Saturday the 25th of October 1958

While Jim had gone out to the shops, Paul was sitting in the front parlour with me. I was reading, enjoying the nice quiet. Well, it wasn't that quiet but it was peaceful enough. I think Paul was just so glad it was a half-term week and he thought it was the most perfect time to do whatever he pleased. It meant it was nothing but music in the comfortable front parlour when Jim and Mike weren't home.

I couldn't blame him all.

Paul looked at me, frowning. He had stopped strumming his guitar to look at me. I looked at him, unwillingly dog-earring my current page and placed all my attention upon him.

"Do you think Johnny and Moondogs sound professional?" Paul asked me. It took a second or two to recognise that he was serious. I had no clue why he was asking me. John was his best friend and songwriting partner. I had no musical talent. My opinion was pretty much worthless in that regard.

"Do you want to be called Japage 3 or something?" I said with a laugh, crossing my ankle over the other, and leaning back into the soft cushion of the sitting chair.

Paul made a face of confusion, looking like he had just bitten into a lemon or one of disgust. I couldn't exactly tell all that well.

"John, Paul and George meshed together," I spoke slowly with a grin stretching upon my lips, looking at Paul with the hopeful expression that my joke may ring true.

Paul smiled his boyish grin and laughed heartidly, tilting his head back. I don't particularly think my humour fit in with his sometimes but I was glad I was the one who made him smile. It always made my day worthwhile.

"You are a funny girl Daisy," Paul said that smile of his still lingering as he presumed gathering the chords of a lively and sweet frenchy tune upon his guitar. I didn't think it was much of a compliment, instead, I was basking in the horror if he thought I was odd.

"I'm going to fetch the paper," I murmured, standing. I lingered glancing at Paul for a moment, sweeping my gaze over his careful boyish figure, trying to frame it to my memory. I pulled on my cardigan to ensure that I'd be somewhat protected against the chill. I collected myself, drawing a hasty breath and opened the front door. As expected it was dreary and cool as I made my way to the letterbox to collect the paper.

"Yer playing a dangerous game, girl."

"Excuse me?" I whirled to face Mrs Dunne looking at me with a seriousness I could not comprehend at all in her withered and worn eyes. She was standing upon her side of the fence. I paled noting that she remembered my routine in the mornings.

I had not seen much of the woman since I had seen her since the day I had arrived in the past. Paul said that she was much like his mum, leaving on her bike to assist those in need, often women going into labour as a midwife and nurse. I was confused. What did her threat mean? And yet, I was aching to know why. I was sure I knew why even. But I would forever choose to ignore it.

"Daisy yer have ears do yer not?" Mrs Dunne said, gripping her little leather handbag tightly as she turned her head. "Yer better come inside, Miss Twist."

I could not find any words. Instead it seemed that I had no choice in the matter of trying to keep the peace. I opened the little front gate and then turned to my right, trudging after the middle aged woman.

Inside of her house it was cold. It had such a lonely feel that I knew. This woman lived all alone. I was taken into the sitting room where all I could see were little black and white photographs of a young girl growing up from a baby to fifteen or sixteen. At its centre was a portrait of three, which included a much younger Mrs Dunne, a man beside her grinning proudly and a little baby cradled in her arms. Even from this distance her eyes in the black and white photograph her eyes seemed brighter, happier.

Had she lost her daughter? Had her husband died in the second world war?

"Sit down, please," Mrs Dunne said much more calmly and collected.

I hesitated.

"What is it that you meant just before?" I began, standing as the older woman sat upon her armchair whilst I stood before the herath of the unlit fire.

"There is a danger that you fail to comprehend."

"A danger?" I repeated, unable to understand what it was that she had hinted at.

"Yer are not meant to be here are yer?" She commented with knowing eyes.

