Main character: Mary Anne Bernadette "Bernie" Fitzgerald. She's a lanky blue eyed, dirty blonde Irish girl living in 1970s Manchester. As the front woman/lead singer of a struggling band, "The Mancuniettes", she's absolutely thrilled for their first...
(A/N: this isn't *romantic*, but it's still cute 🗣️)
Saturday, 7th of June, 1975 The Roundhouse, Dagenham
Mary Anne's POV
Yesterday was terrible! My band had finally scheduled a proper gig back in Manchester, and the damned venue owner just had to cancel on us. I was too annoyed to remember all the details, but there was fire involved. We decided to take a break from music for a bit and spend the weekend in London, which brings me here.
There's supposed to be a Thin Lizzy concert tonight, and my friends went together because I was too moody to buy a ticket. Now I'm sitting here in the pub on my own. I've been brainstorming new ideas for songs, but they're all so...upsetting? As in, these aren't songs you can just listen to with a straight face, they're the type that, once you pay attention to the lyrics, you begin to worry for the writer's mental state.
Frustrated by my lack of proper writing, I put my notepad and pencils back in my bag. "Ugh, I should've just gone to that stupid concert!" I whisper to myself angrily, burying my face in my hands. As I'm drowning in my sorrows, I can hear the other pub patrons gasping and murmuring. I look up and am just as shocked to see Phil-freaking-Lynott, just, here! I figure the show's over, then, or has been for a while. Of all the nights, he shows up when I look like a bum.
My hair looks like a birds nest, my lips are chapped, my under eye circles are darker than usual, my bra's straps are digging into my shoulders, I forgot to spray my signature perfume, my shorts are inside out (I didn't care enough to fix them), and I wore my top backwards (didn't care for that, either)!
Despite all this, Phil decides to sit on the barstool that's right next to me. Holy crap. If I breathe too hard my heart might explode. He's not paying attention to me — which is great, I guess. To distract myself, I resume writing in my notepad on a fresh page. To help get in the 'zone', I start by journaling recent events, turning said recount into a poem, then turning said poem into a song with my band. Seeing as how I didn't write anything yesterday, I start from there.
"Do you usually wear your tops incorrectly?"
"Not on purpose." I reply dryly, not bothering to look at who asked. "In my defence, I haven't been having the best luck as of late."
"I can see that, miss. You have lovely handwriting, by the way." The man laughs, and that's what makes me look at him. My stomach drops and, for whatever reason, I scream. I use my fingers to comb through my hair, since that's really all I'm able to fix at the moment. "Were you reading my notepad, Mr Lynott?"
"Please, don't call me 'Mr Lynott', I'm still a young man. I'd rather you just call me Phil." His Dublin accent is a lot more clear when he's speaking rather than singing. "And you are?"
"Bernie Fitzgerald, it's short for my middle name Bernadette. My real name is Mary Anne, but I don't really care for it."
"You have nice names, Bernie." He smiles, and my heart flutters. "Also, no, I wasn't reading your notepad, I was looking at the words on the page. There's a difference." I'm ashamed to say it, but that got a smile out of me. "Do you write the songs for your band?"
"Mostly, yeah, but they always have something to add. But I'm more than just a song writer! I'm also the lead singer." The girls will go mad when I tell them about this! "What style of music are you into?"
"I'm into all sorts of things, really, but we all dig rock music, obviously. We call ourselves 'The Mancuniettes' because we're from Manchester, and the '-ette' suffix makes it sound more feminine."
His eyes light up at the mention of the city. "I used to live in Manchester, when I was younger, before I moved to Dublin. I'm inclined to believe that you're also Irish. Am I right?" I nod, "Yeah, I was born and adopted in Dublin. My birth mother was only fourteen when I was born. I wrote a poem about it, but it's kind of dumb to read out loud."
Phil gets the bartender's attention and asks to see his manager. He then asks the manager that, since there's no live performances tonight if I could go up and sing. Holy smokes, this can't be happening! "I can't do this, I'm too timid! And besides, my band mates aren't here!"
"You don't need them, dear. If they appointed you as lead singer, it was for a reason; your voice carries the weight and heart of the song, bringing the lyrics to life. I'll be supporting you from all the way here."
"How would you know? You've never heard me sing, and we literally just met!"
"I haven't heard you sing yet, but I can tell you're good. It's always the soft spoken ones."
I shut my eyes hard, reopen them, and find myself standing on the small stage; with everyone else, including Phil, watching me. I'd rather die than perform any of my original material, and instead go with the first song I can think of: 'Here, There and Everywhere' by The Beatles. The lack of instruments really gives me the chance to show off my voice, and slow tempo of the song is soft on my vocal cords.
I skip back to where I was sitting, my hands still shaking wildly. "You did a great job, Bernie! I'm so proud of you." Phil gives me a pat on the back. "It's a shame I have to leave now, I wish we had more time to talk. Do you have a camera in your bag?"
Normally, I would be surprised that a worldwide sensation would want to take a photo with me. Then again, what hasn't been a surprise tonight? (A/N: ref for the pic they took together, I found it on Pinterest 🚶🏾♀️)
Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
After the photo, Phil gave me a tight hug, some words of wisdom about the music industry and showbiz, and that was it. He disappeared into the night. But before Phil left, he said he left me a message in my notepad. I flip to the page, which reads:
<<Dear Bernie, meeting you tonight was a wonderful experience. I wish you the best of luck with whatever you do in the future, even if it's not a career in music. You have a lovely voice, all you need now is the charisma to match. By the way, Thin Lizzy will be in Manchester sometime in October, and I hope to see you there. Take care and stay cool, love.
Sincerely, Philip P. Lynott>>
————— (1159 words) (It's been a while since I've written a proper fanfic, so I'm sorry if it's not so good ☹️ but tbh I really like how this turned out! And I hope you did, too!)
