Monday the 20th of October 1958

I was hanging out the washing, ignoring the horse whinnies and dog barking from training behind Paul's house. I wished it would settle down especially it being such a close proximity. Some days had been better than others though.
Jim was working in the garden, his pipe puffing smoke like a dragon as he was using a shovel to even out the garden bed. I did not know how he could do two things at once.

Paul's Aunty Jin greeted me as I collected the Liverpool Echo from the letterbox. She was Jim's sister. She would sometimes once or twice a week on a Monday or Tuesday, cook dinner or tidy up a bit with her other sister Aunty Millie as well. It had been hard since Paul had lost his mum I believe. I knew it all too well to have someone you love be here one day and disappear one day the next.

"How are you dear?" She asked me. Jin was a sweet lady. She had an excellent, extravagant hairdo and was well-dressed. Very proper.

"I am very well thank you. Shall I put the kettle on? It's gotten a bit nippy outside."

When did I ever say nippy? Oh, well. The English were Australia's cousins. We had the same Queen. I cringed at my thoughts. But was autumn for you ⎯⎯ in England that is. Australia was unpredictable. It could be sunny in the morning, then rain and then again be nothing but sunshine. But here it was gloomy and rainy and cold. Always. An everlasting cycle of cold and miserable.

I held the front door open, letting Aunty Gin inside before I followed after and closed the door behind us.

"Hello macca," I said with great enthusiasm. Paul had a rare day of completing the whole school day. Probably for appearances maybe to get his dad off his case.

Paul clambered over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Kissing me hard and fast right for a moment in front of his aunt.

"Paul!" His Aunty Gin shrieked. It was one thing for public affection but this made me blush. I am reeling with the taste of him and his smell of lavender and cigarettes. "What would this poor girl's parents think?"

Tears swell in my eyes. I could not help it. All I can think of how far away I am of home. And how little my dad would care, even if it was Paul McCartney.

"I-I," I start but my words falter when tears slide down my cheeks, "I need to walk."

Without a second thought, I back away stumbling for the door and step out into the cold. I cannot think. I cannot gain any semblance of thought. The door was closed behind me. Paul is calling my name. It starts to rain. I start to run. My saddle shoes are so loud against the pavement. I ran until I couldn't anymore and I sank against the stone fence of someone's house. I wrapped my arms around my knees. I couldn't stop sobbing. I couldn't do this anymore. I needed to go home. I needed to be in my own time and forget all of this. I needed to no longer feel this pressure on me. More and more I flelt like I could no longer enjoy my time here. I was forever enraptured with protecting history, ensuring that I didn't mess things up.

I somehow lost Paul. And instead I found John Lennon, guitar strapped to his back. I was officially a Beatles magnet.

"Don't tell me you broke his heart, Hawaii," John mused. I was surprised that there was a humorous tone to his voice. I refused to look at him. I couldn't dare. I'll just start crying even more. John was wonderful and beautiful and talented but he was also a complicated bastard.

I had never had a one on one confrontation like this with him. It was unsettling. The way John appeared like this was almost frightening. He had such a scary look to him. Although, I knew better. I had seen him around people he cared about and he melted like butter.

"Go away! I haven't done anything!" I spoke in the most serious voice I could muster.

"I'm not going to leave yer here," John said in the softest voice I had ever heard from him. He had never spoken to me so kindly, so gently.

"You're John Lennon, you'll do whatever you damn well please."

John yanked me my arm, forcing me upwards. I almost tripped over again. He was wearing his glasses and a leather jacket and tight jeans with his guitar strapped to his back. I think it was because Paul teased him about mistaking people for a nativity play last christmas.

"I'll take you back to Pauls," John mumbled. It was more to himself than me. I wanted to cry, he was doing this for Paul and not for me. I tried to understand that of course he would, they were best mates.

"No!" I yelled, yanking my arm away. "I can't!"

"Why not?" John asked. He took out a matchbox out of his pocket and a cigarette and lit it right in front of my face. Smoke surrounded us like a cloud.

"I'm falling in love with him John! This is a doomed romance."

