"or was it February?"  Two small frown lines on the bridge of his nose indent deeply as he squints searching for the answer.  "Actually it could even have been March." 

He pouts out his lips, their usual plump pink texture appear dry and a little cracked.  With his eyes fixated on the floor he continues. 

"No, March is too late and it wasn't as early as December because I was still on the X-Factor.  No, no it was definitely late January.  It snowed heavily in the New Year and the unmelted dregs were still laying by the tracks and my birthday is in February and I was definitely 16 not 17, yes definitely 16." 

He pauses to silently reassure himself he has exactly the correct month before one decisive nod of his head affirms his understanding.  His glazed stare has shifted from the floor up into the air and off into the distance.  

"Do you like fairground rides Lily?"

Hesitating at his sudden random question, I respond, "Umm, yes I do."

He looks straight at me and smirks.  "Yeah me too, well most of them."  Then he pauses and continues.  "I travelled from my home in Cheshire to London on the train with my mum and dad.  Despite them being divorced they are always united when it comes to me and Gemma."  His mention of his family sweeps a familiar flash of fondness over his face.

"We got a taxi from Euston Station to Derry Street in West London.  When I stepped out onto the pavement the first thing I saw were the four huge blue illuminated letters staring at me.  SONY."  A ghost of a smile crosses his lips at recalling the memory then he shakes his head and continues.  

"What is your favourite ride?"  He goes off on another tangent.  It is as though he has two conversations running parallel in his head. 

"Well, I like the carousel."  I reply honestly.

Harry places his elbows on the work surface and clasps his hands, resting his chin on top.  He leans towards me, giving me his undivided attention.

"Why do you love the carousel so much?" 

"Hmm, because the ride is so artistic with its colourful decoration, the horses are so pretty and the music and lights are, well, romantic." 

His focus is intense upon me, a deep gaze right into my eyes searching for something unspoken.  No one has ever looked at me this way before, there's a softness about it that flutters my insides.  

"The horses are like you."

I smile back at him coyly.  "Thank you Harry."

He continues on as though the words he has just spoken are the most natural thing in the world. 

"The other lads and their parents had already arrived and we all waited patiently in the reception to be called up to the huge board room.  Our families were already close after our X-Factor experience but I recall the chatter between us all was apprehensive and rightly so, it was a huge day for all of us and one that would ultimately change our lives forever." 

"Do you like roundabouts?"  He switches again and raises his brows waiting for my response.

"They are ok as long as they don't turn too quickly." 

His gaze drifts out of the window into the garden.  "I remember those offices intimidated me then that January or was it February, not definitely January.  A corporate HQ of tinted glass, galvanized steel and polished beech, all shiny, modern and new.  I was a novice to that world that is the entertainment business.  I was still only 16, or was I 17, no I was 16, and just a baby really, although I didn't think so at the time." 

He looks back at me and shrugs.  "But my parents were there by my side, protective and encouraging as always, so I knew I was going to be fine. 

He's diverted again and I know that I have to keep my wits about me if I am to keep up with him and figure out what's going on in his head. 

"Well?"  He suddenly states, his eyes wide in expectation of an answer to a question that is unknown to me.

"Well what?"  I reply, completely lost. 

"Do you like roundabouts?"  He's forgotten I've answered him but he is clearly fragile so rather than make a big deal out of it I just answer the question coolly again."

"They are ok as long as they don't turn too quickly."

"Yes you said that already."  He responds with the merest hint of irritation.  "We signed our contracts with Syco Records that day. I lost count of how many times I signed my name on dotted lines.  I didn't even have a proper signature, I practiced one on the journey down on the train."  He lets out a little chuckle at the thought then he sits quietly for a moment, his mind lost elsewhere before resuming.   

"Yes too quickly makes me dizzy and spinning messes with your head." 

He twists the thick silver ring on his middle finger of his right hand around and around.  His face drops and he looks daunted by the flickers of his mind.   

"Makes me dizzy too."  I confirm and he nods agreement and moves on. 

"We went out to lunch afterwards at a fancy restaurant.  I can't even remember its name and I certainly didn't understand the menu but the atmosphere was celebratory and it felt so amazing.  I had to keep pinching myself to believe it was all happening and was real." 

His eyes look up towards the ceiling as he loses himself again.  I remain completely still and silent not wanting to interrupt his thought pattern. 

