Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

34. Who do you keep lookin' at (3)

1. Curiosity

February arrived in Merseyside with bitter coldness and dreary downpours. The dull afternoon light offered little warmth to the students uncaged from the realm of Quarry Bank High School for the day and the rain in its passing, left the sky with a glum, grey filter. The cold, as fierce as she was, wasn't able to diminish the spirited moods of pupils en route to Monday evening freedom, where homework for many of them would be abandoned for leisure.

Celia and James were amongst the customary bustle of students walking down Harthill road, their grand school building stretching into the distance behind them. James suddenly stopped in his stride upon noticing the swarm of students flocking around the bus stop near the end of the road. A crowd like this was expected on a Friday (everyone liked to venture to town at the end of a studious week), but for a Monday it wasn't typical.

James sighed as he scanned over the crowd. A combination of Quarry Bank and Calderstones by the looks of it. There were at least forty of them. All of which James knew had the same intentions as himself and Celia.

"For God's sake, everyone has the same blimmin' idea as us," James moaned, annoyed at the spanner thrown in the works, and even more so that he hadn't thought of this probable cock-up before now. What he lacked in prospect, he gained in stupidity.

"We might have to wait for the next one,"  James added and then glimpsed at the Rolex on his wrist. "Mind you, Ce, it's probably gonna be another half hour. Shall we just try and squeeze on when it comes?"

James' question hung in the air, neglected by the forlorn girl keeping pace beside him. Celia's round, brown eyes were staring ahead with an introspective glaze over them. She appeared to have withdrawn from her surroundings and instead, retreated into her mind, where, whatever burden she held in there had pulled the corner of her lips into a permanent, disgruntled frown.

Celia had been aloof all afternoon despite her reassurance that she was fine and James didn't want to keep bothering her about it. Instead, he'd ruminated over their morning together to see if he'd done anything to upset her, but James was positive he hadn't. She'd been chuffed when he gave her that congratulatory cream bun from the bakers, just as he knew she'd be. He even managed to flirt with her a bit and he wasn't too full on with it, either. He fed her a few harmless compliments that moulded her face into that sweet, coy expression that he liked, so clearly he wasn't the problem.

Back in school everyone had been raving about some newly refurbished coffee bar in Slater Street and James thought suggesting a trip up there would cheer Celia up, but here she was wearing an expression bleaker than the blasted weather. As much as James cared for the girl, whilst she was in his company, he wished she'd snap out of her brooding. It was staring to put him in a downer of his own.

"Chin-up, champion," James said, gently nudging Celia's arm with his elbow. "You look as though you've lost a shilling and found a sixpence!"

At James' touch, Celia jolted out of her stupor and she looked up at him, her eyes blinking out of their torpid state. 

"Sorry I...I was miles away, wasn't I?"

James nodded. "You took a trip to Australia and back."

Celia apologetically smiled and then glanced down at her feet as they stepped into a puddle.

"Are you feeling alright, Ce?"

"I'm gear," she replied in the same mechanical voice she used earlier when he'd asked the exact same question.

Celia wore her heart on her sleeve most of the time.
She wasn't fine; anyone could see that, but Celia never quite mastered the skill of hiding her emotions which is why James was still staring at her unconvinced with her assertion that she was.

It was better, Celia believed, to keep James from knowing the truth of her burden. So she nodded, feigned a smile and forced the enthusiasm from the back of her throat to reassure her good friend that everything was fine, that he had nothing to concern himself with, that yes, they should try and cram on the bus.

Despite being pals since the days of loosing their baby teeth, there were some things that Celia felt she couldn't talk to James Marsh about. She'd learned over the years from experience that certain issues and sentiments were best keep to herself or for others to confide in. Often it had been Celia's elder sister who bore the brunt of her emotions but now that was more difficult when Marian wasn't in the room next door anymore.

Celia was upset and what she needed today was a little bit of compassion and empathy. James, wouldn't provide her with either of them. Not because the boy was heartless, or inept at embracing such sensitivities, but because he seemed to be hardwired to lend pity to those situations which he thought best needed them. This, Celia knew, wouldn't be one of those situations because John Lennon was the reason for the misery she'd carried around like a brick on her shoulder. The weight of his harsh words spoken in Geography class were pushing against her brain. They were niggling her mind and forcing her into a state of dejection that not even James' company could make better.

Anyway, Celia couldn't talk to James about another boy no matter who it was. What with him being one of them it was just...awkward. James himself was quite reserved when it came to speaking about girls or voicing his opinions and troubles about anything of a personal matter. Their relationship seemed to lack a level of intimacy where subjects as such could be comfortable rather than awkward.

The topic of boys had never really rose between them, unless of course, you exclude the ones that Celia could only ever fantasise about. James had been the frequent recipient of Celia's gushing's about Elvis and every other dark-haired dreamboat that captured her fancy. The same way he'd gush about Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. But that was different. They weren't real in a way. They were mirage-like. These people didn't actually exist in the physicality of their world. She couldn't touched them, or talk to them. Relationships couldn't be developed or thrived upon. These fanciful, visionary men and women couldn't drag her into a despondence over their conflictual exchanges, like others around Celia could. Like John could.

James would often rant to Celia about his elder brother and the constant competition they possessed over intellect, proficiency and talent on the cricket pitch. And sure, every once in a while he'd have a moan about, in his own words, "the deterioration of modern-day music" and the "inferior" opponents of his chess games, and oh, he'd annoy her to no end about the Grand National when it came around every year over at the Aintree racecourse, all of which Celia held no interest in whatsoever, but still, she'd listen and try to sympathise and offer him consolidation and empathy when he needed it, because she was his friend and she...well she really liked him. But James wouldn't welcome any of the above when it came to John Lennon. Ever since they'd confronted each other nose-to nose in the canteen last month, there had been an air of resentment between the two boys. Celia would often notice the tautness of James' face anytime John was mentioned in earshot.

If John was able to extract a conflictual side to the    the usually non-confrontational James, than she worried what other side John might extract from him. John, it seemed, had the power to bring out the worse in people and she didn't wanna see that happen to James. Besides, if Celia were to open her mouth about Lennon, James might take it the wrong way. If he thought John to be occupying her mind, he may get the impression that Celia fancied him, and that in itself was a horrifying thought. James was the boy she was so dearly fond of. The boy who never gave her any trouble at all. And thus, it was better not to say anything to James at all. It was easier to say she was fine for her own sake as well as his.

"You're not still feeling poorly are you?" James asked, his eyebrows bunched together as he examined her face for the pallor that pigmented her complexion during break-time.

A confusion fell upon Celia's expression. "Poorly?"

"Yeah, you threw up this morning, didn't you?"

"Oh." Celia folded her lips together whilst her toes were curling inside of her socks.

Eyes had been upon Celia when she sprinted out of the canteen that morning. She'd had her hand over her mouth to keep back the sour taste of vomit which almost didn't make it into the toilet. Celia cringed at the memory of those nauseating thoughts of John and Ellie Thompson which had stirred something deep within her that wasn't only her puke. A feeling she didn't quite know the name of, but one she never wanted to experience again.

For a while the vomiting had liberated Celia's mind from what she bore witness to back in the canteen, but the image of the two of them together resurfaced when Celia noticed the pink blemish imprinted on Ellie Thompson's clavicle. They'd both been sitting on opposite benches, putting their shoes back on after a vigorous P.E. lesson. Ellie hadn't buttoned her shirt correctly and she'd leaned down to buckle her shoe and that's when Celia spotted it.
She'd mistaken the mark for a horrid rash at first, but the more Celia stared, the sooner she cottoned on to what it was. It protruded against her milky skin with the shape and colour of a cherry blossom— a dark pink centre surrounded by little blotches of light pink.

Celia couldn't take her eyes off the florid mark, despite that feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach again. Ellie must've sensed Celia staring because she instantly stopped pushing the strap of her shoe through it's buckle. She glanced up at Celia who, in delayed reaction, flittered her gaze to her own shoes hoping that Ellie hadn't realised she'd been gawking at her collarbone for the past two minutes. Ellie quickly stood up and spun around to face the wall, her fingers working speedily to re-button her shirt out of sight from Celia's intrusive eyes. When Ellie turned around with a faint blush lining her cheekbones, Celia was nowhere to be seen.

She'd been sitting in fifth period for ten minutes before Ellie walked into the classroom. The brunette spotted Celia immediately and she'd slid into the seat beside her without a word or glance. Celia gripped onto her compass and rotated the pencil around her fingers, one slow spin after another. Ellie used her own compass to trace the needle over the creases in her palm. They were both as tense as each other, their unspoken words floating in their actions. Another ten minutes passed before either one of them spoke.

"I know you saw it."

Here we go, Celia thought. She'd been silently praying that Ellie wouldn't mention it to save the potentially awkward conversation they were about to have in the middle of their maths lesson. Celia struggled with Geometry as it is, and now she had to set her mind on something she wished to avoid altogether. It was her own fault. She shouldn't have been so invasive. No, she shouldn't have been so conspicuous with her stupid gawking eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ellie," Celia answered with a strain in her voice. She'd started scratching the needle of her compass over the circular pencil markings in her maths book.

"Yeah, ya do," Ellie said. "The love bite on me chest. The hickey." She emphasised the last bit in an extremely crappy transatlantic accent that Scousers could never quite get right.

Celia shrugged. "What you get up to with John isn't any of my business."

Ellie looked slightly taken aback and quietly she said, "How did you know it was John?"

Ellie's hand lifted to her collarbone and she gently rubbed at the love bite concealed beneath her shirt.

"You both flew through the canteen with a grin smacked on your face," Celia said, tartly. "I thought that much was obvious."

The paper below Celia's compass was starting to form little holes where she'd been scratching so roughly at it. The thin needle pierced through the next page but still Celia kept on at it.

Ellie's sigh was full of disappointment. "You won't spill, will ya? I don't want Suzanne or Sheryl to find out that I shagged him 'n all tha'."

The needle's scratching quickened against the fraying paper. Judging by Ellie's words, the obscenity of Celia's vision didn't seem too far from the truth if it's more than shagging they did.
Not that she cared. Why would she? Just why the hell would she?

"Celia?"

Celia wasn't a gossip at all and more to the point, why would Ellie even think that Celia cared enough to spread gossip about what her and John Lennon got up to? They could go and procreate in a ditch and have five-hundred babies for all she cared.
The tips of Celia's fingers were red from the amount of pressure she was applying to the compass.

Ellie's palm suddenly met the top of Celia's knuckles, halting the harsh, swift movements that were tearing apart the paper.

"Cor, Celia, I know studying shapes is dead borin' and everything, but you're scratchin' at that like a loon!"

Celia became attentive for the first time since picking up the compass in Ellie's presence and she peered at the mess below its needlepoint. There was a gaping hole through the centre of the page. Her perfectly drawn circle scratched into two, each split-edge, jagged and crinkled. The workings of a loony. Celia's grip loosened on the steel instrument between her fingers like a curse she'd suddenly become free of.

"I, um..I was just practising my eye-gorging technique," Celia joked, followed by a hiccup of awkward laughter that Ellie didn't return. To make herself unintentionally appear even more of a nutcase, she intended to dramatise her joke by stabbing her compass through the air, but she couldn't. Ellie's hand was still sitting atop of hers. Celia looked up at her. The top of her hair was bumpy where her ponytail had loosened during benchball and thin wisps of hair had escaped from underneath her hair band. There was a worrisome look about her face and her eyes bore into Celia's own in what seemed like a desperation for Celia's promise of concealment.

"I don't go around trading gossip like poker chips, y'know, Ellie. I won't utter a word to anyone, alright?"

The dread disappeared from Ellie's face and was replaced by relief.

"Thanks," she said, smiling gratefully at Celia.

"Why does it matter, though?" Celia nosed, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Why's it so bad if they found out you were with him?"

Ellie sighed and sat back against her chair. Her gaze fell to her hand and she started smoothing her thumb over her cuticles. She shrugged before answering.

"They'd think I was a slag. It's not the first time I've ever..." her words trailed of with a hesitancy that refrained Ellie from sharing whatever was about to spill from her mouth. Celia was thankful she'd decided to keep it to herself. If it was anything to do with sex, or how far she'd gone, then Celia really, really didn't want to hear about it. Ellie removed her hand from Celia's without the realisation that it had already outstayed its welcome.

Celia let go of the compass and stretched her fingers as Ellie continued to speak.

"I'm supposed to be—well no, not supposed to—I am goin' out with this lad from the Inny," Ellie said, frowning. Guilt seemed to be nibbling away at her. "So it wouldn't look very good of me to be seen shaggin' someone that wasn't him, would it?"

Other than the fact that Ellie was an ace goalkeeper and that her mother was a midwife, Celia didn't know much about Ellie Thompson. They were teammates on the field and that's as far as their friendship and familiarity went. In truth, they rarely spoke to each other outside of hockey, but here Ellie was disclosing a secret that not even her friends knew about. Sure, it made Celia feel awkward but deep down she also felt a little...superior. And even deeper into the bottomless pit of her stomach, she felt a teensy bit resentful at the unfolding revelation.
If Ellie had a boyfriend than why did she need to mess around with John?

"Anyway, I told the girls I went for a secret smoke with him, nothing more," Ellie continued to divulge. "They're still being offish with me, though. I suppose that's what I get for becomin' bezzie mates with Sunday school Jesus nutters. If they knew what we'd been up to it would've probably sent their bodies straight to the tomb!"

"If you didn't want anyone knowing about the two of you then why did you walk out of the canteen primping yourself like a Lime Street harlot?"

The caustic words spilled from Celia's mouth before she could suck them back in and banish them to her mind where they belonged.

"Celia!" Ellie's neck jolted backwards in disbelief at her offhanded remark.

"I—I didn't," Celia stuttered as if the impulsive words had surfaced without her knowledge. She didn't know what came over her or what caused her to bite out in such a harsh way that she did. "Oh, Ellie forgive me, I didn't mean that at all!"

Ellie's eyes were still wide with astonishment. Celia cringed. Lime Street Harlot. She'd sounded like her mother. In fact, those were blunt, spiteful words that had come straight from her mother's mouth more than once. Celia could remember sitting on the staircase, her little head poking through the bannisters as she listened to the strained, muffled voices of her sister and mother through the living  room door. 

"I'm sorry," Celia said earnestly as guilt flooded over her.

Ellie sucked in her lips, her teeth gnawing on the inside of her jaw.

"I know, you're right," she surprised Celia by saying. Ellie gave her a little confirming nod and a small smile pulled at her lip. "I'm not hurt by it. I'm just shocked that one of us was bold enough to say the words that me brain's been thinkin' all day."

Celia wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. She felt a little embarrassed, and even more so by Ellie's lenience to her outburst. She was thankful for Ellie's mercy and appreciative of her sincerity and Celia wasn't so sure she could be as forgiving as Ellie if the tables were turned. Celia knew she herself, could be stubborn and indignant sometimes; traits that were often pulled up on. Her own guilt was still wavering on the surface and Ellie's darkening pupils seemed to be lost in her own self-condemnation.

"Next time try and be a little more inconspicuous," Celia joked, trying to lighten the situation with a bit of humour. "The canteen's like a cinema, except the show is never that good and it always stinks like boiled cabbage instead of popcorn."

The gloom on Ellie's face evaporated and mirth took its place.

"I know," she chuckled. "And the dinner ladies are like the usherettes with more frump 'n less glamour."

