"You shouldn't have gone," Alice's voice quivered over the telephone. "Grandmother thinks you're dead, and the media's all over our house, and you know Jack doesn't like that sort of thing."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Tell them to leave. Say you have no comment!"

"Do you think they're going to listen?" Alice's agitated tone made me flinch. "Mum and Dad wouldn't have liked this."

I clenched my free hand. "If Mum and Dad were still around I wouldn't have run away!"

There was a pause before Alice sighed. "Look, I don't like you being in Liverpool. I don't know what you're up to, I don't even know if you're okay!" She stressed.

"I'm fine!" I replied as the doorbell rang. "I've got to answer that, I'm sorry. Goodbye Alice, I love you."

Alice didn't say anything in reply. She only hung up, making my stomach drop as I rushed to the door. John stood on the other end, toting a guitar case. "Erm, hi. The band's doing a little gig by Quarry Bank. Want to come?" He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth. It had been a little over a week or so since we had met, and surprisingly we had become somewhat friends. This was the first time he had invited me to something involved with his band, the Quarrymen. He wasn't wearing his glasses, which I supposed he didn't when doing things in public. A self conscious thing, most likely.

"Sure." I shrugged, having done all of Elaine's chores not long beforehand.

John leant over to glance beyond my shoulder. "And, erm, don't take that violin of yours, thanks."

I furrowed my brow unhappily. "Yes, fine." It was still warm since it was August, finally, meaning my birthday was coming up in a few days.

John had told me a lot about the Quarrymen. About their show at St. Peter's Church in Woolton in early July, where he had met a 'nicely dressed lad', Paul McCartney, whose surname was oddly familiar. He joined the Quarrymen a few days before my arrival to Liverpool. There was also Eric Griffiths, to John's description, sounded quite nice. He played guitar alongside John. Colin Hanton on drums, Rod Davies on banjo, who apparently was quite good, Pete Shotton on washboard, and Len Garry played tea chest bass. Ivan had been the one to introduce Paul to the group. John often bragged about Eric, and their performance in Woolton to me.

I didn't know whether to feel guilty, or mad at Alice after our discussion over telephone, I mulled as I walked beside John on the pavement, down to his school, which would eventually be mine. I was being rational and polite, but she had hung up on me. "Oi," John clapped a hand on my shoulder. "What're you staring off into nothing for? Stop worrying, let loose. We're not in Prude-ville anymore." He laughed at his own joke as we approached a small group of people sitting in front of Quarry Bank. He greeted them all heartily as I stood off to the side. "Oh, yeah, this is Roxanne." He waved me up to him, and I plastered a fake smile on my face as I scanned the group. Two boys with guitars were standing with each other, one with the guitar held to the left, who was Paul McCartney, since John was also bragging about how he was left handed. As I stared at his face, he was oddly familiar. His eyebrows were arched, eyes large, with large cheeks and a petite nose. He had been looking me over as well, it was quite odd. I figured beside him was Eric Griffiths, who, honestly looked a bit sour. Pete Shotton was beside him, the washboard between his legs. There was a girl with him who I had no idea who she was, but she hadn't any instruments, like me. Colin Hanton had a small set of drums, and Len Garry with the bass. "Well, erm, we're going to practice now, so.." He trailed off awkwardly before the other girl dragged me off to the side. I still felt Paul McCartney's eyes following me.

"Hello, hello." She shook my hand, grinning widely, her bob bouncing as she hopped about me. "I'm Pheobe, Pete's girlfriend, pleasure to meet you. John had never said anything about meeting a Roxanne before, is this new? Or are you just hanging around for a few shags before you both find somebody new?" Her questions hit me like stones as they came flying towards me.

"Uhm, yeah. John and I aren't really a thing, I just moved in next door to him yesterday." I murmured, pushing some hair behind my ear. Pheobe did an 'Ohh' and clapped her hands. She was very eccentric. It turned out she was a year older than me, but she didn't act much like it. Apparently her parents told her the name Pheobe meant 'high spirits', which was quite the load of bollocks, they were probably just making excuses for her childish behaviour. As she yammered on, I glanced back over at Paul. He was just too familiar. His face, name, even. I had no idea from where, though, and it frustrated me. "Eyeing Paulie, I see?" Pheobe giggled, poking my shoulder.

I glared at her, scrunching up my nose. "Him? No! He seems awfully familiar to me, that's all!" I spluttered, slightly offended. "I just can't put my finger on it.." I pushed the thought out of my mind, turning back to Pheobe. "You were saying?"

I had seen Paul gazing at me out of the corner of my eye until- "Oi, Paul! If you're going to be in the band you'd best be paying attention!" Eric shouted, making him jump.

"Yeah, sorry." He mumbled, and I decided not to look at him any more until they were done practising or whatever they were up to. Pheobe giggled at Paul's slip up, her curls bouncing along with her jaunty laughs. I wasn't much of a fan of her, I concluded, watching her chortle unattractively.

