You might be the loneliest person in the world
You'd never be as lonely as me...

'Minerva James? Is there a Minerva James here?'

The woman has said her name at least twice before Minnie even notices. Lost in her thoughts, she'd missed it. Minnie looks up, but remains seated. She knows she needs to do this, she's told herself all week and finally forced herself to make the appointment yesterday, but... perhaps it's not going to be today, after all. It's Friday. Fridays should be for fun, for celebrating the impending weekend. Fridays are poor days to receive bad news.

'Minerva James?' she says for a third time, her tone clipped and annoyed.

Minnie stands. The receptionist looks at her expectantly, but Minnie shakes her head, side-steps past the other people sitting in the waiting room and goes for the door. Bursting out into the weak morning sunshine, she takes huge gulps of air like a swimmer breaking through the surface of water. Not today. She can't do it today. She'll go back. She'll have to go back, but waiting another two or three days won't make much difference. Won't make the prospect any less horrifying. If it's happening, it's happening and nothing will change that.

It takes nearly an hour to get across the city on the bus. She'd chosen a clinic in Vauxhall, west of Scottie Road, where there would be less chance of her running into someone she knows, or worse, someone who knows him or Hannah. By the time she arrives back in Allerton, it's clouded over and started to rain.

Hannah's out when Minnie gets home and the house is empty, thankfully. She doesn't want to have to see or speak to anyone. There's no note to say where Hannah's gone, but Minnie can guess. She makes herself a cup of tea. She'd rather have something stronger, but it will be several hours before she can go into town, down to The Cavern or The Iron Door or somewhere for the night.

It's over an hour before Hannah gets back. Minnie is still watching the rain falling heavily over the back garden from the kitchen window, her undrunk tea long since gone cold. Hannah opens the back door and steps inside, flapping an umbrella out behind her. 'It's chucking it down out there,' she says cheerfully, leaning the dripping brolly in the corner of the kitchen to dry.

Minnie turns away from the window and leans against one of the work tops, her arms folded. 'Mmm,' she replies. She wonders if she should tell her, share with her what she's worried about. It might help.

'Typical British summertime.'

'Yeah.'

But how can she tell Hannah? She can't burden her with this, not on top of what they have to deal with already. Minnie's not sure she could even find the words. All the things they've been forced to talk about - it always makes it real. While it's inside her head, Minnie can almost pretend it's not happening. The minute she tells Hannah, that's over.

'What? What's happened?' Hannah asks, cautiously, noticing Minnie's demeanour.

She stands up straighter and shakes her head. 'Nothing. Nothing out of the usual.'

No, Minnie will have to deal with this herself. If it's a negative, then there was never anything to worry about. And if it's positive, well, she's pretty sure she knows what she'll do if it's a positive, and sharing that with her sister won't change it.

'Where's...?'

'Not here.'

'What is it then?' she asks, still suspicious.

'You've been to see George again.'

Hannah beams. 'Yeah, at the park, but we were getting rather soggy...'

Minnie tries to smile. It's nice to see her sister so happy and George is a sweet kid. It's a pity that it's going to have to end soon.

'You're spending a lot of time with him.'

'Yeah, I suppose so. Do you want a cup of tea?' Hannah crosses the kitchen and picks up the kettle, taking it to the sink to fill it from the tap. Loose raindrops fall off her coat as she moves leaving a trail of water in her wake.

Things have to change around here. Things will change. Whatever the outcome, things will change.

'You know, you shouldn't really get so attached--' Minnie says gently, trying to steer the conversation towards what they should really be talking about.

Hannah spins round to her, water sloshing from the spout of the kettle in her hand. 'It was you who said I should go out with him in the first place!'

Minnie sighs and sits down at the kitchen table. 'Yeah, go out with him, have some fun. I didn't say fall in love with him...'

'I'm not "falling in love with him."' Hannah snorts like the idea is preposterous. She puts the kettle on the gas hob and lights it underneath. She sounds like a child, which, Minnie supposes, is what she still is. She's not really had chance to be a kid. They both had to grow up far too quickly. She turned seventeen two months ago. In some ways she behaves a lot younger than seventeen, and then in others, she's much older.

'You're always with George these days and...'

'You're always with John,' she says, wrinkling her nose like his name produces a bad taste in her mouth. 'Or Stu. Or one of them.' She leans on the sink, folding her arms defensively. She's clearly smitten with this boy. That's going to make this even more difficult.

'No, I'm not. I haven't seen either of them in weeks. All I'm saying, Han, is you have to be careful...'

'Why? Has someone said something?'

'No, but you're always out and...'

'Oh, so that's it then? You think I should stay here and share the... the chores with you.'

Minnie falls silent and stares at her, shocked that she'd bring that up so overtly, when it's an unspoken agreement that they never do, and even more shocked that Hannah would accuse her of that, when she knows, she knows, that Minnie does everything within her power to keep him away from her.

'Sorry,' Hannah says, quietly, contrite. 'I didn't mean that.'

Minnie gathers herself. If Hannah knew what Minnie was going through, how it was taking all of her strength just to remain sitting here, talking to her, calm and still, when all she really wants to do is run screaming from this hateful house. If she knew, then crap like her little puppy-love romance with George would pale into insignificance. It's all so futile. All of life is so bloody futile.

'All I'm saying, Hannah, is don't get too attached to George,' Minnie says, trying to bite back her temper. 'We're going to leave soon and you might have to leave him behind. There might not even be time to say goodbye--'

'You've been saying that we're leaving soon for the last two years, Minnie. Are we ever going to go?'

'Yes, of course we are.'

'Really? When?'

'We were waiting for you to finish school--'

'I left months ago--'

'--And we needed to save some money up. Something you're hardly contributing to.'

'Well, what's the point in getting a job if we're leaving soon. If we are.' The kettle whistles but Hannah doesn't move.

'We are going, and soon,' Minnie says, firmly. She stands and lifts the kettle off the heat with a tea towel wrapped around the handle, leaving it on the side. She turns to the cupboard, raises herself onto her tiptoes and feels for the little red book. 'Look,' she says, retrieving it and giving it to Hannah.

'What's this?'

'A post office account.'

Hannah opens it. Her eyes widen when she sees the balance. There's close to a thousand pounds in there. The culmination of nearly five years worth of savings. Five years of counting pennies, doing without and scratching together any and everything she could get her hands on. Upon occasion they've not had enough money to pay the electric bill, or the tick or even the milkman, but still Minnie's not touched it. There's not been a single withdrawal in the whole time she's had the account.

'Where did you get all of this?' Hannah asks, incredulous.

'Saved it.'

