4

August 1963

John rolled his head back over the rest in the back seat of the Austin Princess, closed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette.

‘D’you mind?’ Paul asked, leaning over from seat in front.

John opened an eye.

‘Knees!’ Paul prompted.

John sighed and sat up.

‘Yer a selfish get, John Lennon!’ he laughed.

Paul was kidding, John knew that, but he still felt a sting from the comment. Truth hurts, doesn’t it?

‘Where’s George?’ he snapped, irritated, forcing the thought from his mind. ‘Ten minutes I’ve been sat here, waiting for you lot. And now we’re still waiting for George. Where the hell is he?’

‘I dunno. I’m not his bloody mother, am I?’ Paul replied with a sulky pout. 

‘He’s coming,’ Ringo, sitting next to John on the back seat of the car, pointed to the top of the steps up to the hotel’s entrance. George was there, hopping on one foot as he attempted to pull on a stiff leather Chelsea boot.

‘Don’t mind him,’ Paul said to Ringo. ‘He’s just grumpy coz his old girlfriend turned up.’

John kicked the back of Paul’s chair, as hard as he could in the shallow space the back of the car would allow.

‘Whoops, touched a nerve there!’ Paul teased, a touch of spite in his voice. John could feel his patience begin to slip away.

‘You’ve no idea,’ Ringo mumbled, and John shot him an angry look too.

‘Alright?’ George said cheerily, clambering in next to Paul.

‘Where have you been?’ John barked. ‘Five o’clock we said. Sharp! It’s nearly quarter past now! We’re supposed to be professionals.’

‘Geez, sorry,’ George said in a tone which conveyed he wasn’t sorry at all. ‘Theatre will still be there, won’t it?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Don’t pick on George, you,’ Paul chimed in. ‘Just coz you’re in a mard about Ruby showing up like that.’

Ruby. Fuckin’ hell. Don’t say her name. He nearly told him, but opted to glare at him instead.

The driver, not their usual one, but one who’d been roped in for the Welsh leg of the tour, got into the front and started the engine. He had the distinct air of a taxi driver about him. Not really chauffeur material. He turned round to them. ‘All aboard?’ he asked with a toothy smile.

The four of them glowered back at him. John’s bad mood was catching, it seemed.

The driver raised an eyebrow. ‘Right, off we go then.’

‘What did she want anyway?’ Paul asked, turned the right way around in his seat now, with his back to John.

‘How am I supposed to bloody know?’ John replied. ‘Didn’t speak to her, did I?’ Couldn’t he just drop it?

‘I wasn’t talkin’ to you,’ Paul snapped back. ‘I was talking to Ringo. You spoke to her, didn’t you, Ring?’

‘Yeah,’ Ringo said, hesitantly. ‘Starting to wish I didn’t.’ He took a sideways look at John. John just gave him a dismissive shake of his head.

‘Where d’you know her from?’

‘She lived near by when she was younger.’

‘She used to go out with John.’

‘So I gather.’

‘Small world, isn’t it?’

‘It is in Liverpool.’

‘Can you pack it in, McCartney?’ John said.

Paul gave him a withering look. ‘Well, I don’t understand why you did that.’

‘What?’ John demanded, leaning forward to him. ‘What the fuck do you know about it, Paul? You weren’t there...’

‘Of course I was. You just ignored her. Walked right past.’

John stopped himself as he realised what Paul meant. It wasn’t that he was talking about.

‘I wouldn’t have just blanked Dot or someone like that, if I saw her.’ Paul folded his arms and sunk down in his seat.

‘You don’t... you don’t know.’ John said quietly.

                                                                                     ***

Five Years Earlier

John leaned against the cold brick exterior of the cinema and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.  He squinted up at the grey, cloud filled sky. Twenty minutes he’d been waiting. She was taking the piss. It had started raining a couple of minutes ago; a light drizzle which was gradually gaining speed.

He searched with his eyes down the empty street. No sign of her. Perhaps she’d changed her mind. Perhaps she’d forgotten. Perhaps she just didn’t give a shit.

He sighed to himself. Why was he wasting his time on this bird? She was invariably sulky, distant or stroppy. It had been an up hill battle from the word go. Weeks to get more than two words out of her. Even longer for a civil conversation.

