"I... I don't know." John finally said, gazing at me.
"You've certainly got to have a better reason than that." I huffed, crossing my arms.
"Well, I don't." He grimaced, glancing away from me before looking back discretely. "Did you... Like it, at least?" He grinned sheepishly, raising his eyebrows.
I felt myself blush madly. I wanted to hide my face, hit something, but I couldn't. "...Yes." I muttered, angry at myself for admitting that to his face.
John leant back, strumming another sharp chord. "Gear." He hummed. I brushed my hair away from my eye, giving him an embarrassed glare. "Wha'?" He asked, puckering his lips a tad like Elvis. I couldn't help but let out a light laugh.
He got up, sitting on his bed beside me, leaning in before starting to play a song.
"That'll be the day, when you say goodbye
Yes, that'll be the day, when you make me cry
You say you gonna leave you know it's a lie 'cause
That'll be the day, when I die
Well give me all your lovin' and your turtle dovin'
All your hugs and kisses and your money too
Well you know you love me baby, still here ya tell me baby
That some day well I'll be true
Well that'll be the day, when you say goodbye
Yes that'll be the day, when you make me cry
You say you gonna leave you know it's a lie 'cause
That'll be the day, when I die
Well that'll be the day, when you say goodbye
Yes that'll be the day, when you make me cry
You say you gonna leave you know it's a lie 'cause
That'll be the day, when I die
Well when Cupid shot his dart, he shot it at your heart
So if we ever part, then I'll leave you
You sit and hold me and you tell me boldly
That some day well I'll be true
Well that'll be the day, when you say goodbye
Yes that'll be the day, when you make me cry
You say you gonna leave you know it's a lie 'cause
That'll be the day, when I die
Well that'll be the day,"
My stomach twisted as I forced a smile at him. "Was that Buddy Holly?" He was terrific, John's voice was just so dreamy, and he never broke eye contact with me as he sang. It made me feel as if I were about to melt.
"You guessed right, love. Did ya like it?" He asked, placing the guitar down on the bed. I nodded enthusiastically, clapping my hands quietly. I had been watching his fingers moving around the fretboard with expertise, every so often my mind wandering to wonder what dirty things he could do with those fingers. "Cool." John murmured, placing a hand on my thigh. "So what do you want to do now?"
Kiss! Kiss! My mind shouted, although I stayed quiet. "I dunno," I shrugged, smiling at him. "How about we just talk?"
John's hand retracted from my leg. "Right, talk."
~ ~ ~
My schoolbag had been all packed, ready for whatever Quarry Bank had to shoot at me the next day.
Clothes were laid out, draped over a chair. I had gone with Elaine to get my uniform the day before, and honestly, I fancied the one I had in Bristol better.
On my desk sat a small notebook John had given me that he had filled with some of his favourite poetry. "I left you a few blank pages just in case you were feeling creative," he winked as he handed it to me. I laughed, looking at the cover. He had made a little doodle of himself, giving a thumbs-up. 'Johnny's Poetry Collection'.
"I copied most of it out of other collections, so it's a collection of collections." He laughed. "I did write a few, so I'm not a total bloke."
Giggling, I took the book. "Thanks a lot for this," I murmured, holding it gingerly. "It means a lot, really."
John gazed at me sheepishly. "I hope it does, or else it would've been a waste of me drawing my pretty face on there." He poked it. "I drew it on there 'specially for you, in case you forgot what I looked like while at school."
"I'm sure I won't," I reassured him jokingly, "You're hard to forget."
"I know."
I slipped the book back into my bag, making sure it wouldn't bend on anything. I wanted to take a look at it, but I didn't want to rush through the poems before I had even gotten to Quarry Bank.
I was considerably nervous as I slipped into bed, so many things rushing through my mind that I had forgotten to write anything to Alice.
~ ~ ~
"This is the big day, is it not?" John nudged me teasingly as we waited at the bus stop, a few other people nearby. "Your first day of school in good ol' Liddypool." I nodded at him nervously. "Don't fret, Johnny'll watch out for ya."
I shrugged a little, hugging a textbook closer to my chest. "I.. It doesn't really matter to me, I'll be doing things with Paul, mostly, since we're in the same year and all."
