A/N: Hi everyone, once again I've had to split the chapter up, so below is part two of four. Enjoy!
Sunday 10th February 1957 (Cont'd)
Celia hadn't realised just how cold it was outside until the jubilance of warmth passed through her. The Lennons' house was blessed with a toasty sort of heat that instantly sculpted goosebumps on Celia's forearms.
"I've got the gas and the electric going," Julia remarked as she closed her front door with a crafty smile on her face. "I know—naughty me, eh? My Bobby'll hit the roof if he reads the meter, but we need a good bit of cosy warmth during this baltic weather, don't ya think?"
Celia nodded in agreement and pulled at the snug tartan scarf around her neck to free her skin from the wool's insulation. She wasn't used to being this warm. Her father would never allow for this much heat in their own home— he absolutely loathed being hot. The sun was his enemy. So was the central heating come to think of it. Even his baths were tepid. You'd find Charles Michael Pooley hiking in Antartica, before he ever sunbathed on a beach.
A myriad of tantalising aromas wafted up Celia's nostrils. She could detect cinnamon with a dusting of ginger—the familiar smell of sweet-baked goods. A strong, floral fragrance imbued the air too, which complemented the spices nicely and Celia inhaled harder, savouring the delightful scent in the narrow hallway. Behind her, Julia laughed.
"I've got Eccles cakes growin' in the oven," Julia said, leaning her elbow atop the shiny, wooden bannister. "It's my first batch in ages. I usually go for Bakewell tarts, but the little pies pestered me in a dream and told me to bake 'em or else!"
Celia smiled. "They smell truly delicious!"
Julia hummed in agreement. "Ta, love— Oh, flamin' Nora! Look at me hair!"
Julia placed a hand over her mouth as she caught sight of herself in the mirror mounted on the wall.
Her reflection stared back, brown eyes wide and flickering with amusement. "I look like Alfalfa with a bedhead," she observed, breaking into a giggle.
Celia's smile was nostalgic as she gazed at the sweet, familial photographs decorating the ivory wall. "I used to have a crush on him when I was little."
She'd been six years old to be exact. Carl 'Alfalfa' Switzer had been her very first crush. Of course, little Celia hadn't actually known she'd been doting on him back then, but she'd desperately longed for him to come back on the big screen every time he disappeared out of frame. She'd been totally besotted by him. The first picture she ever recalled drawing was a terrible portrait of herself and Alfalfa holding hands as they rode a Pegasus into the sunset. Michael and Marian had teased her unceasingly when they found out. In fact, Celia specifically remembered Michael gelling his cowlick upwards into a pointed flick like Alfalfa's. Her big brother chased her around the living room making kissy noises at her, whilst Marian lay on the sofa, wetting herself with laughter. Oh, she'd been so embarrassed. More embarrassed then when David Scrubbs ran up to her in the playground and kissed her on the mouth. His sloppy lips tasted like garlic and she'd burst into tears after telling him that he smelled funny. To save herself from any more relentless teasing, Celia vowed never to admit to liking a boy again. Ten years had passed since she'd made that commitment and still she kept her secret lusts to herself. God forbid if she ever truly admitted to liking James Marsh for the past however many years. She'd never hear the end of it.
"Oh, he was a little cutie, though, wasn't he?" Julia said, grinning at Celia through the mirror as she smoothed down her red hair. "I used to pine after Chaplin when I was a sprog, myself. Have you seen that portrait of him back when he was in his late twenties? I carried around that cutting of him in me purse until I was nineteen!"
Celia shook her head. "No, I don't think I've seen it."
Julia let out a small gasp, and looked over her shoulder at Celia, bewildered, with her hand still attached to her curls. "Oh, Celia, you must! He looked like a banquet! Mmm, a right dish of a man. King of Kings, he was. Or is, rather. Not that I've seen him lately, actually."
Julia'd said the last sentence as though Charlie Chaplin was merely a next-door neighbour that had moved to another borough.
"Do you think he'll make any more films?" Celia wondered. She was staring at a sepia-toned photograph of two little girls who looked an awful lot like the pretty woman standing by the mirror.
"I bloody well hope so, he's such a joy to watch on the screen, isn't he?"
Celia nodded. She couldn't spot John in any of these photos. "I loved him in The Kid."
"And me," Julia agreed, combing her fingers through her gorgeously shiny locks. "That's one of me favourites! My John loves that one too actually. Oh, and The Tramp. He always used to—" Julia broke her sentence with a chuckle as her mind summoned a memory and her smile grew wider. "For about a week straight he did that funny Chaplin duck walk until his legs gave up on him. I remember him doing it through the Woolton remembrance parade without a care in the world at who was lookin' at him. My sister was fumin' but oh, it was so funny, Celia. He was only about five and he didn't half make those military lads laugh! He brightened all those grim faces." Julia's eyes were shimmering with adoration as she spoke fondly of her son. "I tell you, I was in stitches! He could chortle the cap off the Queen's Guard if he wanted to; my golden boy."
Celia thought that sounded just like John — humouring himself and making other people laugh through the production of his foolery. Like him or hate him, Lennon's ability to entertain came naturally; there was no denying that about him. John managed to entertain those who had no desire to be entertained by him. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he was larking about in the library with his silly thespian performance of Romeo and Juliet. Everyone had flocked around him like a colony of gulls, watching with amusement as he weaved tragedy into comedy. Not everybody had his ability. He possessed an intrinsic wit and comedic disposition that thoroughly captured the laughter of others. At the worst of times, John's humour was acerbic, narrow-minded and just damn right offensive, but when he was clowning around with the intention of making himself the target of laughter, Celia found him rather enjoyable to watch. Even more so, when the humour was for her benefit. Of course Celia wasn't blind to his arrogance and rudeness, but he was funny, and she'd come to realise he was sensitive too. John intrigued, confused and unsettled Celia all at once. Now though, the growing anticipation of coming face-to-face with him was rapidly brewing like a potion in Celia's stomach. Her simmering, bubbling nerves were about to pour over the top of the anatomic cauldron.
Julia tapped Celia on the shoulder, jolting her out of her musing. She turned around to face Julia, her face baring an apology.
"Oh, sorry what did you say? I was just..." Thinking about your son and how much I've actually quite missed the stupid git. "Daydreaming."