But it's not enough. Not really. It's everything Minnie's managed to accumulate and in the last week she's upped it by nearly another two hundred pounds. If the worst happens, then it will be enough for Hannah to get away from here. Far, far away. Maybe it would be for the best. The money would last longer for without the two of them draining it.

'Waitressing doesn't pay this well,' Hannah says, dubiously.

'I took a couple of things down to Shaws as well.'

'What's Shaws?'

'The pawn brokers.'

'What things?'

'Just some stuff that was lying about.'

'Oh, Minnie, what things?'

'Some of the jewellery out of that box...'

'Mum's jewellery? Minnie, you didn't,' she says, forlornly and Minnie feels a twist of guilt. But only for a second, because Iris is dead. She's no use for rings and necklaces now.

The jewellery made up the bulk of that two hundred pounds. Iris's diamond engagement ring was worth sixty-five pounds on it's own. Or rather, it was probably worth more than that, but sixty-five was the most Minnie could get out of the guy who ran the pawn shop, even when she went down there in a translucent cream blouse with the top three buttons unfastened.

'It's not like she needs it anymore,' she says, flatly, and she might as well do something for her youngest daughter, she adds in her head. God knows, she's done fuck all else.

'Minnie!'

Minnie purses her lips. 'You'll thank me when we're away from here. It wasn't worth all that much anyway.'

'It's not that. It's the sentimental value.'

'It's just things, Hannah. Stuff. We can live without it. We can't take it all with us anyway. We'll have to travel light. If needs be, we will walk out of here with the clothes on our backs and that's all.'

We. Maybe we. Maybe just you, Han.

Hannah gives the post office book back to her. 'Right, well, if that ever happens then, I'll give George the elbow and we'll ride off into the sunset,' she says, sarcastically, annoying Minnie. Still, now she knows where the book is. She'll know what to do.

'You don't believe me, do you?' Minnie asks, slipping the book back into it's hiding place. 'I just don't want to have to drag you away, kicking and screaming, and then have you moping about all lovesick and forlorn. If we hesitate when the time comes then we'll miss the window and...'

'Min, we're leaving Liverpool, not co-ordinating the D-Day landings.'

'I'm saying that we might just have to go. And sooner rather than later.'

'How soon?'

'Before the end of this year. Before Christmas.' Next bloody week perhaps, Minnie thinks. She's going back to the clinic on Monday. She's angry with herself for not doing it today. Now she has a whole weekend to stew over it.

*

Hannah sulks in her bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, her nose in a book. She emerges at six o'clock to start cooking the dinner, casting Minnie derisive looks as she watches her from her same seat at the kitchen table.

'What are you making?'

Hannah shrugs.

'You don't know what you're cooking?' Minnie jokes.

'I'm reheating the leftover Lobscouse from yesterday,' Hannah replies flatly, stirring her pot with her back to Minnie.

'Not Lobscouse again?!'

Hannah turns her head to throw her a black look. 'You don't have to eat it Minnie. You could always cook for yourself.'

Minnie falls silent and five minutes later the front door opens and closes. Hannah doesn't turn around but Minnie sees her stiffen as she continues stirring the lobby pot. Minnie sits up, taking her feet off the chair opposite her as he walks in.

'Good evening, girls,' their father says. They both murmur a reply as he crosses to Hannah. He puts his hand on her cheek and plants a kiss on her temple. Hannah does well. She doesn't flinch until he turns his back on her.

'Have you been working today, Minerva?' he asks as he joins her at the table. He smells of cigarette smoke and wheaty beer. He'll have spent the afternoon, if not the whole day in the pub. He stares at her, challenging her. Someone must have told him Minnie didn't go to work today.

'No,' Minnie replies quietly, head bowed.

'Why not?'

'They didn't need me today.' She looks up, meeting his eyes. 'They had enough cover.' It's a lie. She'd called and said she was ill so she could go to the clinic instead. She's sure he will hear in in her voice. Minnie can hear it. She can never lie to him without the tension and strain showing.

'How old are you now?'

'Nineteen.'

'Nineteen. Four years since you left school and you still contribute next to nothing to this household.'

Minnie tries to hold her tongue. She drops her head again, but she can't stop herself saying, 'I contribute.'

'How exactly? When you can't even find a full time job? Hannah does all the cooking, the cleaning. What do you do, Minerva?'

Minnie casts a look at her sister, still standing with her back to them, stirring her pot relentlessly and a little more ardently than earlier.

'You should try to be more like Hannah. You're the older one. You should set the example, not your little sister.'

'I'm... sorry,' Minnie mumbles. The word sticks in her throat. She hates apologising to him. She would refuse to normally, but she doesn't need any more trouble at the moment. 'I'm working tomorrow.'

He shakes his head and tuts. 'If that cafe can't give you more shifts, you need to find a different job.'

'I could ask for...'

'What? Speak up, Minerva! I can't abide mumblers.'

She sits up, raising her head. 'I could ask for more shifts,' she says, louder. 'I'll ask the manager if he can give me some more hours. Evenings maybe.'

'Yes, do that.' He casts his eyes around the kitchen. 'Stand up straight, Hannah, dear. There's a good girl.'

Hannah does as she's told. Straightening her back and shoulders, putting her heels together like a soldier, but not turning around.

'You're a good girl, Hannah,' he tells her and turns his head back to Minnie. 'Not like your sister. I don't know where I went wrong with you, Minerva. You never fail to fail, do you? Such a disappointment. You certainly are your mother's daughter. You--'

'Dinner's ready,' Hannah interrupts, brightly. She takes the pot from the stove, lifting it with a tea towel wrapped around each handle. She casts Minnie a worried look as she places it in the middle of the table. Minnie gives her a small shake of her head.

'Smells delicious, Hannah,' their father says.

*

Dinner is peaceful, for once, but it lasts forever. Neither of them can leave the table until he's finished, so even though Hannah and Minnie eat as fast as they can, they still have to sit there and wait for him to sup the last of the lobscouse up. He takes over forty-five minutes, leafing through the evening edition of the Liverpool Echo.

Finally he goes into the living room, the room in the middle of the house, between the kitchen and the 'sitting room' at the front. Hannah clears the table and starts the dishes. Minnie helps her, drying the pots and bowls as Hannah washes them carefully, labouring over each one.

'Hurry up and we'll go out,' Minnie hisses to her as she waits for the lobby pot, the last item.

Hannah shakes her head and scrubs harder.

'Why not?'

'I'm not going into town tonight.'

'Are you really so pissed off with me that you'd rather wait around here than come out with me?' Minnie asks in disbelief.

Hannah doesn't glance up from the sink. 'I don't want to go to the club tonight,' she tells her. 'I'll go out to the coffee bar in Penny Lane later instead. Take a book with me.'

