Emily's POV
Ringo opened the car door for me, and then ran around to the other side and jumped in. For a time, we rode in silence. The only sound in the car was Ringo's hands tapping the steering wheel in a pattern.
"Hey, Ringo?" I said tentatively, breaking the silence "Wot are the other boys like? Are they as nice as you?" he laughed, blushing a little and paused in his tapping of the steering wheel.
"They're all real nice blokes. I guess that doesn't 'elp ya much. Lemme try an' describe 'em. John, 'e's a really nice fella. Not that 'e shows that side much. Sometimes, well, he can be a bit obnoxious, fer lack of a better word. Just a word of advice, if 'e's angry, even if it's not directed at ya stay out of 'is way." I looked at him in confusion, didn't he just say that John was nice?
"Is there any particular reason fer that?" I asked. Ringo grimaced, and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get an answer.
"Fer yer sake, let's 'ope that ya never 'ave to find out," he said, giving the distinct impression that the topic was closed. "Let's see 'ere, Paul, he's a really swell guy. One of the nicest you'd ever meet. Unfortunately, 'e's an awful flirt. Charmin', sure, but sometimes overly charmin'." He rolled his eyes with a laugh.
"Uh, an' George, 'es a quiet one when he's not in a place 'e's familiar with. When we're in the studio or somethin' like that, e's a proper chatterbox. Never shuts up sometimes, that one," he chuckled fondly, clearly these boys were like brothers.
"Sounds just like ye," I said with a smirk. Ringo furrowed his brows in confusion "Y'know, chatterbox," I grinned. He placed a hand over his heart and if we'd been standing up he would've been staggering around like he'd been mortally wounded.
"'Ey!" he exclaimed "I'm not a chatterbox!" I chuckled at his goofy antics.
"The only person ya might 'ave to worry about for some time would be our manager, Brian Epstein. Once 'e warms to ye it's alright, but till then," he shudders "It ain't pretty. He's a real professional type, that one. On a schedule all day," Ringo drew himself up to his fullest hight and puffed out his chest "Let's see here, dear me, I don't know if I'll 'ave time to do this and this, it might interfere with my schedule, don't want to be late!" he dithered in a posh falsetto. He looked ridiculous, I couldn't help but laugh. When our giggling subsided, he said, "I don't want ya to get the wrong impression of 'im, he's nice when you get to know 'im."
"Okay, Ringo. I won't make any snap judgments," I said "But I 'ope fer all yer sakes that that was an exaggeration."
Ringo resumed his tapping of the steering wheel, "Just a bit," he replied. A few minutes later, we pulled up to a house.
"We usually all stay 'ere, but I wanted to visit me mum before we leave on tour," he explained. He jumped out of the car and ran around to my side of it to open my door and let me out. The house, at least from the outside, had an air of chaos. Fun chaos, but chaos just the same. Considering that four young men usually resided there, it wasn't exactly a shock.
Ringo bounded up the sidewalk and the stairs and stood on the stoop waiting for me, his breath misting in the crisp, cold air. I, however, took my sweet time getting there as there were several patches of ice on the sidewalk and I had no desire whatsoever to go sprawling flat on the ground. Once I reached him, he opened the door for me and we stepped inside the entryway.
"I'm gonna go make sure the guys are, er, decent enough to meet ya," Ringo said, heading up the stairs. "I won't be too long." Voices filtered down from the upper level of the house.
"Oi! Paulie, d'you know how to tie a tie?" a voice shouted from one side of the upstairs. From the other side, a sigh was just barely audible.
"No! I didn't yesterday or the days before that, so why should I now?" came the impatient reply "Ask Geo, I think 'e knows 'ow-" another voice answered the second one from somewhere down on the first level of the house, presumably the kitchen.
"No, I don't!" the muffled shout suggested that it's owner was presently stuffing his face with food.