Julia smiled at Celia and gave a tender squidge of her bicep. "Not to worry, sugar; daydreaming's good for the soul, I always say."
Celia smiled back at her. Oh, how different John's mother was to Celia's own. Nora was set on disapproving her daughters reveries, whilst Julia was standing here encouraging them. It hit Celia with a quick pang of envy—John having the pleasures of being mothered by such a liberal woman, but then that feeling quickly transcended into guilt, for wishing her mother any different to the loving woman she was.
"So, did Mimi The Minotaur send you over here, then?"
Ha! Mimi the Minotaur sounded like the kind of insult that would've come out of Ellie Thompson's mouth. She'd love that, Celia thought. A smirk was trying to edge its way onto her mouth, but she forced it away with a bite of her lower lip.
"I, um..I telephoned John's aunt and she shoo'd me to this address," Celia replied, carefully. She'd placed an intentional push on the word 'aunt' to give the impression that she had no idea who this Minotaur was. Though, from what Celia'd heard of the woman; a fearful beast with horns seemed an accurate enough representation.
With a grunt, Julia crossed her arms and leaned her shoulder against the cream-coloured wall. Beside her head was a small framed oil-painting of two cheeky kittens licking the contents of a teacup.
"You'd think she lives in the Vatican with the way she shoo's everyone away from her sacred, friggin' home," Julia said, her mouth twisting into a grimace.
"Unless you're a four-legged purebreed belting a bit of Bach with your pinky in the air, she'll boot you off her doorstep. Even me—her own sister. Can you believe it?"
Celia's face answered for her. Her lips parted slightly, a whisper of shock passing between them. She hadn't expected such a close relation between the two women. For some reason, she'd always suspected that John lived with a great-aunt like in those bleak old-fashioned novels. Julia was currently staring at the carpet with brooding eyes that didn't blink. She was mindlessly playing with her fingers, absorbed in a thought that seemed rather desolate.
There'd been no humour in the way Julia spoke of her sister. Rather, her voice carried a bitter contempt that appeared to alter her spirited character. It suggested an incessant strain on their sisterhood and Celia couldn't help but wonder whether it had anything to do with John, what with his odd living circumstances. She was shamefully desperate to know more about why things were they were for him and now also, why Mimi's aloofness extended to her own flesh and blood. Celia's endless curiosities were nagging at her, but she knew it wasn't right to pry into business that wasn't hers to concern herself with.
Julia dragged her eyes from the ground and looked at Celia from beneath her auburn lashes. "Have you met my snobby sister yet?"
Celia shook her head. "No, I haven't." And she didn't think she wanted to, either.
Julia's glum exterior was replaced by a smirk. "God help you if you do." Her eyes fell on something behind Celia and a faint crease appeared inbetween her eyebrows as she stared at it. "Hmm, those could do with sprucing up a bit, I think."
Celia turned around to see a big bouquet of white lilies perched in the middle of a high-standing console table.
"Gorgeous, aren't they?" Julia swooned, admiring the flowers as she walked over to them.
"Yes, they're absolutely beautiful." Celia moved closer to the flowers for better inspection. Their anthers were deep orange and the petals, in contrast, were a vibrant white like they'd been covered in fresh snow. In full bloom they stood tall, proud and really quite lovely.
"My Bobby got them for me a few days ago," Julia said adoringly as she rearranged the lilies so they weren't pressing against each other. Celia found herself mentally questioning who this Bobby fellow was. It was the second time Julia had mentioned him. The man of the house, perhaps? A relation? A close friend? Her partner? Was this Bobby John's father? All these possibilities made Celia very aware that she hardly knew John at all. She knew all the trivial details that she'd picked up from being around him at school for five years, but his background, his life, the things that made his heart swell, all the intimate stuff that mattered— well, Celia was quite ignorant to it all. And it bothered her. She didn't know why, but it just did. Her mind told her it wanted to know more about his world and the people he held most dear to him.
Julia gently slipped her hand underneath a Lily stem and lowered her head to inhale its powerful, fragrant scent. She closed her eyes and hummed in delight. "I love Lily's, me. The extravagance of them. They have the ability to brighten up any room, don't you think?"
Celia agreed and caressed a soft, waxy petal between her fingertips. Bluebells were her favourite flower, but Lily's weren't far off. They were intoxicating and luxurious with a shape and pigment that reminded Celia of Marilyn Monroe's billowing white dress. She suddenly stopped rubbing the flower upon noticing the tiny, brown dots scattered deep inside the Lilies. They looked like ants—no, like freckles. And, oh god— an image instantly came to Celia's mind. One that left her ashamed for having conjured it. A comparison so stupid it was laughable. It reminded her of someone who was currently so near to her that she could hear the muffled sound of his raspy, boyish laugher. He had a plethora of freckles hidden from the eye if you weren't looking close enough. Or rather, hidden if you weren't pressed against his back, mesmerised by his fair, freckled skin. Celia remembered those melaninized marks had become translucent under the thin layer of sweat on his neck. Oh, how wrongly she'd wanted to touch it. Those impulsive, hot thoughts of hers were more titillating than what she shamefacedly cared to admit to. Celia'd moulded parts of his body in her sleep where her mind was free to do as it pleased. She'd visualised his naked body speckled in beauty-spots—up his back, his outer thighs, his arms, his pelvic bone. A construction so vivid and particular, it was as though she'd memorised a photograph. How was it that she wasn't sure whether she truly liked him or not but she was sure that she liked the sweet, unique markings that mapped his skin? Celia pressed her nose into the lilies and turned her face at an angle to hide the slight blush that had caught her cheek. She was in the company of his mother, for goodness sake!
"My cat's called Lily!" Celia blurted, with the same enthusiasm as a five year old on a sugar high.
The random pronouncement intensified her embarrassment rather than quell it.
Julia smiled at Celia with a tinge of suspicion in her gaze. "Hmm, she's fluffy 'n as white as these lilies, I bet. Her eyes...hmm, green? No—blue!"
Celia's brown eyes widened with astonishment. "Yes they are; she is! How on earth did you know?"
Julia's red-painted lips spread into a toothy grin. "I'm quite mystical, me." She giggled and tapped her temple with her index finger. "Witchy senses. You're an autumn baby too, I bet. September?"
