean I’m not fine! I just recorded a few rough-cut songs, isn’t that enough for you? And tell mama and papa to stop worrying too. I’m fine, I always will be. About those sites . . . what’s up with those fans? Since when has there been a day just for us? Well, them, I’m not in that any more. And I didn’t mean not to keep in contact with the others . . . It’s just hard right now. Entenderan. And so will the fans.
I’d better go, I’m busy. Love you hermana querida.
Paul”

He’d barely sent the email when someone else sent up a private message.

Shareen: ¡Usted los debe tanto, no los pone abajo!
Paul: Oh, don’t give me grief Shareen! I can’t be bothered to argue with you. And please talk in English; I’m too tired to try to translate.
Shareen: Sorry Paul, but do they really deserve it?
Paul: Are they really so stupid that they actually try to look up to me?
Shareen: Paul! They gave so much, if you really thought that money was the problem, maybe you should talk to them, seeing as it’s most of THEIR money in your pay cheque.
Paul: Look Shareen, I’m busy, I’m going.
Shareen: Oh no you don’t, no one has any idea what you’re up to Paul, we need to know, we need to make sure you’re okay.
Paul: Bye. Give my love to mama and papa, and Teri and Carlos.

He signed off before his sister could object, and slumped onto his sofa, staring out of the window next to the balcony. So this is what his life had come to? He hadn’t lied; he was awfully busy these days. He was hiding from the press, sorting out his solo career, and actually helping a few charities-how can anyone be that worried about him? He fell asleep in his awkward position on the sofa, and remained there until morning.

