Five Years Ago




John studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror critically. It was hardly there now, just a slight red mark where it had healed. That would have to be alright. Wouldn’t do to turn up at Ruby’s house looking like he’d been scrapping. Never mind that, he couldn’t turn up to the Star Search show with a split lip either.

They’d entered the competition twice before in the past but come nowhere. This year they’d made the final, even though they were currently lacking a drummer. Of course it was just John’s luck it would be the same night Ruby wanted him to go round to hers; the BIG meet-the-mother-tea-and-scones event. Ruby was making such a thing of it, he was slightly regretting suggesting it. Especially when it was the talent show he should be worrying about. The winners were guaranteed a TV appearance. It could finally be their big break.

Still, tea at four, charm Ruby’s mother, out the door by half five, six at the latest, then train up to Manchester, win the talent show and hop back to Liverpool on the last train from Piccadilly. 



Easy.

Probably.



He splashed some aftershave on his neck. A new bottle he’d liberated from a local chemist earlier. He sniffed his hand. He probably should have tested it earlier. It was overwhelmingly lemony.  

Making his way downstairs, he grabbed his jacket off the bottom of the bannister, where it was waiting with his guitar and the paper bag for Ruby. John eyed the guitar questioningly, picking it up and then putting it back. It, too, had been liberated from it’s previous Mancunian owner and to take it back to Manchester seemed like he was tempting fate. Tonights performance would consist of only two guitars. 

‘John?’ Mimi called from the kitchen.



‘Yeah?’ he yelled back, knowing it would annoy her. 



She came to the doorway, drying her hands on a red and white check tea-towel. ‘You’re going out?’ 



‘Yes, it’s the Star Search final, in Manchester. I told you before.’ 



‘You’re leaving early?’ 



He nodded. ‘I’m going round Paul’s first,’ he lied. Mimi would be the last person he’d tell about Ruby. She wouldn’t like her. She didn’t like any of his friends, so he could only imagine what her reaction to a girlfriend would be.



‘What time will you be back?’



‘Dunno. Late. We’ll get the last train back from Manchester.’ 



Mimi considered him suspiciously and John cursed inwardly. How did she always know when he was lying to her? Even when it was just a little white lie like this one. 

‘What’s in the bag?’ 



He tucked the brown paper bag into the inside of his jacket. ‘It’s nothing.’ 



‘Let me see.’ 



‘No,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’m going, Mimi. I’ll be late.’



‘Late for what? Paul? What’s in the bag, John.’



‘It’s nothing. It’s private.’



‘Hand it over.’ 



‘Mimi --’ 



‘Now, please, John.’ She held her hand out to him expectantly. 

With an exaggerated sigh he took the paper bag from inside his jacket. Mimi took it from him and looked inside as he waited. 

‘A record?’ she said, drawing out the 45 vinyl from inside. 



John nodded defiantly. ‘See, nosy. Nothing to be worried about,’ he said cheekily, taking the record back from her.



‘Where did you get the money from for that?’



‘Saved up,’ he said quickly and made his escape before she could ask him any more awkward questions. It was a US import record. A shop in Penny Lane brought them in. They cost a fortune, more than John ever had money for. That was why the five finger discount was always necessary.

***

August 1963

Most nights it felt like it was over before it started. They’d run on stage, make a bit of noise - not as much as the audience, mind - and then run off again, jump into the car, onto the next one.

Tonight was different. Tonight John felt every minute of it.

He stood in the wings of the stage, feeling the eyes of his bandmates on his back; body guards and prison wardens rolled into one. Billy Baxter, the compare was winding the audience up. The screams going up a notch with the announcement of ‘The Beatles!’

‘Ready?’ Paul said in his ear.

John ignored him and stepped onto the brightly lit wooden stage. If he wasn’t ready now, he never would be.

He must have gone a beat too early as the others didn’t follow for a few seconds, so he stopped standing just inside the stage. A moment later and Ringo passed him on the way to the drumkit. John didn’t need to look at them to know they were there - Paul passed him in the corner of his eye as he bent to lift the Rickenbacker, George close behind. George squeezed his arm and John looked at him. He gave him a short terse nod before taking up his own guitar.

John pursed his lips and turned away, taking in the audience for the first time. Hundreds of screaming, sweating, hysterical bodies. He took a small step forward as he just barely heard Ringo shout out the count in before the drum started.

Squinting in an effort to focus his blurry vision, he looked for her. George had confirmed it - this side of the stage, about three rows back. Was that her? Girl in a blue dress, standing up, clapping? Was that Ruby? He couldn’t be certain - not without his specs. Well, she was out there somewhere. She’d come to see The Beatles, so here they were. He looked round to Paul and George and gave them an exaggerated wink.