Someone upstairs seemed to notice Ringo's presence "Hullo, Rings? Where'd you come from?" Greetings were exchanged and the owner of the voice in the kitchen came into the entryway, most likely to go greet Ringo. He was tall, skinny, and handsome. He also was wearing nothing but a towel. I gaped at him, but managed to wrestle a somewhat normal expression onto my now flaming scarlet face by the time he realized that he wasn't alone. His eyes popped open wide and his ears turned red.
"I—ah—oh" he stammered and dashed up the stairs with an iron grip on his towel, ensuring that this embarrassing scene didn't get suddenly ten times more so. I stood there dumbly.
Well, that's one for the record book, I thought wryly, I've just seen a half-naked Beatle.
The owner of the kitchen-voice had evidently reached the other boys " Lads! There's a bird downstairs! A bloody bird! And she sorta... saw me... like this..." he trailed off. A moment of stunned silence was followed by shouts of laughter. This went on for some time, occasionally punctuated by kitchen-voice's feeble attempts to tell them that it really wasn't all that funny, and that they wouldn't be laughing if they were in his place.
Once the laughing subsided, the first voice spoke, "Well, that's a new one. Christ, security really is slippin'! Birds comin' in an' out as they please, we'll never 'ave another peaceful moment!" he exclaimed.
The voice that had been dubbed "Paulie" spoke next, "I'm not sure why yer complainin', Lennon. This seems to be right up yer alley. A constant stream of birds comin' in an' out of 'ere would be right convenient for ya, it would!" an indignant exclamation followed this statement and a few whacking sounds could be heard.
"'Ey, that's enough of that!" Ringo's voice emanated from upstairs, and I could imagine him wading into the middle of the little spat "Let's not dismember each other before noon, alright? After that, I don't care, but it ain't proper to kill band mates in the mornin." Chuckles came from the two boys after Ringo made this comment, and it appeared that the crisis was averted. "Besides," Ringo continued "She's not any random bird. I brought 'er over 'ere, I want you all to meet 'er," he paused before adding "Oh, an' George? Ye might wanna put some real clothes on before we go downstairs, yeah?" hoots of laughter and teasing came from the boys again. I was amazed at their cheeriness, a drunk father and two brothers who were somber as the grave while protecting me from him didn't exactly have a whole lot of time to crack a smile, much less a joke.
A few minutes later footsteps came thundering down the steps. Four grinning faces partially hidden underneath moptops met mine. One of them was clearly the leader, he appeared to be the most relaxed.
"Rings, y'never told us ya 'ad a bird of yer own!" he drawled, a lazy smirk playing at the corners of his mouth "Shame on ya fer not tellin'!" Ringo and I simultaneously blushed and denied being together, which of course only made them look knowingly at us.
"She's not my bird, John!" Ringo exclaimed "I only just met 'er last night..." too late Ringo realized that this was a loaded statement and could be taken in more than one way. Sadly, the damage was done; the boy with sleepy, hazel eyes grinned widely at this chance to make a perverted comment.
"Well, y'know that makes all the difference! What'd you two get up to last night?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of us and Ringo attempted to dig us out of this ever deepening hole that we were now in.
"It wasn't... really... like that..." he mumbled and apparently that was where his ability to explain halted. He looked to me pleadingly for continuance of this explanation.
"Oh fer goodness sakes!" I exclaimed in annoyance "Nothin' like that 'appened at all, I'll tell ya what really happened," I said, and the three others fixated their gazes on my face with such an expression that I got the impression of telling a bedtime story to toddlers.
"I was out on the streets last night when I was cornered by teddy boy. 'E was gonna rape me, but I slapped 'im. He was just about to slit me throat when Ringo 'ere," I gestured to him "Confronted the teddy boy and knocked 'im flat. Ringo then asked if I 'ad any place to go, and when I said no, he offered that I could stay at 'is 'ouse, and I accepted. I slept in the guest bed," I emphasized the last two words of my explanation so that there would be no room for any comments that would upset the momentum of my story.
"Well, what do ya know?" hazel-eyed boy said "Rings is a hero!" the boys congratulated him, clapping him on the back and giving words of praise. When this subsided, Ringo appeared to be struck with a sudden thought.