John frowned, growing rigid. "Yes, I s'pose so." He said through gritted teeth, making me feel a bit uncomfortable.
A few stops later, Paul got on, and I waved enthusiastically at him. He was grinning from ear to ear as he sat down, a few rows and across the aisle from us.
John leant over to me. "Are you sure you two aren't just shagging each other or something? Because you're all touchy and shit with him." He whispered agitatedly, and I recoiled away.
"What the fuck? No! Of course not. Y-y'know what?" I got up angrily, my hands clenching the seats ahead for stability just in case, and sat down beside Paul, sending a quick glare to John.
"Hello, Heather!" He greeted me, smiling. "Are you excited?" I nodded, wringing my hands in my lap. "I'll help you around the school, I'm sure you'll find lots of mates for yourself, so you won't need me for long." Paul went on, eyes bright before he leant over, staring behind me. "Erm.. What's John's problem?"
I turned around to find John glaring daggers at me. "I'm not sure." The bus was stopped, so right after I had turned somebody I didn't know sat beside John, talking to him. "Looks rather sour."
Paul nodded softly. "I'll introduce you to my mates, I'm sure you'll all get along well." I smiled at him, hoping I would make some friends.
He followed me off the bus, other people coming swimming out also. "Since you already know all of the guys in the Quarrymen, the only other person not in our year would be George Harrison."
I glanced up. "George? Does he have dark hair?" Maybe he was talking about the same boy I had met in J&M Books.
Paul grinned. "And he's kind of tall for his age?" He continued, both of us walking into the school for our first classes.
"I met him a week or so ago, in the bookstore on Southdale?"
"Yeah, I could see that. The lad's a nerd in that way." My cousin smirked at me and I sniggered. "To be honest, though, he's really good at guitar. I've been trying to get John to let him audition, but he keeps going on about George's age."
I huffed, throwing some books into a locker that had been assigned to me two days beforehand. There had been an orientation Paul had come along with me to, where they showed us around Quarry Bank and such. Most of them were in the ninth year, though, so I didn't bother trying to make any friends.
"English, 2D." Paul read his timetable. "What about you?" He looked up. I nodded, showing him my slip of paper. "Gear," he grinned.
~ ~ ~
"I am Stuart Pot, an English major from the University of London. I expect to be called nothing less than Mr. Pot, or Sir. There is no 'mate', no 'toff', 'chap', 'bugger', whatever words you skives use. English is an art, so, let's see you take your slang, and throw it out the window." I glanced over at Paul, who was staring unblinkingly at Mr. Pot.
"Now, I would like you to write down every slang word you know. Every word that feels dirty to your mouth, like it is an insult to our wonderful language. Be they curses, even. Then we will crumple up our papers, and set them aflame, cleansing ourselves of these rubbish words to use English as what it was intended, an art."
The paper was slid onto my table and my pencil shook in my hand. I had been given so much power. Writing cusses in class? It felt wonderful. Paul was already scribbling away, as well as another boy sitting at the table with us.
I delved into my work and soon after, Mr. Pot had set mine and Paul's sheets ablaze. "I do feel cleaner," He murmured to me, eyes still fixated on the flames. "John told me Pot was insane, but he's absolutely genius."
"Yeah," I sighed, propping my head up with my elbow. "If I could spend a whole day in this classroom instead of going to the other classes, I'd be content with coming to school."
The bell rang, and Paul and I were about to get up to leave before Mr. Pot called us to his desk. "You two. Eaton and McCartney. On your papers, I found the filthiest, most wretched words I had ever seen in my life. If you can think up that lot of negativity, I am sure there is much potential for positivity from you two. Do not let me down."
Paul nudged my elbow excitedly as we walked out of the room. "Y' hear that? He likes us!"
I laughed, toting my textbook. "Yes!"
He leant towards me. "Do you think we can cuss now?" I glanced behind me at the English 2D classroom, where people for the second period were already streaming in before nodding. "Pot's fucking brilliant!"
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but, I'm excited for my next English class." I replied as we made our ways down the hall. "Are all the teachers here like this?"
Paul snorted. "No."
