A/N: Hey guys. I've written a HEAP so I reckon I'll just post tonnes of chapters, and try and get on with the story. I want to be able to move on to other things, as I have loads of ideas for other stories, and this one is becoming a slight drag, but I won't give up on it just yet. Thanks once again to EVERYONE who read, reviewed, favourited and whatnot. :D You guys make my day. Enjoy, and please review! (nicely :P)
The first thing Hayley noticed was the sunshine. There were no windows in her bedroom, so waking up to daylight was cause for concern. The second thing she noticed was the distant roar of traffic, louder than normal. Piecing these two pieces of information together, even with a cloudy brain, she deduced that she was sleeping in her lounge room, and someone had opened up the balcony doors, leaving them open to the sun's rays, the noise of the city, and the elements. A cool breeze wafted in, and she could smell the promise of rain.
The next thing to compute was her positioning. She realised that she must've been laid out to sleep on the mattresses with the four Beatles, but didn't expect to be quite as entwined as she was. Someone was holding her hand, someone had their leg hooked around hers, someone had thrown their arm around her waist, and someone else was resting their head on her stomach, just below the afore-mentioned arm. She was pressed up against all four at once, and could feel the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed in and out. Even their breathing was musical, she marvelled. They were all in time with each other.
Feeling a splitting headache start to blossom within her skull, she squeezed her eyes firmly shut, and twisted around, so that her face was buried in the pillow. She'd like to see the stupid sunlight burn her retinas now.
Her sudden movement disturbed the boys, and they began to stir.
"Hayley?" Ringo murmured sleepily, his head resting on the soft flesh of her stomach. It was the best pillow he'd ever had.
She just groaned into the soft fabric of the pillow, and pushed down harder.
"Is she awake, Ringo?" George asked, flexing his fingers around hers as he tried to wake up completely.
"Shuddup, you two," Paul groaned, and realised his leg was in rather an awkward place. He tried to move it away, but only managed to drag it against the smooth skin of hers in the attempt, which wasn't very helpful. At least, he hoped it was hers.
John ignored everyone, fantastic dreams still playing in his mind. He tightened his hold on the hung-over girl, and made a sound the others could've sworn sounded like purring.
"What's the time?"
"I dunno, George. I'm not a clock."
"Ringo 'The Clock' Starr. . . Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"Oh, bugger off."
"Well, someone sure needs their coffee."
Paul sighed, saying goodbye to sleep. He slid out of the blankets, and used the couch to help him stand up. His muscles didn't work to 100% in the morning. He stretched, and turned to look out the clear glass doors, his pyjama shirt riding up and revealing some pale stomach. Hayley admired it out of the corner of her eye, and pondered on the fact that in only a year, in their time, girls all over the world would kill for front-row seats like hers. She was unbelievably lucky. Now, where was her camera . . . ?
"Pancakes okay?" Paul asked, slipping easily into his mother-hen role.
"Of course!" George enthused, sitting up, but keeping his hold on her hand. He was almost completely awake now. "You're a legend, Paul."
"Ringo? What about you?"
The drummer blinked slowly. "Coffee. Please."
"Then pancakes?"
"Sure."
Paul then turned his attention to the girl. Buried under several blankets, as well as many Beatles, all he could see was her wavy brown hair, splayed out on the pillow like a waterfall. "Can either of you see if she's awake?"
George peered closely at her, delicately brushing aside a few strands of hair. "I think she is."
"Hayley?" Paul asked gently. "Do you feel like breakfast?"
She made some gagging noises in reply, so he marked her down as a no.
As he began to cook up a storm, she rolled onto her side, and found herself facing John. He stared back at her, sleep only just dissipating from his warm brown eyes. He smiled at her happily, and used the arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer.
George noticed the sudden tug on his hand, and Ringo the sudden disappearance of his wonderful pillow. They both looked towards her, and noticed the sudden embrace.
"John's awake!" George cried, diving onto them, and cunningly separating them. He started tickling his fellow band-member while he was still a sitting duck, his cognitive faculties only just warming up.
Hayley was grateful for the intervention – she really didn't want to fall for John Lennon. It was just too complicated. Though the hug had been rather nice, she had to admit.
"John's up?" Paul echoed, stepping out of the kitchen wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a Simpson's apron, with a spatula in his hand. She'd bought them all pyjamas and other bits and pieces yesterday, from a discount store. The waistband of his pants was already losing its elasticity, and hung low on his hips. "D'ya want pancakes, Lennon?"