Celia gasped. "That's—how do—how can you tell just by—you are a witch!"
Julia threw her head back and laughed, her red curls dangling over the back of her green, knitted blouse.
"Oh, I wish I was a witch!" Julia's grin stretched from one side to the other. "I think I'd look swell with me pointy hat and broomstick! Ever since I was a little'un I could sometimes sense things no one else could. Or I'd know petty things about someone that they hadn't yet revealed to me. I was never wrong either. Well, very rarely wrong. Good job we're no longer under the reign of King James VI, eh? I'd be—" Julia ran a quick horizontal finger across her throat and stuck out her tongue as she mocked being beheaded. "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, if it weren't for women then men would rot and rust!"
Julia accentuated her Scouse accent by rolling her R's. Celia liked the way she spoke. Her accent was strong, but there was no phlegmy dictation like a lot of Liverpudlian's she'd encountered. Her voice was rather melodious and the succession of her words, vibrated through her tongue as smoothly as fresh cream.
"But..but how is that possible that you're able to do that?"
Julia shrugged, smiling at Celia's amazement at her semi-psychic ability. "My nan was a bit like it too. None of the others had it, my sisters I mean. They used to call me a weirdie, which I didn't give a toss about, because who wants to be ordinary, eh? I think they were just jealous that I wasn't as dim as they were." Julia blew a sloppy raspberry which made Celia titter like a toddler.
"I think that's quite an incredible talent to have," Celia said. She very much liked this bizzare, interesting woman who's laughter chimed like Snow White's did.
"Well I don't know about talent," Julia answered, flapping her hand with a faux coyness and flicking her eyes to the ceiling. "This one time, though when I was a kiddywink, me middle sister Anne—'nanny' we call her— told us she was off to the pictures with her friend Gertie, but me witchy senses told me that she was off to neck some grotty boy from Sunday school that she'd been battin' her lashes at for ages."
"And did she?" Celia asked with a grin.
Julia nodded, smugly. "Course! I secretly tailed them, didn't I? Had to see it for myself. Caught 'em fiddlin' behind his dad's shed!" Her eyes were animated and her voice feverish as she retold the tale as though it were a recent scandal. Celia's sister, Marian, was always like that. She carried so much enthusiasm when there had been gossip to share. She'd burst into Celia's room and leap onto her bed, hurriedly patting the space next to her and Celia—always ready for the moment—would fling herself on her duvet, her round eyes mirroring the excitement in her sister's. Celia had always looked forward to those kindred moments. She'd swell with pride knowing that she was the first to know her sister's juicy gossip about whoever and whatever. It made her even happier knowing that Marian was always eager to confide in her no matter how clingy or unworldly her little sister was. Celia's loyalties lied with Marian, and everyone in their household knew it, which is probably why Marian enjoyed sharing stuff with Celia as frequently as she did. Marian had someone she could turn to, someone she could trust. A sister whom she could laugh and lament with until one in the morning. A sister who would always have her back no matter if she was four hundred miles away in another city. Celia missed those secrecies shared in the intimacy of sisterhood. She missed Marian even more so; her happiness had never quite been the same since Marian's swift departure.
"I bribed her into giving me sweets and youth-club tag-alongs when I threatened to tell our dad about the love bite she was hiding under her collar," Julia admitted, with an arching of her neat eyebrow. Her mouth split into a mischievous grin. "Which me psychic brain was right about again, by the way. I never would've told him, though. I wasn't a grass. It was just fun to have me big sister wrapped around me finger for once!"
Julia leaned her head back against the wall, arms folded across her blouse. She was smiling at the fond memories of decades past, the nostalgia brimming in her brown irises. At that moment, Celia wished time travel existed. How lovely it would've been to transport them both back to treasured moments of the past. It could be possible one day, couldn't it? The invention of a time machine. In the twenty-first century, perhaps? It had to happen in Celia's lifetime before the ground claimed her as its own. Many years from nineteen fifty-seven time travel may become just as common as motorcars or penicillin or—
"MAM, WHO IS IT?"
The wistful, abstract musings of Celia's mind immediately halted. Her head snapped up to the ajar door where the audible transmission had occurred. In doing so, Celia's body had become very alert. Her spine seemed to realign itself, shoulders pushed back, the muscles of her eyes stiff as they fixed on the barrier between herself and the boy she'd briefly forgotten about. The sound of John's voice passing through Celia's ears sounded strange, like encountering a rare song on the radio after months of not hearing it. It was a combination of distant familiarity. It had been four days since she'd seen Lennon last, and that was quite a lengthy duration for someone who's voice relished the constant centre of attention.
"COME 'N SEE FOR YOURSELF, STINKER!" Julia yelled back to her son. A fluttering took place inside of Celia's chest.
The door suddenly flew open and a small red-headed girl ran into the hallway, sobbing her eyes out.
"Mummy, mummy, mummy!" The child flung her arms around Julia's waist and pressed her wet cheek against her hip. She was wearing a green frock, with a pretty daisy collar and her short, straight bob was decorated with a mustard-coloured Alice band which wasn't doing a very good job at keeping the hair from her face.
"Eh, what's the matter, poppet?" Julia asked, softly. She gently tilted her daughter's chin upwards to look at her. "Why do I see tears on this sweet face?"
"B-because John's b-being horrible!" the girl snivelled, wiping her nose on the cuff of her yellow cardigan. Celia rolled her eyes. Of course he would be the root of this little girl's sobs. John clearly didn't have an age limit when it came to being mean, did he?
Julia tutted and furrowed her eyebrows, mimicking her daughter's pouty lips. "What's that big goblin done now, eh?"
"He-he put Princess Margey in the tower and won't give her back to me!" Fresh tears glazed the girl's sorrowful brown eyes.
Julia tenderly swiped the teardrops from her little girl's puffed-up eyelids. "And where is this tower, poppet?"
"On top of the cupboard and I can't reach it!" Her cute, ovoid face screwed into a pellet of anger. "And he farted on her too, mummy! A big, fat smelly one!"