Take the book and not you, she means.

Well, tonight might be one of the last chances Minnie has to enjoy herself, and she's not about to waste it drinking coffee and watching Hannah read. 'Please yourself,' she says, shortly and dropping the teatowel on the draining board, retreats to her bedroom to get changed.

There's a dress in a paper bag at the back of her wardrobe. She's never worn it before. It's a million miles away from what she'd be allowed to wear. It's bright lipstick red for a start. It's a pencil dress that falls just below the knee with two kick flares at the front of the skirt, black buttons at the bust, short capped sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Narrow black belt to the waist. Minnie puts it on and examines herself in the mirror. She looks totally different in this. She looks older, sophisticated, more in control. She could be totally different wearing this dress, she doesn't have to be herself, and God knows, she is fed up of being who she is.

The dress is figure hugging, accentuating her hips and waist. The neckline makes her cleavage look bigger too. It's like something Elizabeth Taylor or Brigitte Bardot would wear. Not like the girly, sickeningly sweet crap Minnie normally has to wear.

Minnie stops in at Hannah's room on her way out. 'Last chance,' she says. 'Come 'ed?'

Hannah lies on her back on her bed, reading. She glances up and raises her eyebrow. 'Where did you get that from?'

'Never mind that.'

'He'll hit the roof if he sees you.'

Minnie stepped back, onto the landing just outside the door. Downstairs the some kind of TV game show blares loudly through the living room door, left ajar.

'He won't. We can just slip out the front. Put your coat on and we'll go now. Bus goes in five minutes.'

'No, ta,' she says, sulkily, pretending to read her book.

'So you're just going to sit here and wait for him to come upstairs later?'

Hannah raises her eyes, Minnie's comment failing to stir the action in her that it was intended to. 'No. I'll go out in a few minutes as well. On my own.'

Minnie sighs shortly and closes the door on her, thinking, unkindly, that Hannah might live to regret that decision.

She creeps down the stairs, well practiced in which creaky step to avoid. She reaches for her handbag from the coat pegs in the hall and puts it on her shoulder. She puts her hand on the latch of the front door when something catches her eye. The glass panelled door to the sitting room at the front of the house has been left ajar. It piques her interest. It's usually always closed.

Minnie steps inside and stands in the centre of the room, feeling a foreigner in her own house. This room is never used. No one comes into it, except Hannah occasionally to dust. It's kept for special occasions that never arise. It's cold but bright with it's perfectly neat furniture and decor, untouched and unused. On the mantelpiece over the fireplace are a few framed photographs. One of Hannah in her school uniform, a faded photograph of Grandma Minnie and her husband, the grandfather Minnie never met and one of their father aged around nineteen or twenty, stoic and unsmiling in his army uniform. There are no photos of Minnie.

Beside the armchair at the top of the room is a small, circular occasional table, it's walnut veneer polished to a shine. On top of the table are two more framed photos, both of Minnie's mother, Iris James. Hannah put them in here and oddly, their father allowed it. He doesn't normally like any reminders of Iris left around.

The photos were taken eighteen months apart but the change in the woman in the picture is dramatic. In the smaller, earlier picture she's a singer in London. A showbiz shot in slightly soft focus, head turned a little to the side, all sparkling eyes and alluring smiles. In the second, taken not long after Minnie was born, Iris stares blankly at the camera lens, life and energy drained from her. At first glance, it would be hard to pinpoint exactly what her expression says, but Minnie understands it perfectly. It's the look of a woman peering into her future and dreading what she sees.

She picks up the photoframe and brings it closer for a better look. There's some movement in the living room next door and Minnie freezes.

'Sod opening the box! Take the bleedin' money, you damn idiot!' her father shouts at the TV.

Minnie exhales. She replaces the photo and goes back into the hall, feeling foolish. What does it matter now if he finds her in the forbidden sitting room? What's the worst that could happen? She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder and silently slips out the front door.

She catches the number 45 to Paradise Street bus station, a couple of minutes walk from Mathew Street. It's still raining lightly as she walks towards the Cavern, a music club in the cellars of an old fruit warehouse about halfway down the narrow backstreet. It's busy. There's a queue to get in already. Minnie cranes her neck to see the handwritten poster pinned to the door advertising the line-up for tonight, but there are too many heads in the way. She can't be bothered to wait anyway, not in the rain.

She considers the Iron Door, another couple of streets over, but it's too early for there. It'll be empty. It never gets going until after midnight. Rory Storm and The Hurricanes might be on though, so she might come back later. If there's an all-nighter at the Iron Door, Minnie could perhaps get away with staying there for the duration, catch the first bus back in the morning at six.

She heads up Mathew Street, across Stanley Street and through to Bold Street, past the coffee bars there, which all look to be packed. If she wanted coffee, she could have stayed with Hannah. She's not drinking coffee tonight.

Bold Street is a steep hill. Minnie's wearing heels, the only pair she owns, and they're hurting her feet. At the top of Bold Street is St Luke's, nicknamed the Bombed Out church, looking down on the city below. Minnie stops and stares at it. An incendiary or something hit it one night during the war and it's mostly a ruin now, but you can still go inside. It's huge. It gives the gothic looking cathedral that stands close by it a run for it's money. Fleetingly, she considers going inside, sitting there for a while. Minnie is like the church. Bombed out, ruined, a hollow shell. Then she looks down at her dress, dark red spots from the rain all over it and decides she's not really dressed for church, even a spoiled one like St Luke's.

She takes a right along Slater Street and heads for The Jacaranda. The Jac. Another coffee bar, but one with a little more atmosphere, a little more happening and most importantly, booze on tap. The Jac is dirty and sweaty and dark, and that suits Minnie tonight too. Inside, there's already a band playing in the basement, a Chuck Berry song roaring from the L shaped staircase that leads down there. Minnie pushes through the crowded room to the bar upstairs, jostling for space and ordering a bottle of brown ale from the barman who ignores her, busy with something else. Minnie sighs, frustrated.

'Miss James, to what do we owe the pleasure?'

She turns when she hears the high pitched, pinched Scouse-Welsh lilt. Allan Williams, the owner of The Jac and a local band promoter sits on a tall wooden barstool at the side of the bar, reading a copy of the Echo. He short but stocky, with a head of unruly dark curly hair and a full beard to match. Minnie doesn't like the way he always looks at her, like he's sizing her up, always appraising her assets for monetary and personal gain. Just like he's looking at her now. His eyes are trained on her breasts as he says, 'Would you like a drink, love?'