John shoved George off of him, and sat up. "Sure. Sounds tasty, ma. And maybe, after breakfast, you can teach me how to knit, and polish silverware, and arrange flowers."
Paul rolled his eyes, and played along. "Your sister is a much better student than you are. Maybe she could teach you."
"Me sister? Do you mean old Georgia here?"
"She's got quite a dap hand at making pot-pourri, I'll have you know."
George joined in. "It's not that hard, Joanna. Maybe if you didn't spend so much time chasing boys, you'd get the hang of it."
"I can't help it if some boys are absolutely gorgeous. I'm bonkers for 'em!"
Hayley suddenly cried out in pain.
"What is it, Hales?" Ringo asked with concern.
"Laughing hurts. Don't be funny."
They smiled in relief. She'd scared them.
All of a sudden, her phone rang. She groaned loudly, and stood, taking the blankets with her.
"Oi!" Ringo exclaimed, attempting to warm himself by burrowing in next to George.
She stumbled with momentum over to the dining table, where her bag still rested. She quickly searched through it for her mobile, and flipped it open.
Seeing the caller, she frowned slightly, and held it to her ear.
"Mum?"
The boys were very worried. They'd just finished their second helping of Paul's marvellous pancakes, and she still hadn't come in off the balcony. They were tossing up whether to go and fetch her, or to just leave her alone.
She had gone outside soon after answering, as she had discovered the connection to be rather weak. Also, she couldn't deny the fact that she wanted a little privacy. It had been weeks since she'd talked to someone back home, let alone her mother, and she didn't want to Beatles' antics to distract her.
"Hayley, we can't make it to your graduation." Her mother got straight to the point.
"Oh," Hayley said in surprise. She'd been expecting her parents to visit her in London for the first time in order to see her graduate, and it did hurt a little that they weren't going to be there on the biggest day of her life so far. "Money issues?"
"Well, I guess you could say that." Her mother trailed off. If Hayley didn't know her better, she would've said she sounded weary, and stressed. But that was impossible – her mother was friggin' Superwoman.
"What do you mean?" Hayley leant against the rails, and looked down at the street. It was eleven o'clock in the morning over here, which meant it was only eight in the evening back home. Her mother shouldn't sound as tired as she did.
"Well, treating Hayden's cancer is going to be expensive." She said it quickly, like ripping off an emotional band-aid. For just one simple sentence, it was amazing how crushing its weight was.
Hayley froze in shock. Her mother continued to talk, but she didn't hear a word. The phone slipped from her hand, and landed in the neglected flower bed below the balcony. Her heart started to work again, pounding at fifty times its normal pace, and her breathing started to accelerate in the attempt to catch up with it, making her world start to spin. She gripped the cool metal railing tightly, and didn't so much as flinch as the dark clouds fulfilled their rainy promise.
She resembled a marble statue, the rain running in rivulets down her face, and eroding her emotional strength as it does the structural integrity of a traditional statue. She started to cry, the salt water of her tears mingling with the raindrops, and forming pools on the floor.
Hayden wasn't just her older brother. He was her older brother by twenty-eight minutes.
Eventually, John summed up the courage to step out onto the balcony. As soon as he had seen her through the glass panels, he had known that something was wrong. He slid the doors open quietly, and stood beside her without a sound.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and his heart froze.
Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her chest heaved as she fought to gain a steady breathing tempo, and her breaths were more like gasps. Her hands trembled as they rested on the rails, and her clothes were soaked right through.
He cautiously moved closer to her, and placed a warm arm across her shoulders. When she didn't object, he pulled her into a bear-hug, and started to stroke her hair. She burrowed her face into his shoulder, and her sobs became more pronounced. He didn't care one bit, and gently swayed her from side to side, to try and comfort her.
After a few moments, when she thought he was going to ask what the problem was, he started to sing softly in her ear. It was some sweet little love song, and made her feel infinitely better. The rain continued fall on them, but neither paid any attention.
After a considerable amount of time, when she was afraid he'd sung himself hoarse, she pulled away, and wiped at her eyes. "Do you want to know what's wrong?"
He chose his words carefully. "It's none of my business, but if you want to tell me, then I'll make it my business. It's up to you. If it's too painful, then don't worry."
She took a moment to decide, but her decision was already made for her. There was no way she could keep something like this from him, especially after he'd been so gentlemanly.
"It's my twin."