"It's worth asking." I shrugged. "What've you got now?"
He looked at his timetable. "French 4B?"
I shook my head. "Chemistry 3C." Disappointed, I saw my own expression mirrored in Paul's.
"Shame. Either way, you know where the room is, right?"
Thankfully, the two classes were across the hall from each other. We exchanged waves before splitting for the morning.
~ ~ ~
I sat in between a girl I'd never seen before, and another boy who I thought I'd seen hanging around during one of the Quarrymen's practices in chemistry class as the teacher poked agitatedly at the chalkboard.
"You see?" He went on. "These formulas don't work. You cannot mix acids with cyanide solutions! You will die!" The teacher, Mr. Salinger, was a tad insane. "You also cannot mix ammonia with bleach! It will release toxic vapour- and what will happen?"
"You will die," droned the class.
"Precisely." Mr. Salinger retracted his telescoping pointer, putting it in his desk. "We have fifteen minutes left of this class. I would like three examples of solid oxidizers on my desk before then."
I glanced at the boy nervously. Solid oxidizers? I pulled out a paper quietly, before the girl next to me whispered "Iodates, nitrates, permanganates," into my ear.
I murmured a quiet 'thank you.' She got up, handing in her paper as I wrote down the answers. The girl smiled as she came back, pushing a pair of thick glasses up her nose. "Connie." She introduced herself, giving my hand a quaint shake before I handed my paper in myself.
"Roxanne," I replied, grinning. "How'd you know that?"
"Oh, my father works in a laboratory in London. He's a chemist, so I've learned a lot of stuff from him." She cracked her knuckles, zipping up her bag. "My sister told me Salinger's awful," she whispered, leaning closer to me. "I'm not sure, Vivian usually tended to have bad experiences with teachers." I smiled, glancing at the clock quickly. Only seven minutes left.
"I haven't seen you around here before, have you just moved?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes- from Bristol."
She snapped her fingers, grinning. "So that's where your accent's from! I knew I recognized it." Connie flashed me a toothy grin, pushing her glasses up yet again.
"Girls!" Mr. Salinger shouted from the front. "Just because you've finished before the rest of the class doesn't mean you may chat!" His Irish accent sounded funny when he yelled, making me refrain from laughing.
Connie's head drooped in shame. "S-Sorry, sir." I murmured. He huffed, returning to his book. I glanced at her helplessly as the bell sounded and students began filing out of the room.
~ ~ ~
The next fortnight of school went brilliantly, my grades were okay, I had made a few friends, Connie being one of them, and gotten closer with Paul. John came over still, and vice versa, though he often left out of annoyance because I was trying to focus on schoolwork.
There was one day, where John made me absolutely furious.
It was a normal class- History, which I had halfway through the afternoon with another one of my newfound friends, Lucille. Then, suddenly, the telephone rang and the teacher picked it up. "Mhm. Yes. Alright." He turned to me, and I felt incredibly nervous. Had I been found out? Was I being sent back to Bristol? "Roxanne. There's been a family emergency- your father wants you home immediately."
I froze. My father? Family emergency? My dad was bloody dead! "Yes sir." I gathered my books and left, taking a second to stand just beyond the doorway as it was closed behind me.
"Boo!" Someone's arms wrapped around me and I gasped, shoving them off me. John.
"What the fuck, John?" I shouted as he guided me away from the door. "Family emergency? My sodding dad? Why would you make up such bollocks?"
He snorted, leaning against a wall. "Well, I got bored honestly, so I wanted to get you out of class so we could have some fun."
"What the fuck?!" I repeated, exasperated. "Why would you-"
He pressed a finger to my lips. "Hush, just mellow out for once, will you?"
I glared at him, narrowing my eyes. John returned with a smirk, despite my obvious negativity. "And you're my father now, apparently?"
His eyes glinted and he wiggled his eyebrows. "No, but you could call me Daddy if you'd like."
Shoving him away, I stomped down the hallway. "Fuck you." Furious with John, I wanted to get as far away with him as I could. My father? He just had to say that?
"-Roxanne, wait," He grabbed my arm. I swung around, seething. "I'm sorry, okay? It's not such a big deal."
