(No Control - 54. Fool's Gold, first part)

I'm woken on Tuesday morning by a phonecall from Karen. She's the last person I feel like speaking to, so it is with a huff that I answer the phone.

"What does the name 'Joy Muggli' mean to you?" she says, without any pleasantries.

"Sounds like something out of Harry Potter," I mumble, rubbing my hand over my face, and there is a brief pause.

"I take it you don't know her, then?" Karen asks, in a slightly less clipped tone.

"Who?" I ask, letting my eyes close again.

"Joy Muggli."

"Am I dreaming?" I ask, and then realise if I know I'm dreaming, I'm probably not dreaming.

Karen gives a deep sigh.

"Well, it's not as bad as I thought, but I think you're going to be pretty annoyed," she tells me.

"About what?" I ask, but she tells me she'll call me back and hangs up without another word.

I'm brooding over Sunday's shouting match with Jess (for the hundredth time) when she rings again.

"Heat Magazine are running a story about you and your new girlfriend, this Joy Muggli," she explains.

"For God's sake," I mutter, rolling my eyes at the wall.

"I think she's gone to a lot of lengths to make it look convincing," she says with air of disgust.

"What do you mean? I don't even know who she is."

"Well, she's Tweeted about being on Cecconi's the same day you were pictured there. She's posted a picture on Instagram of the view from one of the golf resorts you were pictured at recently. She's posted a picture of her lunch, and there is someone in the background with a hand tattoo that mimics yours. She's got an identical jacket to yours, a matching Pingu tattoo..."

"Woah woah woah," I interrupt. "What the hell? Is she some kind of psycho?"

"I don't know," Karen admits. "She knows Dan, and he says she's harmless, but the way she's making things look, if it's deliberate, could potentially be damaging for your privacy."

"She knows Dan? Dan Richards?"

He's our guitarist.

"Apparently," Karen replies. "What are your thoughts?"

"Ignore it, as always," I say immediately.

"Good," she says briskly. "I thought you'd say that. I'll keep tabs on her, of course. I'll let you know if anything else comes to light. They're running the story over here tonight so it'll be in tomorrow's issue."

"Great," I say sarcastically.

I ring Mum to let her know the article is false, and end up going over everything with me and Jess all over again. She tries to convince me to ring Jess and sort things out, but to be honest I just need breather from it all. I'm lying in bed that night, just about to fall asleep when my phone beeps with a text from Jess. My heart doesn't even pound. I'm just so fed up of everything.

She's sent me a photo of the front cover of Heat, with 'HARRY'S NORMAL NEW GIRLFRIEND' emblazoned in large white letters over a horrible photo of me, and a one-word text: Nice.

Any point telling you it's not true? I respond immediately. I haven't got the energy for another row.

Nope, she texts back.

For fuck's sake, this girl! Why is she so convinced I'm a liar?!

How would I keep another girlfriend secret from you for three months??? Come on!, I type furiously.

A minute later I get her reply.

Without wanting to throw this in your face because I'm "hormonal and in the mood for a fight," you managed to hide your fuck buddy for two years

This, again. She's like a fucking broken record.

I never denied that, I remind her. I am denying this.

I don't see an official statement. And why bother anyway? It's out in the open now. I hope you'll be very happy together.

So much for my heart not pounding. It's now hammering ten to the dozen. Why is she saying she hopes I'll be happy with someone else, like we've broken up? Fucking hell.

IT'S NOT TRUE, I reply in frustration.

Don't believe you, sorry, is her response, and I throw my phone on the bed in fury and flop back against the pillows with a huff of annoyance.

I know how this whole thing looks. I know my love life is a constant topic of discussion for the gossip magazines, and the paps love every opportunity to sniff out a story. But I'm pissed off and hurt that not once has she given me the benefit of the doubt. Every single time there has been any sort of rumour about me, Jess has believed the media and made up her mind before she's even spoken to me.

My phone beeps again and I snatch it up angrily, only to see it is Liam.

Think you'd better have a look on the Daily Mail. Your Jess has been pictured looking upset.