Ah, but, that had been all part of the attraction, hadn’t it? The more she seemed to hate him, the more he’d wanted her. The sweeter the payoff when he finally got her. Not that he had got her properly. Yet. That will have to change, John told himself. Either that or pack her in. Why waste all this time on Ruby? He was still getting nowhere fast with her. Whereas Cynthia, she wanted it. He could tell. 

Suddenly, there she was. Running across the road wearing the most inappropriate outfit for a rainy December afternoon she could have possibly found; a pink gingham summer dress with thin shoulder straps, a faded red raincoat a couple of sizes too big hung off her, undone but she held the hood over her head. John smiled at her as she tripped up the curb in red patent Mary Jane shoes, also more apt for a spring picnic than a Liverpudlian rain storm.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said breathlessly as she neared him. ‘I had to go back for my purse and I missed the first bus and then...’

Taking his hands from his jacket pockets, he drew her into his arms and kissed her. For a moment he wasn’t sure who was more surprised, Ruby or him. As before, he felt her tense at his touch, only relaxing after a couple of beats. When he released her, the hood to the raincoat had fallen down, revealing newly dyed blonde hair.

‘New hair,’ John said, more of a statement than a question.

‘Yeah,’ she touched it self consciously. ‘What do you think? It’s meant to be like Marilyn’s but I don’t think the hairdresser quite understood.’

‘Marilyn?’

‘Monroe,’ she said with a slight blush. She pulled the hood of her coat back up.

John took her hand, ‘Come on, you’ve wasted half the day.’

‘Aren’t we going in?’ Ruby asked, looking back at the cinema as John pulled her down the street.

John shook his head. ‘I thought you were bored of doing the same thing all the time.’

‘So where are we going?’ She pulled back slightly.

‘You’ll see,’ John replied.

‘John?!’ A shout behind them.

John looked over his shoulder. George, wrestling with a guitar case almost as tall as he was, a few lengths behind. John sighed. The last person he really wanted to see right now was George. The kid had joined the band a few months ago. He’d played with them before, but John had been reluctant to let him in properly. He was three years younger than John, and he looked it. And acted it. He was like a clumsy puppy, alway following John around, eager to please, desperate for attention.

‘Hiya,’ George said, catching up to them, a huge grin on his face.

‘Alright,’ John said, flatly, hoping George would catch his tone and back off.

He didn’t. ‘Where you guys going?’

‘Nowhere,’ John said.

‘Hiya, I’m George,’ he said to Ruby. Ruby smiled shyly.

‘George, we’re getting soaked.’

‘Oh right, sorry,’ he laughed. ‘I just saw you, thought I would say hi.’

‘You’ve said it then.’

‘D’yer fancy goin’ for a cuppa tea or somethin’?’

‘No,’ John said bluntly. ‘We don’t.’ Ruby looked at him, puzzled.

‘Right, yeah, see yer Friday then. Nice meetin’ yer, Ruby,’ George replied, sounding a little dejected. He smiled thinly at them as he hoisted the guitar case up and headed off in the opposite direction.

Rolling his eyes, John turned to go the other way, pulling Ruby with him as quickly as he could.

‘That was a bit rude,’ Ruby said. John sighed. ‘Who was he?’

‘Guitar player, in the band,’ John replied shortly. ‘Will you hurry up?’

‘Your band? He looked so young.’

‘He’s fifteen. Nearly sixteen,’ John said defensively.

They rounded the corner to Percy Street finally; a row of Georgian tall terrace houses with shallow balconies on the first floor. As promised the front door of number seven had been left on the latch.

‘I just can’t picture him playing with you, that’s all,’ Ruby was going on.

‘Do you want to go back and talk to George then? Or do you want to come with me?’ he said, standing by the sandstone pillars which held up the porch to the building.

‘You,’ Ruby said sheepishly.

‘Who’s flat is this?’ she asked, standing in the doorway, as if she was afraid to come in.

‘Mine,’ John said, taking off his soggy jacket and slinging over a near by chair.

Ruby viewed him suspiciously. ‘I thought you lived with your Aunt?’