Julia's reactive snort skilfully morphed into a cough. Her hand quickly flittered to her lips with the attempt of squeezing them together to stop a smile from passing through. At the same time, Celia folded her mouth together to bite down on her own quaking laughter which was only made worse by observing Julia's struggling attempt to suppress hers. It was a situation that really shouldnt've conveyed humour; the poor girl was clearly distressed, but how was one to remain serious over such an angry, expressive comment regarding a fart? Besides, Celia had never before witnessed such a wrathful expression on a girl so young and sweet-looking. It was hard not to be amused by her. Celia judged she couldn't be any older than seven or eight years old. She looked as though she were about to burst like a firecracker and the fierceness of her features had now stretched to her fists which were balled tightly by her thighs.
Julia crouched down to meet her daughter at eye level and with a soft smile she took hold of her small hand and said, "Do you know what I think, Jac? I think Margey should stay in the tower a tincy bit longer." The girl's eyebrows pulled into a frown and her lower lip started wobbling. "You don't want her back just yet; not after your brother's pongy bottom! POOOEY!" Julia scrunched up her nose and motioned flapping away the smelly smell of John's fart with her hand. Celia smirked. The girl's upset subsided as she broke out into a giggle.
"Give me a couple minutes, sweetie and I'll come and rescue her for you, alright?" The little thing nodded and smiled up at her mother with gratitude.
"I might need me sword and shield to slay the goblin first, though," Julia murmured. She laughed and wrapped her hands around her daughter's shoulders, who had taken to hugging her again. It seemed she'd only just noticed Celia's presence too, and was overcome with a sudden shyness. She hid behind the protection of her mother like a cautious little cub with half of her face obscured against Julia's back. Celia knew it to be a revelation of wary curiosity that little kids adopted in the presence of a stranger. A person they deem harmless, yet still suspicious of. Celia tried her best to look approachable and followed her friendly smile with a little wave. The little girl rewarded her a timid smile back.
"My youngest, and most sweetest child, Jackie," Julia introduced with a fond squeeze of her daughter's shoulder. "My other two think they're know-it-all's, don't they, poppet?" Jackie looked up her mother with a smile and her round face nodded in agreement. Julia laughed and hugged her tighter before planting a kiss on the top of her head.
Suddenly an uproarious gale of girlish giggling filled the hallway. The company of three became five as John dashed through the door with a wriggling body flung over his left shoulder.
"Another one for the stew pot 'ere, mum," John jested as he clamped his arms around the girl's bare, gangly legs. The ends of her long pigtails grazed the floor and she pounded her fits on John's hamstrings, protesting through her giggles to be released. John, with his wicked smile, objected and instead, decided to tease the helpless girl further by tickling her kneecaps, which only made her laugh uncontrollably harder. Her feet were involuntary flapping about now and John quickly darted his head away from a kick in the face, giggling as he did so. His gaze turned to his grinning mother and then to the person standing opposite.
John did a double take. A recognition of disbelief.
He seemed to forget that he was holding the weight of a small human and not a sack of potatoes because his hands fell to his sides in shock. The girl slithered down John's back like a limp snake, and fortunately, her already close proximity to the carpet mean she was able to land without hurting herself. She let out an "oof" as her belly landed on the ground, knees curved against John's calves.
John hadn't seemed to notice that his sister was now sprawled on the floor, or that his mother was bending down to help her out of her awkward position, or that the horn of the dragon mask was crushed underneath his foot. Celia's presence has knocked all cognisance out of him. John's mirth had collapsed entirely and Celia noted the instant paleness of his complexion. His cheeks, which had been rosy before he looked at her, were now drained of colour. It was very clear to Celia that she was the last person he was expecting to see standing in his mother's hallway, and judging by his expression, he wasn't happy. Not one little bit.
John's face tightened almost imperceptibly as he cemented his scrutinising gaze on Celia. He was wearing his spectacles, she realised. The thick lenses magnified the hostility in those hard brown eyes of his, and Celia couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from them, l no matter how much she'd wanted to in that dreaded moment. Every muscle in his face was taut as though he'd been frozen over. If Celia reached out and touched him, her hand would've felt a coldness.
A long silence descended the hallway. The music in the next room was playing in hushed tones as though it couldn't resist tuning into the suspense. Even Julia and her girls had gone quiet, their eyes darting between John and Celia as they waited for one of them to breath fire onto the other. Celia was sure they could all hear the sound of her heart because it was though a feral beast was pounding against her ribcage. They were angry thumps. Pissed off thumps. Her heart wanted to leap out of her chest and slap John on the face. How dare he stare at her like that when she was the one who has every right to be vexed with him. Somewhere above their heads a clock ticked, slowly but surely. It was a reminder that many seconds had passed before words had been spoken.
Celia was waiting for John to talk first, seeing as he always had words in his mouth, but he didn't. Or rather, he wouldn't. His lips were pressed together with a concealed grudge whilst his brain was filled with bitter, encrypted thoughts that Celia didn't have access too. She'd have to get the ball rolling herself and free everyone from this unbearable strain of silence. In preparation, she crossed her arms, before calling her throat for its cue. "Farting on dolls now are you, John?"
The sentence came out more scathing than intended, but Celia noticed the muscles in John's face loosen and a slight crease appeared around the corner of his mouth.
"Just giving 'em a spritz of eau de toilette," he quipped.
Julia snorted and shook her head. A smile flittered across Celia's lips but disappeared just as quickly as it arrived.
"What's oh-du-toilet?" The older girl asked, her eyes flitting from John to her mother.
"Toilet water," John replied, still staring at Celia.
Jackie screwed her face up in disgust and simultaneously, Julia laughed. "You're a right stinker, you know that, John?"
John smirked. "So is Princess Margey."
He blew a quick raspberry at his little sister which triggered her firecracker expression again. Jackie immediately broke off from her mother's hip and stormed straight over to John. Her arm flew to his leg, but he jumped out of the way, laughing at her bold attempt of violence. Jackie growled at him and ran out of the hallway, leaving a new trail of sobs behind her.
"Stop teasin' your sister John, I mean it," Julia said, waving a tightly-knuckled fist in his face. Her smile counteracted her gesture of caution to which John grinned back. Julia playfully whacked him on his bicep before following after little Jackie.