"Well I suppose not entirely. . . Australia is my home," I admitted. "My grandmother would most certainly be worried with myself being alone and all——"

"I can see it when someone falls through time. Better than most, I'll say," Mrs Dunne admitted softly, gently, almost as if it were a secret as if not to startle me.

"Don't be ridiculous!" I said with a laugh. What was I going to say?!

"Daisy, now is not the time to deny such things. But that is not your name is it?"

"No not exactly," I admit wearily. "A nickname of sorts. My name is Jude."

"Hmm," Mrs Dunne pondered. "Perhaps yer should sit lass."

I look at Mrs Dunne and her eyes cast to the seat worn sofa before me, that was casted slightly off to her armchair.

"How do you know?" I whisper.

"Because my mother was much like yer. She was gone one day, I saw it as a young lass. A flash of light and then she was gone. Then nearly a year later she returns in a frock from a Jane Austen novel with a lil' ween cradled in her arms. My father said she'd been taken by the fairies and blessed me with a little brother."

"Your mother was like me," I whisper. "Not the baby part though."

"Yes," Mrs Dunne admitted with a sheepish smile but soon the look on her withered face grows tired, laced with worry. "Ye mustn't mess with our kid James no more. The lad has suffered enough. Yer shouldn't drag him into yer troubles."

"I am not messing with him," I whispered. I cared for him more than this lady could comprehend. I was dealing with much more than even I believe she could fathom. "I care for him."

"Very well," Mrs Dunne concluded. "I shan't say no more. . . I gather ye know much more about the future than I do."

"How do I get home?" I ask, hopeful. If Mrs Dunne's mother had been gone for a year, did that mean time was still passing back home? I had been gone for almost two months. I felt so nauseous and sick. I could be on the national news, declared a missing person with no trace. My grandmother would have seen me vanish before her, and she would be raddled out of her mind. I knew that she needed me often more than I needed her. But in this despair I was mortified that I did not try to travel home, back to my life and future, that I had found myself falling down a rabbit hole of the past. I had let myself be distracted and I vowed that I would now focus upon going home. . . Now more than ever.

"I do not know. Mother never said a word of it. Father refused any mentioning of it. My brother Matthew never knew."

Matthew? I still. I am sure that there are many Matthew's in Liverpool and England at this time. It couldn't be a cocidence that it was my grandmother's father's name. I found myself growing confused at this whole thing, I wasn't getting any answers.

"I don't understand? Why would you warn me and scold me like a child —— then expect to figure this all out?"

"Miss Twist, I do not want yer to be lost alike my mother. She would sit once a year, on the anniversary of her disappearance and play this old record over and over. Yer should not be mourning a life that was never meant to be yours."

"Was your mother listening to music by per chance?" I asked, remembering. "The day she vanished?"

Mrs Dunne looked at me oddly, drawing upon her childhood memories. "Why, yes. I believe so on the gramophone in the front parlour."

I felt dizzy, standing. I was swaying but my discovery was profound. That was how I would get home. I would use music. I fought a laugh, how stupid did I sound?

"It's the music," I said aloud, now finally realising. "That's how I got here. . . I was listening to my mother's record player, and when I touched the record, I was on the pavement and Paul found me."

"Hmm," Mrs Dunne hummed, resting her head in her hands. "That is certainly a theory."

"I better go now," I concluded, standing. "Thank you for your accusations . . . and your help Mrs Dunne."

"Very well, dear," She agreed, standing to follow me from the front parlour, to the little passage way out the front door.

I tried to act as normal and casual when I saw Paul waiting for outside the little fence of his house. I had put the paper back in the mailbox when I followed Mrs Dunne into her home. Paul smiled when he saw me and he seemed relived when he checked his wristwatch. I hope I wasn't gone for that long to spark any concerns.

"She seems lonely," I whispered to Paul, when he offered his arm for me to cling to as we began our walked in the direction to what I assumed as John's house.

"She is," Paul spoke softly. "She lost her husband, only to loose her daughter not much after."

"Did he die in service?" I asked.