"You're a twin?" he exclaimed in surprise, eyebrows raised.
She chuckled softly, a positive sign. "Yeah. It's Hayden. He's older by just a few minutes, so we tell people he's the first child, and I'm the second. They're more likely to cringe if they find out that 'Hayley' and 'Hayden' are twins."
He smiled. He actually thought it was kinda cute. "Well, what about him?"
She decided to take a leaf out of her mother's book, and just get it over and done with. "He has cancer. Which means my parents can't make it to my graduation. But I'm mainly sad about the cancer part."
John squeezed her hand. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Hayley." His eyes were serious. "What's the prognosis?"
She cleared her throat, and looked down shamefully. "I- Uh- I don't know."
"Why? What do the doctors say? Didn't your ma tell you?"
She peered over the edge of the balcony. "I may've dropped my phone. Shock, and everything, you know."
John stared at her blankly, then started to laugh. He tried to suppress it, but it still managed to slip out as little squeaks. She looked at him, and found his laughter to be contagious. She started to giggle; the ridiculousness of the situation hit her like a freight train.
She was here, with the 1962-era Beatles, having just finished a three-year Oxford scholarship, and was finding out that her twin brother had cancer. John Lennon was holding her hand, Paul McCartney was cooking half-naked in her kitchen, George Harrison was playing around on her guitar, and Ringo Starr was curled up on her couch. On Monday morning, she would receive her diploma, and then, in the evening, fly home to Sydney, for the first time in three years.
And, apparently, she would arrive to a maelstrom of chemotherapy, family counselling, grief, and hospital visits. Her other half, her better half most of the time, could be dying. Right now.
She laughed without restraint, her pain leaching into the joyful sounds, and making them slightly insane. John ceased to giggle, and looked at her in concern, as she bent over, cackling. Tears ran out of the corners of her eyes, and even she couldn't tell whether it was from the laughter or the grief.
After a while, her insane laughter died down, and the sound of the rain falling on the street took the place of their conversation.
"Do you want me to send Ringo or George to go fetch your pocket-phone, so you can call her back?" John crossed his arms, and looked at the drenched girl with concern. "I think you should."
She sighed, and he could see the condensation of her breath. She turned her head halfway towards him and nodded.
"Come with me." He reached for her hand, and gently pulled her into the apartment, and out of the rain, as it suddenly started to get heavier.
George looked up from his position on the floor. He was sitting cross-legged, holding the guitar close to his body, and quietly strumming. Carefully laying the guitar on the pillows, he stood, and strode over to them. "You alright, love?"
He looked into her sparkling blue eyes, and tried to search for the source of her pain.
"My twin brother has cancer." She seemed a bit above everything now; the only thing keeping her chained to reality was John's firm hold on her hand.
"Do you want some pancakes, love?" Paul asked, just stepping out of the kitchen, and having not heard what she'd said.
"My twin brother has cancer."
Ringo moaned in his sleep, and rolled onto his side.
"My twin brother has cancer."
John and George carefully guided her towards the lounge, and sat her down next to Ringo. She sat there rigidly, eyes unfocused.
John whispered something to George, and he nodded. Casting a quick glance at her, they walked to the door, across the landing, down the stairs, and into the foyer. They went out into the rain, and started searching for her phone.
Upstairs, Paul shoved the sleeping Ringo over, and sat down between them. He hesitantly held a soft, warm hand against her freezing, damp cheek, and used the other to brush a wet clump of hair out of her eyes. She started to weep, and he pulled her into him, holding her close and burying his nose in her hair. He softly stroked her arm, and Ringo woke up.
"Wha-?"
Paul shot him a warning look, and he fell silent. As she continued to cry, the drummer realised that Paul still hadn't gotten around to putting on a shirt. This definitely would've been awkward if she wasn't so beyond noticing. He got up, and went to sit on her other side. He hugged her from behind, sliding his hands in between them.
Theoretically, she should've felt substantially better, being embraced by the two Beatles so intimately. But her brain was too overloaded to comprehend what was happening. She soon ran out of tears, and clung to them, just sniffling.
They remained entwined like that 'til George and John returned, covered in mud and grass stains, and dripping wet.
The three on the lounge looked up, and the two new arrivals looked down.
After a few minutes of the two groups staring at each other in surprise, Hayley muttered, "Don't get mud on the carpet."
George smiled weakly. "She's better, then?"