Celia nodded, mirroring Ellie's grin.

"Ach, bloody John Lennon," Ellie sighed. She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk and settled her face into her hands. "I just couldn't resist him any longer, y'know?"

Celia pursed her lips together. "No, I don't."

"Ever since I saw him with you on Friday evening I just...I dunno...there was something about him then." She had a wistful look in her eyes. "He looked fit, didn't you think so?"

Celia could still recall the way she'd felt that Friday when she'd been sitting on the back of John's bicycle. The exuberance of the moment still hadn't detached itself from her senses. Her body had spiked with tingles. She'd felt like little fairies were walking inside of her on their pointed tiptoes, leaving small, radiant beams in their wake. Celia remembered the way those tingles intensified as she watched John in all his vigour, sweat and determination. She remembered the way she suddenly didn't want to relieve her hands from around his waist, and oh...that unwelcoming heavy sensation was in her stomach again. 

Thankfully, Ellie didn't wait for Celia's struggling reply.

"Lennon of all bloody people!" Ellie exclaimed, shaking her head at herself. "He's not really that much of a looker, is he?" She crinkled her nose in objection and laughed as though her choice in men were absurd. "He's no James Dean."

Celia flexed her hand and she turned it over, palms upwards and spotted the grooves on her fingertips.
She'd pressed on the compass so hard that her fingers had become pink and dented.

"But that Friday he just appeared so appealin', y'know what I mean?"

Celia's mouth remained closed. She positioned her lips in a flat line that gave nothing away. Ellie mistook her silence for confusion and persisted to find a way to explain it to her.

"You know when you— it's like when...I can't really...," Celia watched her mouth open and close with barely formed sentences. It was as though she was trying to test the words out on her tongue before releasing them. Her eyes suddenly sparked and she turned to Celia with a full formation of words rolling out of her mouth.

"It's like that weird feeling you get sometimes when you wake from dreamin' about someone," Ellie mused. "You can't stop thinkin' about them. There's always that lingering desire and devotion. D'ya know what I mean?"

Celia nodded. She'd once woke up from a dream about Carry Grant after watching The Philadelphia Story. They'd been on a somewhat romantic boat ride down the Mersey river, rowing through brilliant white swans while passing beautifully bloomed magnolia trees instead of industrial buildings and ferries. She'd rested her bare feet atop of his warm lap as he serenaded her with a song that sounded exactly like Elvis, and she'd smiled at all his compliments and laughed at all his jokes all while holding onto her extravagant ivory hat with the lace trim. Celia'd been in love with Carry Grant for a total of thirty-six hours, until she realised that, one: he was old enough to be her dad, and two: he looked a lot like her dad's brother. Celia ripped his face from her wall so fast that she almost gave herself a paper cut.

"Well, I made it obvious that I fancied him when we all went to the boozer on Saturday night," Ellie said, fiddling with her compass. "Batting me lashes, flicking my hair off me shoulder; that kind of thing, y'know? Flirting 101." She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand through the air. "God, it's embarassin' when I think about how much I wanted him back then, and ya know what? He barely paid me any mind! He was always looking at the pub doors as if he was waitin' for someone to walk in. I dunno if he was just paranoid or wha', but he'd been aloof all bloody night."

He'd been the same with Celia in form this morning. Cold and aloof like something was eating away at his mind.

"Anyway, just when he finally made his arse over to me, he noticed Penny—"  Ellie uttered Penny's name with an aggrieved force— "sittin' on her own and so the bastard ditched me and went over to her leaving me hangin' like a noose!"

An annoyed crease appeared along the centre of Ellie's forehead. "I had nothin' better to do with meself so I watched him sit down next to her and he chat to her for a while. I dunno what they were talkin' about but it must've been interesting cos he was really payin' attention to what she had to say 'n they were both smiling."

Celia's mouth slipped into a frown. Her gaze dropped to her hands which were laced together on the desk and she squeezed her fingers against her knuckles. So John was capable of a friendly manner, then. He could chat to Penny. He could flirt with Ellie. Evidently it was only Celia he had a strong objection for and she couldn't help but wonder, with a slightly sorrowful mind, what it was that made John resent her so much.

"I was so pissed off at the time," Ellie admitted, oblivious to Celia's sudden dejection. "I was so tempted to go and find Eric 'n tell him that his girl was about to neck his best mate, but I'm not a snitch, so I didn't. I left them to it and when I came back from the bog I saw him sittin' alone at the bar. He was all pensive, spinnin' a beer mat below his fingers like a sad, sappy sod."

Amusement transformed Ellie's face. "He reminded me of one of those old blokes who wander to pubs alone after having a bash with their Mrs. Y'know the type," Ellie said. A statement rather than a question. "They sit by the bar with a pint of something macho, reflecting on all the crappy choices they've made in their pathetic life while considering leaving the wife and the kids but keeping Rover, the dog."

Celia nodded, not quite sure where Ellie was going with it, and she pondered just how much time the sixteen-year-old spent in pubs, and just how much of her comment was close to home.

"Basically somethin' was troubling John," Ellie simplified. "His eyes carried too much burden for a school la' who still runs around with a tie wrapped around his head like he's in Lord of the Flies."

Celia bit her lip as she tried her best not to laugh at the scene that happened only an hour ago. John and Pete had walked down the staircase to the PE changing rooms looking like a pair of berks—John with his school tie knotted to the side of his temple, and Pete with his satchel strung around his head. They'd both slid down the bannister arse first, patting their open mouths with a Native American battle cry before landing on top of Dominic Port-Dickerson. The prefect fell to his knees, but not for long because John pushed him down with the toe of his shoe and straddled Dominic's back shouting "Quick, we've caught a live one!" 

Laughter reverberated around the staircase as a cursing Dominic wriggled below the weight of John's body with his usual threats to have him suspended. All the while Pete was trying to shove the strap of his bag into Dominic's mouth to stop him from unintentionally squealing like a pig. Both of them were sent to the deputy head and missed out on three knackering games of benchball. The teacher wasn't smart enough to realise it had been their plan all along. Dismissal from a PE lesson was Lennon and Shotton's victory, not their punishment.

"He was thinking about someone, I could tell," Ellie said, nodding at her own suspicions. "Someone was naggin' at that weird brain of his. He saw me lookin' at him from across the bar and I didn't think he recognised me at first because he was squinting a bit, but then I realised he must've had somethin' in his eye, but he made his way over to me, well swaggered over to me really, and then he pressed against my back and whispered somethin' in me ear."

"What did he say?" Celia found herself asking, despite not wanting to know. Her mouth was dry all of a sudden. She needed water. She needed to raise her hand and ask Mr Mayhew if she could take a trip to the water fountain which was situated all the way in B-Block. She needed a long walk away from this classroom. Away from Ellie and her revelations. Away from John. She needed a reason to escape from the following conversation with detail that she wanted to remain ignorant to. Still, Celia couldn't bring herself to raise her hand. Her arms were filled with cement and so her hands stayed exactly where they were and her ears remained open.

Ellie looked around the room in caution and then edged her head closer to Celia's. "He asked me if I wanted to go for a five mile run."

Of all the things Celia predicted Ellie to come out with, she hadn't expected that! She let out a single shot of laugher.

"Ha! That's a laugh and a half," Celia said as she stared at Ellie with bewilderment. "John can't even jog a hundred meters without coughing up a lung! Why on earth would he want to go on a five mile run for? And on a freezing Saturday night too, the idiot's stark raving mad! He'd freeze his bollocks off; I'd like to see him tr—"

Hang on, Ellie was laughing at her. Why was she laughing at her?

"Oh, Celia you are funny!" Tears had formed in Ellie's eyes and her laughter grew louder which earned her some quizzical looks from those sitting near them.

Celia scowled at Ellie. Surely John was the one who deserved to be laughed at after suggesting something so daft.

"Oh, you're not jokin' are you?" Ellie's giggling died down and she started dabbing at her tear ducts with the cuff of her grey jumper. She answered Celia's confused expression with a trace of a smile on her lips.

"It means sex, Celia," Ellie said, quietly. "Five mile run means having sex." She started laughing again— little titters behind her sealed lips.

A heat seared Celia's face.

"Have you never heard that one before?"

Celia shook her head, her temples pounding with embarrassment. God, she felt like a twat.

"I have older twin brothers," Ellie said.  "They're always using stupid phrases like that. It's not as bad as half of the grotty stuff they say, though. I'm surprised you haven't heard of that expression, especially with John around you."

"Well, I don't hang around with John, do I?" Celia snapped. It wasn't by choice she'd spent a lot of time with him; she'd been forced into his company. Well, most of the time. Regardless, her ears weren't ignorant to the filth that slithered from his dirty mouth.

"No, you only hang to the back of him instead," Ellie grinned.

Celia tutted. "Oh, leave it out!" Her face grew warmer. "Since when were we talking about me, anyway?"

"Oh, i'm only playin', Celia." Ellie light-heartedly  whacked Celia's arm, smiling at her. "Anyway, John asked me if I wanted to have sex with him. That's why he'd come over. I gave him the cold shoulder, though. Told him to shove off. But I didn't say it mean-like, y'know? I was just shocked. I wasn't expecting him to ask me that, but it's Lennon, isn't it? I should have expected something like that from him. I think I was just dead pissed that he'd been ignorin' me all evening, but he seemed to change his tune after speaking to Penny for some reason. Come to think of it, I don't even recall wanting to have sex with him in the first place. I just wanted a shag, y'know? Have a little bit of a fun with him down below."

Ellie wiggled her eyebrows as a dirty smirk spread across her lips. She rarely looked at Celia as she spoke and the sentences flew freely from her mouth without any hesitation or abashment. It was as though Ellie was alone in an empty room, reiterating her thoughts to herself and Celia was merely an observant ghost sitting beside her.

Celia's legs were pressed tightly together under the table. She could never speak comfortably about sexual matters, like this. Especially not to someone she rarely knew. Celia kept telling herself that she wanted Ellie to stop with it all, but the more she spoke the more interested Celia found herself. Even her body deceived her; it had turned to face Ellie with an attentive engagement. Her palm was resting underneath her chin and her gaze was consistently dropping from Ellie's animated eyes to her mouth as she became transfixed on the words that her ears so eagerly absorbed.

"Since Mark Weller and I stopped going steady a while back, it's been a long time since I...y'know..." Down by her lap Ellie formed her thumb and index finger into a circle and repeatedly jutted her other index finger through it. "This new guy I'm seeing, Frank from The Inny, he's dead handsome 'n all, but he's a good boy, y'know what I mean? We've done nothin' but snog in the school bushes like a pair of bloody first years!" She laughed at herself and shook her head. "So of course I was horny for a bit of action. Anyway, I was laying in bed tossin' and turnin', aroused as hell, proper regretting not getting it off with, Lennon. My vag was achin' for it, d'ya know what I mean?"

Celia could feel herself blushing again. She wasn't used to this kinda talk with anyone. Anyone but Marian, really, and it had been a long while since the two sisters had spoken about sex. Or rather, since Marian spoke about it. Inexperienced and curious, Celia simply listened and absorbed. She'd kept it all locked in her memory for when she needed it.

"I went to his house on Sunday, you know."

"His house!" Celia's eyes widened. "You went to Lennon's house?"

Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Yep." A look of shame overcame her features. "I know his address because I have friend who lives in Woolton too," she informed. "He lives with his auntie, did ya know that? It's a proper weird set up. Maybe he's an orphan..." Ellie began to ponder as she nibbled at the frayed bit of skin on her lip. Celia knew John didn't live with his parents and nowadays it was uncommon to see a child live away from home, unless, of course, their parents were ill or worse, dead. Celia thought perhaps the worse had happened to John which would explain his peculiar living arrangement with his aunt.

"So anyway," Ellie continued. "I went to his place like an idiot. I thought he'd open the door, let me in and then take me to his room so he could give me a good seeing to, y'know?"

"Did...did you..." A cannonball seemed to have lodged itself in Celia's throat and the unbidden snapshots appeared in her mind before she could prevent them: Ellie's body hidden below John's as she lay on top of his blue tartan duvet. Discarded clothes strung onto his bedroom carpet, both of them wrapped up in heat and fervour. All Celia could see was John's bare back. His long ducktail damp with sweat which was trailing down the groove of his spine and across his broad shoulders. She imagined freckles canvassing his back, like they did his neck, each one glowing underneath the light hanging from his white, swirled ceiling. And oh, god—Celia felt as though a screw was tightening in her stomach. Below her desk, she pinched the side of her thigh, willing her brain to stop bleeding the prying images into her vision. 

Ellie shook her head. "Nope. His aunt opened the door." Her voice had change; it wasn't so relaxed anymore. The words sounded stiff as they pushed out from behind her teeth. "She looked me up and down like I was a piece of filth that had just crawled out from the gutter. Like I was standing on her front step drippin' with shit. I've never seen anyone turn their nose up at me like that before, Celia. That old bag made me feel this small." In gesture, Ellie pinched the air with only a centimetre gap between her fingers.

"She told me that John was doing his homework—pssh, yeah right—and to never knock on her front door again. But get this," Ellie said, her eyes narrowing. Her hands were clawed on top of the desk. "She said that seein' as Sunday's the day of our Lord I should go to church and pray to God for a face cloth! I had no idea what the fuck she was on about until I caught my reflection in a shop window and saw that I had mascara smudged under me eyes from the fuckin' stupid rain! Honestly Celia, I was seethin'. The bitch didn't even have the decency to let me know!"

The detestation Ellie felt for the woman showed in the rage that flashed in her eyes and the way her lip curled into a bitter snarl.

"Can you believe that cow?" she fumed. "Perhaps she should've gone to church and prayed for God to send her a pointy black hat and a broomstick, because that woman is a bloody witch. The Wicked Witch of the West has nothin' on her."

Celia played with her lips, trying to keep them from laughing. She wasn't sure if it was the comment she found amusing or the amount of hatred Ellie had for the woman. Either way, Celia felt a little wicked for delighting in Ellie's resentment.

John's aunt sounded just as intimidating and mean, as her nephew. Was she the reason for his temperament? Or was it because he lacked parental love and attachment from a mother and father that were no longer present in his upbringing? Perhaps living under the same roof with a wicked witch for an aunt had rubbed off on him. Or maybe it was no ones fault and he was just born to be an arsehole.

Celia cast her mind back to that Sunday night she spent in John's company. Her memories were still hazy due to her shameful drunkness, but she could recall a moment on the bus to Woolton where John had been reluctant to bring her inside of his house. Up until moments ago Celia believed it had everything to do with him not being able to stand the sight of her, but now she thought it was much more than that. John was scared of his aunt. Deep down the woman instilled a particular fear in him. One that caused John to worry about bringing anyone home but himself in fear of his aunt's judgment. Celia knew she was jumping to conclusions but with all the evidence weighed together it seemed likely.

If that's how John's aunt responded to Ellie merely standing on her doorstep inquiring for John, then Celia dreaded to think of her reaction had she woken up that night and seen Celia in her drunken stupor right in the middle of her living room, or even more terrifying—her nephew's bedroom. Celia remembered how uptight John had been. How anxious he was to keep Celia treading on feathers. And now, as Celia hazily recalled what her brain remembered of that night, she wondered this: had John actually cared about getting himself into trouble or was he was merely trying to protect Celia from his aunt's bite?

The sudden rise in Ellie's embittered voice pulled Celia out of her rumination.

