And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 41: Modern Day Bonnie And Clyde

    As an answer I took his hand and lightly swatted the back of his plaid pajama pants. We had reached the main street. "We're taking the tube," I explained.

    "So, let's get on," he said.

    "We can't." I shot a quick glance around. "You do know the police and the public are looking for us; there are cameras in the tube, we'll be recognized immediately!"

    "Bloody futurists," he smirked and I bit back a grin.

    "There are..." I glanced behind us towards the shops. Who was open at four in the morning? "There are the shops... but they're closed..."

    I couldn't see John for a second in the absence of the street lamp, but when he moved back into the light I thought I died a fifteen year old boy grinning devilishly at me. I cocked my head at him, confused, and he said quietly, "You know, there are ways to purchase without buying."

    I stared at him for a good three seconds before realizing my mouth was open. He reached up and closed it, rubbing my chin, smirking slightly. "What are you inferring?" I asked.

    "Come on. You don't want to be remembered as a felon, right?" I raised my eyebrows at the familiar statement and followed him across the street.

***

    "You can't possibly be serious."

    He raised his eyebrows at me, his mouth a serious line. "What other choice do we have? I mean—" he gestured at our clothing: me in a dress, heels, and a brown coat, carrying a purse, nothing covering my head, and him with his leather jacket, white shirt, and pajama pants. I suppressed a gasp when I realized he was barefoot.

    "John—how—"

    He grimaced at me. "Was not fun, I tell you." I sighed in resignation. Going on the tube barefoot was definitely not in the lines of convention, no matter how early it was.

    "And you, you can't walk in there with your bag over your head, you know. You need some sort of sweater, or hat, or something... listen, some people never keep their doors locked. Stuck in the past, or something." I snickered. John was so naive. In this age, 2013, the "old people" were literally going to be him.

    I gazed at the house, a simple ten feet away. Dark windows. A pretty white door with a stained glass window.

    "Looks like George's house," I muttered.

    "There you go," John encouraged, putting a hand on my back. "Pretend you're steal—borrowing—from Geo."

    "Not helping," I muttered as I envisioned Louise Harrison's kind face, who had housed me for so many months. "All right. You go first."

    He walked towards the door. I followed him, taking a quick glance around the surrounding bushes. John's hand twisted the golden doorknob to the left easily enough and slipped in like a shadow. The door opened into a dark hallway, I saw shoes by the door, large old men's shoes and tiny old women's, and reached down to grab a suitable pair for John.

    "Get inside," I said, elbowing him in the back. "Hat, scarf, just grab it and go." He suddenly reached his hands out behind me and grabbed me by the waist; I big my lip to prevent exuding a yelp. "All in due time, my dear."

    "You wanna say that again?" I said, the Americanism sounding hilarious in my mouth. My hands found his wrists, pinning him against the wall, against umbrellas and raincoats and hats. "You wanna say that again—"

    "Say what again?" he said. I could hear the smile in his voice, the lilting melody making me give him a smile in return. It was too dark to see him, so I felt him, cuddling into his neck. He lifted me, my legs around his waist, running his hands through my hair.