'Mmm," He admitted. "You're not wrong there, lar."

I somehow found myself crying even more. But John was nothing but right. Paul would have the whims of girls falling at his feet in a few short years, an endless sea of fans. And later, he would meet the love of his life ⎯⎯  that most certainly wasn't me. It never would be because he had his lovely Linda.

"I have to get home somehow. I need to get home. I can't be here any longer."

"Then leave?" John asked. "It's not that hard to do. You leave good ol' Liddypool for London and catch a flight."

"I can't deal with you right now," I mumbled, walking on. John managed to keep up. It made it worse. It was like the past was forcing me to acknowledge John's future and even the more pressing reality of his murder and death. I knew that my nana had told me that in Roosevelt Hospital on the PA radio when John Lennon was pronounced dead 'All My Loving' was playing.

"Stop following me," I snapped. But John was persistent, even in this spitting that patters against our clothes and our hair.

I started sobbing again. If I left John and George would die. But could I ask this of myself? Stay this long and give up my own life to ensure that George catches his cancer as early as possible and to make sure John is nowhere in New York in December? I couldn't. I was sixteen now. But I had no identifiable documents and I would forever have to be hanging on the side of the earth. I could never find love or have children or even own someone's house. Nothing. I could cause a million ripple effects that could change things. It was probably a good thing that I would never be able to make enough money to formulate anything like that.

John sighs, using his hand to massage his temples, "Just make it back to Paul's at some point. I'll let him know you've gone for a walk."

"Ah, I always knew you were the smart one!" I comment trying to smile just a mere second before I realised I had seriously fucked up.

"What did you just say?" John reels, turning back to face me a few metres ahead of me.

"Oh. I said you were a smart one."

"No you didn't Hawaii."

"Yes I did."

"Something isn't right here."

"You misheard me. It's my accent."

"Daisy, tell me what's going on. . . I can help you."

"John, you don't give a rat's ass about me."

"You end up falling out of nowhere. Paul didn't even see you behind him. You had a concussion with no medical testing. You had no shoes on. No money or passport. No one you knew. No family. You traveled to Liddypool with no ticket."

"John I can't tell you. I need to keep you safe. Please listen to me."

John blows cigarette smoke in my face. "No. You listen to me, lar. If you're runnin' from something I'll protect you. Paul said you live with your granny and your dad is a deadbeat and your mother died the same way as mine."

"Yes, my nana has full custody of me," I admit.

"But that's not it, is it?"

"John there's no need to play detective."

"Tell me," John pushes. He's much too smart for any other excuse I can muster. I have no choice to force the truth on him. Even if he thinks I'm a mad woman.

I took a deep breath and look into John's eyes before I say, "I was born in 2002."

"Don't be a daft cow," John laughs bitterly, his dark eyes fused with disbelief.

"I was. 2002. July 18th. Born at 7:45pm to Rita and Steven Wilson. My name is Jude."

"You're a fookin' idiot to think I believe that crap," John laughs. "You're more insane than I am."

I roll my eyes years later he'll be saying he saw a UFO with May Pang? How bizarre.

"I traveled backwards in time. I touched a record and spack bam against the concrete. Paul was there."

"Right," John laughs. "And I'm the Queen of England."

"You either believe me or don't. But you can't tell anyone. Can't you see? I'm trying to go home!"

John looks at me attentively for a moment, but I knew he was blind as a bat if he didn't have his glasses.

"Does your dad hit ya?" John asks seriously.

"No! John! No!" I yelled. John and I look at one another for a moment. I am hopeful, pleading. But there must've been something in my eyes that made him fail to believe that ⎯⎯ and that I am telling the truth. I am a time traveller of sorts.

"I-I believe yer about all the time travel thing," John said finally, though I could hear the hesitation in his gritty and almost nasally voice.

I was riddled with a sense of relief. Someone knew. I had Paul and I knew that he was there for me. But I felt like I finally had someone in my corner, rallying for me. I felt like I wasn't alone in this world. Someone knew.

