Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

29. Wise up, girl

"Yes, well I'm bored of it," Harry stated. He emphatically sighed and said, "It's a darn tootin' drag."

Celia burst out laughing. Harrison shot her a look, but it only made Celia laugh at his misuse of American slang even more.

"I'll drag you across the floor in a minute Harrison Edward Pooley!" Nora threw a cloth on the floor and placed her hands firmly on her hips. "I don't want to hear another word come out of your mouth."

Harrison stood up straight. He knit his brows together and folded his arms tightly across his chest, scowling at his mother as he did so. Such a stubborn little boy he was.

"Go now, before I tell your father and send you to bed with an empty stomach. And so help me god, young man, I will."

"Fine," Harry huffed. He sulked off and purposely stomped his way down the hall.

It was easy to get Harrison to do as he was told: the thought of having no food was nothing short of a nightmare for the ten-year-old. Just like his father, he loved to eat. He was always at his happiest when he was stuffing his little round face with food. The greedy guts always gave himself indigestion from scoffing down his meals too quickly and yet he never learned his lesson. 'If Harrison puts as much passion into his school work as he does with his lunch, then his grades will be sure to improve.' Harry's teacher wrote than in his end of term school report and Nora took it an insult and couldn't see the humour in it as her two youngest children had. Take Harry's football or his dinky cars away, and at most, the boy would sulk. Take away his plate and he'd act as if the world was ending.

"And none of that whinging when Mr Tarbard gets here, do you hear?" Nora called.

Harrison responded with a slam of the door.

Nora, who was still on her knees, placed her hands on her lap and closed her eyes. She took a deep steady breath, and held it as if she was trying to stop herself from bursting into tears.

"Are you alright, mum?"

Nora exhaled just as the kettle whistled.

"Yes, that son of mine is a pain in the backside sometimes."

"No, I mean are you alright?"

Celia could tell something was up with her mother as soon as she'd walked into the kitchen. Nora's back was to Celia and she'd been sniffing as she wiped away the mess from the floor. Celia noticed the sorrow on her mother's face before she had time to hide it, and it was only when Nora looked up to swipe back a wisp of hair that had come loose from under her headscarf that Celia noticed she'd been crying. The white of her eyes had been a little pink, along with the tip of her nose. It wasn't so blatant now; the puffiness under her eyes was starting to wear off, but someone or something had troubled her not too long ago and Celia was sure it was to do with whatever that stuff was on the floor.

Nora gave Celia a questionable look.

"What do you mean am I alright?" Her tone was defensive.

"You seem a little upset is all," Celia admitted.

"I'm fine, Cecelia, why wouldn't I be?"

Celia shook her head, not wanting to press her mother any further.

"Fetch Mr Tarbard's cup would you, please."

Nora heaved herself up from the floor. Only then did Celia spot the dustpan and brush that had been sitting behind her mother. The thistles were coated with brown gloop and a heap of muddy, broken china overlayed the dustpan. Nora clicked her fingers at her daughter whose eyes were fixed on the incident below her. Celia quickly apologised and rushed over to the cupboard.