"...and he came up to me just before second period with Pete Shotton tagging along behind him," Ellie said, unaware that her ranting had reeled behind Celia's own thoughts about the boy. "He told me he got an earful from his aunt about it all, like it was my fault. Apparently, the witch-bitch was questionin' him about who I was and all that and the bastard tried to put the blame on me. Me! Can you believe that, Celia? He said I can't just turn up out of the blue, 'n the more he spoke, the madder he got and then he had the cheek to call me a desperate cow!"

Ellie barely paused for breath. The words tumbled from her mouth with an enraged force, one angry sentence after another. Small creases cut inbetween her lips where she was pinching them so tightly together. Ellie's face was a familiar expression of pure resentment. Celia was well aquatinted with that intense, internal feeling of heated loathing that only John had the capability of stimulating. It was like a bubbling pool of hot magma was rising inside of her— a volcano soon to erupt if she didn't steady her thoughts away from the boy. They had that in common, Ellie and Celia— an intense indignation aroused by the same boy who specialised in dishing out unfair treatment. The same boy who was so good at condemning anyone but himself.

"You weren't desperate, you were just horny; there's a difference," Celia said drily, attempting to blow cool air upon Ellie's heat. It worked, sort off. Ellie smiled slightly and she nodded in agreement, a little peevish curve still folding between her brows.

"Exactly! I could've slapped him there and then, but I didn't wanna draw anymore attention to myself," Ellie admitted. "Before I walked away I told John the only reason I came to his house was to apologise to him and—"

"But you said—"

"Yes, I know. I came to pull down me knickers, but I wanted to make the lout feel bad, didn't I?" Ellie's eye roll was targeted at Celia's incompetence to grasp the method of deceit. "Well it worked anyway, because Lennon apologised to me during second period."

Celia blinked in disbelief. Was she hearing right? Had wax clogged her ears, perhaps? Did she really hear 'Lennon' and 'apologised' in the same sentence?

"Well actually no—he didn't apologise as such. He just kept tearin' up pieces of his rubber and lobbin' them at the back of me head," Ellie said,  putting an end to Celia's suspicions with her unintentional mind-reading. That was more like John. Heaven forbid he should vocally apologise—it would drain his soul. "Whenever I turned around he'd just grin at me like nothin' was said between us. It's hard to ignore Lennon when he makes himself the centre of attention though, isn't it?"

Celia nodded, grimacing. John wasn't so easy to disregard. Blind, deaf or dumb, he was able to strike the attention of everyone around him. He could be on stage amongst P.T. Barnum's freak show exhibition and still all eyes would be on John. Not because he was spectacular or striking but because he'd always find a way to make himself a self-centred, aggravating prick with his hyperbolic larks and antics. And though Celia hated to admit it to herself, a lot of the time John was just too entertaining to be ignored. 

"He got sent out for drawin' a dead funny picture of Mr Gilligan with a cock for a nose and he winked at me before he left the room," Ellie said, amusement in her voice. Her anger quickly subsided and Celia hoped it was the drawing that had her smiling like she did and not John's wink. "I knew that was his way of apologisin' as shitty as it was."

It was shitty because he wasn't apologising at all.
He only did what he did because he wanted something out of it, and this thought of Celia's was  confirmed by what Ellie said next.

"At break he asked me if I wanted to try that five mile run again and said that if I told him to shove off it's because I have frigid fanny."

Celia scoffed. If she'd been in the middle of drinking something she probably would've choked on it.

"I'm guessing you didn't tell him to shove off."

"No," Ellie answered shaking her head, smiling. "But I  didn't screw him either."

Celia's heart jolted. "You didn't?"

"Nope. I just wanked him off in the broom cupboard while he gave my vag a fiddle."

Celia didn't mean to gasp— she was just surprised by Ellie's candour. She spoke so nonchalantly without any mistrust or discomfort at being so explicitly revealing and it still embarrassed Celia slightly. It was usually the kind of talk that came in hush whispers and euphemisms. Even Penny, her closest girl friend, was private about what she got up to with Eric behind closed doors. Celia knew they were necking each other every five bloody minutes and that was it. But then, Celia realised, she'd never actually asked her about the juicy details of their relationship. Perhaps that's why Penny never told her anything because Celia showed a lack of interest. Or maybe she thought Celia was a prude, because right now sitting in front of Ellie with an awkwardness about her, she certainly felt like one. And now Celia couldn't stop herself from wondering whether or not she was a crap friend for not enquiring about what her friend got up to in the stalls of picture house toilets, or wherever it was people got off with each other.

"You alright there, girl? You've gone dead quiet." Ellie side-glanced at Celia, her fingers tangled through her hair.

"Oh, I'm—" Celia cleared away the frog which had wedged itself in her throat. "I'm fine!"

Celia asserted herself with a little too much enthusiasm which earned her a weird look from Ellie. If she noticed Celia blushing, she didn't mention it. She was busy retying her ponytail and she let out a frustrated gruff when she struggled to pull her thick, brown hair through another loop of her hairband.

Celia redirected her eyes on Mr Mayhew, hoping the conversation with Ellie was well and truly over with. She honed in on the math's teacher prattling on about Locus and Constructions, both of which Celia lacked a thorough understanding for. The diagram on the blackboard showed a trapezium—each corner labelled from A to D and a diagonal line ran through one angle to another with several messy semi-circles bisecting through it. Mr Mayhew picked up his chalk and started shading in the right side of the dissection and the reason for it was totally lost on Celia. She sank back in her chair and sighed in defeat. Celia was crap at maths anyway and now she needed to put aside extra time to revise over a topic she was practically clueless about in the first place. Was listening to Ellie's shenanigans with John going to help her pass her O-Level maths? No, it wasn't. Once again, for the umpteenth time that day, she branded herself foolish, only this time it was for succumbing to the attention of others when it was no concern of hers, no matter how eager her ears had been to listen.

"I don't blame ya for being miffed at me, Celia," Ellie said, giving a final tug on her ponytail.

"I'm not miffed at you, Ellie," Celia responded, her thoughts betraying her abrupt words. "Why would I be?"

Ellie shrugged. "For surrendering to John despite how much of an arse he is."

Allowing John to get something he wanted despite the fact that he'd been a total obnoxious prick was a good enough reason to be annoyed, so Celia said nothing.

"I did it out of vengeance really," Ellie admitted as she fiddled with her cuticles again.

Celia furrowed her brows, confused. "Vengeance for who? John? I don't see how giving him a hand job—"

"No, not him," Ellie answered shaking her head. She paused for thought and then pulled down her shirt collar. She twisted her body towards Celia so she could once again see the pink blossom blooming on her clavicle. Ellie's chin fell to her chest as she glanced down at John's handiwork. "I let him give this to me."

Celia swallowed the bile that rose up her gullet. "Why?"

A grin spread across Ellie's lips. "Because the next time I see his shit-bag of an aunt, imagine the look on her face when I tell her that her precious nephew sucked me off."

Celia's mouth spread into a grin of its own and she was surprised to find herself laughing along with Ellie. Both of them were in hysterics and they were so much of a distraction that Mr Mayhew sent them to stand on a chair at the front of the class with their faces to wall. The maths teacher's method of punishment was reflection by humiliation and even that wasn't enough to stop the girls from giggling. Celia was thankful that it was only a cane whack on her calf muscles that did the trick and not the dreaded yellow detention slip sitting in the desk draw. Any more of those and her giggling would've probably turned to tears.

"Honestly, I'm alright," Celia said to James who'd been eying her quizzically as her mind drifted. Her legs were starting to sting again as her brain recalled the caning but she didn't mention it to James. "I think I had a slice of mouldy bread, that's all," Celia fibbed.

Still, James wasn't encouraged by her excuse. The absence of Celia's visual contentment told him otherwise. He took a step closer to her and sighed as he eyed her face for the truth.

"Are you sure? We really don't have to go to town if you don't want to."

James lifted a few freeing strands of Celia's hair and settled them over her shoulder. An instant warmth resonated through Celia as his hand brushed across her exposed neck and she was glad she forgot her scarf that morning. James quickly withdrew his hand upon noticing Celia shiver in response to his touch.

"Sorry, are my hands cold? I left my chuffin' gloves in the cloakroom and couldn't be bothered to go back and get them."

Celia was pretty sure it wasn't the coldness that caused her body to react that way it did, but she nodded anyway. James apologised again and rubbed his long fingers together. He cupped his hand and persisted to blow into his palm with an attempt to regain some feeling into his cold, pink fingers.

"Here, this might help." Celia took hold of James' arms, stretched them towards her and then curled her gloved hands around his. She squeezed against them gently, so the wool covering her own could lend him some of their warmth.

"Ahhh, that's much better," James said. He gave Celia that lopsided, dimpled grin which plucked at her heartstrings like Cupid's harp.

God, he was pretty. His face magnetised her; James Marsh was just blessed with good looks. He was basically Ricky Nelson's doppelgänger—that's if Ricky Nelson had lighter hair, was four inches taller, three inches narrower and less solemn looking.

James stood tall, lean and handsome. He was a picture that not even the fictional Dorian Gray could compete with. In fact, Dorian Gray would demand to have James Marsh painted into his own portrait in honour and admiration of his beauty. A slick brush flick to mark his sharp, prominent jaw line, a long stroke to form the straight bridge of his nose with a delicate bulb at its centre. A speckle of brown to mark the small beauty-mark situated above his bow-shaped lips, a hue of vivid blue to assentiate his kind eyes which had the vibrancy of a beautiful glacier lake. And God help Celia— she wanted to fall in and sink right to the bottom.

James was saying something to Celia but his words receded into her daydream. She was gazing at his face thinking he didn't realise just how handsome he was. James' unawareness to his good looks only made him more appealing, and he wasn't at all big-headed like a few boys Celia could mention. (One name in particular sat on the tip of her tongue.) James Marsh had a gentlemanly quality that a lot of boys lacked. Celia thought he could probably have any girl he wanted if he paid them any mind, yet here he was hanging around with her. His childhood friend. Her mind drifted beyond the confines of their friendship to an alternate world where they weren't friends at all. Where they didn't grow up together. Where their families weren't close and where their fathers weren't business partners. Would James still look Celia's way? Would they still be hidden under a fort of quilts in their makeshift pirate ship, their secret stash of biscuits and Fantastic Five books sprawled around them? Would James still fetch them an old rubber tire to act as the helm of their ship and would he still let Celia steer because he knows how much she loves being the captain?

When they grew older, would they still attend Quarry Bank together? Would he walk down the corridors with her by his side and sit in the intimacy of a picture house with a shared popcorn between them? Would he still treat her to a trip to the coffee shop and would she still be here offering to take his frozen hands to shelter them from the cold? They were still nesting comfortably inside of hers, trapped in a cocoon of warmth and suddenly, Celia had the urge to never let them go.

"Cecelia?" James pulled his hand from Celia's grip and waved it in front of her face. "Are you sure you're alright? You look like you're sinking into black hole."

Celia double blinked, removing her heart from her eyes. James was searching her eyeballs as though he'd lost something inside of them.

"No, I'm..." Celia gulped before opening her mouth again and this time she spoke with truth. "It's been a crappy day, that's all."

"Alright well, a knickerbocker ought to put a smile on your face, I'm sure of it!"

Celi smiled. "Only if it has a cherry on top."

"And extra cream?"

"Oh, and extra cream," she agreed, her mouth flashing a toothy grin.

James winked at Celia and once again her heart reacted wildly. It fizzed like a bonfire sparkler, whizzing through the air in all its brightness.

James edged his elbow towards Celia and she happily looped her arm through his. They continued their walk to the bus stop and James steered them  away from a large puddle blocking their path.

"So, which coffee house are you taking me to again?" Celia asked. "There's lots of them about nowadays, don't you think?"

"Yeah, and this one better not play any of that blasted hillbilly rock and roll crap, otherwise i'm not going."

Celia playfully poked James' arm. "Hey, you're treating me, remember? If I wanna swoon to Elvis on the jukebox then you're supposed to let me!"

"Ah yes, but it's my money," James teased, lifting his eyebrows in caution.

Celia gasped and nudged his shoulders. "So it's like that then, is it?"

James laughed and narrowed the space between
himself and Celia so they were now walking with their shoulders rubbing together. Her hands instinctively tightened around his arm.

"Of course not, Ce. I'll embrace an hour of that ghastly earache if it means cheering you up."

And there it was: that reverberating warmth that had her pupils melting into the shape of a heart again. Before Celia could even attempt to utter a response to the lovely boy smiling down at her, Diana had wedged herself in between the two of them. Celia barely managed to stifle a groan.

"Ouch, Diana!" James tutted and rubbed at his arm. "Watch it would you?"

James barely had time to tend to the pain because Diana had forced her arm through the crook of his elbow. The same place where Celia's own arm had sat comfortably only moments ago.

Diana ignored James and turned her attention to Celia. "So is it true, then?"

"I might need a tad more than that, Di. Is what true?" Diana was stroking her hand against the cuff of James' jacket as though his arm were a purring cat. Her face assumed a gossipy expression, her brown eyes wide and curious.

"The shocking secret that you've tried to hide from us."

Celia's stomach dropped like a heavy stone that had been thrown into a still pond and a crush of panic steamed over her.

"What secret?"

Only Celia's heart deceived the smooth impassiveness of her voice; it was hammering in her chest. She reminded herself to breathe, to not jump to conclusions, but the pessimistic part of her brain that often kept her up at night with its harassing and worrying shoved the memory to the front of her mind. Marian had been right; she knew someone would find out about it all sooner a later, and Celia thanked God her sister was in France so she wouldn't have to go through it again. She knew that someone wouldn't be able to resist prying into their business instead of letting it settle like dust. Perhaps a newspaper article had resurfaced, though Celia wasn't sure how when a lot of effort was put into reassuring concealment. And news travels quick. In Quarry Bank rumours spread like the Black Plague. The thought of it being uncovered again and the thought it travelling around school, misinterpreted like a game of Chinese whispers, triggered a wave of nausea inside of Celia. She thought she would be sick again, only this time she'd have nowhere to escape to.

"Well, I heard that John Lennon took you to a hockey match on the back of his bike," Diana stated with enjoyment. "Iris Freeman was talkin' about it in maths just now."

Celia's system immediately flooded with relief. Like releasing the air from a balloon; her airwaves inflated and relaxed. It wasn't the rumour she thought it was, and she thanked the high heavens for it.

Diana's eyes were alight as she waited eagerly for a confirmation from Celia. The girl craved gossip.

Celia shook her head. "It's not true. Well, not all of it. He only took me to my bus, not the league."

Diana quirked a brow in question. "You, a girl, on the back of his bike?"

Celia huffed. "Yeah, so? It's not a big deal."

Because it wasn't, was it? Friends gave each other backie's all the time. Oh, except for the fact that John and Celia weren't friends. And never were. And never would be, according to him. He'd made that pretty clear earlier.

"He was doing me a favour, that's all."

James stopped walking. He scowled at Celia over the top of Diana's head.

"I didn't know you were pally with Lennon." His voice was tight and slicked with antipathy.

"I'm not," Celia snapped back. Frustration was crackling through her which started the moment Diana arrived.

"I thought you hated him?"

"I do!"

Diana gave Celia an accusatory look. "Well I don't know about you, but if I hate someone I'm hardly gonna snuggle up to their backside. Don't you agree, James?"