"You do?" I cry and I wrap my arms around John mindful of the guitar strapped to his back and sob like there's no tomorrow. I get tears and snot on his leather jacket but he doesn't seem to mind. I was seeing the tender and caring side of John. History had built him as this hard, stoney, rough figure. He was complicated sure and most certainly not perfect and he did things I could never approve but he had a good heart.

"It is so hard," I whisper. "I feel like I'm forever putting on this performance. All I do is lie about myself and to. . . you and George and Paul."

John looks me earnestly and I can finally tell he isn't too pleased with this hug. But he doesn't let go. He pats my back gruffly and I knew that he had enough. I step back and look at him with tears in my eyes.

"I want proof," he commends.

"That is. . . understandable," I admit. How can I blame him. I'd want proof if someone had came into my life so unexpededly and acted so oddly and claimed that they were from the future.

"Do you want me to, uh, tell you something that happens or?"

"What happens with the band?"

"John, I am not telling you that."

"Mm, so you know who I am?" John smiles. The whole world will know who you are. Who you all are.

"My nana loved George," I confess, which was undoubtably true. "As a fan, of course. My nana is half British, her dad moved to Australia after the Second World War and met his Irish wife. When my nana was a girl she had a holiday here to visit her grandparents and saw your band play at one of the clubs or wherever. She raised me with all these local stories about you all."

John seemed to accept that. But there was a hesitance that he seemed unable to hide. I understood where he was coming from. I couldn't just reveal everything. I would protect him as much as possible.

"Do we make it outside of Liverpool?" John asks.

"Yes, John. But I am telling you nothing else."

"Does Cyn like me back?" John asks, puffing out more cigarette smoke. Then what was he doing with this Thelma girl if he cared for Cynthia? Maybe it was just something he wanted to ask. Like a definitive fortune teller.

"Yes now or some point. She goes to your fancy Art School with you yeah? But isn't she with someone else?" I comment and there was nothing dangerous in saying that. "My nana says she's a lovely girl."

Also not a lie.

"Is that enough for now?" I plea and tears threaten to well up my eyes again. "You can't tell a soul forever. . . Not even Paul."

"Yes Hawaii," John smiles, ruffling and messing up my hair. "I know. It's our secret."

I find myself smiling back. I feel like we could almost be friends now. All along it felt as if John knew that there was something odd or off about me. Now he was more of what I knew him to be.

"Are you going to Paul's to write?"

John nods, shifting his footing. His thoughts must be running a hundred miles and hour.

"I'll go back with you," I whisper.

I follow after John. He moves swiftly at a pace that is almost hard for me to catch up and in a few mintues I am back to where I was.

John opens the front dark black metal gate and lets me trudge through. Paul is leaning against the brick and even from this distance his eyes look blury, the edge of his eyes pink and his hair is ruffled, his school uniform is crumpled. Had he been crying? Had I really hurt him?

"I'm sorry," is all I seem to be able to say. I cannot find any words to equal the embarrassment and worry I had caused him. Paul smiles at John in the seemingly most grateful way he can muster. His movements are slow, like I am some sort of flighty horse ready to run and he wraps his arms around me, capturing me close, anchoring his face in my neck.

"Don't do that again to me please, Daisy love," He murmurs, his voice rich and low before he breaks away from his hold on me to look deeply into my eyes, both his hands suddenly weighted onto my shoulders. "I promise I will always be here for you, you know? You've got me."

I often suspected that I was some fleeting forgettable moment. Paul had never once made me feel that way. We were everything.

"Some ready to wear and some made to measure," John muttered under his breath, his hands deep into his pockets.

I didn't understand what he meant at first until I pondered on it. I envisioned some custom made tailored suit, created for only that person to wear. Did John mean that was what Paul was to me? Perhaps so. These feelings I had for Paul were tangible and so very much real. I could not deny that of myself. I could not ignore them when I was born many decades too late.

I could not deny that I was very much head over heels for James Paul McCartney. I was most certainly falling in love and I couldn't stop it. And what was worse, it seemed like Paul was falling in love with me too.