"I believe so," Paul admitted. "I only saw his metals once or well, had a really good look at them. Mike and I wanted to parade about with our sticks for rifles and be soldiers in her garden. I had never seen that look on Mrs Dunne's face when we were wearing them. She had never been so angry or distraught. We were never allowed inside of her house ever again. Dad agreed though. He said we were being 'disrespectful' of Mr Dunne's memory."

"Oh," I whispered, trying to ignore that sinking feeling in my stomach. Had I got Mrs Dunne all wrong? "That is terribly sad though."

"What did she want to ask yer?" Paul asked and I could see that he was curious.

"I asked about her shepherd's pie recipe actually. She said she'd write it down and give it to me later on," I fibbed.

"Ah," Paul said with a dreamy sigh, patting his stomach with his free hand. "I'd love a good pie."

I laughed before mumbling that I knew.

The walk to John's house was exciting. I had never been invited or asked. It distracted my mind from the pressing matter of going home. It was a cold day and I was glad that I remembered a cardigan.

Mendips was almost exactly like the pictures my grandmother had shown me, aside from the shrubbery and trees and bushes being much smaller and a few small minimal details. It was much fancier than Paul or George's homes.

"I think it's best if you wait here, love," Paul said softly.

"I-I what?" I said with a frown. "Why should I wait here?"

"John's Aunt. John doesn't like that she questions him."

"Oh. I see," I whispered, trying to hide how upset I was. "I'll be here I guess."

"Ta," Paul smiled, kissing my cheek quickly, pleased with my understanding and precedent of the situation.

Yet, I grew more and more confused at his words. I was allowed to go everywhere with the boys, to gigs, parties etc. John allowed that despite his grumbled allowances. Was it because I was technically growing more and more involved with Paul just because I agreed to one date and shared a couple of kisses with him? I sighed, reaching up and tugging a leaf from the bush above me and twisting it within my fingers. I wasn't used to this sudden change in domestic structure. I couldn't be angry with myself to resist it as a modern woman of the 21st century.

I felt irritated like a Victorian maiden. I sighed, nibbling at my lip. It was cold. I was cold. How could I just be left in the cold? It could start raining and thundering and a man in his car could kidnap me and I'd never been seen again.

Ugh. Stupid boys and their ridiculous politics.

I opened the black painted wooden gate with a fury, forcing myself not to slam it behind me as I marched up to the front door. I looked through the stained glass, trying not to pry but hoping that there would be someone to save me.

I knocked in the most polite manner I could muster, three loud knocks would do. There was no sign of someone coming to the door and I waited, shivering. After a little, a woman with a long face and dark hair answered the door.

"Hello, Mrs Smith. I am Daisy. I am a friend of John's and Paul's. I was left out in the cold waiting but they are both taking too long—"

"Why on earth would you let that happen?" The woman retorted, shocked. "You seem like you have a head of common sense upon your shoulders."

"I believe it escaped me for a moment," I confess, earning an eyeful look off John's Aunt Mimi.

"You must come on inside Daisy," She spoke with a sigh, widening the door for me to slip through. Upon my entering the threshold the woman looked me up and down as if she was examining me. Oddly, it felt like I needed this woman's approval to breathe in her home. I noticed the pearls on her neck and the sharpness in the way she dressed. She seemed so posh. I felt very underdressed even in my pretty borrowed blue dress and cream cardigan.

I followed the woman down the passage way and turned into the kitchen. I tried not to seem too in awe of it. There was so much room. It was so pleasant.

"You may sit and wait at the table until they are done with whatever those boys are rehearsing. I doubt you want to burden your ears with the racket that they make."

"Thank you," I said graciously, gently pulling out a seat and sitting upon it.

I tapped my fingers against the dolly lace stretched over the square table and fresh flowers in a crystal vase. Looking out into the garden, dreading the rain and wind. Were Paul and I still going to be able to go the pictures together?