‘Alright, it’s Stu’s.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Not here. Are you comin’ in or what?’

She tentatively stepped over the threshold, her heels clacking on the bare floorboards of the front room. John walked behind her and closed the door. Ruby stood, looking around, her nose wrinkled in distaste and a look on her face like she’d stepped in something nasty.

‘Cup of tea?’ John asked, lightly, trying to ignore her obvious discomfort.

Ruby nodded. John crossed to the small gas stove and lit the hob with a match. He filled the metal kettle waiting there, and placed it on the gas ring. When he turned back, Ruby was still standing in the middle of the room, hugging her arms around her.

‘You can sit down if you like,’ he said.

‘Where?’ she asked, looking around. There were three chairs in the room, all covered in discarded clothing, books and other bits. A mattress sat in the middle of the room, rumpled sheets and blankets on top of it. John had thought she’d get a kick out of Stu’s flat. They all thought it was so cool; the mess everywhere, bits of Stu’s artwork interspersed with clothes and unwashed plates. It was like some Beatnik’s place. A different planet from Mimi’s house - from anyone’s house that John had experienced - all dusty old furniture; antimacassars on the chairs and doilies on the cake plates.

John pulled the blankets left heaped on the mattress straight and beckoned Ruby. She crouched down with a degree of difficulty in her heels, and sat on the edge uncomfortably. John plonked himself down next to her, causing the mattress to sink and Ruby to go with it. He caught her smoothly and kissed her, pushing her coat off her shoulders as he did. She shrugged it off and John pulled it out from behind her, letting it pool on the floor at their feet.

He kissed her again, allowing his hand to wander over her waist, the fabric of her dress still a little damp from the rain. She kissed him back, running her hands down his back. This time she didn’t seem to stiffen quite so much at his touch, so he pushed his luck - and her, onto her back on the mattress, leaning over her, still kissing her, half afraid to stop.

Ruby put her hands on the front of his chest, holding him back off her. John ignored this, his hand searching out her thigh under the skirt of her dress. As he the hem higher up her leg, she squealed in protest and pushed him away.

The kettle on the stove whistled like the ref, halting the game.

John got up quickly and turned his back on her, hiding his frustration and annoyance. He crossed to take the kettle off the hob. The high pitched whistle faded out to silence as he poured the boiling water in the stained teapot.

‘D’yer not want to be here, Ruby?’ John asked gruffly, still with his back to her.

‘I... thought we were going to the cinema.’

‘Or is it just me you don’t want to be with?’ 

‘Well, actually, John --’

He spun round, teaspoon still in hand. ‘What? Is that it?’ he demanded, struggling to keep his voice level.

‘No, it’s just...’

‘Spit it out then. Do you want to pack me in or what?’

Ruby pursed her lips as she smoothed down the front of her dress, casting her eyes down. ‘Yes,’ she said, simply.

                                                                                       ***

August 1963

The screams were deafening. Every show was the same. Didn’t matter if they were in Llandudno, London or Liverpool, the fans were always the same. They were already screaming for ‘Beatles!’ ‘Paul!’ ‘George!’ ‘Ringo!’ and had been since the curtain went up. There were five other acts on before The Beatles, but there was no disguising who they’d really come to see.

Normally, John found it exhilarating. It was everything he’d worked for - more than he’d ever dare imagine. The buzz when you heard them, before you’d even set foot on stage, could not be matched by anything - no drugs, no woman, nothing. But tonight, he’d had enough of it. It was getting on his nerves. Tonight, he could live without it.

He scanned the crowd as he hid in the wings of the stage. The audience was mostly made up of unruly hysterical girls, the odd boy or parental chaperone scattered between them. They just couldn’t keep still. Up and down; jumping around, going to fetch popcorn and whatever else. But there was just one girl who captivated John’s attention.

She was there. He was sure it was her. Second row from the front. She stuck out like a sore thumb. She was the only one sitting still, perfectly composed, hardly listening to the music. John screwed his eyes up in an effort to focus on her. He’d left his glasses in the hotel.