Celia raked her eyes over the boy standing before her. He looked...different. She'd never seen him clothed so casually. John was dressed down in a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown fairisle jumper. He must've been wearing a t-shirt underneath it, because there was no shirt collar overlapping his neckband. His socks were the colour of moss and the tip of his big toe was poking through a hole which he'd clearly been prodding because the nylon was sagging. It was his hair, though, that strongly contributed to his softer appearance. Usually it was glooped back with heaps of styling cream, but today he didn't seem to be wearing any because his hair looked dry and feathery. The parting of hair that was customarily swept into a ducktail, sat in tousled waves on top of his head. It appeared lighter in colour too. Celia had always thought Lennon was a brunette, but much to her surprise, he wasn't. The absence of Brylcreem and the beam of light dangling above his head, exposed genetics of auburn hair. It was no mystery he'd inherited his mother's red roots, and whilst hers was exceptionally vivid, John's was subtlety interweaved into a shade of dark mahogany.
"I'm not for sale, Chetch, so put your ogling peepers elsewhere."
John's gaze met Celia's, only this time the antagonistic glare was exchanged for a characteristically cocky grin. A blush instantly clotted Celia's cheeks.
"I-I'm not—"
"How much are ya offerin'?"
"I wasn't—"
"Has to be more than a tenner."
"As if I—"
"I'm very sought-after, y'see and I only offer discounts to me favourite customers."
"Don't flatter yourself, Lennon!" Celia said crossly, feeling her face growing warmer by the second. She hadn't been ogling him. She'd simply been scrutinising him in his new form.
Celia glared at his head. "I was judging whether or not you've brushed your hair today, actually."
"Me comb's on holiday," John quipped, running a hand through his feathery tresses. "Thought I'd let 'im have a break from all his hard work. Still waiting for a postcard."
Celia tutted. "Hilarious."
"I don't see how that's any business of yours, though."
He was right, it wasn't. And she had no business being inside this house either. Her eyes latched onto the paper-mache mask lying on the floor, which was now free from the weight of John's foot. Celia crouched down and picked it up. She brushed her hand over its rough texture and for no reason other than trying to avoid eye-contact with John who she could tell was still staring at her, she took to studying the mask. The brush strokes were very neat. Various shades of green were intricately blended together to accentuate the different contours of the dragon's sharp face, and fine black lines had been painted into the creation of scales. As far as the appearance of fanciful dragons went, the mask looked awfully realistic. It was very skilfully crafted and evidently a lot of detailed care went into decorating it.
"I painted that, y'know."
Celia stoped fondling the mask and glanced up at John. The proudness in his voice reflected the proud expression on his face, which bordered on smug.
Celia knew John possessed skill in the art department so it didn't come as a surprise that he was responsible for this impressive craftsmanship. In their second year of Quarry Bank, his seaside painting had been nominated for a prize, along with Celia's own. Neither of them had won it, but their paintings stayed framed to the art corridor walls for four months. John was good with a paintbrush, only nowadays he'd much rather prefer lobbing the paint across the classroom. If not at Celia then at someone else. She was about to award John the compliment that he was so clearly waiting for, but then she remembered that day when he ruined her artwork and shoved her paintbrushes down his trousers and made her chase after him like the prick that he was. Instead, Celia cleared her throat and placed the mask on the console table next to her.
"So, is picking on little girls your new hobby, then, John?"
John's lips picked up at the corners. "No, it's quite an old one actually."
Celia rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Why am I not surprised?"
"It's okay; if he picks on me, I usually do this—" In a matter of seconds, the young, assured voice that had spoken behind Celia rushed over to John and pinched him on the thigh.
"Ouch!" John's knee buckled and his had smacked against the back of his leg where he'd been stung by his sister's pincers. "You little—cheers for that, Jooles."
"You're welcome," she retorted, rocking back and forth on her feet.
Before now she'd been so quiet that both Celia and John had forgotten she'd been in their company. John was still rubbing the back of his leg, wincing a little as he did so.
"I'll fart on you next time, if you're not careful, ya cheeky ratbag."
Jooles responded to her brother's threat with a flippant shrug of her shoulders. He stuck his tongue out at her. She did it straight back.
Jooles, Celia observed, looked more similar to Julia than Jackie did. Where Jackie's face appeared more oval, and her nose more stubbier, Jooles' facial structure was more angular and her nose narrower. Her hair, too, was auburn like her mother's, but a shade lighter. The little girls appeared to be the two children framed on the wall in the photograph that Celia noticed earlier on, only now they were good few years older.
"I didn't know you had two sister's," Celia said, smiling down at Jooles, who was still pulling faces at her brother. Celia immediately felt stupid for vocalising her discovery because why would she have known? John hadn't willingly shared anything about his life with her. Everything Celia found out about Lennon had been through the gossip of others.
"They're me half-sister's," John clarified.
Oh! So, he'd come from a broke home, then. Another significant detail about him that she'd been ignorant too. Thankfully, John didn't catch the brief expression of surprise on Celia's face. She hadn't known anyone whose parents had separated or remarried. Or perhaps she did, but they hadn't dared to admit it.
"Half turnip, half pain in the arse. In't that right, Jooles?" John picked up his sister's long pigtails and brushed them across her face. "Trolls the pair of 'em."
"John, stop!" Jooles giggled at the hair tickling her face. She managed to pull them out of John's grip and then scowled up at him with both her knuckles placed defiantly on her lean waist. Like her little sister, her features were fierce when she was angry. "I am not a troll, thank you very much!"
John smiled and clawed his hand on top of her head. "Yeh, you are."
"Am not!"
"Fine, trollette, then," John taunted, ruffling Jooles' hair into a complete mess.
"Well, you're a colossal troll."
"Ooooh! Are you showing off yer word-of-the day from the big ol' dictionary? Oh, I'm sorry, colossal dictionary?" John teased. He was attempting to tie Jooles' pigtails under her chin like a beard.
"No, Mrs Puddington taught us the word in English last week actually. Leave my plaits alone!"
"You know what else is colossal?"
"No, what?" Jooles asked, smoothing down her hair now that John had decided to stop rearranging it.
"Mrs Puddington's knickers."
Jooles giggled quietly. Celia failed to hide her smile but swiped it away the second John caught her eye.
"Well, she is rather big," Jooles whispered, as though her teacher were in the next room and didn't want to offend her.