If I listened hard enough I could hear both Paul and John rehearsing in the glass-panelled porch at the front of the house, which was the only place where they were allowed to play according to Paul.

Mrs Smith sat before me and I found that there was a silence that wavered over us both. I did not know how to start a conversation with her but at some point I would have to try.

"It is a very cold day today," I confessed. "It looks like it is going to rain."

"You are from the colonies, yes?"

"I am from Australia," I confirm, trying to lighten my accent so I don't sound like some bogan. "It is nice to be back in the motherland with my english roots."

"Would you perhaps like some tea?"

"Oh, yes please," I said with the most polite smile I could present.

Mimi stands, brushing down her skirt and fills the kettle before putting it on the stove. As she prepares the tea a cat swishes against my leg, its a siamese. The purrs rumbles in its chest and I am overcome with how adorable he is. I'd love to have a dog or cat of my own but my nana thought that they were nuisances. Especially cats. I just think it was how she was raised and after Whiskers, my late mother's cat that I had a little girl, I think threw her off.

"Oh how lovely!" I exclaim. "I love cats!"

"The Siamese cat is Sam," Mrs Smith informs me, reaching for two cups, saucers and spoons and other delights. I lean down and the cat pushes its head into my hand, demanding for pats. I gently scratch at his chin as he purrs.

"I used to have a cat named Whiskers, he was my mothers, he died a year ago and my nana refuses to have another."

Mrs Smith looks at me for a moment, as if she was struck with the news that I had told her. I was very much like John in that regard. I had lost my mother in a tragic accident just as he had. But any death, any loss held a crushing weight.

"John adores felines and I cannot blame him," Mrs Smith responds after a while. I cannot help but notice that her strict and somewhat cold demeanour vanishes when she talks about him. I found it very sweet and I held so much respect for her. It was very clear that she loves John as if he were her own.

I was grateful for my time with Jim. He had taught me much more table etiquette than I realised and I was welcoming any sort of high tea mannerisms as I could. I placed the cloth napkin against my lap as John's Aunt gave me a luscious serving of vanilla sponge before pouring my tea.

"What are yer doing here, Hawaii?" John mused but I couldn't tell if he was shocked or pleased by my interaction and presence with is Aunt.

"Drinking tea," I commented gently and for greater emphasis I took a slight slurp and stuck out my pinky. Mrs Smith frowned at my improperness but she said nothing.

"Is Paul there? We're supposed to go to the pictures," I informed John in a matter of fact tone.

"Is that so?" John laughed, removing his glasses for dramatic effect. "I can't believe Miss Prim and Miss Proper going to the movies at the same time."

"Pardon?"

"I'm taking Cyn," John mused.

"Oh no, not you," I groaned, pained. John would throw popcorn and be completely and utterly inappropriate. He would have a punch on with any guy that looked at her the wrong way.

"Oh, yes," John laughed hysterically on the boarder of madness, making faces like some evil scientist.

"What about George?" I whispered. "You'll leave him out."

Mimi made a grunting sound of disapproval and murmured something about George I couldn't hear. But that infuriated John more than I'd ever realised. He played George off a kid but he cared for him like he would Paul or anyone else.

"Shut up Mary!" John yelled at his Aunt in order to silence her disapproval of George. It was the first time he acknowledged her as he entered the room taking a seat at the table, taking my untouched cake and stuffing it into his mouth before acknowledging me. "Nah, Geo, can't see this one."

"Alright," I whispered, annoyed that John had ate my cake. I missed sweets and lollies. But I guess this was a double date now. I would be happy to see Cyn though, I could use some civilised female company.

"Excuse me, where is the bathroom?"

"Upstairs," John said plainly, deciding to drink the rest of my tea. Ewww. How could he act like he hadn't seen food for months?

"You'll find it," John's Aunt promised. "You'll see it right away."