"Where are me manners? I 'aven't done any introductions yet! Emily, meet the Beatles, Beatles, meet Emily," I smiled shyly and waved a little, absolutely clueless as to how to progress in this introduction.
The one that had been called "Lennon" stepped forward "I was wonderin' if yer name was as beautiful as ye, and now I know that no name, no matter how pretty, will ever compare to yer beauty. Pleasure to meet ya, Emily. Me name's John. John Lennon." I offered my hand and he grabbed it and brought it to his lips in a grand gesture of flattery and elegance. Naïve as I was, I was swept right off my feet by his copious compliments. His hair—fashioned into a moptop like the others—was a light auburn color. He was neatly dressed, but gave off the distinct impression that he'd like to be dressed in something a little more sloppy. His eyes were dark brown, and held copious amounts of mischief and anger, but they were guarded by an edge that allowed no one into his heart or mind. This was an odd combination, but not unheard of. He stood like that for a few more seconds.
"'Ey, Johnny! No 'oggin' the bird!" hazel-eyed boy exclaimed, none too subtly shoving John out of the way and taking my hand, "Pleased to meet ya, Emily. Me name's Paul McCartney," he brought my hand to his lips and bowed a little. I'm sure the intended impression was to be grandiose, but the impression that I got was cheesy in the highest. His hair was a darker brown than John's, and his eyes were hazel, they were large and sleepy looking, but were still sharp with wit. He squeezed my hand a little, and I decided that that was overstepping the boundaries of "new acquaintances" just a bit. I gently removed my hand from his.
"The pleasure's all mine," I said with a little smile, trying to silently convey the thought that I felt him to be a little overly charming. He didn't appear to be fazed by it, he just flipped his hair out of his eyes, smiled, and winked at me. Boys, I thought and oppressed the sudden, overwhelming urge to roll my eyes. I managed to stop the urge, but it was a close thing. I focused instead on Paul's eyebrows, and marveled at the ability of my brain to focus on something completely unrelated and random when I didn't feel like dealing with the present situation. There's no way his eyebrows are that perfect with out plucking, I thought.
Towel-boy had been entirely silent up to this point. I held out my hand and he shook it, and I was secretly thankful for his more modest approach to these introductions "Nice to meet ya, Emily," he said softly "Me name's George," his hair was the darkest of the four, almost black and his eyes were a deep, warm, chocolate brown. They were set under a pair of bushy eyebrows that looked much more natural than those of Paul. His eyes flickered briefly to my arm, and then my face. His eyebrows contracted for the most fleeting of instants, but I knew that he'd seen my bruises.
Perhaps Ringo noticed this little display, perhaps not, but his intervention could hardly have come at a better time "'Ey, lads? Could I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?" he inquired "Sorry Emily, this shouldn't take a long time," somehow, I knew they would be talking about me.
"That's just fine, I can wait here," I said, and sat down on the bench next to the coatrack.
They walked into the kitchen and gently closed the door behind them.
John's POV
This bird wasn't like most I'd met. Some of it, like the fact that she hadn't tried to rip out our hair or clobbered us in hysterics, I didn't mind much. It was sort of a nice change, to be honest. But there were some distinctly odd things about her. Like the fact that her stormy green eyes never smiled. Not even when her mouth did. They were completely shut off to the world, allowing no one in. She was pretty, that was certain. Unfortunately, no one could get close to her, which is sort of necessary when one finds a person attractive, as I found her.
Ringo's POV
The door swung shut and I turned to face the other boys "So, what did you fellas think of 'er?" I posed the question to all of them. Surprisingly, George spoke up first.
"Well, it was sorta 'ard to tell what she was like, exactly. She 'ardly said a word the entire time an' 'er eyes were really closed off and shut down. I wonder why?" he paused "And how the 'ell did she get all those bruises?" I took a moment to mentally thank God for George's perceptiveness.