'Yeah, ta, Allan,' Minnie replies brightly, because as much as she loathes him, she can't show it. He manages a few bands round here, and quite a lot of the venues. If you want to get anywhere on the Liverpool music scene you need him on your side. She's avoided him recently, since the Cabaret club debacle. Minnie's still not sure what happened there. What did he think they'd do? Get on the stage and think, Screw it, we'll take our clothes off then. He'd promised to get them something else but nothing has transpired. He's not really interesting in promoting female singers.

'You look very... uh, nice, tonight,' he continues, and Minnie feels his eyes on her as tactile as if it were his hands.

'Thanks,' she says, forcing a smile. Allan raises a finger to the barman, indicating to Minnie and the barman brings her a drink. Minnie holds out some money to him, but Allan gives a small shake of his head. The barman walks away without taking her money. She slips the coins back into her purse with a grimace. Now she's indebted to him.

'Here for the music?' Allan asks her.

'Yeah, who's on tonight?'

'The Silver Beetles. Back from a successful tour of Scotland with Johnny Gentle.'

Minnie rolls her eyes. It would be wouldn't it. Of all the places she could have gone to tonight, she has to pick the one where they are. Not only Hannah's boyfriend on guitar, but John and Stu to field as well.

'Not a fan?' Allan asks, mildly amused by her reaction.

'They're... alright, I suppose.'

She stands there chatting with him for another few minutes, obligatory, seeming as he bought her the drink. He waffles on about the Silver Beetles and the other bands he manages, bragging, trying to impress her and telling her about a deal he's set up with some club in Hamburg, Germany to supply rock and roll bands, the next of which will be the Silver Beetles. That Minnie takes notice of. Hannah's not mentioned anything about George going away. Perhaps that's why she's been so mardy?

'I could do the same for you, Mizzz James,' he says, elongating the 'miss'. 'Set you up with some regular appearances somewhere?'

'Hamburg?'

'I don't know if that would be suitable. They want groups, but there's plenty of pubs and clubs in need of singer here. I think I could help you a lot if you were to just...'

'What?'

'Make yourself a little more... amenable to, uh... things.'

To me, he means. Minnie smiles thinly and nods. 'Of course,' she says. 'I'd do anything.'

He looks surprised. Minnie's never been so agreeable before, she'd normally tell him to sod off, but this also doesn't matter anymore. She can agree to anything. It won't happen. There won't be any more singing engagements for her and Hannah.

Emboldened, he moves a bit closer to her, putting his arm around her waist. Minnie finishes her drink quickly, buys herself another and escapes Allan, telling him she'll have to check out the band, See if they've improved any. She turns on her heel and pushes her way through the crowd before the lech can decide he's joining her.

She finds the top of the stairs and makes her way down into the basement. It's a small room, hot and dark with thick, square pillars holding the ceiling up and hollowed out spaces in the walls for tables and chairs. Minnie squeezes inside, making her way towards the small stage at the front. No one wants to give her any room. She finally finds a small gap by the wall to the side of the stage, next to a couple who look like they're trying to swallow each other. It is The Silver Beetles. John, Stu, Paul and Hannah's boyfriend, George all on guitars, a guy she doesn't recognise on drums. They change their drummer almost every week.

She ponders mildly why Hannah wouldn't have wanted to come to this and then realises it can only be because George didn't tell her they were playing here tonight. This strikes her as odd and Minnie watches the young guitarist, head bent over his strings, sweat beading on his forehead as he labours over an Eddie Cochran number, wondering why he would keep it from her.

George looks so much younger than the others. John and Stu are young men, Paul's somewhere in between, but George is still a boy. He looks so young, there's a danger his mother might appear any moment to drag him home for his tea. Minnie would bet he was still a virgin. Fuck, if she didn't know better, she'd bet he was still at school.

The Jac's basement walls are painted black with bright white, orange and yellow murals and patterns, abstract faces and strange designs. As she looks at them, she remembers Stu might have painted one or more of them. She's not sure who told her that. She presses the mouth of her beer bottle to her lips as she studies them, as well as she can, over the heads of the audience. The band abruptly stops and the audience laugh. Minnie looks around. She'd not been listening. She's missed the joke.

Paul steps up to the mic to announce they're going to take a break for quarter of an hour. Before he's finished speaking, George has downed tools and bounded over to her like a labrador puppy, all bouncy and bubbly. 'Hi, Minnie,' he says eagerly with a toothy grin, and Minnie finds herself smiling back at him. 'Is Hannah with you?'

Minnie shakes her head slowly, sliding her now empty beer bottle onto a nearby shelf. 'She might have been, if you'd told her you were playing in town tonight.'

'Oh. Oh yeah,' George says, scratching the back of his neck, bashful suddenly. 'I didn't know. It was last minute. Someone couldn't make it, and Paul only called me about it once I'd already seen her.'

Look at him. He's as bad as she is. All gooey eyes and dopey grins. He's practically drooling at the thought of her. It's quite sweet really. Lovely. Innocent. Pure. It would warm even the most hardened heart. It could reaffirm your belief in young love. But then... this is Liverpool, and sweet and lovely just isn't the Liverpool way.

Minnie folds her arms across her chest and purses her lips. 'And here I was thinking you liked Hannah.'

George frowns, confused. 'I do like her...'

'So why wouldn't you tell her you were playing?'

'I didn't know until it was too late. I'd have rung her, but she says you're not on the phone. That right?'

No, they have a phone, but Hannah can't give George the number. They couldn't have him ringing the house.

Minnie sighs emphatically. 'She's going to be so upset when she hears about this.'

George's face falls. 'But... No, I didn't mean to--'

'I'm shocked, George. Truly shocked that you would treat her like this. I thought you liked her. You worked so hard to get her to go out with you and you're just going to throw it away. How many times did you have to ask her out before she said yes?'

He actually looks like he's trying to count. Minnie has to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing.

'Of course, I can't not tell her. I am her sister, after all. It's my duty to protect her from boys like you, who--'

'Minnie, I didn't do it on purpose, I swear,' George says earnestly, falling for it hook, line and sinker. 'I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt Hannah.'

'Why didn't you tell her then, George? Hmm? What are you up to? Are you just stringing her along? Trifling with her heart? Is that why didn't tell her? You wanted to see what female fans might be around, see if there's a better offer--'

'No!' George cries. 'No, I'm not, honestly. I'd never, uh... trifle with her--'

Minnie suppresses a smile. 'And that's another thing. You haven't told her about going to Germany, have you?'

'I, uhh, no, but I...' George stumbles over his words, probably wondering how Minnie knows about that. He's not told Hannah about their impending trip to Hamburg. That is strange. There must be a reason for it. Well, Minnie tried to warn Hannah about getting too attached to this daft boy. When she hears he's shipping out to the continent she'll know what Minnie meant.

