Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

37. The more the merrier (2)

A/N: Hi everyone, once again I've had to split the chapter up, so below is part two of four. Enjoy!

Sunday 10th February 1957 (Cont'd)

Celia hadn't realised just how cold it was outside until the jubilance of warmth passed through her. The Lennons' house was blessed with a toasty sort of heat that instantly sculpted goosebumps on Celia's forearms.

"I've got the gas and the electric going," Julia remarked as she closed her front door with a crafty smile on her face. "I know—naughty me, eh? My Bobby'll hit the roof if he reads the meter, but we need a good bit of cosy warmth during this baltic weather, don't ya think?"

Celia nodded in agreement and pulled at the snug tartan scarf around her neck to free her skin from the wool's insulation. She wasn't used to being this warm. Her father would never allow for this much heat in their own home— he absolutely loathed being hot. The sun was his enemy. So was the central heating come to think of it. Even his baths were tepid. You'd find Charles Michael Pooley hiking in Antartica, before he ever sunbathed on a beach.

A myriad of tantalising aromas wafted up Celia's nostrils. She could detect cinnamon with a dusting of ginger—the familiar smell of sweet-baked goods. A strong, floral fragrance imbued the air too, which complemented the spices nicely and Celia inhaled harder, savouring the delightful scent in the narrow hallway. Behind her, Julia laughed.

"I've got Eccles cakes growin' in the oven," Julia said, leaning her elbow atop the shiny, wooden bannister. "It's my first batch in ages. I usually go for Bakewell tarts, but the little pies pestered me in a dream and told me to bake 'em or else!"

Celia smiled. "They smell truly delicious!"

Julia hummed in agreement. "Ta, love— Oh, flamin' Nora! Look at me hair!"

Julia placed a hand over her mouth as she caught sight of herself in the mirror mounted on the wall.
Her reflection stared back, brown eyes wide and flickering with amusement. "I look like Alfalfa with a bedhead," she observed, breaking into a giggle.

Celia's smile was nostalgic as she gazed at the sweet, familial photographs decorating the ivory wall. "I used to have a crush on him when I was little."

She'd been six years old to be exact. Carl 'Alfalfa' Switzer had been her very first crush. Of course, little Celia hadn't actually known she'd been doting on him back then, but she'd desperately longed for him to come back on the big screen every time he disappeared out of frame. She'd been totally besotted by him. The first picture she ever recalled drawing was a terrible portrait of herself and Alfalfa holding hands as they rode a Pegasus into the sunset. Michael and Marian had teased her unceasingly when they found out. In fact, Celia specifically remembered Michael gelling his cowlick upwards into a pointed flick like Alfalfa's. Her big brother chased her around the living room making kissy noises at her, whilst Marian lay on the sofa, wetting herself with laughter. Oh, she'd been so embarrassed. More embarrassed then when David Scrubbs ran up to her in the playground and kissed her on the mouth. His sloppy lips tasted like garlic and she'd burst into tears after telling him that he smelled funny. To save herself from any more relentless teasing, Celia vowed never to admit to liking a boy again. Ten years had passed since she'd made that commitment and still she kept her secret lusts to herself. God forbid if she ever truly admitted to liking James Marsh for the past however many years. She'd never hear the end of it.

"Oh, he was a little cutie, though, wasn't he?" Julia said, grinning at Celia through the mirror as she smoothed down her red hair. "I used to pine after Chaplin when I was a sprog, myself. Have you seen that portrait of him back when he was in his late twenties? I carried around that cutting of him in me purse until I was nineteen!"