Celia steeled her shoulders, defensive. "I wasn't snuggling up to his backside!" She spat a hard emphasis on 'backside' as though the word was covered in dirt. Her body hadn't been anywhere near John's arse. She'd made sure not to press against him in a manner that might've seemed suggestive.

Diana started giggling. "You're blushin'! Aw, look James, Celia's blushing over him."

"I'm not blushing!" Celia glowered at Diana whilst two pink spots warmed the middle of her cheeks.

Celia glanced at James and he looked less than impressed.

"I'm just really cold," she said.

Diana snorted. "Sure you are. Do you want to know what I think, Celia?"

"No, I don't."

Celia picked up her pace. Now was probably a good time to cross the street and rid herself from the intolerable Diana Williams. It was hard to get rid of her sometimes, particularly whenever James was around. She hummed around him like a fly buzzing around a sweet, sticky mess. And no matter how many times you tried to swat it away, it would keep coming back to torment.

"I think you fancy John Lennon."

Celia halted. She whipped around, astounded by the sentence unleashed from Diana's smirking mouth. Those six inconceivable words felt like a slap to the face.

Oh, what a preposterous allegation that was! Celia started laughing. She wasn't quite sure why, but it was happening. Loud, jittery laughter projected from her larynx.

James and Diana exchanged looks— a shared concern for their friend who was involuntary giggling like a malfunctioning pull-string doll.

"You don't honestly fancy that scally do you, Ce?"
James eyebrows bunched together. His expression stern, but his voice was worrisome.

"Don't be daft!" The words jiggled with Celia's laughter. "Of course I flippin' don't!"

James' question had something missing from it. An absence from a certain emotion. Jealousy. His voice had been completely devoid of jealousy. Celia wanted him to sound jealous. No, she needed him to sound jealous. It would be proof that he actually wanted something more than what their friendship offered. Proof that he wanted her.
Instead he was acting concerned. He'd used the same voice her elder brother, Michael used when he'd caught a tipsy fourteen year old Celia with a bottle of their mother's champagne.

"You're not going to act merry like that during dinner are you, Ce? Mum and Dad will know straight away you've been boozing. Marian, this is your fault, you shouldn't have shared that Moët with her. Sort her out before you both get in trouble; I'm not covering for you again. Oh, Celia, for crying out loud, do yourself a favour and go and get it out of your system before mum puts food on the table, would you? And pass me that bottle before Harri gets to it."

It seemed like a lifetime ago, the Pooley siblings together under one roof. Harrison's curiosities. Marian doing things she shouldn't have been doing. Celia tagging along. Michael trying to fix things before arguments arose. Michael being the oldest always tried to assert his fraternal authority which always worked with Celia and very rarely with Marian. Celia missed those two like mad.

But anyway, Celia didn't want that scolding brotherly concern from James and what's more, he had nothing to be concerned about!

"I just used John to get to my bus," Celia said straightforwardly. "I had no other way of getting there and he offered me a ride, so I took it. It's nothing more than that."

Celia waved her hand dismissively and James gave her a quick agreeable nod.

"Well that's good then," he replied with a speck of a smile.

Why is it good? Celia asked herself. Because James didn't like John, that's why. That resentment he exhibited towards him wasn't because John posed a threat or because he was competition for Celia, but rather, the two of them had established a prideful conflict over insinuations and name-calling. And James knew John was horrid. That's why he sounded concerned for Celia, wasn't it? Because as his friend, he thought she deserved better. Only, the thing is, he hadn't put himself forward as a better option and Celia continually wondered if James ever would.

The three friends walked on in silence. James in the middle, with the only two girls he made an effort with, accompanied on either side of him. His hands were tucked into the comfort of his coat pockets, his head bowed, and the tips of his ears pink from exposure to the cold that cloaked around them. Celia liked his ears too. They were long, narrow and slightly pointed at the top like a cute little elf. She wanted to cover them. Protect them from winter's evil bite.

James suddenly jabbed Celia's side with his elbow and it took her a few seconds to realise he was offering his arm for her to wrap around his. Right now, she didn't want to. Not when Diana was clinging to the other one. She was clasping onto his bicep as though she were flaunting a treasured possession. If she squeezed any tighter James was bound to loose feeling in his arm, but he didn't shrug her off. Unlike Celia, he didn't seem bothered by it at all. Then again, from James point of view, why would he seem bothered by a pretty girl's desire to attach herself to him?

Celia shook her head in refusal. Refusal of what exactly, she wasn't quiet sure of. A refusal to admit that James may be attracted to Diana? A refusal to acknowledge Diana any more than she had to? A refusal to admit that she desperately craved to hold James' hand instead of his arm? Or, was it a refusal to admit that she was so incredibly soft for him, that her heart felt like a marshmallow just from just looking at his face?

"Oh, c'mon, Ce, it'll keep me warm," James said with an encouraging smile that Celia couldn't resist saying no to.

Celia rolled her eyes and feigned a tiresome sigh as if holding onto James was a chore. She smiled back at him and slotted her wrist through the gap he'd made for her.

Diana glowered at Celia from around James' shoulder. He hadn't noticed but Celia had. If anything, Celia should be the one sending daggers at her. Diana was the one who'd intruded on the two of them, not the other way round. Celia purposely ignored her and edged closer to James which pissed her off even more. In return, James clenched his arm against Celia's side and secured their embrace.

"There's no escaping me, now," he said, grinning down at her.

Celia gasped dramatically. "Never?"

"Well, not until the end of winter at least, when it warms up a bit."

Celia repositioned the strap of her satchel over her shoulder and then locked both of her hands around James' arm. "Yeah, well, there's no escaping me either, Marsh."

"It's funny how you kissed Lennon isn't it, Celia?"

Celia's feet stopped moving just as James muscles stiffened underneath her fingers. Diana hit Celia with an unexpected force that was almost physical. For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to tilt sideways and Celia felt as though her heart had dropped into her stomach and then bounced up into her throat.

"You did what?" James' tone was one of awe. His arm became limp and he was quick to free Celia from his 'inescapable' grasp that only seconds ago he'd squeezed tight with affection.

"That's not—it was only a kiss on the cheek!" Celia spluttered.

Diana cocked her head to the side. "Only?"

"I—I...It...I didn't—" the faltering words were lost on Celia tongue which seemed to be lolling about in her mouth like it had forgotten its purpose to help formulate her speech.

Diana's smile was smug. It was a cat-who'd-got-the-cream kind of look and in that moment, Celia hated no one more than Diana Williams. If she were a fly, Celia would slap her with a flyswatter. She'd press down on that plastic mesh until she was a squished bloody mess. Here in front of James she knew exactly what she doing. Celia dared to snatch a glance at him. He was staring right at her, his face a hard, stale expression of disgust which made shame rear up inside of Celia.

She'd tried so hard to take that kiss far away where it couldn't be seen again. A deep, dark pit Celia called the back of her mind where memories were repressed, lost and indistinct. For the past three days she'd filled her brain with other things to keep the memory at bay: James Marsh, an Elvis-Holly duet, Marlon Brando in his leather jacket, Paris, her hockey victories, her art portfolio, characters in the latest novel she was reading, her unfinished sewing projects and ink-splattered storybooks — anything to keep that kiss from crawling out of the shadows. Now, though, Diana had brought that memory to light. It was vivid in her mind again. A powerful vibrance like the glow of a matchstick upon its quick, fiery strike.

Celia hadn't even thought twice about pecking John on the cheek. She just did it. It had been an instinctual gesture that came naturally to her without any hesitation, and that's what disturbed her the most. Lord knows why she kissed him when a simple thank you would've sufficed.

It must've been adrenaline. Yes, that's all it was. She'd been high on adrenaline and so she gave him an adrenaline-fuelled kiss. It had filled her with an overwhelming gratitude and a relief that they were still alive after almost being struck down by a bus. 
She'd been in admiration of John's willpower and effortless self-assurance which had all been for the benefit of Celia. He'd said he'd get her there and he did. He hadn't doubted his ability or complained once despite the effort it took. A sudden, involuntary pang of something occurred in Celia's chest and she tried to swallow it back down into the void of Jon-existence.

John's muscles had been taut with tension the moment she'd pressed her mouth on his flushed skin. She'd noticed a flash of surprise on his face which came and disappeared quicker than a bolt of lightening. What surprised her, however, was that he hadn't even mentioned the kiss to her. She thought John would've tried to wind her up and embarrass her in anyway that he could, and the kiss had been a perfect opportunity for it. Of course, Celia was glad that he didn't, no doubt she'd probably be more mortified if he had done, but it was as though it never happened. Perhaps he'd felt awkward about it. Or maybe, more likely, it was something so trivial that he forgot about it, unlike Celia, who'd been hung up about it for a weekend and a half. Nevertheless, what she did know is that John's cheek had become a darker shade of pink afterwards.

It unsettled her, that mere kiss on the cheek. Just thinking back to it caused a treacherous quickening in her heart. Her body wasn't able to shake the feel of him. It remembered the comforting feeling of her arms wrapped around his abdomen. His firm back against her chest. Her lips against the warmness of his rosy cheek. His earthy, pepperminty scent— so subtle, yet so prominent, rubbing against her clothes. The smell of his sweat had fused with her own that evening and it was soon lost to the water that carried their infusion down the plug hole. She remembered her infatuation with the sparse freckles along the nape of his neck that continued below his collar. She shouldn't have been so curious about when and where those freckles stopped. She'd stripped him nude as though she were studying his body from an easel. All the parts that were hidden from her eyes, there in front of her. His naked shape, his curves and grooves, his beauty-marks, the smoothness of his skin. Sinful thought rushed through her mind with her body still attached to his, and now Celia's face was flushing with shame again. She squeezed her mind closed against the image, praying for it to leave her thoughts forever.

Seconds passed before Celia found her voice.

"It was nothing!" the words choked from her mouth in a rush of ignominy and anger. "It was merely a kiss on the flippin' cheek which happened in the heat of the moment. It doesn't mean anything, and neither does he, so just drop it, all right?"

Diana cocked a pointed brow at Celia's outburst and a smirk lifted at the corner of her gossiping, interfering mouth. She enjoyed seeing Celia worked up; a plan she'd deliberated all along. From the moment Diana appeared she'd been trying to drive a wedge between Celia and James, and right now, much to the success of Diana's scheming, James couldn't even look at her. His mouth was pinched tight, gaze to the concrete as he scuffed his shiny, black shoe against the edge of the pavement.

"Come on then, James, are we gonna go to this coffee place or what?" Celia's voice was flat with annoyance.

"Bus stop is crowded," James curtly mumbled, toeing the tip of his shoe in the storm drain.

Celia sighed. So it was gonna be like this was it? She didn't have the time or effort for this pointless, foolish stupidness. Celia had done nothing wrong! Yes she was angry about what she did, and yes, she was ashamed at those provocative thoughts of hers, but it was her shame and anger to bare, and hers alone. James had no right or reason to be mad, or disappointed, or upset. And Diana had no right to humiliate Celia and meddle in her business, or try to sabotage her friendship with James. She could try all she wanted, but like hell that was happening. The two of them had a bus to catch and a knickerbocker glory to pig out on— all by the courtesy of James' wallet.

Celia sighed and took matters into her own hands by pulling James into the road by the cuff of his coat. He almost tripped on the drain's grate, but Celia didn't wait for him to catch his footing. She was annoyed too and if he was going to be aloof with her, than fine, he could carry on doing it once they'd crossed the road and made it to the bus stop. James' feet were barely cooperating, though. He was like a stubborn puppy refusing to move and now Celia was practically dragging him across the road.

Behind, Celia could hear the quick patter of Diana's footsteps.

"Wait, where are you two going?" she huffed. "Oi, wait!"

Celia rolled her eyes at the pain in the arse following on behind her. God forbid she should be detached from James for one second.

"To town," Celia replied, bluntly. And you're not welcome, she wanted to say, and was very close to saying if Diana persisted to irritate her.

"Wouldn't you rather go with John?"

Celia didn't need to see Diana's face to know that a bitchy smirk had eased across it. She'd pressurised John's name out of her mouth; the word slick with malice like it was a weapon or a magic spell intended to inflict damage.

Celia let go of James coat and whipped around, a hot flame rising up her throat.

"Oh, piss off Diana," she spat, her eyes narrowed at the girl who reeled backwards in disbelief. "Don't you live that way? No one invited you."

"Celia—"

"No, shut up, James. I'm sick of you and her trying to make out like I've—"

Celia's tempered eruption came to an abrupt stop when she heard a distinct, rambunctious, hyena-like cackle that sent a queasy sensation to her stomach.
Celia postponed her venting and turned around to cast her eyes on the boy who she could seemingly never escape from. A damn curse had struck her.

There John Lennon was, tunefully humming 'Singin' in the Rain' whilst theatrically swinging around the bus stop pole in imitation of Gene Kelly. Pete Shotton and Bill Smith were standing behind him, accompanying his musical number with an on-the-spot tap dance. The two Calderstone girls standing next to them, one of which Celia recognised as Elizabeth Vanderport, were laughing at the boys' poor footwork skills as Pete unintentionally trod on Bill's shoe. Penny was over there too, though she and Eric were standing on the fringe of the group watching the theatrics in amusement.

"Oh what a GLORIOUS feeling!" John sung and then kicked his foot into a big puddle to splash a group of young calderstone girls that were walking past him. The hem of his trousers turned dark grey where water had seeped through them and the three girls leaped backwards, squealing as though they were being spalshed with acid rain.

"Watch yerself girls, there's a puddle there," John said, grinning at the girls in their drenched, white socks. They quickly crossed the road whilst sending daggering glares over their shoulder at him.

"Ooh, look Celia! Speakin' of lover boy."

Celia grit her teeth, resisting the urge to snap at Diana again. Or squish her.

"Is that Pen over there?" James asked.

"Yep," Celia and Diana said in sync.

Penny stole Eric's cigarette from his lips and popped it in between her own. She snuggled up against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, both of them watching John who was preying on his next victims. His leg was raised behind him, ready to swing down through the puddle the moment they neared him.

James tutted. "I don't know what Penny sees in Eric Griffiths. They're the wrong sort, that lot."

Diana nodded in agreement, her expression pinched into distaste.

"I'm not gettin' on the bus if those louts are getting on it," James declared.

Neither was Celia. She'd rather walk the four miles to town than get on the bus with them. With him.

Celia's hysterical giggling with Ellie Thompson only half hour ago had been contrapuntal to the disgruntled swell of thoughts speeding through her mind. They were sent to the corner of the classroom to reflect over their disruptive behaviour, but instead, Celia found herself reflecting over her morning with John.

His rancorous behaviour towards her replayed constantly in her mind like a 7-inch record on repeat. She was hurt more than she should be over someone who meant so little to her. Every time Celia thought about his malignant remarks, she'd felt a stab of emotional pain, like ripping a plaster off a raw cut. Throughout the day, Celia had tried to work her brain, like her blood cells would a wound: putting a protective layer over the pain, concealing the hurt from view, protecting it from any more affliction. But the wound was still there underneath, no matter how much she tried to dissociate herself from it. John's words were scraping and grating at her mind, removing that protective layer of healing. And what good was it doing tearing at this mental, emotional scab? She needed to leave it be, let it heal. Let it vanish completely.