'So why haven't you, George? Did you forget?! Or do you not care about her enough to let her know you're going away for three months?'

'No, no, it's not that. I do care, I care about her a lot. I'm going to tell her.' He blinks a few times and presses his lips together. Bloody hell, he's not going to cry, is he?!

'When though, George? Tomorrow?'

'I can't see her tomorrow--'

'Oh, what a surprise!'

'Sunday! We're going to Southport on Sunday. I'll tell her then.'

'Poor Hannah. I thought you were better than this, George, I really did. She'll be heartbroken when I tell her...'

'Please don't, Minnie. Please don't tell her--' George begs and that's what she's been waiting for. Minnie has to turn her head away so he can't see her laughing. But as she turns, she sees him, and her mirth evaporates immediately.

'Stop torturing him, you,' John says, a wry smile on his lips. 'She's pulling your leg, George. Winding you up.'

George looks from John to Minnie, unconvinced.

'Aren't you, Minnie Mouse?' John says, nudging her.

'Don't call me that.'

'Alright. What name would you prefer?'

'From you, none. Don't call me anything at all.'

Minnie pushes past John, trying to escape, but the rooms still crowded and she can't get through to the stairs before John catches up with her again. He skips round in front of her, blocking her exit.

'Don't run off, Min,' he says, ducking and dodging to get into her eye line. 'I haven't seen you in ages.'

'And why do you think that is?'

'Well, we've not long been back from Scotland--'

Minnie shoots him a look of disbelief and tries to pass him again.

'Hey, come on,' John says, stepping in front of her, stopping her. 'You can't still be sore about that, can you?'

'I'm not fucking sore about anything. I just don't go with guys who already have girlfriends, so sod off, John--'

'Oh, Minnie,' he says, as if she's being unreasonable. 'We can still be friends, can't we? Here, look, I got you a drink. A peace offering.'

He offers her a beer bottle. Minnie looks at it with disgust and folds her arms, refusing to take it from him.

'Or would you rather go and get your own from Allan Williams?' John adds, cruelly. 'Let him slobber over you a bit more.'

Minnie stops and looks up at him, wondering how he knew about that. He must have seen them.

'It's only a drink, Minnie,' John says, raising his eyebrows. 'I bought it for you. You could at least drink it with me.'

She hesitates, then she takes the bottle and drinks from it in big, gulping swallows that are hard to keep in her mouth. She drinks nearly a half of it before she has to pause for air.

John laughs. 'Were you thirsty, love?'

She glares at him, not taking her eyes away from his as she drinks the rest of it in three more long glugs. Victorious, she presses the empty bottle onto his palm, the glass still cold and wet, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

'There,' she says. 'I've drunk it with you. Now leave me alone, John. Can't you take the hint? I don't want to know you. I don't want to be your friend. Don't talk to me. Don't buy me any more drinks. Just piss off, alright?'

She doesn't wait for his reply. She pushes past him, making her way to the bottom of the stairs. She has to grip the banister to heave herself up the steps. She shouldn't have drunk that like that. It's heavy in her stomach now, sloshing around, making her feel sick. When she gets to the top of the stairs, she pauses, casting a glance towards the toilets, trying to decide if she is going to throw up.

She could leave now. She probably should, but where else would she go? Instead she makes her way towards the bar again. It's thinned out a bit up here, there's more room to move and it's cooler than downstairs. Stu is standing with Allan Williams as she reaches them.

'Want another drink, love?' Allan asks her.

She smiles thinly, hating herself. 'Please.'

'John was looking for you,' Stu says.

'Yeah. He found me,' Minnie replies flatly.

She stays with them, listening to them chat, but not really joining in. After ten minutes, Stu goes back downstairs to rejoin the band and the music starts again, loud, reverberating through the floor, making conversation - thankfully - difficult.

She should leave. She can't think where she wants to go. She doesn't want to face John again, but she's safe while the music is playing. At least she knows where he is then. He can't ambush her. Allan keeps buying her drinks and she keeps downing them. That's what she's here for anyway. To get drunk. Drunker than she's ever been before. So drunk she can escape the thoughts plaguing her. So drunk she's not scared any more. And so drunk that she might be brave enough to take the only way out of this hell that she can think of.

Seeing John again has rattled her. Unexpectedly. She didn't think she'd be so bothered by it. She was a different girl when she last saw him. It was only a few weeks ago, but it feels like it could be months. Another lifetime. She can't let that upset her though. She can't let it weaken her resolve.

John Lennon. It would be easier to hate him if she didn't like him so much. He looked good tonight, Black drainpipes, black shirt with the collar up around his neck, and black and white shoes to match. She can't quite figure him out. He's always joking around, having a laugh, but there's something more about him. Something that lies just beneath the surface that he struggles to repress sometimes. It's what gives him the chip on his shoulder, Minnie guesses. What makes him act like such a prick and why he's determined to prove he's bastard who doesn't give a fuck about nothing and nobody. Still, it intrigues her. She wants to know what it is. She might have got there too, if he hadn't blown it.

Allan has his hand on her leg as she sits on the tall bar stool next to his. When did he put it there? She can't remember. She didn't notice. The beer has done the trick. She feels dizzy with it. Drunk enough now. Drunk enough to do it? Maybe. Drunk enough to do it with him? Maybe. Although that thought turns her stomach more than the booze.

There's no music, she suddenly realises. The band's finished. There are people coming up the stairs, flooding out of the doors onto the street outside. She stands up abruptly and Allan nearly falls off his stool. He'd been leaning over her, one hand stroking her thigh, one hand on the back of her neck. Minnie has no idea what he'd been talking about.

'I've got to go,' she says to him.

'Minnie, wait, we're just...' he starts but Minnie's already walking away, squeezing through the people towards the exit.

She breaks through the doors and with one hand trailing across the wall, she unsteadily negotiates the uneven pavement in her heels. She stops at the corner of the building and leans with her back against the bricks, only now realising, as she feels the craving for nicotine, that she left her bag on the bar next to Allan Williams and her purse and cigarettes inside it.

'Fuck...' Minnie says to herself. She could really do with a fag right now. She's not going back for it though. Not going back in there. She puts her hand to her forehead, squeezing her temples.

George is suddenly beside her. Was he there all along? He's staring at her.

'Are you... okay, Minnie?' he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. She can see why Hannah likes him so much. It's not difficult.

'I'm fine,' she replies.