***

Five Years Ago

Standing beside the window, Ruby spotted John as soon as he turned into the street, strolling along in that relaxed, tomorrow-will-do, gait he always effected.

‘He’s coming now,’ she said to her mother, sitting in the chair behind her.

Her mother gave a small shrug and didn’t look up from the needlework she held in her lap.

‘He’s here,’ Ruby repeated.

‘I heard you the first time.’

‘Please be nice,’ Ruby said as she crossed the room to go and meet him. A tut was the only response.

‘You’re here,’ Ruby said, unable to hide the relief in her voice, meeting John at the front door.

‘Course,’ John replied, giving her a questioning look. ‘Said I would be, didn’t I? Here, this is for you.’ He produced a paper bag from inside his jacket and pressed it into her hand.

She drew the seven inch vinyl out of the bag and turned it round. ‘A record?’

‘Larry Williams. He’s good, he is,’ John replied.

‘How useful for a house without a record player.’ Ruby turned to her mother, who was standing in the doorway to the front room. ‘Should make a good coaster, Ruby.’

Ruby shot her a look and turned back to John. ‘It’s lovely, thank you. We’ll just have to listen to it at your house.’ Emphasis on 'your house', and Ruby could physically feel her mother glowering.

John smiled weakly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise...’

‘Mum, this is John,’ Ruby said quicky, turning around. ‘John, this is my mother, Doreen.’

John held his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, Mam.’ She looked at it briefly before turning and disappearing into the kitchen at the back of the house. John looked at Ruby, worried. Ruby just rolled her eyes.

* * *

August 1963

Four songs in and John began to wonder what he'd been so worried about. It was going well. He was even enjoying it. Of course, he told himself, what else did you really expect? So Ruby had come to a Beatles show. So what? If he hadn't seen her at the hotel earlier, he wouldn't have even known she was there. She was no different to any other Beatles fan, after all. No different at all...

As Please Please Me ended, and Ringo's turn on Boys was about to start, John saw her stand up. A shiver ran down his back and the breath caught in his throat for just a moment as he watched her push through the crowd, towards the stage - or so he thought. But she wasn't headed towards the stage, she was going for the door. Nervous anticipation turned to indignation in a heartbeat. As Ruby finally made it to the exit, she paused and looked back at the stage - at John. Where was she going? Why would she come all the way here to watch the Beatles and then leave before it was finished? Were they -- Had they disappointed her?! Not as good as she'd thought so she was leaving early?!

He had to reach, almost standing on tip toe to see above the crowd as she left.

 * * *

Five Years Ago

As the clock chimed in the front room, John shovelled peas into his mouth like there was no tomorrow, trying to resist checking the time on his watch. Again. He'd had to wait much longer than he'd anticipated before they'd sat down to eat, and now he was worried he'd miss the Manchester train. If he ate quickly and skipped pudding, he might just make it.

‘Do you always eat like that, Mr Lennon?’ Ruby’s mother asked him, a sour look on her face. Oh, and that. Ruby's mother blatently hated him. He'd been on his best behaviour, polite, charming, genteel - and had it done any good? Nope. And he was beginning to lose his patience with the whole act.

‘Nah,’ John said, still chewing. ‘Sometimes I’m in a rush.’ He smiled with his mouth full, but it wasn’t returned. ‘It, uh, tastes lovely, though,’ he added.

‘Ruby tells me you live with your aunt.’ It was more of a statement than a question, but John nodded anyway.

‘That’s right. Mimi’s was my mam’s oldest sister. There was five of them all together.’

‘Just the two of you, is it?’

‘Yeah, sometimes. There’s usually a lodger or two around though. ‘Specially since my uncle George  died.’

‘Lodgers,’ Ruby’s mother repeated looking round at her daughter, as if John had just announced they regularly took in the overspill from Strangeways Prison.

He swallowed and concentrated on his plate. He estimated it must be about half past five. If he could be out of here in about ten minutes he should just about make the train.

‘I can’t say your aunt’s brought you up with many table manners.’

John smiled thinly. ‘My aunt did just fine, thanks, Mrs Hendry. Any, uh, lacking in that department is my of own making. Not a reflection on her.’ Mimi might have walloped her herself for that last comment. John couldn’t deny he wasn’t tempted. He’d met some hostile parents in his time, but this woman was in a class by herself.

‘Mum, you promised,’ Ruby said without looking up. She’d been awfully quiet too. Too scared to stand up to the old bag.