"Immediately after that we all moved into the most amazing apartments in Princess Park Manor, Friern Barnet in North London.  I cannot even begin to describe to you the first time I saw it.  The whole place was beyond my wildest dreams.  The building is an old hospital that had been redeveloped.  It is architecturally beautiful on the outside and extravagantly luxuriously modern on the inside.  I had never seen anything like it.  It would become somewhere in which we would experience some incredible times." 

His whole persona is completely swinging from dark to light as he describes that period from five years ago.  I sense that he hasn't even scratched the surface of what he wants to say though.  My whole body is tense as I brace myself for the unknown that is to come.

He pauses again pulling his top lip in between his thumb and forefinger.  He stares at the floor and his eyelashes are fluttering wildly as he is deep in his thoughts.   

"I don't like roundabouts."  He states flatly as he continues to endlessly fiddle with the rings on his fingers, subconsciously twisting them around and around.

"Early on our lives were controlled to the minutest detail.  We did everything all together.  We were picked up at a certain time, ate at a certain time, did an interview at a certain time and in a certain way, we got on a plane, we were chauffeur driven around, we trained in every aspect of media from how to stand, how to speak, how to answer questions, what to say, what not to say.  We were looked after and we didn't mind it, although looking back we were smothered. We were young and eager to succeed.  We worked hard and were having the time of our lives, learning our trade, gaining contacts, finding out whom we could trust and who to avoid. For very inexperienced young men, we were actually all fairly astute and the benefit was that we had each other and we went through it together."

I sense his tension mounting as the delivery of his words quickens as though his brain is working so hard, if he doesn't get it all out, and quickly, he will forget or miss something.    

"That was the very start of the roundabout.  Initially it stood idle and was empty until the five of us happily jumped on and it started to leisurely turn.  But as it continued to go around, it hastily became a never stopping whirlwind, just forever gathering pace as the next thing came along and we went on another new adventure.  It went faster and faster but we kept up, we were riding the ride of success."   

As though a bright light has been ignited, his haphazard ramblings begin to come together for me in a resemblance of understanding.  Suddenly, he gets up off the stool, the legs of which scrape along the floor, like nails over a blackboard, and he begins to pace around the kitchen. 

His hands wildly gesticulate as he launches into an agitated tirade of stats and facts.  The incisive nature of their delivery leaves me in no doubt that they are photographically embedded in his brain. 

"Five years, five number one albums selling million upon millions of copies, music videos, numerous number ones, four headlining tours with over 300 shows selling 8 million tickets throughout UK, Europe, North America, South America, Africa, Asia, Australia, New Zealand, more awards and accolades that we could shake a stick at, a motion picture, two concert films, flights, hotels, arenas, stadiums, television studios, award ceremonies, tour buses, numerous promo days with 15 hours of back to back interviews where journalists ask the same questions over and over and over again and to top it all a fucking 1D television day." 

He pauses rubbing his temples with his fingertips then continues.  All the time his volume is increasing.      

"This was what the roundabout became and it was all absolutely, mind-blowingly, head numbingly, amazing but fucking mental.  It was spinning and spinning and spinning so unbelievably fast that there was no time to think, to feel, to process, to understand what was happening let alone appreciate it, enjoy it, love it.  The roundabout was now an all-consuming, overflowing beast of a machine." 

He slams his hands down on the work surface and bows his head down low.  His whole body is heaving as erratic breaths are puffing in and out of his mouth at his recollection of the details.  Then he pulls in a big breath, closes his eyes and exhales it very slowly to calm himself. 

I desperately want to hold him and to soothe his angst but I sense that now isn't the right moment.  He still has more to get off his chest and the most vital part I can play is listening. 

"As time elapsed we grew up and changed from puppets being controlled to puppet masters wanting the control.  Inevitably we started to push back from the regimented confines.  We had experience of our trade, our contacts were the best of the best, we learned how to play instruments, how to record and produce and we were writing our own material, each in our own unique way.  We had our individual styles and our lives, to a certain degree, and didn't hang around together so much but we still complemented each other.  In essence it was ultimately our multi-million pound business empire and some people didn't like it." 

The weight of his words appears to be calming him.  He sits back down on the stool and picks up a small piece of creased card and turns it over in his fingers.  He then holds it up for me and I see it's a business card. 

"Steve Blyth."  He simply states with endearment in his tone, as he rubs his right palm over the fine layer of stubble along his square jaw.  I remain still but trying to look at the details on the card in his hand. 

"Early on we were made an appointment with a therapist.  It's usual practice in the industry but was presented to us that it was particularly important in our circumstance because we had found fame so quickly and at such a young age.  None of us were allocated the same person, not only to ensure confidentiality but also to keep everything separate and not influenced." 