************************************************************************************************************

He woke in the morning to a stiff neck and someone banging down the door. Great-his perfect type of wake up call.
“Paul Marazzi, I know you’re in there! Where the fuck is your goddamn rent? You haven’t paid this week, or last week! Do you wanna be kicked out on the streets?”
Paul rolled his eyes and stretched, rubbing his sore neck. He had the most pathetic landlord in the world. Every week, Josh forgot he’d bought the flat out right. He stifled a laugh-Josh was about as camp as you could get, and Paul secretly wondered if Josh only did this so he could try and glimpse Paul naked. A sudden stupid idea rushed to his head, and his pulled off his clothes and wrapped a towel around him before heading to the door, intent on winding Josh up. He opened the door widely.
“Josh, I own the damn flat, you can’t have me paying rent on top of that, all right?”
Josh gaped at him, and glanced down at the towel. Well, that proved it, Josh just fancied him. He shut the door annoyed, despite Josh’s loud complaints, and lay on his bed, completely naked. What was the point in living any more? People were checking up on him more now than they did when he was in the damn boy band! He lay for about ten minutes, just staring at the ceiling, before getting ready, and leaving the flat, head down, trying to blend in, sending private thought messages ‘don’t look at me, don’t recognise me, don’t look at me, don’t recognise me’. Too late, he felt a tap on his shoulder. A pretty redhead stood there nervously, slightly taller than him, but still about thirteen. Paul tried to hide his disappointment.
“Hi, um, are you Paul from a1?” She asked timidly. Now, what kind of name would Paul from a1 be?
“No,” he lied. “I’m not, but I get that a lot.”
“Oh. Hey, um, you’re going to think I’m a right fruitcake for asking . . .” She started.
‘Oh, don’t worry kid, I know you’re one already’ He thought privately.
“ . . . but would you come to mine this Saturday? I’m having a party to celebrate a1 day with all my friends who are fans, I would love to have a look-alike, especially when you’re such a good copy of Paul. Everyone misses him.”
Paul refrained from rolling his eyes.
“Do they now?”
“Yeah, he was so great, always so funny and sweet. If you ever needed cheering up you just put on a video and listen to him and feel miles better. Everyone agreed he was pretty much sex-on-legs too.”
Okay, this was freaky now. A thirteen-year-old was coming onto him. He wasn’t a paedophile, and he definitely didn’t want anyone under the age of twenty-five to chat him up.
“Listen, love, is there any point to this? I’ve got places to be.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry Paul.”
She walked away, unaware that she had called him Paul. He made his exit to the next street over as she stopped walking away, and looked back as she realised, wondering why he hadn’t objected to her calling him Paul.
Paul reached his destination, and put his bet onto a horse, before the manager of the betting shop tapped him on the shoulder.
“I think you and I need a word, Mr. Marazzi.”
What was it with everyone these days? Why did everyone get up in his business?
“I don’t.”
“Mr. Marazzi, I need several words with you. You’re gambling way too much-you put a grand on the horses in total yesterday, and almost blew it all except for that lucky save at the end. Now, although my main business is money, I have to make sure the customers don’t go in over their heads. I really think you have a problem, Mr. Marazzi. I advise you to get counselling.”
“I advise you, Mr. Morris, to keep your huge fucking nose out of my goddamn business.”
“Mr. Marazzi, please leave the shop.”
“Go to hell.”
“Mr. Marazzi-you’re barred. Leave.”
“Make me.”
Mr. Morris signalled to two rather large men, who pushed Paul out of the betting shop. Well, that certainly cleared his morning. What could he do now? Well, he could run from that group of girls inching closer. Yup, running from the twelve-year-olds looked like a worthwhile morning exercise. And they were getting awfully close.
“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!” He yelled as he tried to avoid the teenyboppers desperate for an autograph. Outside, he looked extremely pissed off, not to mention slightly deranged, but inside, the agitated feeling was mixed with one of excitement-come on, how many blokes get chased in a street like this? But it stopped being so funny when they manage to corner him.
“You’re Paul Marazzi” One girl stated. She actually looked about nineteen. Sad case.
“Where’s your proof?” He snapped back.
“I . . . I don’t have any. Hey, did you know a1 day is coming up?”
Okay, Paul had definitely entered the twilight zone. What was this, some ulterior universe where everyone celebrated the poxy day?
“Yes, I knew a1 day is coming up.” He sighed.
“What are you doing for it?” A petite girl asked, a girl who could be no older than ten. What kind of people were her parents, letting her out in London on her own?
“I’m rejoining a1.” Paul said sardonically. All the girls squealed with excitement, completely misreading his tone of voice.
“Oh, that’s so great. Everyone misses you so much! They’re going to be SO excited!”
“Wait, girls, I-”
“Are you rejoining on the actual day?”
“Are you going to release a song finally?”
“So it really is just a break!”
“What do the others think?”
The girls continued babbling, and Paul gave up responding, and zoned out all together, imagining being at a Prince concert. Ah, there’s goodness! The girls soon left him alone, and he traipsed back to his flat, sneaking past Joshes office to avoid further confrontation. As he approached his flat, he noticed a figure lurking near his door. Was Josh trying to perve on him through the keyhole now? He approached cautiously, and realised it was Ben, paying him a visit.
“Paul! There you are! I thought you were ignoring me!” Ben smiled, and pulled him into a hug. Paul sighed and hugged Ben back hesitantly.
“What are you doing here Ben?”
“Well, I did only come to check on you, to stop your family worrying so much . . . but then this fan stopped me and asked about you rejoining a1 on my way here. Since when are you rejoining? Why didn’t you tell me? Is everything straightened out then?”
“Ben, I . . . .” Paul didn’t know what to say. He hated disappointing Ben, they were such good mates. Ben was doing nothing but blinking at him, his eyes begging for it to be true. “I don’t know Ben.”
Paul unlocked the flat, and let the both of them inside. Ben immediately headed for the living room, and crashed out on the sofa.
“Come on Paul, think of how good it would be, we’d get to jam together all the time again, and you wouldn’t be so depressed. You can’t deny that you’re depressed, everyone knows it. We wanna help. Weren’t you happier in a1?”
“Ben, don’t do this.”
“You know I can win you over.”
“Ben, listen to me, I’m almost thirty, why would I want eight-year-olds throwing themselves at me still?”
“Please, just for the music?”

************************************************************************************************************

“ . . . and in entertainment news, today has been unofficially been Christened a1 day, as well as the day of the release of Harry Potter, and Prince Williams twenty first birthday. Why is this so significant? Well, the boys have once again changed their line up. We have a live satellite hook up with them before they go on stage in Norway. Boys, are you there?”
The newscaster finished her speech, and Paul watched as the little red light came on the camera. An old feeling welled up inside him, of the days when he would turn his hyperactivity on with the camera. He smiled at the thought, as Mark explained to the camera that Paul would be rejoining. The piece soon finished, and the newscaster started reporting sales of the fifth Harry Potter book. Paul turned to his new-old band and smiled nervously.
“Come on, let’s blow them out of their minds, a1-style.” Paul grinned, and they walked arm in arm to their set.

Hey! Hope you liked it! Btw, don’t take my word for the Spanish, I was using my sisters dictionary and babelfish, and they kinda contradicted each other *shrugs* R&R please! xxx zee xxx