Yes, after this geography project was over, Celia would avoid John completely. That's what she'd do. She'd no longer have to suffer John Lennon, or be forced into his company like she was in those detentions. She didn't want to to talk to him or spend time with him more than what was necessary. In fact— Celia started unbuckling her satchel—she'd get a head start right now. She ignored Diana's query as to why she was searching through her bag in the middle of the road, and instead, made sure her notebook was where she put it.

"I'll be back in a sec," Celia said, loosely re-clasping one buckle of her bag.

"What? Where are you going, Ce?"

"Wait here," she instructed to her friends who were standing amongst the slowly approaching vehicles. Without any affirmation, Celia swiftly turned on her foot and journeyed over to the bus stop with a vigorous determination to set things straight once and for all.

2. Conflict

The cold air bit through Celia's skin as she stormed across the road, her stride long and purposeful.

John was leaning against the bus pole now and he'd upturned the collar of his navy duffle coat. Elizabeth was standing opposite him, talking as he lit the cigarette resting between his lips. She had a doting look in her eyes and she reached a hand to slick back a strand of his Vaselined quiff, but he edged his head away before she had the chance to touch it. A wave of  rejection crossed her face.

Celia called out John's name as she drew close to him, her arm swinging by her side like a regimental solider. Her sharp, thorough snap of his name for the second time drew the attention of the whole group and now in paused conversation, seven pairs of eyes were staring at Celia.

"Ce!" Penny stepped away from Eric, her face lighting up as she waved at her friend. Celia ignored her and continued to march towards John with a knotted pounding in her chest.

"Well, well, well, shoot me dead and call me Lincoln, if ain't Bergman herself." John eyed Celia up and down as he took a drag from the cigarette which was now pinched between his fingers. "Come to give me some more of yer inspirational quotes have ya, Ingrid?"

John smirked and made a show of wrapping an arm around Elizabeth's waist and pulling her close. Her immediate expression upon Celia's arrival was as sour as a milk bottle left out in the sun.

Penny moved over to Celia and gave her a friendly squeeze of greeting on the arm. Celia shot her a quick, perfunctory smile and unbuckled her bag to remove the thing that warranted her appearance. She could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on her as she flipped through her notebook, each page toppling onto the next with an angry swoosh of the paper. She located the page she needed and then abruptly tore it from the spine. Snapping the book closed, she shoved the piece of paper against John's chest and he slightly staggered against the bus pole at the force of Celia's wrath.

"Do your bit and I'll do mine," Celia ordered, her hand acting as a paperweight to the page still scrunched against his chest.

"And I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," John jested, a salacious smile widening his lips. He popped his cigarette into his mouth and removed the paper from his body. Celia bit her tongue to hold back on her own retorts which would only prolong the time she spent acknowledging him.

John's thick eyebrows bunched together as he scanned the jagged paper in his hands— a full page scripture of colour co-ordinated sentences, with several underlinings, arrows, times and dates.

"What the fuck is this shite?" he asked, flicking the paper with the back of his hand. Pete was resting his chin on John's shoulder, snooping down at what he too couldn't seem to interpret.

"It's a map of the minotaur's labyrinth," Celia said, sarcastically. "Jesus, it's not hard to understand, look at the title."

John's eyes drifted to the top of the page. "Project Plan," he read, confusion in his tone. "Plan for what?"

Celia sighed. "The plan for our geography project, John. Or have you forgotten about it already? Your part's in blue, mine's in black and the stuff we need to complete together is in red."

"Steady on, yer drag; it ain't due for another two weeks yet!"

"Yes, well, planning is key to success," Celia said, factually. "And anyway, the less I have to be around you the better."

"It is b'cos he reeks?" Pete said, grinning at Celia.

Next to him, Bill chuckled. "Yeah he only bathes once a month. Y'see Lenny boy," he said, rapping on John's arm with his knuckles. "Not everyone can bear your stench."

John blew out a streak of smoke from the corner of his twisted lips and the stench of tobacco wafted prominently through the air leaving a stream of smoke, like fog in a mist. A craving for nicotine creep up Celia's nostrils. The last time she'd had a fag was the night she drank too much liquor and ended up snoring in John's bed. Another memory her brain couldn't seem to suppress, despite the little recollection she had of it. Celia put the sudden hollow feeling in her belly down to the lack of food.

"Plannin' is the key to success, eh? Somebody should've told Bill's mother that before she got 'erself up the duff, then. Lad's a total cockup."

"Eh, speak for yourself Lennon, ya C-stream cabbage! Weren't you cooked-up behind a rubbish dump?"

"Yeh, right next to the one yer mam plopped you out in, ya grubby little meff."

John whacked Bill around the temple with the project plan, which he'd rolled into a tight tube and everyone laughed. Not Celia, though. Her chest was tightening with fury. She'd spent most of her lunch break in the library creating that, only for John to turn it into a truncheon.

"So, that's your mantra then, Pooley?" John ridiculed, tucking the tube into his inside pocket.

Celia pictured her carefully thought-out proposal crumbling and fraying as it chaffed against the interlining of his coat, her neat, cursive writing fading into oblivion. "You got it written on yer wall next to the rest of your shitty little words of encouragement?"

Pete laughed and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his cigarette like an asthmatic with an inhaler. Celia intercepted John's smirk with a grimace and then she spun around to face Penny, blocking John out of sight completely. She won't let him get under skin anymore today. She won't.

"So you heading to town then, Pen?"

Celia's voice sounded too stilted, too artificial. She cleared her throat, hoping the next sentence that came out of her mouth didn't sound like she was reading from a script. "James told me about some newly refurbished coffee shop on Slater Street."

James. That one-syllable automatically triggered John into tautness. It contorted his face with tension. His eyes hardened to steel and his jaw widened where his molars clenched with a pressure that would grind them down to pulp. Elizabeth looked up at John, her forehead puckering with curiosity as she wondered why John's muscles had suddenly contracted below her fingers.

"Bleedin' hell, none of us will get a seat in there at this rate," Eric moaned. "Seems like the whole fuckin' school is going!"

"I thought you were still grounded, Ce?"

"Not anymore," Celia replied to Penny, shaking her head. "I've got a few errands to run for mum but I haven't got to be back until half five."

"Oh, then why don't you come with us lot then!" Penny suggested.

"Oh, um..." Celia's gaze dropped to the concrete. There was a puddle shaped like a teardrop beside her foot and it reflected the gloomy nimbostratus clouds above. She lightly tapped her shoe in it, quickly becoming distracted by the small ripples in the water.

Everyone's attention was elsewhere now. Bill seemed be entertained in conversation with Eric, and Elizabeth and her friend were talking to Pete and John, who was standing almost back-to-back with Celia, their bodies only inches apart from touching. Surprisingly, he was the only one who remained silent in the four-way conversation.

"Celia?" Penny was waiting for an answer.

"I'm, er..i'm already heading there with someone."

Celia quickly glanced behind her to see if James was where she left him. She realised for rational purposes (that involved not looking like a total div), he and Diana had moved out of the road. Celia stood on her tiptoes and quickly scouted over heads for them. She couldn't see James at all. There were far too many people and the bus shelter blocked out the possibility of her locating his six-foot-one frame. She needed to get back to him before Diana claimed him as her own.

"Ohhh....I see."

Celia turned back around to face Penny again. A knowing smirk occupied her mouth and Celia eyed it with suspicion.

"See what?"

Penny shrugged despite her growing smirk which she tried to restrain by folding her bottom lip over her teeth.

Celia huffed and rested her hand on her hip. "Penny, for goodness sake, why are you smiling at me like that for?"

"No reason," she said. "Say hi to Marsh for me, would you?"

"How did you know I was looking for James?"

Penny rolled her eyes. "Ce, you barely hang out with anyone except James and I. Diana too, but that's pushing it because she's an annoying little maggot-bitch."

"Uh, that's because I choose not to," Celia reminded her. "And stop calling Diana a maggot!" She moved closer to Penny and dropped her voice. "You know I prefer it when you call her a 'blood-sucking leech bitch.'"

Penny laughed. "I'm surprised he's got any blood left with her around."

"Hmm, I don't know..." Celia rested her hand below her chin and tapped her lip with her index finger. "He is looking kinda pallor lately." Her smile slid straight into a grin. "I think he might need a blood transfusion."

Penny scowled. "Pshh, no doubt she'll suck on that too. You better stop her now before she ruins your date."

"It's not a date!"

Penny rose her eyebrows.

"♫ Celia's going on a date with Jaaaames ♫," Penny trilled.

Celia shushed her and leaped forward to cover her palm over Penny's mouth. Penny laughed through Celia's fingers.

"Honestly Pen, it's not a date! Why would it be a date?" The high-pitched words rushed from her mouth and she was thankful for the chilly breeze brushing away the heat in her cheeks.

It wasn't a date. A date suggested an essence of romance. A mutual, amorous fondness between two people which James hadn't openly reciprocated.

Penny pealed away Celia's fingers, revealing her smirk underneath.

"And anyway," Celia cleared her throat and tried to conceal the disappointment in her voice. "Diana's coming with us."

"Err, not by the looks of it." Penny nodded over Celia's left shoulder. Celia turned around and followed Penny's gaze to see Diana striding across the road in the opposite direction of the bus stop, her arms folded and her bag banging against her hip. James had worked his way through the crowd and was standing on the edge of the curb watching Diana storm away from him. He'd done something to upset her. Celia knew that because she witnessed James run his fingers through his sandy brown hair. He always did that when he was annoyed, or stressed, or finding himself in a pickle. Celia always joked to him that one day he'd run his hand over his head only to find there was no hair left. It was his unconscious habit. Once, he'd done it twenty-eight times during a intense game of chess in the school hall. Celia had been counting, y'see. It had been the only thing keeping her from falling asleep out of sheer boredom. There was something very tediously mind-numbing about watching chess pieces playing musical statues at an excruciating pace on a chequered board which bore similarities to the tiles of her front porch.

"G'on then, luvvy, you duckies, have a reet grand time now," Penny said in Yorkshire dialect. She nudged Celia forward but Celia turned around and frowned at her teasing friend.

"Look, Pen, he's only treating me to dessert for being at the top of our hockey league, that's all!"

"So fuck off 'n join him then."

Penny's mouth hadn't moved. The comment came from the brute standing directly behind her who was blowing smoke down the nape of her coat collar. Celia whizzed around and glowered at John.

"Gladly," she said, her tone clipped.

As he inhaled on his tobacco there was something of scorn in the look he gave her. Celia's eyes narrowed in on him as though he were a target for her sharpened arrow. She'd like to shoot one straight through his forehead.

"You still 'ere?" John said before exhaling smoke in Celia's face. She coughed, swatting it away, and just as she was about to knock his cigarette out of his hands, trample on it and spit on it for good measure, or him (she hadn't decided yet) Penny's voice broke her out of her retaliation.

"Hey Ce, come to the pictures with us on Saturday," she said, leaning her head on Eric's shoulder. "It's been a while since you and I have done anythin' together outside of school, and beatin' those Kirkby bitches at hockey doesn't count."

"Fuckin' hell Penelope, do you always have to invite her everywhere?"

"Is he supposed to be going too?" Celia asked, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

"Well yes, we all agreed to—"

"Then I'll give it a hard pass, thanks," Celia said, curtly. Anywhere John Lennon went, she wouldn't be going. And if Celia remembered rightly, the last time they all went to the pictures together he got them thrown out of the theatre for being an obnoxiously disruptive git.

"Ah shame, me heart's shattered," John said stoically, feigning heartbreak as he clutched at his chest.

Elizabeth laughed, her heart-shaped lips parting to reveal her straight white teeth. As always, she looked beautifully made-up. There wasn't a shiny brown hair out of place. It was perfectly coiffed, gracing the top of her shoulders and her red lippy complemented the gentle rouge powdered on her cheekbones. Her green eyes were currently scouring over Celia in disdain.

"It was a pity invite anyway," John said. "Rumour has it, ya barely leave yer house." Ash fluttered to the ground as he brushed the remains of his cigarette against the bus pole. "Raggedy the recluse. That's symptomatic of a sociopath, that."

His demeaning words intended to sting her, but Celia wouldn't let it. Instead, she lifted her chin a notch and made her bite as crisp as she could.

"Callousness and arrogance are too, so you're two steps ahead of me, four-eyes."

Pete spluttered on his cigarette as a choking laughter  overwhelmed the smoke in his throat. Bill started patting him on the back, laughing at him.

Indignation and amusement warred behind John's eyes, and the fact that it showed so plainly meant that he wasn't half as unmoved as his cool exterior made him out to be.

"Actually, how many fingers am I holding up, John? Or is it to blurry?" Celia said wilfully, holding up her middle finger in front of his face. A humourless smile curved her mouth. "Do you need to pop your glasses on to see it?"

Penny gasped in shock of her friend's temerity and hid her snickering behind her hand. Bill and Eric were trying their best to suppress their mirth in respect for John, but Pete didn't even bother to hide his laughter. John looked as though he wanted to snap Celia's finger, his clenched jaw straining the tendons in his neck.

"Glasses?" Elizabeth asked John, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"Oh! Did you not know?" Celia said, making a pretence of being stunned, hand on her chest. "Well, I wouldn't waste time getting primed up for Mr Magoo here, because he can't see shit."

John's lips parted in disbelief of Celia's acerbity. Something unkind lurched up inside of her and she nipped on John's insecurity and vulnerability that only hours earlier she was trying to reassure. And in response to Celia's help, he'd acted like a complete arsehole. He chastened her, degraded her, made her feel like shit at the bottom of his shoe. It was about time she got even with him today. She told herself he deserved to be the subject of her malicious taunting. His weakness became her strength and now Celia started, she couldn't stop.

"He wouldn't know the difference between a dogs mouth and a dogs arse without his glasses on, isn't that right, John?" Celia mocked, mirroring the cruel sneer he gave her minutes ago. "Though, he doesn't liking wearing them y'see, he knows he looks like a total prat in them. Everyday's a game of 'Blind man's buff.'

Celia felt a rush of spiteful glee as she witnessed John's bravado wither. His face, like everyone else's, was overcome with astonishment and his ears flushed scarlet.

She hadn't meant that about his glasses— he didn't look like a prat at all. From what she'd seen, John looked rather nice in his specs, though the deceptive malignity in her eyes said otherwise. After his plentiful indignity and humiliation that he'd become far too comfortable with, it was right for Celia to give him a taste of his own bitter medicine, wasn't it? Show him how it feels to be emotionally ruffled. But still, as Celia tried to mentally justify herself, a sudden, unexpected shadow of guilt passed over her.

Moments after the terse silence that settled over the group, Pete doubled over in laughter. John's expression hardened as he stared down at his best mate laughing at his expense. He had his hands on his knees, face full of glee and he giggled out the words 'dog's arse' and 'blind man's buff' with the occasional finger point at John. If not by his own volition, John wasn't one to tolerate being laughed at. Especially not by someone who was meant to have his back, and so John lifted his foot and kicked Pete directly behind his kneecap.

Pete's leg buckled and unable to keep his balance, he skid to the ground. He'd landed on all fours with his palms in a puddle and his bottom in the air, like a baboon. His friends immediately erupted into laughter. John started making high-pitched monkey noises which drew even more laughter and attracted a flock of spectators. Despite laughing along with his friends, Pete looked rather embarrassed and he tried to haul himself up but much to his chagrin, Eric kneed him on the bum and once again, Pete failed to stabilise himself and ended up in the same position. John played to the crowd's amusement and persisted to beat his chest like a gorilla, his monkey sounds growing louder and wilder. Bill soon joined in and started scratching and sniffing at his armpits, both of them circling Pete like a pair of crazed apes.