'About before,' he says. 'Hannah. I didn't mean not to tell her about tonight, or about going to Hamburg. I would have asked her to come tonight if I could have got in touch with her, and I am going to explain to her about Hamburg. The only reason I haven't is because I didn't know what she'd think to it. But I do care about her, Minnie. I really do. I--'

'Oh George, I was teasing you,' Minnie says, exasperated. 'I was having you on.'

'So you're not... going to tell her that I...'

'No. No, I won't say a word.'

'Because I really didn't mean to--'

'I know, George. Bloody hell.'

He falls silent, still staring at her strangely, although Minnie's having problems focusing on him properly. She has to close one eye to stop herself seeing two George's.

'George, you do care about her, don't you?' Minnie asks him, serious now.

'Yeah. Course I do. I've said--'

'How much?' Minnie demands, cutting him off.

'What?'

'How much, George? Honestly. Tell me properly.'

'I, uh...' He hesitates.

'Shit,' Minnie says, almost under her breath.

'No, I mean, lots,' George says quickly, misunderstanding her. 'Lots. I do. I think...' He can't stop himself from smiling as he says it. 'I think I might... love her, a bit... maybe.'

That is more than she bargained for. Now it's Minnie turn to stare at him. 'You love her?'

'Don't say anything to her. I haven't told her that,' he adds quietly. It's dark but she can tell his face is flushed.

Minnie smiles wistfully. 'I need you to make me a promise,' she says.

George looks uncomfortable but he smiles and nods. Minnie takes his hand.

'Me and Hannah, we've only really got each other. And... and if something happened to me, then she'd be alone. I don't know if she'd cope on her own, so I need you to promise me that you'll look after her. You'll take care of her for me.'

George moves his eyes to something behind Minnie. Minnie twists her neck to see John standing a few feet away behind her. She's no idea how long he's been there or how much he's heard - but then, what does it matter? None of it matters now.

She turns back to George. 'Will you? Promise me?'

'Yeah, sure--'

She grips his hand, squeezes hard, digging her nails into his palm. 'No, seriously, George.'

George laughs nervously. 'Why? What's going to happen to you, Minnie?'

'Never mind about that. You have to promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says about me or about Hannah, you will stick by her. You won't leave her. You'll make sure she's okay, because it's...' The words stick in her throat. There's a hard lump there, making it difficult to talk. 'It's not Hannah's fault. None of it was ever her fault. She'll need you, George. Don't let her be on her own. Promise me you'll look after her?'

John steps closer, lighting the rolled cigarette he holds between his teeth. 'She's just had too much,' he says to George, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. 'She's pissed.'

Minnie throws him a glare and turns back to George. 'George, please.'

George nods. 'Yes, okay.'

'Say it. Say you promise.'

'I promise,' George says, an unsure smile on his lips. 'I'd look after her. Of course I would.'

Minnie nods, satisfied for now and lets go of George's hand. If John hadn't come out just then she might have told him more. She might have told him exactly why he had to look after her and exactly why it would be up to him, but this will have to do.

Minnie steps forward but stumbles in her high heels. John has to catch her to stop her from falling.

'You really are lashed, aren't you?' John says, laughing, one hand on her stomach and his other arm around her back. 'Where are you going?'

'Get off me,' Minnie says, trying to shove him away. He lets go and she topples over immediately so John has to grab her again, holding her up. 'Stop it, John,' she shouts at him, fighting him and he laughs harder. 'I don't need your help. I don't... I don't want you.'

'Where are you going, Minnie?' he repeats. 'You'll never make it home like this.'

She stops struggling and lets him hold her up. 'I'm not going home. I'm going to... to the river.'

'Don't be stupid. You'd fall in!'

'That's the idea,' she mumbles.

'Come 'ed then, love,' John says. 'You can come back with us.'

'No,' Minnie says, struggling again. 'No, I don't want to go with you.'

'Minnie, stop being a pillock--'

'Uh, John, if she really doesn't want to go with you, perhaps...'

'And what do we do with her then, eh, George? Leave her on the street? She can't get back to Allerton like this. She'd never find her way.'

'I'll be fine,' Minnie argues. 'Just leave me alone, both of you. I want to be alone.'

John sighs. 'Do us a favour, George. Go find Stu and bring him out here.'

*

No one's put any money in the meter for the last couple of weeks, so the flat is freezing. It's colder in here than outside. It's summer, but the days are rainy and the nights are cold and damp. John has a tanner in his pocket, but he's saving it for when he's ready to go to sleep. God help them when it really gets cold. They'll die of pneumonia in this bloody flat. He might have to decamp back to Mimi's for the winter. If she's not let his room already.

His fingers are starting to tingle as he idly picks and strums the knackered old acoustic guitar, trying to find the tune to Shimmy Like Kate. He can't remember where this guitar came from. It was probably nicked from somewhere or someone. It's rubbish though. It's missing one of the machine heads and has a large crack across the back, right though the 'guaranteed not to split' sticker.

It's cold, but his flatmates don't seem to notice. Stu's spark out on the sofa in the front room. Wherever he falls, there shall he sleep. John didn't think he'd drunk that much, but he's knackered from trying to keep up with his painting and the band at the same time. When they arrived back at the Gambier Terrace flat, holding Minnie upright between the two of them, Stu filled the kettle, put it on the hob and then fallen asleep before it had whistled. John had took the kettle off, covered Stu with a blanket he found on the floor and took Minnie to Stu's room, the only room with a proper bed.

There's something funny about her tonight and not only because she's clearly still pissed off with him, which pisses him off in turn. He's not seen her in weeks. He thought she'd be over that by now. She's asleep too, lying on the top of the bedcovers, facing away from him. John sits on the dusty bare floorboards watching her, playing the guitar lazily, a skinny rolled ciggie between his lips.

She's rather overdressed for a night at the Jac. Shit, she's overdressed for a night anywhere in Liverpool. Not that she doesn't look amazing in it. Tight red dress with a low neckline and slits to the front sides of the skirt that make his imagination run wild.

Her high heel shoes lie on the floor, under the bed. John had to take them off for her. She's got great legs, Minnie. Smooth, shapely calves that he'd just love to stroke his hands over. He could do that now. She wouldn't know. She wouldn't even wake up, and after all, he won't get another chance. That ship has sailed.

But he won't. Thinking about it is one thing, doing it is another.

Bloody Stuart. He's got a big gob. He swears it was a mistake, that he wasn't thinking, when let slip to Minnie about Cynthia.

'Yeah, John's girlfriend likes this song too,' he'd said. They were sat in this same flat then, playing forty-fives on Stu's little HMV turntable. Minnie had been spouting her knowledge and opinions on the records like she does, as if it were gospel, like she's giving a sermon in a church.

'Does she?' Minnie had replied, without missing a beat.