John rolled his eyes. "Clinging to a topless Macca in the way she is, it's a wonder she's not completely singing for joy." He didn't say it completely sincerely, and stepped over to her, holding out her phone. Ringo, Paul and Hayley moved apart, and she reached out for the small clam-shell mobile.
She held it on the palm of her hand, and looked at it contemplatively. After a quiet sigh, she got up, walked into her study, and closed the door.
As soon as the door clicked closed, the bickering commenced.
"What do you think you're doing, Paulie?"
"Why are you in such a state, George?"
"I'm comforting the poor girl, you twit. She's distraught!"
"John pushed me over in the flowerbed – sorry, mud-bed. What's your excuse for looking like shite, Starkey?"
"Without a shirt?"
"I just woke up!"
"I had it under control!"
"Well, it didn't take yourself too long to fling yourself on her."
"Yeah, what George said, Paul. You're all over her!"
"I was talking to Ringo, you egocentric git! It's your fault our pyjamas are now ruined!"
"I was consoling a crying young girl! It was my first reaction, as soon as I 'eard her weeping! It woke me up!"
"I am not all over her! You're the one who's falling for her!"
"Wow, another thing we have in common, ey? All four of us?"
"SHUT UP!" she screamed, wrenching open the study door. "I hate it when you bicker! I have enough to deal with!"
They fell silent, and she continued to stand in the doorway, her chest heaving with each breath. The heavy rain pinged on the roof, and the gutters gurgled with the strong surge of water. As time passed, her breathing slowed, and the blood left her cheeks, leaving them as pale and lifeless as ever.
When they still didn't say anything, she retreated back into her sanctuary, and pulled the door closed firmly behind her.
"Lads, I don't even know why she's upset." Ringo looked up timidly, and whispered, scared of making her render another visit upon them.
John, Paul and George exchanged looks of treaty, white flags waving behind their hazelnut, honey-coloured brown eyes.
George turned to Ringo. "It would appear that her twin brother, Hayden, has cancer."
Ringo was silent for a moment. "Hayden and Hayley? That's rather sweet."
John furrowed his brow. "Starkey, did you not hear what Harrison said? Hayden has cancer."
"I heard him, all right. I just don't want to believe him."
The others knew what he meant. They didn't want to think that any pain would befall their kind host – she'd shown them so much generosity, and had helped them immensely; she didn't deserve anything like this.
Ringo breathed out deeply, closed his eyes, and leant back into the high-backed cushion of the lounge. George shoved his legs aside, and sat next to him, rubbing his temples. John and Paul looked at each other, and touched thumbs – their equivalent of a secret handshake. They then sank to the floor, and sat on the mattresses, their backs resting against the front of the lounge, next to George and Ringo's knees.
George affectionately reached out and ruffled John's hair, dislodging a few stray blades of grass. John tilted his head back to look at the young guitarist, and smiled. They were a family, first and foremost, and they would always forgive each other after a fight. 'Bro's before ho's', as they'd heard Hayley say.
They sat in expectant silence, all tensions gone. Paul pulled a blanket up over his naked chest, remembering how it had angered John. Ringo started to tap out the drum line for 'Love Me Do' – the song they'd been recording in the studio before things had gone terribly wrong. George leant over to the small end table next to the arm of the lounge, and picked up a thick novel (vetted by Hayley) that he had borrowed from the extensive library, and started reading. John closed his eyes, and imagined a world where he wasn't engaged to Cynthia. Paul started to sing along with Ringo's rhythm, and heard George and John humming their parts with him.
They were about to jump off the balcony out of boredom when they heard Hayley start playing the piano. It sounded like some sort of funeral march, and she played it with a great deal of emotion. They fell silent, and listened. When the funeral march ended, she began to play a slow, melancholic love song, which they all recognised. They couldn't place the name, or the composer, but they knew the melody, and hummed along quietly.
When it ended, the next piece she chose to play almost broke their hearts. It was a well-known piece, 'Heart & Soul'. She started to play the bass line, and continued to play it for several minutes. They soon realised that this was her way of telling them how she felt. She was reducing it into terms they would understand – musical terms.
Hayden and Hayley were like Heart & Soul – a duet. The melody sounded thin and weak without the bass, and the bass was repetitive and uninteresting without the melody. To be complete, they needed each other. The piece wasn't Heart & Soul with only one of them, just as Hayley wasn't Hayley without Hayden, or Hayden wasn't Hayden without Hayley. Harmony meant completion, and completion was the only way the twins knew how to exist.
But how much longer could that last?