Celia watched John the whole time. The humiliation evaporated from his face the minute Pete fell to the ground. It was a perfect opportunity for John to act the fool and create a laughing stock, rather than become one. He'd drawn the attention away from himself and projected it onto Pete so everyone else instantly forgot about his own humiliating circumstance which by the looks of it, they had. Pete's shame and embarrassment overshadowed John's own. It was a clever, crafty technique.

Celia had no intention to exacerbate her dispute with John. Instead, she rolled her eyes and decided to leave them all to it. The less involved she was, the better. Penny was too busy laughing with the others so Celia didn't bother with her farewells. She turned on her foot and instantly spotted James searching for her in the crowd. He ran his hand through his hair, looking rather distressed at the prospect of not finding her before the next bus arrived. Celia called out his name and enthusiastically waved her hand through the air. James' head followed the direction of her voice and his eyes latched onto hers. They both grinned at each other, their past grievance forgotten. Celia only made it three steps forward before the venom of John's voice ceased her delight.

"That's right Pooley, sling yer hook 'n run off home to play seamstress to those little China dollies of yours."

Celia felt a monstrous lurch inside of her. James' eyebrows snapped together, wondering why the smile had slipped from Celia's mouth and why her face had paled in an instant. He was too far away to hear what John said. Too far away to hear the shock catch in Celia's throat.

Celia slowly pivoted back around, unable to ignore John's remark and she was met with a smirk crafted from pure wickedness. Behind John, stood a tame crowd, their eyes darting between Celia and John, wondering what entertainment he was going to provide them with next.

"Yeah, that's right, I heard about the garms ya make for yer little toys," John baited, two flames of malice igniting in his eyes. "Bequeathed by granny, weren't they? Do ya pretend your dressin' her, eh?"

A muffle of low disparaging whispers and churlish giggles surrounded them. Celia's tongue lacked the capacity to formulate a response. He'd stunned her into silence. Something about that smug, spiteful look on his face made a long-suppressed emotion stir in the pit of Celia's stomach and it burned up her throat like acid. Anger. Her hand twitched with the mad impulse to punch him, to see the smugness knocked right off his face. He'd tossed that deriding, insensitive comment at her so offhandedly as if it wasn't an intrusion on her privacy. How did he know about her grandmother's dolls and the garments she made? Apart from Celia's family, Penny and James were the only ones who knew about her antiques and her leisurely pursuits so there's no way John could've known unless he'd been spying at her through her bedroom window—which she very highly doubted, or unless....Celia's eyes darted to Penny. Her back was to the crowd seemingly oblivious to the friction happening behind her as she conversed with her boyfriend.

John looked over his shoulder, following Celia's gaze. His growing smirk confirmed to Celia that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"In't that right, Penelope?" he said.

Penny stiffened upon hearing her name and that alone was enough to tell Celia what she hoped wasn't true.

"Penny," Celia snapped, glaring at the back of her friend's head. Penny spun around and the look she gave Celia was full of remorse.

Celia's face flushed with heat—a concoction of anger and humiliation. How could she? Talking, or rather mocking Celia behind her back to the very person who didn't know how to mind his business. Someone who Penny must've know would relish the opportunity to ridicule her with that piece of information because that's the kind of sadistic person Lennon was. It was an absolutely shitty thing for her friend do and the betrayal showed plainly on Celia's face. Penny who was lost for words skittered her gaze away in shame.

"What, it's true ain't it, Penny?" John said, adding fuel to the fire that was blazing inside of Celia. "That's what you told me on friday at the boozer. You said Raggedy the Recluse 'ere likes to play dress up with her teeny-weeny dollies like a little girl." His laughter curled in its cruelty and condescension. It was designed to snake around Celia and make her feel smaller than she did at that moment. He turned to her and crossed his arms. "D'ya line 'em up in a row, like Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary?"

Elizabeth snorted at that. She grinned and slicked her tongue across her top teeth. John draped an arm around her neck and mechanically pulled her closer. Elizabeth's doting face was back again and just like the first time, John never returned her a doting look of his own.

"D'ya stick 'em in bespoke satin dresses and have a little tea party?" he said. "Tuck 'em into a little shoe box and sing 'em to sleep, eh Chetch?"

"You can have all my dolls if ya like?" Elizabeth
jibed as she played with John's fingers which were near-enough splayed across her breast. Her voice was smooth like melting chocolate. "I grew out of playin' with them years ago."

Her smile was condescendingly sweet and Celia wondered if she'd still be all over John like a cheap suit if she knew Ellie Thompson had wanked him off in the broom cupboard four hours earlier.

"Shut the fuck up and keep out of it Lizzie before I knock your two front teeth out."

Celia snapped her head towards Penny, surprised to hear she was no longer mute. She'd come to Celia's defence with a rage in her eyes that could've heated a furnace.

Elizabeth appeared taken aback by Penny's threat, and Celia didn't doubt it for a second. She'd once threatened the butcher's son with a punch to the face if he kept lifting up her school skirt. True to her words the boy was walking around with a split lip for a week.

Elizabeth's eyes drifted up to John expecting him to back her up and put Penny in her place, but he didn't even bat an eyelid at her. He was staring at Celia. Celia was staring straight back at him, her pulse pounding with hatred. She was trying her best to keep her expression as stoic as possible to camouflage the upset and anger rippling through her which he'd only use to his own gratification.

John blinked and Celia suddenly caught an unexpected look of contrite. It was in the silence that overcame him. The muscle that twitched his mouth. The way his lips folded inwards. The way his eyes were currently sweeping over Celia's face in what looked to be a recognition of the hurt he'd inflicted. Celia felt her heart jitter as his lips parted to say something to her.

But he didn't.

Nothing made it pass John's lips because James shouted Celia's name and his mouth shut quicker than it opened.

Celia turned around, not sure if she'd been saved from more of John's acerbity, or quite surprisingly the opposite. She'd completely forgotten about James and guilt curled quick knowing she'd turned her back on him. He looked cold and miffed. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were tucked in his coat pockets.

"Why doesn't he just come over?" Penny asked, as James beckoned to Celia with his head.

Because he hated half of the people she was with, that's why. Surely Penny knew that. He wasn't exactly subtle about it. James treated John and his clan like a contagious disease. He'd rather keep his distance than be anywhere near them.

"Perhaps you can sew lanky-bollocks over there a shitty little satin dress 'n all," John jeered, over Celia's shoulder.

"Shut it, Lennon," Penny snapped, glaring at him. "Leave them alone, for fuck sake."

John ignored her. "Maybe you can stick him next to yer dolls, eh? Though, I don't think you'll have enough material to fit that ten-foot beanpole."

Any signs of contrition had disappeared from John's face and the twin flames of malice were flickering in his eyes again, this time burning brighter with a heat that warmed an angry flush on Celia's face.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have enough," she retorted, her voice fierce with loathing. "I'll lend you some spare material so you can make yourself a rope to strangle yourself with."

And with that, Celia whirled around and departed the way she arrived: with lightning in her stride and resentment thick in her heart.

3. Confession

"CELIA!...CE HANG ON, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU—shush Eric, I'll be back in a sec, CELIA WAIT!"

Penny rushed after Celia, but there was no stopping her this time. James was about forty yards away, chatting to one of his cross-country teammates from the year below and Celia couldn't wait to get to him. She walked faster with tenacity in her stride, sorry for having left him in the first place. Penny's call to Celia went ignored as she struggled to catch up with her. She was trying her best to avoid stepping into puddles, as opposed to Celia who's white socks were almost transparent. The rain had filled just about every dip in the concrete.

"CELIA—ugh move la!" Penny nudged past a boy blocking her path. "CE PLEASE, WOULD YOU JUST STOP A MINUTE?!"

Celia stopped. She rose her hand high above the crowd and gave Penny a stiff middle finger. Penny didn't back down, though. She was determined to make Celia listen to her plea. Instead, Penny rolled her eyes, cursed Celia under her breath and picked up her pace with an urgency that caused water to splash onto her knee-highs. She squirmed as she felt the cold, wet cotton cling to her calves.

"Celia, for God's sake would you just listen to what I've got to say to ya?"

"I don't want to hear anything from you, so just piss off, alright?"

There was a touch of emotional reproof in Celia's voice for the humiliation she'd encountered and she continued to shove her way through the crowd, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself, Lennon and her back-stabbing friend.

Celia's swift getaway came to an abrupt standstill by a trio of small Quarry Bank lads who had carelessly crossed her path in what looked to be a playful bag fight. They were laughing in unison as they foolishly flung themselves about, hitting each other with their satchels. Celia suddenly recoiled as one of them came crashing to his knees in front of her after having been ruthlessly whacked over the head by his friend's heavy leather. Celia swore and instinctively placed her hand over the top of his little head.

"Are you alright?" Celia asked him, finding herself greatly concerned for this chubby young kid who reminded her of her little brother. God, why were boys always doing such stupid, reckless things without thinking of the repercussions? Only yesterday Harrison had given himself a catastrophic nosebleed after his grotty football rebounded off his bedroom wall and hit him smack-bang in the middle of his face.

The boy removed his hand from the spot where he'd been struck and Celia gasped upon noticing the small, bloody gash at the top of his lobe where the buckle of the bag must have caught on his skin. Celia couldn't help but glare down at his two friends who had frozen over in fear as they awaited the relieved sound of their friend's laughter or the dreaded sound of his tears. Celia was praying for the former, but what if it wasn't? Her alert brain instantly cramped itself with possible resolutions: Take him back to school to see the nurse in case he has a concussion. Tend to him herself with the hanky at the bottom of her bag and comfort him with soothing, reassuring words of the great maternal nature. Chaperone him on the bus to make sure he doesn't pass out or target himself with any more witless bag-whacking. Celia  knew she was in no way responsible for this little lad, yet she felt oddly responsible for taking care of him if he did express any hurt, just like she always did with Harri (and she'd had the blood-stained fingers from his nose to prove it.) Perhaps yesterday's nursing serum hadn't quite ran its course yet, which is why she found herself squatting down, asking if the boy was alright for the second time.

After a few seconds, he slowly lifted his head to look at Celia and as he did so, blood trickled down the back of his ear and slid onto his cheek. There wasn't a tear in sight, but his little round face was unreadable. He looked Celia dead in the eye and with a voice that sounded disturbingly ominous, he said, "Vengeance shall be mine." And with that, he sprung to his feet like a frog across the water, and charged at his friends with his bag in the air, roaring like a warrior. The boys grinned and the three little lads carried on as though nothing had ever happened.

Celia blinked, completely baffled at their indifference and boldness to the incident. She wasn't used to such insouciance in the face of bloody situations and it made Celia realise just how much of a wimp her youngest brother was compared to other boys his age. A mere graze or bruise and he'd turn into a big crybaby. His eyes had been red-raw after that nosebleed yesterday. For the rest of the evening
he'd done nothing but indulge in a jar of strawberry jam whilst lying on his bed feeling sorry for himself. Just like Celia tended to do when an anchor decided to pull down on her uterus once a month. God forbid Mother Nature should miraculously turn the tables and have men bleed from their reproductive organs, instead. Harrison wouldn't make it past the first day. No, the first hour.

"Celia!"

Her name rang through the air like a bell. A rather, worn-out, exasperated bell that is. The voice alerted Celia to her initial mission which was the reason why she was standing in the midst of these silly boys in the first place, and why she was stupidly musing about the male species having periods. As Penny called her name, Celia's whirlwind of anguished emotions, which had temporarily subsided, came surging back again: the anger, the frustration, the upset, the humiliation—all of it, and she swiftly shot up from her crouching knees ready to take flight again.

"Would you stop being so stubborn and just let me talk to you without rushin' off?"

"Stubborn?!" That had done it. Her eyes widened at Penny's barefaced cheek. Celia whizzed around causing Penny to come to an abrupt halt behind her. She tottered backwards a little from their proximity. "How dare you! I have every right to not wanna talk to you."

"I didn't even say anything though, Ce!" Penny protested.

"You didn't need to," Celia said, coldly. She gave Penny a dirty look. "John said it all for you."

"That's not what I meant!" Penny let out a frustrated sigh. "They're all lies comin' from Lennon's dirty, rotten mouth."

"Of course they're all lies!" Celia threw her hands up in exasperation. "Don't you think I know that? That's what makes it all so much worse. I mean, I'm a hermit and I play with dolls, do I, Penny?" Celia glared at Penny, her arms crossed.

"I never said you were a hermit and I didn't—"

"I rarely leave the house is what he said, remember? That's what a hermit is, Penny. A recluse," Celia stated, grimacing at her. "That's not even what I'm so annoyed about. It's the fact that, for whatever reason, you've stooped so low as to spread bullshit about me and made me look like a stupid fucking fool in front of the one person who craves—no who feeds on making me feel like one whenever it suits him." Celia's eyes were flaring with a deep kind of hurt and a new wave of anger and humiliation washed over her. "God, you're just as bad as him."

Celia never expected Penny of all people to bitch about her behind her back. James was right— they were the wrong sort. Hang around those bastards long enough and you'll become one. Celia tried to make another break for it but Penny grabbed hold of her shoulder and twisted Celia around to face her again. 

"Get off me," Celia gruffed, shrugging herself free. She swallowed and blinked, forcing back the tears that were threatening to surface her eyes again.

"Ce, please, would you just hear me out a minute? You're gettin' the wrong end of the stick!"

Celia wanted to take that stick and poke her with it.
Then, sharpen the stick into spear and impale John with it like a barbarian.

Ignoring Penny's plea, Celia turned on her heel but Penny skipped in front of Celia, blocking her escape. Celia tutted and tried to go around Penny but she gripped both of her shoulders this time, forcing Celia to stay in front of her. Celia huffed, her eyes darting everywhere to avoid looking into Penny's hazel ones.

"Ce, you stroppy thing, look at me." Celia looked her.
"I never said any of that to John, really I didn't."

"Then how would he know that I—"

"I said to John you enjoy designing and creating clothes, and the doll thing sort of slipped out." Penny's bottom lip wedged in between her teeth as guilt lined her features. "On my life, Ce," she said, noting Celia's mistrustful expression. "I told him you use those dolls to model your miniatures in, that's all. He made the rest of it up, I swear." To fortify her honesty, Penny traced an X over her heart with her index finger. "Lennon's just being an arsehole."

"Oh really, you just noticed?" Celia said wryly, with heightening eyebrows. "Took you long enough."

"What's up with yous two? I thought the pair of ya were mates."

Celia scowled. "Me and him could never be mates."

The words were ice on her tongue and she flung them at Penny with a frosty certitude. It was a sentence she'd never been more sure of. The Celia three days ago with her naivety and hopeful prospect of friendship was different to the one standing in front of Penny now. She was hardened to the reality of those foolish prospects. Cynical and hateful of the boy who's friendship she no longer wanted.

Penny looked confused. "Well, you were both pally Friday evening."

Ha, Penny had been deceived too, then.

"Why did you speak of me in the first place?" Celia asked, annoyed. "My life is none of his bloody business!"

"Because he asked about you."

Celia scoffed. "Oh so that give you the right to—wait...what do you mean he asked about me?  When?"

"Saturday night at the pub."

"John was there too?"