Pheobe glanced at me, smiling. "My father always talks about the poor McCartneys." She told me. I blinked at her, unsure if I was to say anything. "He lost his mother a year or so ago, and the dad's a nut." Pheobe reported, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "Poor boy. You know, it's funny I'm even here, my mother despises me hanging out with all these... Lower class people you'd say, yeah? Silly thing is, Pete's one of them, but he's an exception, it makes my father furious." She giggled again, making me feel a tad sick in the stomach, but I still nodded, forcing my lips up into a smile. "Now, say, your speaking mannerisms are just to die for. Have you practiced that sort of speech?" Her speaking mannerisms made me want to die. I shook my head, wringing my hair in my hands. If she could shut up for a moment, I'd actually be able to hear my thoughts and not her bloody gossip, whatever it was.

Their practice had ended a half hour later, Len Garry, Pete Shotton, and Pheobe left first. I never caught her last name so I could make sure to avoid her and her family, which was a little bit of a let down. Colin Hanton had excused himself shortly after, being trailed by Eric Griffiths, until it was me standing off to the side as John and Paul spoke to each other. "Damnit, almost forgot." I hadn't been listening to Paul or John much until this. Paul leant over to me, holding out his hand. "Paul McCartney." He introduced himself as I shook it.

"I've heard." I smiled, eyes darting all over his face, desperately trying to recognize him. "Roxanne Eaton."

Paul's eyebrows furrowed. "You seem familiar, or is that just me? I swear I've seen you around." John laughed, stepping between us.

"She moved in two days ago, actually." He grinned toothily at Paul, who raised an eyebrow. "Right next door to me."

"Why couldn't you have been more pleasant with me like with Paul when we first met?" John asked, slinging his guitar case over his shoulder as we walked away from Quarry Bank.

I snorted, pushing some hair behind my ear. "You did tell me I hadn't any friends and that I was a 'posh twat', so.."

John held up his hands. "I said I was sorry!"

Nodding at him before I looked back at the pavement, we turned a corner. "It's my birthday in a week or so, you can make it up to me then." I smirked at him.

"Your birthday?" John repeated. "Well, I'll be. How old will the birthday girl be turning?" He put his hands on his hips.

"Fifteen." I told him, and John stopped in his tracks quite literally.

"Erm... Fifteen?"

"Yes, is there an echo out here?" I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms.

John scratched the back of his head. "I thought you were seventeen.." He confessed. "You're practically a kid!"

Pressing my lips together, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you have an issue with that?" He didn't speak, starting to walk again. I huffed before catching up to him. "How old are you, then?"

"Seventeen in October." He mumbled, placing a hand on the strap of his guitar case.

I groaned frustratedly, glaring at him. "You're not even two years older than me, so I'm not a child." John lit a new cigarette, offering one to me. I turned it down. I'd start smoking on my birthday, I just needed to start the habit. Grandmother would never let me have any, and if I were to ever have any on my person I'd not be given the next meal. "Why were you so terrible when you came over that day?"

He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "We used to have another tea chest guy, Ivan Vaughan." John explained. "He gave us Paul, but then the fucker decided he'd leave the band right after, leaving us with that tosser Len. I was just agitated." He confessed as I wrung my hands. "See you later." I nodded, opening the gate to Elaine's place as he kept walking, jumping the fence since he was too lazy to open the gate himself, letting himself into Mimi's house. I smiled a little, closing the door behind me.

I turned to see Elaine sitting in the parlour, sipping a cup as a record I'd never heard before played. "What's that?" I asked, sitting across from her.

Elaine grinned, uncrossing her legs, hazel eyes twinkling. "Glad you asked, it's the King himself, Elvis Presley." She held up a record sleeve depicting a delectably attractive man, cheekbones nicely carved, and hair pleasantly slicked back, which me internally swoon. 'Elvis Presley: Loving You' was written neatly on the cover.

"Never heard of him," I gasped, taking the sleeve from her to inspect him closer. "I wasn't allowed to listen to much rock and roll."

Her face scrunched. "Never heard of Elvis? Figures, he's American. You probably wouldn't get as much of their music in Maghull as we do." I nodded, although it wasn't true. Bristol got plenty of their media, Grandmother was just strongly against it, banning it from the house. Alice and Jack had a plethora of records though, and sometimes when I came over we didn't speak, we just listened to records. Alice had let me borrow a Chuck Berry album, I had kept it hidden but Grandmother suddenly decided to search my room and found it. I didn't have dinner for five days, so I often went over to Alice's for meals in that time.

I snapped out of my little train of thought. "So, you like it?" Elaine gave me a toothy grin. I smiled, nodding. "Dreamy, isn't he?" I nodded again, more vigorously this time. She sighed softly, propping her chin up with her hand as she leant against the armrest of the sofa.

The song ended, and I stood up, about to leave. "Um, what day is it today?" I asked her.

"August ninth." She confirmed, glancing at a calendar hanging near the record player.