John grinned at Celia who wasn't giving him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. "With a name like Puddington she must be. Pudding for breakfast, lunch and tea." Jooles' laughter grew louder, and John, enjoying it, entertained her further. "Guess what her favourite dessert is?"
"What?" Jooles asked in between giggles.
"Christmas Pudding."
The girl roared with laughter like her brother had said the funniest thing in the world.
"Mrs Puddy Puddington of Puddinly Poo House," John said, in an uppity accent with his eyes closed and nose in the air.
Jooles was clutching her jiggling belly, trying to contain her giggles which were becoming quieter with each breath of laughter. A strange warmth had gathered in Celia's abdomen as she watched the two
siblings share a moment of laughter. This was a side to John that hadn't revealed itself before. Soft, brotherly John, with his annoying, lovable teasing. A John who enjoyed making his sister laugh with his silly sense of humour because he knew that he could. Celia liked this John. This John she could get on with. A side of him she could relate to. She suddenly felt a wistful pang in her chest. Nowadays Celia argued with Harrison more often than not, but back when he could barley string a sentence together she'd do anything faintly amusing to get him to the stage of hiccuping laughter. Striding down the hallway with a funny limp. Pretending to trip over the stairs as she climbed them. Walking about the house with a spoon tied into her curls, or a dollop of soup on her chin. Harrison loved it. Celia's eldest brother Michael, used to do the same with Celia before his adolescent maturity kicked in. If she were ever upset, he knew that making up the most silliest of words, or producing the most random noises across the dinner table would conjure a fit of uncontrollable giggles that only he managed to get out of her. Oh, how cursed growing up was. How cursed Michael was for finding maturity humourless.
"What's your name?" A delicate mouse squeaked beneath her.
Celia looked down to see that Jackie had made a reappearance. The shyness seemed to have left her now because she was standing directly in front of Celia with big, inquisitive eyes. Her dolly, who Celia assumed to be Princess Margey, was now back in her care and she was squeezing the pretty dolly against her chest as though protecting it from John and his toxic bottom.
"My name's Cecelia, but everyone calls me Celia," Celia replied in a soft voice, smiling at the youngest child. "What's yours?"
"Jacqueline," she coyly replied, twisting from side to side like she was rocking her doll to sleep. "But everyone calls me Jackie."
"Ooh, that's a nice name." Celia stuck out her hand. "Well it's very nice to meet you, Jackie!" The little brunette beamed and shook Celia's hand with a giggle. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
"My name's Julia," Jooles said, stepping forward to stand next to her sister with the confidence of a business man. "I was named after Mummy."
Celia smiled and shook the hand offered to her. "How lovely!"
"But I also go by Jooles so nobody gets confused. Who were you named after?"
"My great-grandmother," Celia replied. "She was named after her mother's favourite book called Cecelia, I think."
"You mean your great-great-grandmother's favourite book," Jooles said, smiling at Celia as though she'd just told a joke.
Celia laughed. "Yes, exactly. My very ancient grandmother."
"Have you read it?" Jooles questioned.
Celia shook her head, regretfully. "No, I haven't."
She's tried to find a copy a couple years ago, but no bookshop seemed to sell it, and no library seemed to stock it. It didn't help that she couldn't remember the name of the author, either. Nor could her mother. If only her dear grandmother was alive, God rest her soul. And as for her great-grandmother, Celia didn't know much about her, either. She'd died long before Celia was born. Celia's mother and grandmother never spoke of her much and neither had much to say about her. Celia knew that she was a poorly woman who'd been married off into an extremely wealthy family when she was only sixteen years old, and she liked to hide in her boudoir because she hated entertaining guests. According to Celia's grandmother, she'd once got caught reading a romantic novel behind her bible. Celia, unknowingly had done the same thing at Sunday school when she was nine, and boy did she get into trouble for it. Funny how history repeats itself. Like great-grandmother, like great-granddaughter.
"Well that's silly!" Jooles exclaimed. "If I was named after a book I'd make sure to read it so I'd know what the person I was named after was like and if she was anything like me."
"Yes, I suppose that's rather silly of me, isn't it? I should really make more of an effort. Cecelia could be a blob of butter for all I know!"
Both girls giggled and another sliver of warmth passed through her. Celia could've sworn a giggle from John slipped in there too. She couldn't help sneaking a look at him to see if it had. He'd been silent for far too long anyway. Giving that this interaction had many opportunities for him to cut in with some of his standard mickey-taking quips, his silence was awfully suspicious. He was staring straight at Celia with a expression she couldn't quite interpret. He seemed to be examining her carefully with his own interpretations, mindlessly nibbling the bottom of his lip as he did so. It unsettled Celia a little.
"And what about you?" Celia couldn't help asking as she x-rayed him back, ignoring the forceful thumps of her heart. "Who were you named after, John Lennon?" The two girls simultaneously turned around to face their brother with the same curiosity they'd shown to Celia.
"Bartholomew Humperdinck MacFartface the Third," he said, stoically. "But people call me John."
Celia's lips almost stretched into a smile but she forced it away, not wanting to break what John hadn't. The two of them continued to stare at each other over the sound of the girls' giggling. Their stolid faces showed one thing, whilst the shared mirth igniting their eyes revealed another.
He really does look good in those glasses, Celia thought. She was glad he had them on. John looked classy. Smarter. A refined handsomeness that suited him well. Not that he wasn't already handsome without them. Hold on, not that she'd ever considered it in the first place. Gosh no, of course not. Why would she? He was...well, he was just Lennon, wasn't he? That odd warmth inside of Celia hadn't yet left her, but only now, her stomach felt hollow. Something went through it too, like a bolt of fuzzy static that left a tingling sensation in its passing. Celia swallowed, trying her best not to appear alarmed by the sentiment of her organs. It was most likely the combination of heat and hunger. Julia must've released the Eccles cakes from the oven because the sugary aroma was stronger and mouth-wateringly sweeter. Her body was simply reacting to it, that's all. She snagged her gaze to the teeny tiny invisible speck of dust on the carpet by John's holey sock.
"Erm, by the—" Celia's voice cracked. She cleared her throat, passed moisture to her lips and tried again. "By the way, your aunt said she wants you home by eight o'clock."