John dropped his knife and fork on the plate with a clatter and leaned back in the chair. Ruby's mother shot him another glower and Ruby gave him another pleading look. Well, sorry, love, John thought. This is like getting teeth pulled. 'Right,' John said, pushing the chair back, scraping it noisily on the tiled floor. 'This has been lovely, but I must be off. Fame and riches, beckon.'

'You're going already?' Ruby asked, a slight air of panic in her voice.

'Yeah, I'll have to if I'm going to make the train.'

'We haven't finished eating yet,' Ruby's mother said, her tone sharp.

John picked up his mug and swallowed the rest of the tea in it. 'Well, I have missus,' he said to her, banging the cup back down. 'See yer, Ruby.' Then, as a bit of an afterthought, he leaned down to Ruby and kissed her. He felt her stiffen and let her go, shoving past and walking out without looking back.

* * *

August 1963

'I said, it wasn't so bad, was it?'

John snapped his head round as he realised Paul was talking to him. 'No,' he said, vaguely, 'It was alright.'

'Over before you know it,' Paul added, grinning. John thought he might present him with a lollypop in a minute for being so brave.

He turned away, wishing he could just be on his own for a while. Fat chance of that.

'Where are you going now?' Paul again, behind him.

'Nowhere,' John snapped.

'We're going out the back way,' Paul said, grabbing at John's arm. 'There's girls swarming all over the front.'

'Right, okay, fine,' John huffed and allowed Paul to lead him in the other direction.

They were evidently swarming all over the back of the theatre too. As they arrived at the back doors, they had to hang back, waiting for the police outside to get the crowd under control - or at least puch them back far enough so they wouldn't be ripped to shreds as soon as they stepped out.

'When I say, you'll have to make a break for it,' the welsh police constable manning the doors told them. 'Don't look back, just go for the car.'

'Yeah, don't worry, we're used to it,' Ringo replied.

The policeman took a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and taking his helmet off, wiped it over his brow. 'Well, we're not, sir,' he said, and then turned to throw the doors open.

It took George to give John a gentle shove before he would move, other things on his mind again. 'Come 'ed,' George said to him, passing him.

The screams went up another decibel as they rushed for the car, fans straining at the policeman-made barrier that separated them.  Did they ever stop? 

John paused. Only for a moment, just to glance around. He didn't even acknowledge to himself what he was looking for, until Paul yelled, 'John! COME ON!' from the waiting door of the car. Coming to his senses, John dived for the Austin Princess and the police constable slammed the door behind him. 

'What were you doing?' Paul asked as the car tried to slowly edge forward.

'Nothing, I was.... nothing,' John said, sinking down in the car seat.

* * *

Five Years Ago

John closed the door on the outside world in a foul mood. Doubly worse than before.

He’d made the Manchester train just in the nick of time, running onto the platform as the train pulled in. They’d got to Manchester okay, found the theatre, there had even been time for a quick run through back stage. The actual performance had been okay. Not their greatest one, but not the worst either.

Then they waited. And waited.

The talent show was ‘scored’ by a clap-o-meter system. If you could call it that. The act that got the loudest and longest applause won. Seemed a bit daft to John. You only needed to bring a bus load of mates to cheat. The Moondogs hadn’t got many friends in the audience, but that didn’t matter anyway as they hadn’t even reached their clap-o-meter turn.

The last train to Liverpool was twenty-seven minutes past ten. John had suggested they wait, try and hitch a ride home or something afterwards, but Paul wasn’t keen and George looked positively ready to cry at the thought of not being able to get home, so at ten past ten, with still three acts before their turn, they’d made a mad dash to Manchester Victoria station, reaching it with seconds to spare.

It had started snowing by the time they’d reached Liverpool, just over an hour later. The icing on the cake. John had found his thin jacket lacking as he trudged up Menlove Avenue, his toes and fingers physically aching from the cold.

The house was in darkness as he let himself inside, dumping his wet jacket in the porch and stamping the snow from his shoes.

‘John?’ A voice in the darkness. One he’d really rather not deal with.

‘What?’ he snapped back, gruffly.

A lamp went on in the front room. ‘Could you come in here, please?’

‘I’m knackered, Mimi. I’m going to bed,’ he replied, not moving.

‘Don’t say ‘knackered’,’ Mimi replied. ‘Come into the parlour for a moment.’

Who called the front room a parlour, these days? Mumbling under his breath, John came to the door of the room. He looked at her pointedly.

‘I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?’ Mimi asked.

‘Nearly twelve.’

‘You’re home very late.’

‘Yeah, we were in Manchester. Got the last train back. I told you.’