Ripping my forearm out of his grip, my anger had finally boiled over, and I absolutely exploded at him. "Not a big deal? You impersonated my father to pull me out of class! Do you know how much trouble that would get me in?"
It was true. If they had figured out I had no father at home, they would look into the fact that my father was not around. Then they would see my mother wasn't around either. Then it would be figured out that I was living in Liverpool illegally, and I would get deported back to Bristol to get starved and mistreated by Grandmother.
I was living under a false alias. That was already illegal enough. "I said I'm sorry, love, get over it! Nothing happened!" He retorted.
"Sorry does nothing. Fuck you." I spat and whirled around, making my way outside.
~ ~ ~
I still remember the day Mum and Dad didn't come home. It was a May evening in 1949. They'd gone out for a banquet held by Dad's company. I even remember the time they had left. The time the police came.
The lunch banquet was due to end around 5:30 in the evening. But once 8:00 rolled around, the doorbell rang. Alice had just gotten home from Lydia Thompson's house, she had just put away her helmet in our garage.
Are Mum and Dad home yet?" She asked. I shook my head. Alice was 3 years older than me, her 10 turning 11 and me being 7, turning 8 both later that year. She looked down at my paper. "What're you drawing?"
I pointed at the vase at the centre of our kitchen table and glanced up at her. "The flowers." I grinned before the doorbell went. "Is that Mum and Dad?" I asked, following Alice to the front door.
"But why wouldn't they just come in?" She asked rhetorically before opening it to find two men, about the same height and middle aged, standing in front of us. Both had coats on, they were definitely police officers. "Hello?"
The officer on the left nodded. "Good evening, girls. May we come in? We've some... Unpleasant news." Now, Mum had warned us not to let strangers in when they weren't home, but these men had badges. Alice stepped out of the way, pushing me behind her. The other man whispered something to the one that had spoken to us before they sat us down in Mum's parlour.
"We're from the police station not too far away from your home here." The other man said. He had a deep voice. "I'm Officer McGrath, but you two can call me Eddie, and this is Officer Boyd." He pointed out the other one who had spoken to us first. "Your parents went to a banquet, but they still haven't gotten home yet, correct?"
I piped up obliviously, though Alice had probably gotten the hint. "Yes, do you know where they are?"
They exchanged uneasy looks. "Erm, your parents. Your father didn't see another unnamed person ram into their car from the side." Alice gasped and I stopped. "They got hit into a lamp post. Your father.. He didn't make it. Your mother is barely still with us." She kept staring, her mouth open. I gazed between the two authorities, tears forming at my eyes. After a second, I burst into sobs, clutching onto Alice's arm. My father was dead.
"C-can we see her?" She asked between my cries, pulling her arm around my shoulder.
They nodded profusely. "Of course."
We were driven to the hospital, a car ride that made me extremely paranoid, then lead to a lonely room near the end of a hallway. I couldn't help but shiver at the moody scheme of it all, darkened windows and dreary paint choices. We passed one nurse on the way, who gave us a sad look.
Alice walked through, her head hanging, arms slagging. If otherwise, our father would never have let us move about with such negative body language. But he was gone now. The officers rapped lightly on the door, and a murmur allowed us inside.
Mum lay on a bed, a sort of chaotic peacefulness to her. Her eyes were shut, lips slightly pursed as always. Alice had to look away. I just kept staring, watching my mother, examining her like it was my last chance to do so, which, coincidentally, was. Her arms lay static at her sides, like she was positioned in such way, not that she had done it consciously, which made me feel sick.
The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor was the only thing somewhat comforting to me. "Can she hear us?" I asked Eddie McGrath, who stood nearby solemnly.
He nodded, but I supposed it was only for the sake of letting me and Alice speak to her for the last time. I let go of Alice and stood by my mother, and watched her chest rise and lower for a minute. "Hello, Mum." I said as my sister stepped up as well. "I just want you to know, that Alice and I love you very, very much, and we'd rather you not leave us," I wiped my face as tears began to well up. "Because we will miss you lots. We already miss Dad." Alice held my hand as Mum's heartbeat became inconsistent. At the time, I had thought at the time that it meant she was getting better, but we were quickly ushered out of the room.