⇾ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝚇𝚇𝙸𝚅

"Sounds like something to bring up to your therapist, Liss," he said, reaching up to run his hands through my hair. "And I—as much as you seem to think I am—am not a therapist."

I nodded. "I'll think about that, thanks. How are we going to tell them?"

"Think we should drive on down to Liverpool and just tell 'em, Liss. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Jim might chop yer head off," I said. Paul's father, Jim, had become increasingly annoyed with John ever since I'd told them about the separation. He had been even more upset when I had told them that we were even considering rekindling our relationship. My mother had seemed pretty disapproving of the whole "indefinite separation" arrangement too. I could only imagine what their reactions were going to be when I told them that John and I were back together, on the same day that I told them about our newest Lennon-family addition, and I could only imagine that they wouldn't be entirely pleased.

"Not too worried about Jim because Mimi'll do it first."

"Dunno, John. Mimi might be pleased that we've made amends."

"Don't think she'll be pleased about you bein' up the duff, though."

"Love when you refer to my pregnancy so kindly, John, thank you," I said.

He chuckled. "Yer welcome," he said.

"Are you worried?" I asked suddenly. "About the possibility of miscarriage?" I paused. "Would ye blame me?"

"Christ, would I blame you? What kind of bloody question is that, Liss? Of course, I wouldn't blame you...and yeah, I'm a little worried. I'd be sad, but I wouldn't blame ye."

"I'm still worried," I admitted. "Every time I pull down my bloody pants, I'm worried there'll be blood or somethin'. Sometimes I dream of blood," I said. "Lots of it, all over the place. The bed, my pants, the floor. Everywhere."

"'M sorry, Lissy," he said. "Wish I could help you."

"Let's tell 'em, John," I said suddenly. "Can we tell 'em today?"

"Tell who?" John asked, his eyebrows raising up.

"Paul and the boys," I said. "When we go over there, can we tell them?"

"Do you want to?" he asked. "Liss, I've got to record some demos...can't have Paul pissed off at us when we're trying to record."

"No, I want to, John. Can we?" John looked reluctant still. Maybe he was just shocked. Shocked that I was so adamant that now was the time for the boys to find out. "We have to tell them anyways. Let's tell them today!"

I looked him in the eyes, and he stared back doubtfully. "Liss, think this through," he said.

"I have!" I responded. "Have come to the conclusion that I want them to know right now. I'll be at George's after work, and you better be ready to bloody tell them because I am going to." I moved away from him, crisscrossing my legs and crossing my arms around my chest.

"When do you have to work again?" he asked me.

"Go in at noon," I said. "I've got until four, and I've got to wrap up my article on the Rolling Stones."

John still didn't know that it was Keith Richards who I had slept with. I'd uttered it way back when I'd first admitted to shagging someone else, but he hadn't heard it. I hadn't ever told him after we had gotten back together, and he had never asked anyways, so I suppose it didn't matter.

After I'd shown back up to The Rolling Stones recording sessions for Beggar's Banquet—a few days after being released from the hospital—Keith had approached me once more, seeming quite keen on the idea of shagging me again, but I'd had to stop it. I pushed him away because I was with John again. He hadn't known that that was the reason, though. I'd just told him that our shagging was a mistake. His ego was too damaged to even try and approach me again. For quite a few sessions, he wouldn't talk to me, but after a while, he finally had to, and now we were honestly quite friendly—you know, in a more friendly way and not a romantic way.