John grunted. He folded his arms as he leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. "Did she now?"
Celia nodded. "She didn't say why, though. She sort of abruptly cut the telephone off."
John looked annoyed. "She wants to lock the soddin' door before the naughty burglars come out to play, that's why." A frown marred his forehead. "But what me daft aunt doesn't realise is that nobody wants her shitty Tchaikovsky records or her naff porcelain cats."
"Hmm, I don't know, they could be worth something in a good few years. Perhaps there's a space for them in the nineteen eighty-five antiques market."
John gave her a pointed look. "Where? Next to the ancient bag of dog shite or the sack of rottin' Irish spuds?"
"Inbetween."
A smile flicked across John's face but it didn't settle. He simply stared at Celia, expressionless. She saw the muscles around his jaw clench. Those enlarged eyes penetrated her own with his heavy, assessing stare. It made Celia feel more uncomfortable than she'd felt earlier, but she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his. He was holding her under the microscope. Prodding her. Analysing her under his big lenses. A sample of something he didn't like.
The thick silence that had grown between them was swiftly cut in half by the sharp edge of John's voice. "What're you doin' here in me mum's house? Ain't you ever heard of the expression five's a crowd?"
Oh, there it was. This was the John Celia'd been expecting. The one with the steely eyes and bitter greeting that was judging Celia for trespassing in a place that belonged in his realm. Here was the exhibition of that resentful grudge of his. A use of spite to make her feel unwanted.
"I, erm, I just wanted to give you some stuff," Celia said. She hated how sheepish she'd sounded.
John folded his arms across his chest, frowning miserably at her. "What stuff?"
"School stuff," Celia answered, swinging her duffel bag off her shoulder. The bag landed with a heavy thump on the floor. John glanced down at it and then back up at Celia who had taken to scowling at him. "So, need to get rude and pissy, Lennon. I'm not here because my heart's aching to see you."
John smiled a little at that. He plunged his hands inside his jean pockets and bumped his hips out at her.
"Is it b'cause yer crotch's aching to see me instead?"
A feather swiped the inside of Celia's stomach.
"You'll be so lucky," she snapped. As if. He was such a crude git.
John grunted in amusement and then nodded at the bag on the floor. "Couldn't you've just dropped that at Mimi's?"
Mimi's? Who was—oh yes, his aunt. The poor woman had been called every beastly slander, Celia'd almost forgot she had a proper name attached to her. 'Drop it at Mimi's' he said. Not 'drop at my house.' He'd said it as though he didn't live there. Like he didn't go through the door to that house everyday. Like he didn't have a bedroom there with all his belongings that formed a part of who he was, or a pillow that was a perfect mould of the face that rested upon it every evening. He'd distanced himself from it.
Celia bristled. "She seemed like she'd bite my head off if I did."
Julia walked through the door with a burst of laughter. "Such a raptor my sister, honestly!"
A blue, gingham oven mitt had replaced the sock puppet on Julia's hand and she was now sporting a pair of stylish red, winged spectacles on the bridge of her nose. On her feet, Celia noticed, were pink backless slippers with furry, white pompoms attached to the front. Celia couldn't deny the horrid thought that they resembled a pair of skinned bunny-rabbits with the fluffy tails left on.
"Take no notice of Mimi, love; she was born with a stick up her bottom!"
"Try broom," John smirked.
The giggle that slithered through Julia's sealed lips crescendoed into open-mouthed laughter. It was only when John and Julia were standing opposite each other with mirrored expressions, that Celia realised just how comparable they were in feature. Narrow noses that stretched down their face like a tightrope. The same delicate ridges below their cheeks when their lips moved jovially. The same way those ridges slightly spread their grooved nostrils upwards when they smiled that same mischievous grin that looked as though they had a secret ploy. And their eyes— the colour of dark honey. In fact, all four of them seemed to have...staring. Oh god, they were all staring at Celia. How long had they been blinking at her? How long had she been staring? Had someone asked a question? She didn't know; she'd been too busy playing spot the similarities between mother and son. The blood vessels in Celia's cheeks dilated and she could felt the heat prickling her skin again. God, how weird she must've seemed gawking at them like that. She'd been caught in the act and now she was paying the price with a tidal wave of embarrassment. Celia tore her eyes away from the family instantly. It wasn't right, her being here. Disturbing this kinship.
"I didn't mean to impose on you all, I thought I'd be useful and drop off this stuff and, well Sunday's family time, isn't it? Yes, I'm so sorry for disrupting it. It's rather inconsiderate of me, I'm just gonna make my way ho—"
Before Celia could splutter out the end of her flustered apology, Julia had rushed forward and grabbed hold of Celia's wrist.
"Don't be so daft!" Julia started laughing and pulled Celia forward. "You're not imposin' at all, I invited you in, silly billy!"
"I just thought..." Well, she didn't know what she'd been thinking, really. Probably because she hadn't been thinking at all. Just contemplating. No words of justification came from her mouth and she felt even more stupid for it. The tips of Celia's ears were hot as she tucked a strand of loose hair behind it.
"Thought what, eh Chetch? Carry on."
Celia's eyes cut over to John. He stood there smirking at her, hands thrust in his pockets. Of course an unnerved Celia would amuse him. He wasn't curious, no the question held no intention other than making her feel more awkward than she already felt. God, she was foolish. Foolish for ever having John on her mind. Foolish for coming here. Celia tried to pull her hands out of Julia's soft, warm grip, but Julia resisted and pulled Celia further into her home.
"There's never too much company in this house, sweetheart,"Julia assured, squeezing Celia's hands. "The more the merrier!" Her smile was friendly and heartening, the equivalent of a soft, comforting fire that warmed every inch of a shivering body. "Where do you live?"
"In a stable."
"Mossley Hill," Celia said, glaring at John. She really felt like kicking him on the shin.
"Oh, well you've come all this way! Stay for a bit, won't you, kitten? Are you hungry?"
On cue, Celia's stomach rumbled. All she'd had to eat was a slice of honeyed toast and some cold scrabbled eggs. Harrison stole her sausages out of the pan when they'd still been sizzling and by the time she'd finished chasing her selfish little brother around the kitchen, her food had gone stiff. In fact, Celia wasn't hungry she was bloody ravenous. If she didn't eat anything soon her stomach would probably start eating itself.