I feel sick as I quickly open the app, and read with horror a short article claiming she is devastated at the news of my new girlfriend. There are some pictures of her crying, possibly outside her office, and my stomach twists painfully as I look at them, taking in the misery on her face and the makeup running down her cheeks. She looks heartbroken. What the fuck have I done?

I try to call her, but it diverts to voicemail without ringing. She must have switched it off.

I need to fix this, and fast.

I've just seen the pictures of you today online, I type to her quickly. I am so so sorry, I had no idea you were this upset. I swear it isn't true and I will sort this out xxx

It doesn't get delivered, which compounds my theory that she has switched her phone off.

I scroll to Karen's number and wiggle my foot impatiently as it rings.

"I need a public denial," I say abruptly before she has even finished saying hello.

"Good morning to you too, Harry," she says sarcastically, which I find a bit rich coming from her.

"It's night-time here," I retort, and for once she doesn't have a sharp-tongued reply. "Jess has seen that article about me and that weird girl," I explain, a little more politely. "She's really upset. I need someone from PR to release a statement denying the rumours."

There is a stunned silence on the other end of the phone.

"Have you thought this through?" she asks, after a long pause.

"Yes," I lie. I haven't thought it through at all, but there is nothing to think through. I have been moping around since Jess left, feeling wronged and hard done to, and I haven't once stopped to think about how hard it has been for her, thrust into the spotlight amidst a trough of articles about my love life.

I've been an idiot. I can't believe it's taken this for me to see it. I'm an arsehole.

"Harry," Karen begins, and I notice she sounds rattled, "this is huge. You've never issued a statement of this sort before. If you set a precedent, you'll be bound by it forever. Every time a new rumour gets spread around you'll be forced to deny it, and if you don't, people will assume it's true."

"I know," I nod. "I'm not stupid. But this is important. It's important to Jess. I need her to see I'm - " I swallow nervously. "I need her to see that I'm serious about her."

"I just think -" Karen begins again, but I cut her off.

"I'm not budging on this," I interrupt loudly. "This is my decision, and I need you to sort it now. And if you don't, I will."

I cringe at my assertiveness. I never speak to people like this, like they're beneath me, but she's just not getting the urgency of this.

"OK," she says softly. "OK. But can I suggest it's just in the form of a tweet from Simon, at Hackford Jones? Anything else would raise too many questions."

Hackford Jones is the PR company we use, and I agree that Twitter is the best way of getting this statement to go viral without making it seem like a big deal.

"Yeah, that works for me," I agree.

"Great," she says, sounding relieved. "What do you want it to say?"

"Just deny I've even met her. Keep it low key. The One Direction update accounts will do the rest for us."

"OK," she says thoughtfully. "There have been rumours about Liam and Sophia planning a wedding too. I'll see if we can incorporate that as well, really smear Heat Magazine and make them think twice about printing shit about you."

I feel momentarily moved by Karen's fierce defence of us, before her words register.

"Wait, what? Rumours about Liam?" I repeat. I feel bad that I have been so wrapped up in my own mess that I haven't even noticed other people are putting up with equal amounts of shit.

She fills me in briefly and then rings off, to contact Simon Jones. I try Jess again, but I'm not surprised when it is still switched off. Now all I can do is wait.

I eventually fall asleep, and it's the following morning when she finally calls.

"How are you?" I ask timidly, once we've said out hellos.

"Not great," she sighs, and I'm suddenly terrified by the tone of her voice. She sounds... resigned.

"Because of me?"

No point beating around the bush.

"Because of the media," she corrects me.

Same thing, though, right?

"Do you believe me about this girl?" I ask hesitantly, and she gives a short laugh that makes me feel sick with nerves.

"If I had a pound for every time we'd said that to each other over the last two months I'd be as rich as you," she says, wryly.

"Yeah, probably," I mutter.

"Harry," she says, and my stomach drops. I know what's she's going to say. She can't break up with me. She just can't.

"No, don't say it," I beg. "I can tell what's coming, Jess. Please don't do this."