'Yeah. Cyn's got all his records, doesn't she, John?' Stu had continued, totally ignoring John's eyes imploring him to shut the hell up. John can't even remember what singer they were talking about or what record it was.

He'd be very surprised if it was as innocent as Stu claimed. John knows he fancies Minnie too. They've discussed her at length more than once. But if it was some covert strike to get John out of the picture, Stu had yet to make his move on her. As far as he knows.

At first, Minnie didn't seem to mind. She stayed another hour afterward, playing records, talking, laughing with them, smoking all John's fags, but when John walked with her to the bus stop later, she'd changed, a dark mood coming over her like thunder clouds covering the sun.

They'd shared a few kisses before. Nervous, fervent snogs when he'd got her on her own, away from her annoying little sister who was always hanging around, the unwitting chaperone. He'd been glad when she started going out with George, but that was sadly irrelevant now. He doubted he'd be sharing kisses or anything else with Minnie in the future.

When he'd tried to kiss her in the bus shelter that day, she'd slapped his face. Told him that she wasn't some slag who went with other girl's boyfriends and how dare he, how fucking dare he think that he could have Minnie and some other girl too at the same time.

Naturally, that only made John want her more. She wasn't like other girls round here. She seemed more mature, more experienced, but somehow unaware of how fucking sexy she was. He could actually talk to her too. Most birds were airheads, without an interesting or insightful thought between them. Minnie was smart, funny sometimes, knowledgeable about stuff most birds thought was pointless or boring. It all made for an intoxicating cocktail.

He'd tried again, of course, but no go. Bloody Stuart Sutcliffe and his mouth the size of the Mersey tunnel.

John sighs and takes the cigarette from his lips. He stopped actually smoking it several minutes ago and it's gone out. He tucks it into his inside jacket pocket for later and lifts the guitar off his lap, lying it down on the floorboards next to him. He's tired now. Time to put the tanner in the meter.

'Don't stop,' Minnie says. She only speaks quietly but her voice echoes in the silent room, startling John.

'What?' John asks. She doesn't move, still lying with her back to him.

'Playing the guitar,' Minnie replies. 'It was nice.'

She sounds strange. Much more downbeat than she usually is. She could just be tired, but John thinks there's something more to it. What was all that with George earlier, too? She sounded so desperate. She was pissed, but even so. It'd scared George a bit, John thinks. It'd scared him a bit too.

'I wasn't really playing anything.'

'It was Shimmy Like Kate. The Olympics.'

John smiles. 'Yeah.'

Minnie rolls over onto her back, folding her hands over her stomach. She considers John for a moment and then pats the space on the mattress next to her, inviting him to join her.

John scrambles to his feet and goes to lie down next to her on the narrow mattress, folding his arm around the back of his head for a pillow. This bed is a lot comfier than the thin mattress John usually sleeps on in the other room. Sleeping on that every night is starting to make his back hurt. If he keeps quiet, Minnie might let him share the bed with her tonight. He stares up at the ceiling. There's a large brown damp patch in the shape of Wales where the pipes in the flat above have--

Without warning, Minnie props herself up on her side, leans over him and presses her mouth against his. John's so surprised he doesn't even react at first. He just stays still, eyes open, staring at her while she kisses him. Then, as the initial shock wears off, he opens his mouth and kisses her back. She moves over him and John tentatively runs his hands down her sides, resting them on her hips, still not daring to believe that she's actually doing this.

'You like me, don't you, John?' she says, abruptly breaking away from him and pushing herself up with her hands palm flat on his chest.

'Yes,' he replies, breathless. 'Minnie, you know I do.'

'I mean, you want me, don't you? You want to do... it with me? Make love to me?'

'Yes,' he repeats, cringing at how eager he sounds but his cock is hard already. 'Yes, I do.'

She goes back to kissing him. It's not like before. This is hotter, more intense. She climbs over him and he shuffles over so he's more central in the single bed. She hitches the tight pencil skirt of her dress up around her waist so she can sit on top of him, a knee either side of his hips. John caresses her thighs as she bends to kiss him again. It's not lost on him that he was just dreaming of doing this only minutes ago.

Minnie sits up straight suddenly, trying to reach for the zip on the back of her dress. 'Help me with this,' she tells him, twisting round.

John sits up to undo it for her. She hops off of him to wriggle out of it, kicking it off her feet and onto the floor, then straddles him again in just her underwear. She puts her hands flat on his chest again, as she leans down to kiss him, her hair falling over him. John gets bolder, smoothing his hands over her body, feeling the curves and contours of her waist and hips, around her arse. He hesitates momentarily before he touches her breast, over the fabric of her bra, still half expecting her to push him away. He's not done that before. They hadn't gone that far but Minnie seems intent on going a lot further yet.

Minnie breaks away from his mouth, moving her hands to either side of him, she pauses, looking down at him. Her cheeks have flushed pink and she's already breathing heavily. He brings his hand up to her face and brushes her hair back for her, but as he touches her, she flinches away from him. John freezes. She looks down at him. There's something unnerving in her eyes. It's not just lust and desire there.

'Shouldn't you take your clothes off too?' she asks, briskly.

'I can't with you sitting on top of me,' he says, a joke he immediately regrets as she climbs off him abruptly.

He pushes himself up, throwing his jacket off, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. As he pulls it off, Minnie is kissing him again, holding herself against the bare skin of his chest. She fumbles with the buckle of his belt, unable to get it open.

'I'll do it,' John tells her, putting his hand on top of hers. He wriggles out of his tight jeans as Minnie watches him, then smiles at her and beckons her back to him. Minnie doesn't move, a look on her face as if she's concentrating hard. John's smile fades. 'Min..?'

'Lie down, I have to be on top,' she tells him and he obeys, awkwardly shuffling down the bed beneath her.

She gets on top of him again and unhooks the clasp on her bra, dropping that to the side of the bed as well. John takes a little involuntarily sharp gasp when she does. He knew she'd be like this, in command and confident. It's a fucking turn on. He's never been with a girl like that before. It's always been him having to do the coaxing and then all the work, while the bird usually lies there, stiff as a board, waiting for him to finish.

This is still going through his mind, when Minnie suddenly stops again, sitting up, a strange expression on her face. She blinks, shaking it off and focuses on him again.

'I... I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing,' she says, her voice wavering.

'What you're doing is fine,' John replies.

'No, I mean... I haven't done this... with a boy before...'

John laughs, thinking she's joking. Minnie looks horrified.

'Don't laugh at me,' she says and tries to pull away from him, getting off him.