What did she want? Surely she wasn’t going to try anything here, at the theatre? He wouldn’t put it past her. She seemed to have given up rather too easily earlier. She was obviously building up to something spectacular. Well, John wasn’t going to let her. The only way to win these stupid mind games is to refuse to play at all. She’d have a hard bloody job ruining his life if he wasn’t even here.

He turned away from the stage - Billy J Kramer and The Dakota’s were getting near the end of their set, there were about two or three songs left - then it was their turn. He didn’t have long.

‘There you are!’ Paul said, rounding the corner and blocking John’s path.

‘Thought you’d done a runner!’ George added, standing behind Paul.

John scowled.

‘What are you doing?’ Paul asked, suspiciously.

‘She’s there,’ John said in a low voice. ‘Out there.’

‘What?’

‘Who?’ George asked with a grin. Paul elbowed him and shot him a look. ‘Oh,’ he said, flatly, smile evaporating. ‘Really? Where?’

‘Second row.’

George pushed through them to have a look. John shook his head and made to leave. Paul took his arm. ‘We’re on in a minute.’

‘No,’ John said, shrugging him off. ‘I’m not, not tonight. I’m not doing it.’

Paul smiled faintly, like he didn’t quite understand the joke. The smile faded as he realised it wasn’t one. ‘You can’t...’ he began.

‘No? Watch me, son.’ 

                                                                               ***

It was chilly on the sea front. All this fresh sea air is supposed to be good for you. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up with pneumonia at this rate, Ruby thought as she pulled her insubstantial coat around her tighter. She checked her watch. Still two hours before the show. She hadn’t really budgeted for this. She’d sat in a beachside cafe, nursing one mug of tea all afternoon, until they’d closed with a curt and sarcastic, ‘Thank you for your custom, madam.’

Since then Ruby had wandered up and down the length of the promenade a few times over, watching the Irish Sea lapping at the shore, very slowly creeping closer to the land. She paused, leaning on the metal barrier which lined the promenade, wondering whether she should just forget all about it and catch the next bus home.

She twisted the engagement ring around her finger idly. What did you really expect, she asked herself. Did you really think he’d welcome you with open arms? Did you really thing you could just waltz back into his life and it would be like you were seventeen again? Did you really think he would say --

‘Shit!’

The ring slipped from the end of her finger and disappeared down on to the rocks which sat at the top of the beach, a few feet below the promenade. She heard the tiny chink of the metal hitting the stone as it dropped out of view. Ruby looked around desperately for the nearest route down onto the beach. A little further down the path were some stone steps. She tried to keep the place the ring had fallen in her mind as she ran towards them.

                                                                                ***

Two Months Earlier

‘I’ve told you, I don’t want it back.’ Billy’s Welsh lilt got decidedly thicker when he was getting flustered.

Ruby sighed and held the ring out to him. ‘Please, just take it.’

‘Ruby --’

‘It’s not fair, Billy. I’m... I’m really flattered that you asked me, but it just wouldn’t be right.’

‘Flattered?’ he scoffed. ‘I’m not asking you on a spring picnic, Ruby. I want you to be my wife!’

‘Please, Billy. Don’t make it any harder than it already is.’ There was a catch in her voice.

He softened and took the ring she held out to him. Taking her hand he placed it back in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, his voice quieter now. ‘I don’t care about anything, but you and me being together.’

‘I... I don’t want to have children,’ she said faintly, as she allowed Billy to wrap his arms around her. ‘Ever, Billy. Not ever. It wouldn’t be fair to marry you and...’

‘Shush,’ he soothed, stroking her hair. ‘It doesn’t matter, Ruby. I just want us to be together. We can be our own family.’

She pushed him back from her as she studied his face. He still didn’t understand. He still didn’t realise how resolved she was. She could see he was just trying to placate her. ‘Billy, listen to me. Don’t think you’re going to change my mind, because you won’t. I’m never going to...’

‘I love you, Ruby.’

She stopped.

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it? I don’t need babies and nappies and all that. I just need you.’

She smiled weakly, giving in. He leaned in and kissed her gently, before wrapping his arms around her again. She rested her head against his chest as he took the ring from her hand and slipped it back on her finger again. ‘Now, never take this off again,’ he told her.

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