"I can't do this anymore, Harry, " she chokes.

"I swear..," I stammer. "I swear on my life I don't know this girl. I've never even heard of her."

"It's.. it's not about that," she says miserably, and her voice cracks. "It's everything. This was just the last straw."

"What do you mean, everything?" I ask, and I can hear the wobble in my own voice too. The lump in my throat is getting bigger.

"I can't deal with this rollercoaster," she says, sadly. "It hasn't stopped since the minute we met. It's one thing after another, with kiss and tells, fuck buddies, media intrusion..."

My fucking life, in other words.

"One minute we're fine, the next we're screaming down the phone at each other," she continues. "I feel like a cat on hot bricks. I'm unable to relax because in the back of my mind I'm always thinking I wonder what's coming next? And it's not in a good way. It shouldn't be like this."

I put my arm over my face and hide my eyes in the inside of my elbow as I process her words. I take a deep breath.

"People are always going to print shit about me," I mutter, and I know my voice sounds strained. "I can't stop it. I got them to release a statement - did you see it? I asked them to deny it publicly. I did that for you. For us."

"I know," she mumbles. "And I understand what it cost you to do that."

"It's not about money," I argue. I would give anything to prove how much she means to me. I actually think I would give up everything if she asked me to.

"I didn't mean that," she says, with a sniff. "I mean I know you don't usually respond to rumours about anything, but you made an exception for this, despite the potential backlash."

"I thought it was what you wanted."

Wasn't it?

"It was," she tells me, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess you about. I just can't do this anymore. I can't put myself through it. You're not here, you're half way around the world. It's not like you can put your arms around me and make it all go away."

I can't believe she's saying this. If I could fly, I'd be on my way back home to her right now to put my arms around her and reassure her that this will all be OK.

"If you'd just trust me," I plead, and it comes out barely above a whisper. "It's worse because you believe it every time."

"How can I not?" she counters. "I've known you two months and this is the fourth time you've had to ask me to turn my back on the evidence and put my faith in you. I've tried, Harry, I really have, but... I just can't go on like this."

"So I'm not worth the hassle," I say, bluntly.

"It's not that," she chokes. "Of course you are. You're amazing. It's me. I'm not strong enough to deal with it."

She's really crying now. It's ripping my heart in two.

"It's not your fault; I know it's not your fault," she sobs. "I wish I was the sort of person who could blindly trust you without question and ignore what the rest of the world is saying. But I'm not that person. And deep down I will always feel inadequate, like I'm not good enough for you."

"You are perfect for me," I insist.

I'm perfect for her. She's perfect for me. The irony of the lyrics I wrote about her only days earlier isn't lost on me.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

She's really doing this. She's really ending it. I can't stop a tear rolling down my cheek.

"No I'm sorry," I say, as firmly as I can. "I'm sorry I hurt you and made you unhappy. I never meant to."

"I know," she says, and we both sniff.

I wonder where we would be if that fucking pap hadn't opened his stupid mouth in the airport. Would she be feeling differently about me? Did she love me?

I take a deep breath.

"Jess, will you answer me something honestly?"

"If I can," she says shakily.

"What did you mean in the airport before you left?" I ask in a small voice. "You said you'd nearly told me something. What was it?"

"It doesn't matter now," she sighs.

"It matters to me," I mutter.

My heart is pounding. I don't know what I'll do if she says she loves me and then ends it anyway.

"It was nothing important," she says, after a moment. "I can't remember properly anyway."

"Oh."

I don't know what else I can say.

"I should go," she says, her voice breaking.

"OK," I reply. Mine breaks too.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't be the person you deserve," she sobs, and I can no longer speak.

How can she think I deserve better than her? She's all I want. She's all I need. I feel like I'm missing half of me right now. I can't believe I spent so long being stubborn and being annoyed with her when I should have been proving to her that I'm worthy of her. Without sounding like a dick.

"Bye Harry," she whispers, and I manage to choke out, "Bye, baby," before I hit the red button to end the call so I can cry freely.