I went into the room . . . and I was very surprised.
The room was full of strange things. Coloured shirts
and suits. Three guitars. And there were posters and
photographs on the walls. I looked at the posters. Jake Rosso's face looked down at me. I looked at the dead Jake Rosso's picture, and I remembered all the photographs on the walls of my room in Hong Kong. I could never forget that face - the face of my favourite singer.Then, while I looked at his face, something strange happened. I began to see another face in the posters. An older face, and with a moustache, but the same face. 1 saw the face of Mr Ross.
'No!' I said. 'It's not true!'
But it was, I knew it was.
'Mr Ross is . . . Jake Rosso!'
'No!' said a voice behind me.
I turned round and saw Mr Ross. He was standing in
the doorway. He looked . . . afraid.
'I don't believe you!' I said.
'You have to believe me!'
I looked at the posters. 'Who is that, if it's not you?'
'It's Jake Rosso. He was . . . my brother.' 'That's not true!' I shouted. 'I don't believe you. Listen, Jake Rosso was my favourite singer - I had hundreds of photos of him. I still have all his records. I loved him, do you understand? Thousands of people loved him.'
'He's dead,' Mr Ross said quietly.
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