"I've just taken me Eccles cakes out of the oven; you wouldn't say no to one of them, would ya? Got some apple jelly moulding in the fridge too." Julia wiggled her eyebrows and gosh, how much she looked like John when she did that. Even their facial muscles moved symmetrically.
Mr Aloof over there wasn't a tempting enough reason for Celia to stay, but apple jelly was. Celia loved jelly and all its wobbly sweetness. She couldn't resist trying one of those tantalising pies too. It would be rude not to have one, wouldn't it? Julia seemed to want Celia's company, which was reassuring, but did John? Ha, unlikely. He was still carrying that stupid grudge like a heavy weight on his shoulder. Celia glanced over at him. His face revealed nothing. Any previous contortions of mockery or disapproval had been wiped clean and replaced with an inscrutable blankness. He was busying himself with his fingers, pushing down the cuticle of his index finger with the nail of his thumb. Either he truly couldn't care less about Celia's prolonged presence, or he was trying to appear disinterested.
"Well, I am rather hungry," Celia said, switching her gaze from John to his mother. It didn't matter what he wanted. It wasn't his house. "And I do love me some jelly."
Julia beamed at Celia.
"You can help me do the stuff on my list!" Jooles exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
John groaned.
"What list?" Celia asked, not quite sure whether to take that groan personally or not.
"Her list of fun activities," Julia answered, stroking Jooles' head.
"Yes, fun indoor activities that I want to do before I go back to school tomorrow," Jooles elaborated. "So far we've done skipping, hula-hooping, and stencilling. Oh, and I helped mummy with the pies, didn't I, mum?"
"You certainly did, poppet! They look delicious. Let's all go and scoff one, eh? Warm our tummies up with some yummy goodness!"
Julia lurched forward and reached for John. A smile materialised on his face and his stomach concaved at the touch of his mother's tickling fingers. Julia laughed and shimmied out of the hallway, clapping her hands together excitedly as she disappeared through the door. Jackie followed on with a bounce in her step, Princess Margey twirling in her hands.
Jooles suddenly leaped in front of her brother like a frog, which startled him a little.
"John, can you finish cutting out the paper chains?"
"Soddin' hell, Julia, no more of them ruddy flowers," he grumbled.
"Oh John, pleeeease," Jooles begged, pulling on John's arm to encourage a bit of enthusiasm. "I need them for school!"
"Tough. Ask mum."
"She's busy!"
"Ask yer dad then."
"You know he's at work! Pleaaase, just a few more?" Jooles pouted as she lead a reluctant-looking John towards the door. "There's only two pieces of paper left and that's it!"
John shook his head. "Nope."
"But why?"
"Cause I've cut up more friggin' flowers than there are at the royal botanic gardens. Any more, 'n I'm gonna get hay fever."
"What's hay fever?"
"An allergy."
"An allergy to what?"
"Little sisters."
"You're mean!"
"Yeh? 'n you're an annoyin' little trollette."
The two of them transferred their dispute into the next room, and Celia was now left alone with a paper dragon for company. She wanted to follow them, she really did, but Celia couldn't seem to move her feet. Her afflicted mind was telling her not to go any further. It was telling her to retreat her footsteps, instead. To slip out the door and make a subtle exit.
The more the merrier, Julia had said. But, John had been the complete opposite to merry, hadn't he? Celia may as well have been part of the wallpaper just now, because John hadn't even so much as looked at her. And it didn't matter whether his lack of acknowledgement was intentional or not, it exhibited his apathy either way. Celia's sudden appearance had deteriorated his spirited mood. From the second he caught sight of her, his mirth had been replaced with a state of contempt and anything he'd said to Celia was either full of mockery or disapproval. And could she blame him for the way he'd been? She had no right to involve herself in this segment of his life. She'd barged into familial territory that wasn't mean to be unearthed by her, because who was she really, other than someone he went to school with? Someone whom he shared a teacher with, or a desk with from time to time? No one. They simply shared an educational crest. As a mere schoolmate she should respect his boundaries and leave him alone. The two of them weren't companions. They were hardly friends, either. How could she possibly form a friendship with someone as unpleasant as John was? He was too temperamental, too stubborn. Too much of a mouthy arsehole. And it wasn't like he shied away from letting Celia know all the bitter things he thought about her. He couldn't stand the sight of her, clearly.
A head suddenly popped around the door. It was John's. His gaze settled on Celia.
"You a'right out 'ere?"
There seemed to be a hint of concern hiding within the unanticipated softness of his voice.
Celia hadn't expected to see him. Hadn't expected him to look at her like how he was. His eyes were searching over hers as though he were looking for something out of place. Almost as if he knew Celia well enough to know that something wasn't quite right. He'd wondered why she hadn't followed. After the aloof way he'd been acting, Celia thought he didn't cared enough to bother coming back for her.
Celia tried to give John an answer, but her vocal chords had shrivelled and kept her soundless. Instead, she swallowed the dry lump in her throat and gave Lennon a curt nod.
"Well, you comin' in then or what? Miss Cecelia the butter blob."
Celia's heart leapt across her rib cage. She'd been so close to turning around and pulling open that front door, much to the objection of her dancing heart. She felt something akin to relief and gratitude knowing that his words were representative of acceptance. Perhaps, this was him offering peace between them. An opportunity to patch up last week's conflict. A chance for amiability. All at once, Celia scrunched those previous sceptical, downbeat thoughts into a tight ball and tossed them to the back of her mind where they no longer held validity. You see, judging by John's curiosity that took him back through the door to her, and in the gentle tease of his words, and in the way that he was currently smiling at Celia with that playful smirk of his, she could tell he wanted her company. It was an unusual way to welcome her, but it was John's way, and John's way of doing things were never the same as anybody else's.
Celia smiled back at him.
"Yes, Mr Macfartface," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I suppose I am."
****
To be continued
Well, that concludes part two! ☺️ I really hadn't expected this segment to be so long, but the scene writes itself, as many of you know! I really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter.
As always, I appreciate any feedback and votes. Oh, speaking of— thank you SO much for 3K votes! Your love for this book means the world. There's plenty more to come!
See you for part three soon! ☺️