Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Paul had got in touch after John had gone awol with me for a while, inviting me over to watch a rehearsal. They fancied a catch up and wondered if I wanted to hear them practise since their last performance I was available for had gone horribly wrong.
I was nervous to see John since our 'date'. Neither of us had kept in contact much, for everyone we phoned each other the other one was busy. Though I missed him like hell, we had lives of our own. It wasn't like we were courting or even together but he made an impression on my life already. As nerve racking as it would be to sit in a room with John for a few hours, knowing we had unresolved tension, I longed to go.
Paul had previously told me the address of his house where the boys practised in the back room and the address was written down on a small piece of paper. I clutched it as though my life depended on it. My white, babydoll style coat kept me warm in the Liverpool chill as I neared a bricked estate. Paul's house was only a few fights up, modest and somewhat grimy.
Just as I stepped around the final corner to unveil Paul's front door, I wasn't watching where I was going and bumped straight into some unsuspecting sod.
"Oof," the person was rendered breathless from our bodies knocking together and it winded us both slightly.
"Sorry," I apologised, rubbing my hip. "I'm stupidly clumsy." The apology left my lips and I looked up to see George. His cheeks flushed red and he was also rubbing his arm after our sudden knock. We'd stepped up to Paul's front door at the same time, his guitar sat on the outside steps.
"Ah, it's not yer fault. You okay?" He checked, the slight unibrow of his furrowing in concern. His two small ears poked out as a result of his quiffed hair and that oddly shaped nose crinkled kindly.
"All fine," I confirmed, motioning that I was good.
"Oh, uh, hi Faye," he snapped out of his daydream, remembering we hadn't actually said our greetings yet. "Didn't expect to see you here. John invite ye?" He asked politely, shoving both hands onto his Jean pockets.
"No, Paul did actually," I stiffened at the mention of John's name, picking at a piece of mud staining my white coat material.
"Oh, I see. I thought because of you two outside the club and all that—" he broke off at the sight of my sour face, grimacing as though he knew what I was about to say.
"Yeah, so did I." We descended into a dull silence, listening to the estate kids playing and parents shouting at them from above.
"He talks about ye a lot," George tried to help my emotions quietly, forgetting what we were doing outside. Those brown eyes stared at the floor shyly.
"Shame he doesn't talk to me," I complained bitterly, not meaning to involve George in my complicated situations, certain that he only came to rehearse, not be my therapy coach.