Paul spoke up, "Geo's right. She had this look in 'er eyes like she'd seen a lot of sadness in 'er life and wasn't about to let anyone else in, like she was afraid of bein' 'urt again. No girl that young should've seen that much pain in life to be like that!" he declared. Paul was right, but I wondered about the necessity of his dramatic nature. We needed more drama in our lives about as much as we needed a hole in the head.
"You fellas are both right," John said quietly, shocking the heck out of all of us in the process. John admitting someone was right? This was almost unheard of until now. I think the rest of us realized at about the same time that John knew more about pain than just about anyone else. His mum, his best friend, and his uncle had all died during his life, and his father wasn't exactly a huge part of his life as a kid, and still wasn't for that matter. Yes, John Lennon knew about all sorts of pain, physical or otherwise.
"Pain, like the kind in 'er eyes," he continued "It 'as to come from someone she knew or knows. How anyone could do that much harm to someone they knew or know is beyond me though," he said, and the expression on his face was nearing murderous. His present mood made it even harder to say what I said next.
"I know who 'urt her," I said tentatively. George's eyes widened, Paul's brows furrowed in confusion, and John's expression was unreadable "When I was talkin' to 'er last night, she said that 'er father is a drunk who would beat her an' her brothers. 'Er mum got sick an' tired of it all, and ran off with some other bloke. After that, 'er brothers left an' Emily's dad made 'er stay 'ome and keep 'ouse. Two nights ago, she ran away, and then I found 'er last night. Whatever happened before that must've been pretty bad to make 'er run away in the middle of winter, I'm willin' to bet one of my drumsticks that it 'as something to do with the bruises that she 'as," three horrified faces stared back at me.
Paul's POV
Oh, my God! How could someone do that to their own child? The guarded look in her eyes suggested that she had endured things like this since she was a little girl. I just couldn't believe it, it blew my mind.
George's POV
My stomach churned sickeningly when Ringo said that her father had beaten her, her siblings, and her mother when he was drunk. And when he said that she had run away, in the middle of winter, I had to clap my hand under my jaw to ensure that it didn't drop to the floor. Whatever happened must've been serious, you'd have to be extremely desperate to run away during a season as cold as this without assurance of a warm bed and a meal every night.
I glanced over at John and noted that his grip on the table was so tight that he was liable to splinter it if he grabbed it any harder. Ringo noticed this as well, and seemed to be a bit concerned. He was in the right to feel this way; John was making it clear that he would like nothing better than to pound the hell out of her father.
"Now you guys have to promise that you won't mention any of this to 'er. She'll open up to us if she wants to and when she feels comfortable, don't push 'er," he said nervously. I knew I for one wasn't going to be bringing it up. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable.
When we filed out of the kitchen, I didn't know how to describe it, but she knew that we'd been talking about her. "So," she said, "Did ya finish yer incredibly profound debate?" she smiled what was beginning to be her signature didn't-reach-her-eyes smile.
"Yep," John said "Discussed the meaning of life and all that, I think we're startin' to make 'eadway," she laughed at this. John headed out the door, and then stopped short "Ringo? What were ya plannin' to do with 'er? We 'ave rehearsal today, Eppy says it's an important one. I take that to mean that 'e'll murder us if we miss it."
"I was plannin' on bringin' 'er along if it's okay with you fellas," Ringo said, putting on his coat "I was thinkin' we could play a song or two for 'er," we pondered this for awhile.
"Well, does the lady want a show?" Paul asked her, and she nodded eagerly "Well, then 'tis settled. We'll play for 'er!" I thought it was a great idea, but there was the underlying feeling that Brian wasn't going to be pleased at all.
"Who's car are we takin'?" John asked. Ringo waved his keys and John snagged them out of his hand and trotted off to the car. "I call the driver's seat!" he called, skipping down the sidewalk. A moment went by before Ringo came to his senses.
"Oh SHIT!" he yelled, sprinting out the door "NOOO, John! Stay the hell away from me car!" an amusing chase scene ensued. Ringo eventually tackled John and rescued his precious keys.
Emily was laughing with a bemused expression on her face, "I take it John's a bad driver?" Paul's eyes widened and he shook his head.
"The absolute bloody worst," he said.