I trudged up the polished wooden stairs, my hand on the rail. I wasn't used to double story houses. Paul met me at the top of the stairs. I stood a couple of steps below him, looking at him through my eyelashes.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," I said softly.

"Oh," Paul said surprised. Was he shocked that I had made my way inside? I smiled to myself as I passed him. Served him right.

Why was I so satisfied over nothing? This was a human right. I realised that Paul settled up against the wall, waiting for me. I marvelled at John's home, my eyes widening when I passed his room. It was very messy.

When I reached the bathroom, I quickly freshened up and washed my hands. I found myself startled by my reflection. I still felt that I was playing dress up. I reached into my little coin purse in the depths of my little brown leather bag. It was a worn and cheap thing, but it was made sturdy and made to last.

I had brought a lipstick. It was a bright red. A Marilyn Monroe kind of red. I couldn't remember her exact shade. I was never used to wearing a bright red or anything bold. I wore my makeup very naturally in my time. I carefully applied it to my lips, trying a little bit and smudging it in with my finger. A little is often is more than enough.

I felt satisfied and pretty when I stepped outside the door. Paul was still waiting against the wall, hands in pockets.

"What do you think Paul?"

Paul's eyes widened, surprised. Was it all the lipstick? I had tried to make my hair resemble Bridgette Baguette with looser curls and fuller hair. I felt like an idiot.

"You look gorgeous," he said in a quickened whisper. I blushed. I found myself averting my eyes and found that they had settled into John's poster riddled room on a different guitar.

"Is that new?" I asked. Noticing the guitar that was leant against the chair pushed towards his desk.

"John stole it," Paul answered, his hazel eyes following my own. "It's not a good one for a guitar if I might add."

"What's the best thing you've stolen?" I ask him, amused.

"I'm beginning to think I haven't stolen it yet," Paul answered before clearing the room between us, pressing his lips to mine.

The kisses grew more urgent, deeper and Paul was clinging to me like he couldn't breathe, he had one hand gripping my waist and the other tangled in my hair. I broke away, breathing heavily. I feel myself feeling hot and my cheeks were red and burning.

"This isn't the time or the place," I whispered to him. Urgently trying to wipe off the lipstick that had transfered to his lips from my own.

"John's room has tissues," Paul whispered. "'come head."

Paul stepped away from me and led me into John's room. I was trying to hide my awe and I traced my fingers over the bookshelf he had against the wall next to a desk with his scribbles and drawings. Paul took a tissue from the tissue box on John's desk and rubbed away at his face.

"Oh, you missed a spot," I commented, trying to rub away at the corner of his full mouth with my thumb. I was starring too much into his hazel eyes. It was dangerous. It made me want to kiss him all the more.

"Out!" John said with his hands on his hips, standing at the door of his room.

"W-We were just admiring your impressive book collection," I said sharply.

"Hmph," John said. "Paul looks like he's ready to take ya on my bed for a shag."

Paul sighed, rubbing his head.

"And you, Hawaii, look like a hooker with that lipstick. Ugh, disgusting. See Brigitte Bardot here, thats what yer should aim for."

"Y-You tosser!" I said to John throwing a book across the room hitting John right smack bag into his head. I was glad for those Christmas and playing cricket. It served me well.

"Ow! You fucking whore! That's me copy of Alice in Wonderland!" John cried, rubbing his forehead with complete horror. I couldn't tell if he was more worried about his head or the book.

"John!" Paul yelled, a venom coating his voice I hadn't heard before, daring to stand up to him when before he had been quiet. "Don't fucking talk to Daisy like that! She's a lady!"

I started giggling at the ridiculous of it all. I would barely consider myself a lady. The scouse accents of the two were so funny to me when they were angry. And soon I was really laughing with tears in my eyes and then soon John did and Paul too.

"Classic Lennon-McCartney for ya," I mumbled to myself, but in that moment with the intensive look in John's eye met with my own. . . I could almost swear that he had heard me.