Penny nodded.

Celia couldn't help but wonder how different things would've been between them if she were there with him that Saturday night. Penny called on Celia at her father's shop that Saturday afternoon to ask her again if she could come to the pub with her and a few of the hockey girls to celebrate their victorious win at the league. With a heavy heart Celia had to tell Penny she couldn't. It was her last weekend being grounded and Celia spend the entire day slaving away to her parents in hopes they'd be lenient with her social freedom. In the morning she'd biked around Mossley Hill and Wavertree delivering her mother's sweet treats, and throughout the hectic afternoon Celia toiled at the busy shoe shop not knowing just how much longer her chirpy customer service demeanour could last when she knew her stubborn father wasn't going to relent.

Many times that night Celia thought about sneaking out through her bedroom window, just like Marian used to do. Marian wouldn't deliberate as much as Celia had, though. In fact, she wouldn't deliberate at all. She'd just do it and deal with the consequences later after the fun had ended. But, Celia wasn't as bold as her sister and it was too much of a risk. Instead, to take her mind off the fun she was probably missing out on, she spent the night locked away in her room dancing to her favourite LP's on her red Dansette. And when her sweat became itchy and her feet became fatigued she'd lay on her bed and read seven and a half pages of her Daphne Du Maurier novel before becoming restless, and so then, Celia sat her desk and continued to sew a few garments by hand, seeing as her mother had unkindly taken away her sewing machine privileges and then, after pricking herself several times, she moved onto painting some of her art coursework where her mind drifted to John Lennon. She thought about how he was spending his Saturday night and she knew without a doubt he wouldn't stay imprisoned in his house if he had somewhere better to be. John and Marian were alike in that sense. Both of them intrepid and rebellious. Celia had found herself re-admiring the silly drawing she did for John that night too. If only Celia then, could've seen it now. Torn and crumped at the bottom of her school bag. A bit like her wishful thinking. Oh, what a fool she'd been.

"I was sittin' by myself waiting for Eric to come back with more bevvies and John walked over and sat opposite me," Penny said. "The first sentence that come out his mouth was about you. He spoke of nothing but you, actually."

Celia stared at Penny as though she'd spoken backwards.

"I suppose it's quite surprisin' giving that Lennon likes nothing more than to lark about and take the piss out of everyone, but when he was with me he didn't," she said. "Not once. He just wanted to hear about you." Penny smirked and lifted her hand to squeeze Celia's cheeks together. "Like you were a piece of juicy gossip that only I knew about."

Penny knew Celia loathed her appley cheeks being pinched or squashed. It was unpleasant to have someone else's grotty fingers push against one's face and with the demeaning intimations of a little child which was wholly unwanted by a teenager. Celia didn't react, though. Any other time, she would've smacked Penny's hand away and scolded her for the unpleasant cheek-squashing, but instead Celia was blinking at Penny like an idiot. She was unable to wrap her head around her speech. A self-effacing John. A John absorbed and eager for knowledge that detailed Celia. All with an absence of mockery or spite. No, it was a totally inconceivable situation.

"I was a bit boozed up at the time so I thought nothing of it, really. I was just happy to gush about my best mate!" Penny confessed with an enthusiasm that led her to wrap her arm around Celia's shoulder and give it a squeeze. "I think he just wanted to get to know you a little more, that's all."

Penny offered Celia a reassuring smile which Celia rejected. Her own mouth was pulled tight like a stitch. If what Penny said was true, if John did want to get acquainted with Celia a little bit more, then why hadn't he just piped up and asked her personally? He'd had plenty opportunities to express his curiosities about Celia and she probably would've answered them too if she knew those curiosities were sincere enough. It's not as though John was shy. In fact, he was probably the most confrontational person Celia knew. Was he really that unwilling to talk to her? Was Celia that unbearable that he'd rather extract information from her friend rather than approach her himself? And if that was the case then why, oh, why did John want to find out more about Celia in the first bloody place?

"I don't want him knowing anything about me,"
Celia said, pushing Penny's hand off of her shoulder.

"Oh come on, Ce," Penny sighed. "I couldn't just ignore him, could I? He was genuinely interested!"

"Ha, yeah, interested so he could throw it in my face two days later," Celia said, bitterly. "John hasn't got a genuine bone in his body. What did you even tell him, for goodness sake?"

Celia frowned and crossed her arms tight against her coat to protect her body heat from the sudden cold breeze that was trying to bite through her coat. Opposite, Penny did the same, her jaw shivering slightly.

"Well, first he asked me how you did at the league and then he asked why you weren't out celebrating with the rest of us," Penny told Celia.

"Oh, so that's when you told him I was at home playing with my little dollies, was it?"

Penny tutted and rolled her eyes.  "Don't be daft, I already said I didn't! I told him your parents were still keepin' you in and that you probably had your nose in a book or that you were working on something creative 'n artsy like you usually do."

That is, what she usually did when she wasn't doing tedious house chores, or homework, or being her mother's delivery-girl, or her father's counter clerk or nursing her brainless little brother. The best things always came last.

"Anyway," Penny continued, swiping away a wisp of ginger hair from in front of her face. "I told him you're into fashion design and seamstressing, n' all that textile construction stuff that I have no clue about," she said, swirling her hand dismissively through the air. "And that's when I mentioned your Kestner dolls and the titchy dresses you make for those Salvation Army kids," she said. "I thought it would..." Penny hesitated for a second. "It was supposed to impress him."

A quick shot of blunt laughter escaped from Celia's throat. "Well if that's not situational irony at its finest," she remarked in an amusement. "A great impression that cracked out to be, eh Pen?"

Penny looked remorseful. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't think he'd use it as a weapon to hurt you. He didn't mean it, though."

Celia scoffed and glared at her friend. "Are you seriously sticking up for him, Penny?"

"Oh, God no! Of course not!" Penny declared, looking horrified. "I'm just saying, he doesn't really think so little of you! He clearly said those things because you embarrassed him with those savage wisecracks about his specs. Ooh, which by the way I didn't even know he wore! Is it true? Does Lennon really wear glasses?" Penny asked excitably, as though the Queen had just announced a visit to
Quarry Bank High School.

Celia reluctantly nodded, a prang of guilt sharp in her chest.

"Jeez, who would've thought it?! Lennon's a specky git," she giggled. "Oh, no offence to you or anythin' I know you wear 'em too; I just can't imagine John in glasses! Ooh, wait till I tell Ellie," Penny bubbled, her eyes wide and sparking with delight. "I bet he looks like a right twatty spod. A googly-eyed wally."

"He doesn't, lay off," Celia snapped.

The mirth instantly dropped from Penny's face and she looked just as surprised as Celia felt.

Oh, God. Where had that come from?

Celia became aware of the strain in her left hand which she'd unknowingly curled into a fist by her thigh and she quickly unflexed her fingers, wiggling away the taut spurt of anger that had overcome them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't...." Celia dropped her head to avoid the weird look Penny was giving her. She was eying Celia with suspicion. Scouring her face as though something within her needed interpreting.

"You were the one who brought it up in the first place, Ce," Penny said softy. A small smiled pulled up at the corners of her mouth.

"I know," Celia muttered, unable to hide the glow of embarrassment from her face. Penny was right, she had brought up, and so perhaps that's why there a combination of guilt and remorse festering inside of her mind.

"I just meant...it's not a big a deal, that's all," Celia mumbled as she watched the movement of her foot chaffing the side of her shoes together. "They're only glasses y'know."

Reactions like Penny's was probably the reason why John chose to conceal that sensitive, vulnerable part of himself in the first place. He'd rather walk around visually impaired than have his insecurity battered and bruised by judgmental, derisive comments that would only worsen the way he perceived himself.
Celia had contributed in dragging out that insecurity to the surface and exposing it to everyone, and she'd been trying to ignore the pestering whispers that were calling her a bitch for baiting out John like she did. Giving that he earned it after being so dreadfully horrid, the fact that Celia was feeling even an ounce of guilt really niggled her. It was a matter of being too soft-hearted or too idiotic.

"Are you seriously sticking up for him, Celia?" Penny asked, quoting Celia's own intonation of words with a broad, mocking grin on her face. Celia gave her a hard look in return to which Penny laughed.

"Well, anyway, as I was sayin'," the red-head continued. "You embarrassed him, and he needed to find a way to embarrass you back, that's all. I reckon he would've kept his mouth shut otherwise."

"He started it," Celia said, pouting like a child. "And that still didn't give him the right."

"Yeah I know," Penny agreed. Her eyebrows bunched together in a disappointed frown. "And it didn't give that cow the right, either." Penny's lips curled upwards into a snarl. "I tell ya, I should've slapped that Lizzie bitch right across her face and put a crack in that porcelain cheek of hers. How dare she laugh at you like that! I've grown out of playin' with dolls years ago" Penny mimicked, her voice sounding more like a crusty troll than the smoothness of Elizabeth's. "Oh! That reminds me!"

The anger quickly mellowed on Penny's face and replaced with recollection. "Back at the pub after I'd mentioned to John about the doll dresses, I remember him sayin' that his little sister could do with a new dress for her dolly and maybe you could sew a couple for her," she said. "I told him to stop being a dick because I thought he was pissin' about, but he said he was being dead serious about it. He said it would make a good birthday prezzie for her and that he'd maybe ask you to consider it, but...he didn't, did he?" Penny said as she noticed Celia's bewildered expression.

Celia slowly shook her head, her surprise keeping her muted. She wasn't sure what shocked her more—John showing interest in Celia and her creative pursuits or the fact that he had a sister. She'd always thought John was an only child. He kept that quiet, hadn't he? Celia couldn't recall seeing any photographs of his sister when she was at his house, but then again, she'd been too drunk to remember most of that night, so perhaps he had mentioned it, only she'd forgotten. Nevertheless, it was weird imagining John as a big brother. The role model. The example setter. The responsible one. The leader. (That one she could imagine.) All the customs elder siblings were burdened with. Or honoured with, depending on how one saw it. Celia was supposed to be all those things to Harrison and Marian was supposed to be all those things to both of them and Michael to all three of them. They were statutory traits that got carried down through the chain of siblingship. Pressures to be fulfilled and neither Celia or her two elder siblings had accomplished all four.

Curious thoughts were travelling through Celia's head at the newfound brotherhood. Was John a devoted brother or a distant one? Was his sister Harrison's age or younger than the tender age of ten? Did she look up to him, like Celia did Marian? Was she the girl version on of him? A mini Lennon. Oh, god. She sincerely hoped not. The thought alone was abhorrent. One Lennon was enough. Celia couldn't stop her mind from putting together a vision of his sister's visage. Little almond eyes like her big brother's that were always twinkling with mischief. A long, narrow nose and small, pink lips that were capable of forming big, crafty grins and wilful smirks. Brown hair with detectable traces of auburn like a copper penny. And, no why the hell was she thinking all this? Why did she care?

"Hmm." Penny looked disappointed. "He didn't say anythin' after telling me all that. He just got up and left. It was all a bit strange. Actually, John avoided me for the rest of the evening," she said. "I think he felt a bit awkward. He ended up getting kicked out of the pubby for trying to yank off some bloke's wooden leg."

He what?

Penny grinned at Celia's mouth which had shaped itself into the Mersey tunnel. "He was standing on a barstool trying to nick one the pricey display beers from the beam above the bar and the leg of the stool snapped in half and he fell of it." Penny laughed fondly at the memory. "He actually managed to grab one of the beers and everyone cheered as he crashed to the floor with the bottle unbroken in his hand and he started bowing when he stood up. Honestly Ce, he was so bevvied!"

Penny chuckled, shaking her head. So, it wasn't just classrooms John was getting himself thrown out of, then. It was pubs too. Oh, and cinemas. John couldn't behave wherever he was, could he? He could never do anything without drawing attention to himself. Give him an audience and he'd give them a scene. Celia knew, though, deep down in her heart, if she'd been there too instead of cooped up in her bedroom feeling sorry for herself, she'd be cheering and laughing along with the rest of them.

"The barkeeper was proper pissed that he'd snapped  the stool because it was antique apparently." Penny pulled a face and rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't let John leave without payin' for the broken chair leg but John didn't have any money I don't think, and there was no way he would've coughed it up even if he did, so there was this old crippled seaman sleeping in the corner and John," Penny couldn't talk without giggling. "John tried to pull off his peg leg to replace the one he broke and told him that one leg would help him save money on buying shoes."

Celia frowned. "That was a horrible thing to do!"

"I know," Penny said trying to fold her smile, but  failing. "But to be fair he was rudely hogging the jukebox all night and kept playing shitty sax music that would probably make James cream his trousers."

Celia's face contorted in disgust. James loved a bit of Jazz, but not that much.

"Oh Ce, I wish you'd been there to see it," Penny said, nostalgic for three days passed. "It was a great laugh, and I wish you could've seen how intrigued he was with you too."

"He was just being facetious," Celia concluded. "He pretended he was interested in what you told him so he could throw it in my face and embarrass me with it. John doesn't really care, Penny."

"Oh, he does, Ce," Penny replied, nodding assuredly. "More than he lets on. More than you think."

Celia sighed at her friend. "I don't think it at all, that's my point."

"He's got a thing for you, Celia," Penny said, as though she were stating the obvious. "I know he has." She placed both her hands on Celia's shoulder and looked her dead in the eye before continuing with her stupid, false assumptions. "I think that's the only reason why he came and spoke to me that night. You were all over his mind that evening, no doubt about it. All he wanted to talk about was you, Pooley."

Celia's heart tightened at Penny's conviction. Like someone had wrapped a rope around her precious organ and squeezed it tight. John didn't have a "thing" for Celia. No way, it just wasn't possible. Penny was looking at this all wrong. Was it not obvious to her that John had a thing for Elizabeth Vanderport? For Ellie Thompson? For that dippy redhead Ruth Weller? All the girls that weren't coy in showing their attraction towards him or showering him with attention. Celia observed the way John was with them all too. All flirty and touchy-feely. A thigh caress here, a playful squeeze there. Seductive whispers and public fondlings that made Celia want to vomit. All the signs were there; Penny didn't need to be a bloody detective to work it out. She was just being dim. Elizabeth clung to John like her life depended on it, just like Diana did to James, and neither boy had any objection to it either. Well, Celia wouldn't cling to John even if her life depended on it. If John were the fire blanket needed to smother the flames on her burning body, she'd rather roll on the ground and extinguish the fire herself.

"Look, Ce," Penny let out a breathy sigh and removed her hands from Celia's shoulders. "Since going steady with Eric I've hung around John enough times to know that he likes to be impressed by people, and you do just that."

Why was she telling her this? Like she gave a shit. Like John's opinion of her mattered.

"You hold yourself well in front of him," Penny remarked. "Jesus, can you imagine if Lennon said something proper shitty and hurtful to Diana, or even to that Lizzie tart? They'd probably run away bawling their eyes out!"

Celia had been close to crying. Her lower lids were lined with moisture and when Celia swallowed in restraint of those tears threatening to spill, her throat had felt awfully tight. It was only by scratching her fingernail across her thumb that she was able to stop herself from doing so. Celia hadn't dared to cry in front of John. Not because it embarrassed her, but because she didn't want to appear weak when she wasn't. She refused to give Lennon the satisfaction of seeing her upset. Besides, Celia much preferred crying in her own company anyway. Behind closed doors in the privacy of her bedroom. Within those four walls she was free to cry and mope all she liked and they'd be nobody around to pity or her judge her for it.