‘Where else have you been?’

There was something in the tone of her voice that made John stiffen. ‘Nowhere,’ he said slowly.

Mimi got up from the sofa, straightening the cushions on it. ‘I don’t think that’s quite the truth, now is it?’ she said. ‘I had a phone call this evening from a woman called Mrs Hendry.’

John rolled his eyes. That bloody old bag. How did she manage to find Mimi’s number? How dare she ring up just like that?

‘Who’s Ruby, John?’ Mimi turned to him now, fixing him with that stare she seemed to reserve only for John, and only when he’d done yet another thing she disapproved of.

‘A friend,’ John said quietly.

‘A girl-friend? Your girlfriend?’

John shrugged noncommitally.

‘Well, any case, whoever she is, Mrs Hendry doesn’t want you seeing her anymore. You’re not to go visiting there --’

‘What?!’ John exploded. ‘That interferring old bitch! She can’t do that. Ruby can make up her own mind.’

‘John!’

John spread his hands to her. ‘Mimi, you don’t understand. She’s had it in for me from the start. She just doesn’t want Ruby to have any sort of life because she doesn’t. Her old man’s in prison and she doesn’t want Ruby...’

Mimi held her hand up to silence him. ‘I don’t care about the in’s and out’s of it. I told her you would keep away from her daughter.’

‘You can’t do that! You can’t tell me who I can and can’t see!’

‘Look, just for once, will you do as I ask, please? From the sounds of it, this Ruby doesn’t seem like a very good fit for you anyway...’

‘How would you know? Have you met her? No! How would you know what’s good for me or not? You don’t know anything about me!’

‘Now just calm down...’

That voice again. The one which would normally shut him up, like no one else's in the world could, but it wasn’t going to work tonight.

‘No, I won’t bloody calm down! I’m not stopping seeing Ruby, and that’s that.’

‘While you’re living under my roof, you will obey my rules, John Lennon.’

He shook his head. ‘Just... just fuck off, Mimi, will yer? Who do you think you are? You are not my mother. You might pretend to be, but your not, alright? She’s dead. My mother - my REAL mother is dead. Do you even care? Do --’

Mimi stepped forward and slapped his face. John stopped, finally silenced, more from the shock of it than anything else. He’d gone too far, he’d known it even as he’d been saying it.

‘I... I might not be your mother, but I’m all you’ve got...’ she said, a waver in her voice, so out of place coming from Mimi, it was more unsettling than anything else. She turned away from him and half-sat, half-flopped down onto the sofa again, putting her face in her hands.

John stood still, almost frightened to move, feeling something he wasn’t altogether used to - shame. ‘I’m... sorry...’ he mumbled.

When Mimi lifted her face, he could see tears in her eyes. She wiped at them furiously with the back of her hand. ‘Just go to bed, John.’

He turned but hesitated, not wanting to leave things like this. It wasn’t true. He knew it. Stoical, stiff upper lip Mimi had been nearly hysterical the night Julia had died. John couldn’t recall a single time he’d seen her cry - even when Uncle George had died when John was twelve - but the night Julia died, she’d been inconsolable.

‘She was my sister, too, you know. Not just your mother.’ Mimi said softly behind him.

‘I know.’

‘I miss her too, John.’

‘I’m sorry, Mimi. I didn’t mean it.’

She stood up again, gathering herself, straightening the front of her skirt. ‘It’s alright,’ she said, stiffly, more composed now. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s go to bed.’ She shooed him through the door, switching the light off, but John paused at the bottom of the stairs.

‘I won’t... I won’t see Ruby again, if you don’t want me to.’

‘You’re a good boy at heart.’ She smiled faintly. ‘There will be other girls, better girls. Someone who will be just perfect for you, John.’

***

In the following years, what Mimi had said often came back to John. Some who will be just perfect for you. Well, whoever that perfect someone might be, it was clear Mimi didn’t think he’d found her. In Mimi’s eyes, no one was ever good enough. She’d disliked Paul because he was ‘working class’. Sweet, shy little George had come under her disapproving stare because of his scouse accent and ‘Teddy boy’ clothes. But when it came to Cynthia - it was another class. Mimi really despised her. She called her a ‘gangster’s moll’. She’d gone mad at him once for buying Cyn an expensive coat when he’d come back from Hamburg. And when Cyn had fallen pregnant with Julian -- you’d have thought the world had come to an end. Mimi had refused to come to the wedding, which had angered John at the time, but now when he thought back, it was kinda funny how no one was ever good enough for him, when usually it was the other kids parents who’d find John not good enough for their golden haired daughters.