"You know if you are going to have your own business you really should get yourself some smart business cards to hand out."  He directs towards me with a knowing smile whilst waving Steve's card in the air.  He's still conversation switching and I can literally sense his brain is buzzing in his head.   

"I sat in Steve's office at our first meeting.  He was only in his mid-thirties, quite trendy with his tight denim jeans but ruined the look with an awful patterned dad-type jumper.  We sat opposite each other and he had a clip-board on his lap.  He asked me questions that I answered with one word answers because I just sniggered my way through the entire 30-minute appointment.  He must have thought I was a right cocky dick.  I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.  I didn't need to tell a complete stranger my inner most thoughts and feelings.  It was ridiculous." 

"When I left he handed me his card."  Harry bends the card back and forth in his fingers.  "My intention was to throw it away but there wasn't a bin anywhere so I shoved it in the side pocket of my wallet.

"I admit I lived a colourful life early on and enjoyed myself.  On reflection I am not proud of some of the things I did but hindsight is a wonderful thing.  Parties, drinking, girls – we had access to it all and took full advantage of it.  Inevitably, I made a few mistakes and misdemeanors but they became blown out of all proportion and with that came heavy criticism, not only from in-house but also from the media.  They picked on me, the youngest, to manipulate and portray as some sort of womanising philanderer." 

The reaction of his shoulders hunching all too readily tells me he is becoming anxiously flustered again. 

"I was in my late teens for god sake, 17, 18, 19; I was still a fucking baby.  Most of it was so far from the truth I felt victimised, like I was being forced to grow up too quick.  To this day I still find it hard to take the unwarranted criticism.  Anyone who says they get used to it is bloody lying.  You can't help but be affected by what people say or write about you, its human nature." 

His teeth chew manically around on the skin inside his lips and cheeks in indignation at the unjustified judgements. 

"It all culminated to one day I just woke up and suddenly I didn't like myself much anymore.  We had a couple of days break and I went home to visit mum and had a complete breakdown.  I couldn't take anymore and I wanted out.  My life was everything yet nothing that I wanted."

A shiver travels down my entire body as I watch Harry react to his words.  He clasps his hands together in an attempt to cease their violent shaking. 

"It was her and only her unconditional but tough love that got me through that time.  She told me that only I could affect the person I wanted to be.  I could carry on and probably spiral out of control or take control and that has stayed with me ever since." 

Next to his wallet and keys there are a few coins scattered on the work surface.  He places his fingertip on one, slides it off the edge and it falls into the palm of his other hand.  Instantly his fingers grip around it and he launches it into the air.  His eyes follow the silver disk as it rises then falls down towards him.  He catches it cleanly, holding out his clenched fist towards me.

"Heads or tails?"

"Depends what we are head or tailing" I answer questioningly.

"Heads is everything, tails is nothing."  He doesn't even need to think about it before he speaks. 

"Heads then." I respond decisively.

"Interesting choice."  He turns his fist over and peels open his fingers to reveal the coin sat in the middle of his palm.  "Heads, you win.  Or do you?  Guess again."  He flicks the coin up again and exactly repeats his actions.  "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

"A change of heart, interesting again."  He mutters then opens his fist.  "Tails, you win.  Or do you?"

I immediately interject.  "Harry I don't understand."

He rests his elbow on the surface with the coin securely clenched in his fist and looks directly at me.  "The coin represents life.  It can go one of two ways.  Heads is everything, the perfect decisions that enhance our lives.  Tails is nothing, our worst decisions that damage our lives.  We make choices every single minute of every hour of every day.  However, at the time we make those decisions, often subconsciously, we have no idea exactly what impact they will have on us or how they will shape our future.  Life is a lottery, a toss of a coin."

"What are the heads and tails in life though?"

"Heads are anything and everything depending on what is important to you.  The things you strive to achieve.  Wealth, fame, success, family, love, happiness, marriage, children, education, property, travel, charity, friendship – the list is endless.  Tails are the everything you desperately try to avoid.  Unacceptance, criticism, depression, loneliness, poverty, homelessness, hunger, pain, hurt, self loathe – again the list is never ending."

"In reality most people's lives are a mix of both heads and tails.  That's good, it's okay because actually that's normal life, the ideal.  Heads and tails because one balances out the other keeping the scales of life balanced." 

"But here's a thing.  What happens when you strive for those heads you think you want but when you achieve them they aren't the everything you thought they'd be?"