I clasped my hands together. "Gear, my birthday's in nine days, then." I had picked up the term 'gear' from John. "If I could call my family please, that'd be great."

Elaine tapped the floral couch's fabric with her fingertips. "Now, Roxanne. I've told you, you don't need to ask to use the telephone."

I gazed at her sheepishly. "I know."

"Off you go, then." She waved me off and I scurried to the kitchen, snatching the telephone off its base, dialling Alice swiftly.

"Hello?" Jack picked up. I froze.

"Um, hello, Jack." I greeted him. I heard a disgruntled huff, and a 'it's Heather'. It startled me, how suddenly his opinion changed of me in a few days. My gut twisted and I pushed some hair out of my face. If I was caught, and deported back to Bristol, I could never bring myself to show my face to them. "Can I.. Can I talk to Alice?" This barely came out as a whisper, my pride having vanished thanks to his attitude.

I heard some crackling as the telephone was passed to my sister. "Heather?" I flinched, not wanting her to call me that. What if somebody heard?

"Hi Alice." I stammered. What else was I to say? She was mad at me, I had no idea why.

She paused. "So, why did you have to leave so early this afternoon?"

I scratched the back of my head. "The neighbour boy next door had come over." I hadn't told her about John yet, so he would have to be 'the neighbour boy' until she was in a better mood and I could tell her.

"Oh?" Alice said. "And?" Her mood had lightened a tad, lifting a trifle of weight off my chest.
"I went to see his band."

"Was it good?" Alice pressed.

"I suppose."

There was another pause. "Look, how about you telephone tomorrow?" She finally murmured. "You seem tired." That hit me like a rock, and I stood, unspeaking by the table that the little rotary phone sat on. "Heather?"
"Yes." I droned.

I felt terrible. Alice was disappointed in me. For what? That I had moved? Grandmother didn't want me, and I didn't want Bristol. Who was she, trying to keep me from what I wanted for her own selfish needs?

I cleared the rotten thoughts from my head. If I thought of Alice like that, we may as well never rebuild our relationship. "Goodbye, then." Alice hung up. I placed the telephone back on its base before looking back up to see Elaine, looking concerned in the doorway.

"I know how I felt when my brother starter becoming pissy." She told me, staring closely at me. "I wanted to follow my dreams, become a writer for the newspaper, so I moved away from my home not too far from here to live in this house, my great aunt's.

And you know what he did? He was older, but I had enough money to go to the nicest university in London for a degree so I could write for the Telegraph. And he took it. He took all that money so he could be a lawyer. Not even because he wanted to, it was my mother, and she let him. Now he's off in ruddy old Norway, and I'm stuck here, in this rubbish Liverpool, as a sodding nurse!" Her voice raised as she spoke, before she smacked the doorframe angrily. "I didn't want to be a nurse!" She sobbed, tears springing from her eyes. "He ruined my life!" I took a step back. I didn't want Alice and I turning out like that, but it sure looked like we would. "And the moral of this story? Don't let your siblings guilt you into things you don't want to do. To hell with them. Go where you're going to go, Roxanne, don't listen to your sister." She held my shoulders, crying frantically. I gazed at her, then decided I'd gradually stop phoning Alice. If Mum and Dad were around, she wouldn't behave like that. If they were still around, Jack wouldn't be in the picture, I wouldn't have lived with Grandmother, and I'd still be in Bristol. I'd still be friends with Maureen Hawthorne, who had stopped, because she said I was asking for too much attention after my parents died! I boiled with anger. A desperate, sad anger.

"I wish my parents were still alive." I told Elaine simply.

She jumped. "Alive? You told me they had sent you here for schooling!"

I clenched my teeth, as well as my fists. "Well, I lied." Forcing my expression to soften, I glanced to the side. "Will you please let me stay anyways?"

I heard Elaine sigh quietly. "Of course." She murmured. "Of course."

Nodding slightly, I pulled myself out of her grip. "I need to think for a little bit."

Her hair was strewn across her face, but she swiftly pulled it into order. "As do I." We parted ways, I heading upstairs myself, not knowing where else to go.

Flipping open the photo album, I stared at the brilliantly arranged photographs on the page. Mum liked that sort of thing, saying 'memories were a beautiful thing, and they needed to be kept that way.' I ran my hand along a picture in front of our old house, Alice with her front teeth missing, me with one bottom tooth. Mum and Dad stood proudly on either side of us, smiling widely. Them dying completely ruined my life.

I thought back to John. And Paul. He looked like my mother, I decided. If she had brown eyes, and a slightly broader face. It had to be coincidence. Closing the book, I hugged it to my chest as I laid back on my bed, shutting my eyes.

Liverpool seemed like the right place for me. Like I was starting to belong, not like in Bristol. I'd say John was a friend, by now. I wanted to try to befriend Paul McCartney, as well as Pete Shotton, though I had second guesses about Eric Griffiths and Pheobe, especially Pheobe. She reminded me too much of Stacey. I suppose there's people like that everywhere.