"You're not afraid to put up a fight and I think he likes that about ya. I like it too," Penny admitted, grinning at Celia. "Rippin' into him the way you did, miss mouthy madam."

"Mouthy! I am not mouthy!" Celia protested, the shape of her eyes narrowing into glowering slits. She realised she sounded just like her sister. Anyone that dared to call Marian Pooley mouthy would usually find themselves in a headlock begging for mercy. Celia didn't have enough fingers to count the amount of times Michael and his friend Robert (who also happened to be James' elder brother) had been strangled between Marian's arms, squeezing away at their machismo. She was impressively robust. Many arm wrestles had been lost to Marian. Many shillings too.

Penny tilted her head forward and arched her brows.

"I'm not!" Celia growled. Penny would find herself in a headlock too in a minute.

Penny chuckled and rather than give Celia the benefit of the doubt, she said, "Well, you're not soft," and then proceeded to gently prod Celia between her sternum as though she were testing the quality of her sturdiness. "That's one of the reasons why I love you, Ceelykins."

Celia threw Penny a chastising look. She loathed that toe-curling nickname more than she loathed the taste of Spam.

"It's probably the reason why Lennon snipes at you like he does," Penny said. "Well, that and he fancies ya."

Celia snorted so hard it hurt her nose. "Don't be so ridiculous!!" she exclaimed. "You've never said anything more daft than that!"

Celia became aware of the quick fluttering sensation inside her abdomen, like the wings of a hummingbird hovering in flight.

"John's been an arsehole to me since the moment he met me," Celia said, hotly. "And I'll have you know, today he's been exceptionally rotten, so pipe down with that stupid talk, Penny."

Penny took no notice of Celia's indignation. She was too busy examining her split ends which she kneaded between her fingers. "Ah, he's just green, is all."

"Green?"

Penny nodded, still concentrating on her hair which, by the looks of it was really starting to bother her. Celia just knew she'd turn up to school tomorrow with a self-cut trim and smelling like hair tonic.

What did she mean green? Green as in Jolly Green Giant green? Green like he was sickly? Unworldly? Or...no, she couldn't possibly mean...

"Wait, not green as in—"

"Jealous."

She did.

"Jealous?!" Celia almost choked on her tongue.

"Uh-huh."

"What the bloody hell has he got to be jealous about?"

And what did Celia have to do with it? Celia had nothing of interest to him. John had delusional girls around him left, right and centre.

Penny snatched a quick glance over Celia's shoulder where the blue-eyed answer to her friend's question stood five metres behind her.

"Not what. Who," Penny said, hoping Celia would take the hint. As if on cue, James did a quick double-take upon noticing Penny looking at him and he greeted her with a quick wave before turning back to his friend in mid-conversation.

Celia was still staring at Penny with the same expression she wore when gaping at a blackboard smothered in Polynomial equations. Totally perplexed.

Penny rolled her eyes and playfully hit her bag against Celia's hip.  "You're a right div sometimes, Ce."

"Oi! You're in no position to call me a div,
Penelope Jane Cunningham."

Penny cringed at the use of her full name and a tiny, wicked smirk slipped onto Celia's mouth with a hint of triumph. A payback for calling her Ceelykins.
Penny hated her name. She said it sounded too much like a sappy hillbilly heroine. Calamity Jane without the appeal of Doris Day. In fact, not even teachers referred to her as Penelope Jane anymore after Penny stubbornly refused to respond to it. Only her parents exploited her full name and usually it was a signifier of trouble. Celia knew Penny was getting herself into quite a bit of trouble recently, what with her staying out past her curfew now that she had a boyfriend. Before Eric came on the scene, Penny mostly got her full-name scolding for letting Ethel—her naughty cocker spaniel, poo inside her parents slippers or their award-winning flowerbeds.

"Alright, slow then," Penny teased, returning Celia's wicked smile. "You can be right slow."

A spike of irritation caused Celia to bristle and she straightened her posture, arms folded tight across her chest. "Listen, in the mood I'm in I'm ready to hold you head right under that puddle until you're blue and bursting like a bloody blueberry."

Or put her in one of Marian's resilient headlocks.

Something about the expression on Celia's face—rather reminiscent of a frustrated three-year-old—made Penny start laughing.

"You're really pushing it Penny, honestly," Celia said, shooting her a look that could swat flies. Maybe she could swat Diana too if she practiced enough with it.

"Sorry," Penny said, pressing down on her giggling mouth. "I just don't understand how you can be so smart, yet so oblivious to the obvious!"

Celia testily inhaled a slice of cold air through her nostrils and released it in a burst of exasperation.

"Oblivious to what exactly?" Celia asked. Penny was becoming a lot like the back pages of newspaper— full of puzzles that Celia didn't have the effort to entertain herself with.

Penny jabbed a thumb behind her. "To that twat back there. Y'know, the one with the wet trousers who's probably doing something he shouldn't be doing."

Celia looked over Penny's shoulder at John. It hadn't been hard to spot him. Not when he was high above the crowd, cavorting about on a five-foot brick wall in his damp patchy trousers. Penny must have eyes in the back of her head. She followed Celia's gaze and they both examined the dynamic scene unfolding in the near distance.

A satchel lay on the narrow wall with Lennon on one side of it and Shotton on the other. They seemed to be having a competition of agility to see who would reach the bag first by clumsily hopscotching their way over to it. Below them, Bill and Eric were the saboteurs trying to grab their feet to trip them up. A small crowd had tuned in to watch them too, and amongst them, Elizabeth was the only person who looked as though she wasn't enjoying it. She was leaning against the bus pole, arms folded across her bust with a face like a slapped arse. It was obvious she was peeved at John for choosing to entertain himself with nonsense rather than snuggle up with her. Such a shame that.

Bill made a swift grab for John's foot but he missed and ended up tripping forward, simultaneously stubbing his toe and whacking his knuckles on the wall. John stopped in mid hop and threw his head back in laughter. Bill looked like a cartoon character— hoping about on one foot with a screwed up face while frantically shaking the pain out of his hand. Pete started laughing too which caused him to loose his balance and he slipped off the wall. Lucky for him, Eric was there to catch his fall. John saw the opportunity for a win and he speedily continued his hopscotch to the satchel before Pete could climb back on the wall. Instead of lifting up the bag, John picked up something lying on top of it. He grinned like a Cheshire Cat as he held the small item over his head like a trophy. Celia squinted at it. It was a white, rectangular box with a pattern on the front. It was only when John slid the box open and stuck one of its contents into his mouth that Celia realised what it was and she rolled her eyes. Everyone started clapping after Eric announced Lennon as the new hopscotch champion and he flexed his biceps in victory. They were quite impressive, John's arm muscles. Celia knew how firm they were and she wondered how big they looked underneath his coat. Underneath his jumper. Underneath his shirt.

"Celia?"

John started dancing a little Irish jig with his unlit cigarette dangling between his lips and Celia grinned, despite herself. Gosh he was an idiot.

Penny made a second attempt to gain Celia's attention and conspicuously cleared her throat. Celia immediately unglued her eyes from John and upon noticing the look on Penny's face, the grin swiftly collapsed from her mouth as though she'd been caught enjoying something that she shouldn't have been.

Penny tilted her head to one side, studying Celia with a cocky smirk on her lips. "Looks like he's captured your interest too, eh Ce?"

"What? No!" Celia scoffed, her insides wriggling like jelly.

"And what do you mean 'too'?" Celia added. "The idea of that pranny having even a fleeting bit of interest in me is laughable."

If you're fond of someone you don't endlessly mock them with cruel comments and snide retorts. You don't push them away. You don't make them hate you. John was good at doing all of those things.

"You're wrong about that," Penny said, with the same level of certainty as one plus one equals two.

"It's not up for debate," Celia snapped.

"Look, I'm just sayin' Lennon must like you quite a bit seein' as he actually biked ya to our bus of his own free will."

Celia's expression fell into a deep scowl. Why couldn't Penny just drop it? Why was she being so disagreeable? And peculiarly, why had she put so much thought into this? Perhaps Penny should become a member of the Liverpool Debating Union and consider a future in law while she's at it. Celia could feel herself growing angrier with each passing moment.

"If one more person mentions that bloody backie I'm gonna twist their head off and use it as a football."

Penny simply laughed and a chunk of Celia's anger compressed itself into a fist. It's like she was deliberately trying to make Celia irate. Anyone would've thought she actually enjoyed winding her up— just like Diana and John.

"Look, comprehend this, a'right?" Penny said, ready to start yet another dispute. "John lives over in Woolton, doesn't he?"

Celia ignored Penny's question and looked to the left of her where two Calderstone girls were sharing a packet of crisps. With a rumbling stomach, Celia watched as one of them pulled out the little sachet of salt and tore it apart with her teeth.

"Oi, Ce." Penny tugged on Celia's arm. "Just hear me out a sec, would you?"

Celia rolled her eyes and nodded. "Yeah he does, so what?"

"Right, well he took you right out of his way then, didn't he? Seeing as the bus was en route to Kirkby.
He was obviously eager to get you there, doesn't that tell ya something?" Celia opened her mouth to interject but Penny abruptly rose a hand to stop her. Celia clamped her teeth together, defying the urge to roar in her friend's face. "If he didn't like you he wouldn't have done it, nor would he have spent twenty minutes in conversation with me about you, when there were millions of other things to natter about. Don't ya think?"

Now, when given the opportunity to voice her opinion, Celia's tongue muted her. She'd been thrown by the plausibility of Penny's words. Why would one make such an effort for someone else if they didn't like them? They wouldn't; it made no sense. Still, it remained inconceivable to Celia that any of it could be remotely true. Any good deed of John's was always followed by malice and what with his recent behaviour towards her, things just didn't add up. It was as though Celia had forced herself to swallow a pill that filled her brain cells with doubt and rejection. All she could do was give an incredulous shake of her head—that little pill of scepticism obstructing her brain from seeing or believing any differently.

"Let me get this through to you," Celia said slowly after a brief moments reflection. She rose her hands in front of her and pressed her fingers together to firmly establish the point she was about to make in a way that Penny would understand. "John likes me as much as you like snacking on a box of Sun-Maids."

Penny's face spasmed into a expression of disgust.

"Exactly!" Celia exclaimed. "Anyway, none of this silly talk matters because I'm not into John in any way, shape, or form, so can we just drop this now, please?"

Penny laughed and a rose an accusatory brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure!" Celia cursed. She threw her hands up in frustration and they landed on either side of her shapely hips. "Why would you even question me for?"

A smile inched across Penny face. "Because you're into John more than you're into Marsh."

Celia's chin lurched backwards in astonishment.

"I'm not into James at all," she said quickly. "Honestly Penny, you're so bloody presumptuous sometimes!"

"Oh, come off it, Ce!"

"I'm not!"

Celia imagined her nose growing like Pinocchio's.

"We're not still playing this daft game, are we?" Penny's exaggerated yawn followed with a pat on the mouth. "You're lying through your teeth. Your pupils dilate every time James comes anywhere near you!"

God, had it been that pathetically obvious all this time?

"They go as big as tennis balls," Penny teased. "Like one of those round Liquorice allsorts."

"Shut up, that's just...they don't...I'm not, you—I—," the more Celia faltered, the more her embarrassment shone through her face. She wanted to smack herself.

"What shade of blush are you wearin', Ce? Maroon Marsh or I'm-a-little-fibber?"

Penny's grin was as broad as it was brazen.

"Would you just stop it?" Celia hissed through her teeth. James was right over there. A mere earshot away. Celia was never going to look at him again. Ever. No, she couldn't do that. She wanted to look at his pretty face until she was sick of it. No, she'd just have to wear sunglasses, that's all. Her eyes would be free to expand to the size of Chocolate Olivers and no one would notice.

"Penny for goodness sake, stop laughing."

"Stop playin' yourself for a fool, then," she said. "You have the hots for James, admit it Ceeley."

Celia could hear the chug of the green double-decker bus behind her and the crowd of students sprung to life, cheering at its arrival. At once, they pushed and shoved each other with a competitive determination to reach the bus on its first come, first serve entry.

"Eric's calling you," Celia said to Penny.

"I know; he can wait."

"Why?" Celia risked asking. She knew where this conversation was going and she'd failed to avoid it's direction.

"Because I'm not leavin' until I hear you admit that you're done kiddin' yourself about Marsh."

"Oh, Penny give over already, would you?!"

Penny suddenly tottered forward as a strapping lad twice her size nudged past her and Celia instinctively grabbed Penny's arm to help rebalance her footing.

"Are you alright, Pen?"

Penny ignored Celia's concern and instead whipped around and called the boy a "bigfoot fuckwit."

The bus pulled up to the side of the road and the students became like a school of fish wriggling together inside a fishermen's net.

"ALL ABOARD THE CHOO-CHOO-BUS," John shouted, in a conductor-like voice. "WOMEN, KIDS AND TURNIPS GO LAST. UNLESS YOUR COUNT ORLOK OR DOMINIC PORT-DICKHEAD, THEN YOU AIN'T GETTIN' ON AT ALL."

Charming.

"Alright, so if I am attracted to James what makes you think I fancy that pillock over there, then?"

Celia hoped her voice was louder than the fluttering bird-wings in her stomach.

"Celia, you almost bit my head off defending him a few minutes ago."

"So?" Celia scowled at Penny and crossed her arms in a defensive manner. "That doesn't mean anything! And I was not defending him."

Penny's mouth relaxed into a small, knowing smile.

"I've seen the way you look at him, Ce." Celia tried to protest but Penny placed a hand over her mouth.
"You don't even realise you're doing it." She repositioned her palms on either side of Celia's warm cheeks and stared at her friend fondly. "Last week when you were sitting on the back of his bike, right before you kissed him..there was somethin' about ya. Your face, it...I can't explain it. Your eyes were luminous," she said. "I've never seen a look quite like it. You stared at Lennon as though he were the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel."

And with that, she grinned, planted a quick kiss
on Celia's forehead and disappeared through the crowd.

The weight of Penny's words felt like an overwhelming blow to Celia's head. They were marbles pinging around her brain, her cranial nerves sparkling and sizzling like a faulty live wire. She couldn't move her feet. Couldn't even twitch a finger.
The muscles in Celia's body seemed to have frozen over and she was stupefied into a trance of disbelief over a comment that, much to her denial, was true.

Celia was amazed by John, just as he was with her.

If Penny's honest scrutiny wasn't enough to convince Celia that she felt some type of way about John Lennon, then she only had to lift a hand to her chest to feel the tumultuous pounding of her heart, which beat its own rhythm for him.

******

To be continued!

Hello again 👋, phew! This was a very long one and I'm glad I've finally put it out there because it's been a bugger to write.

I sincerely hope you somewhat enjoyed this incredibly overdue chapter! (but what's new, eh?)

I think I may have to upload another segment soon because the days events are not quite concluded yet! I, myself was getting impatient with this upload and desperately wanted to give it to you, so I hope you don't mind a small part four before we move onto a whole new day/event! (Which I'm very much looking forward to writing because a certain Julia Lennon is going to be introduced. 🤩)

Anyhoo, thank you so much for reading and following this story despite how prolonged this uploading process has been!  The love this book has received over the past few months has been incredible.

As usual, I'd love to know your thoughts, criticisms, feelings, whatever!

Hope everyone's well.

Much love,

Scarlett 🧡