John sits up before she can escape him, gripping her arms, holding her to him. 'I'm not, I'm sorry,' he says quickly, feeling like if she goes now, if they don't do this, then he's going to explode. 'I thought you were kidding... Have you really not?'

'No,' she says, looking embarrassed. 'Let's... Let's just forget it.' She tries to push him away, but he keeps ahold of her.

'Minnie, it's okay, just... Just kiss me again.'

She does, and John puts his arms around her, gathering her to him. She feels cold, he can feel goosebumps on her skin. She wraps her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He breaks away, about to suggest they get under the blankets, but he has to stop. There's tears in her eyes.

'Minnie, what's wrong?'

She shakes her head and a tear escapes down her cheek.

'Why are you crying?'

'I'm not.' She wipes at her eyes.

John draws a deep breath, knowing already that he'll regret saying this. 'Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to. We can just go to sleep.'

'No,' she says firmly, trying to move closer to him again. 'No, I want to.'

'Minnie, you're... You're upset, you're crying, you're drunk...'

'Not as drunk as I wish I was.'

'It's okay, love...'

'Don't you want to?'

'Yes, I do, but...'

'Then come on. Do it. Fuck me.'

John can't hide his grin. 'Take it easy, Min. What's the rush? We don't have to do this now. We can...'

'No, it has to be now, John. Tonight. I... I want to do this. I want to know what it feels like... What it's like when you do it properly, with someone... someone who... who's nice to you...'

'You're not making any sense,' he tries softly, brushing her hair back off her face for her.

'It's what they say, isn't it? That you should do it. Before you die. You should experience... this.'

'You're not going to die though, are you? Not any time soon.'

She looks at him in a odd way, and the conversation he overheard between her and George echoes through him. ...If something happened to me...

'I just feel like... like I might...'

'Might what?' John asks, unable to stop his voice rising. 'Minnie, what's going on? What are you saying?'

She won't answer him. She lays her head on his chest and he holds her there, unsure what to do. He can't see her face. He can't tell if she's crying but she's perfectly still and silent.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Cynthia.'

Minnie doesn't answer for a minute, then she says, 'It doesn't matter anymore.'

'Please tell me what's wrong, Minnie? What's happened?'

Minnie doesn't reply again. John yanks the blanket from where it's ruckled up at the bottom of the bed and pulls it over them, keeping his arm around Minnie. He kissed the top of her head and she makes a small noise, like a stifled squeak. He hugs her to him.

'John, what would you do if... If you'd done something so bad that you... can't live with the shame of it?'

'What have you done?'

'Something awful.'

'Well...' He traces his jawline with his thumbnail, scratching the thin growth of stubble there. 'Whenever I've done something or I'm in trouble for one reason or another, I try to think of when no one will care about it anymore.'

'What?'

'There will be a point in the future when no one gives a shit about what you've done or not done. It won't matter to anyone. Might be a month or a year or a hundred years, but no matter what it is, there will be time when it doesn't matter anymore.'

He pauses to let Minnie tell him what's playing on her mind, but she's silent again. They lie under the scratchy, grey blanket holding each other and just as John feels he's drifting off to sleep, Minnie takes a deep sigh and draws back from him. She gives him a thin, bashful smile. 'I'm sorry,' she says, sounding a bit more like herself again. 'I didn't mean to say all that. I'm okay now.'

'It's alright,' John says. 'You can... You can always say whatever you want to me. You can tell me anything.'

She nods.

'And I won't... I won't lie to you ever again. I swear it. So you don't lie to me either.'

She gives him a small, sad smile and untangles herself from him, or tries to. John won't let her go.

'It's alright, I'm only going to the bathroom,' she says.

'Minnie--'

'It's okay, John.' She stands up, a little shakily. John still holds onto her hand. 'Where's Stu?' she asks, hesitating.

'In the front room, asleep on the sofa.'

'Good,' she replies, taking her hand away from him. 'I can't really be bothered to put that dress back on just to go for a piss.'

'Minnie,' he says again but she's already left the room, wearing just her knickers, an arm wrapped around her breasts.

John sits up and leans against the wall behind the bed. He feels cold now and a little foolish, sitting here in just his y-fronts. He looks at his discarded shirt and jeans on the floor, reluctant to put them back on in case Minnie takes that as a signal he's not interested anymore. He wouldn't mind smoking that fag now though. He reaches for his jacket, taking the rollie out of the inside pocket. He lights it and leans back against the wall to smoke it while he waits for her, wondering if he should try to get her to talk to him again. Or does he just kiss her and hope it leads to something more?

She's just drunk, he tells himself. She's just emotional and pissed. That's what all birds are like, isn't it? Whenever they get pissed they start crying, or fighting, or both. She'll be fine in the morning. Hungover, but fine.

He finishes his cigarette and stubs the tiny dog-end out in the little ashtray beside the bed. Minnie's still not come back yet. It's been a good while. At least five, nearly ten minutes. It doesn't take this long to have a piss.

He makes himself get up and checking there's no one around, he pads to the bathroom. The door is closed but the light is on inside, escaping from the crack underneath. There's no sound.

'Minnie?' he whispers, and knocks gently. 'Minnie, are you okay?'

There's some movement inside but she doesn't reply.

'Minnie! Open the door, love,' he says, louder, worry creeping into his voice.

'Shut up,' she hisses through the wood, and opens the door a crack. 'You'll wake Stu.'

John pushes the door open. Minnie's standing just behind it, renewed tears streaming down her face, make up smeared.

'Oh, Min, what's wrong? What's happened? Please tell me...'

She shakes her head. 'No, no, I'm alright,' she tells him and he realises she laughing and smiling through her tears. 'I'm better than alright!' She throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kisses him again.

'Have yer gone crackers, love?' he says when she releases him again, smiling at her, but only half joking.

'Quite possibly,' she replies, eyes wide. 'I'm not... I'm not knocked up.'

'What?'

'Pregnant, John! I'm not pregnant!' she says joyfully and kisses him again. 'I was late. Two bloody weeks late! I thought I was. Maybe I miscounted, but I've just come on and... and...'

John wrinkles his nose and Minnie laughs, looping her arms around his neck.

'I'm alright. I'm okay. I can't be pregnant. Oh, John, you've no idea how fucking relieved I am...'

'Minnie,' John says, into her hair as she squeezes him tighter, pulling him forward. 'Biology lessons weren't that hot at Quarry Bank, but... I'm pretty sure you have to have sex before you can get pregnant.'

'What?'

'You said you'd... not done it before.'

'Oh.' Minnie breaks away from him and pulls some toilet tissue off the roll to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

'So how could you think you were...'

Minnie just laughs again and goes back to the bedroom, leaving him standing, confused, in the bathroom.