August 1963
Sometimes, John could hate himself. Really, loath himself. He didn’t know why he did it. He just couldn’t stop himself.
He stood behind the net curtain in the bay window and peered down at the back yard below, careful not to be seen. She was still there. And so was he, what an idiot. John was very nearly tempted to lean out of the window and yell, ‘Oi! Ringo!’ Ah, but then, that would spoil the game wouldn’t it? That would mean he’d have to acknowledge who Ringo was talking to, and that was against the rules.
But it hadn’t been a game for a long time. Games were meant to be played for fun and there was nothing fun about this.
What the hell did they have to talk about? Ringo hardly knew her. At least, that’s what John thought. He dared to take a step closer to the window. They were almost directly underneath it. If he could just open it a crack, he might be able to hear what they were saying...
As his fingers just touched the window frame, a knock at the bedroom door nearly made him jump up out of his skin. Swinging round, he threw the door open to a rather startled looking bellboy.
‘What?’ John snapped.
‘Uh, tel... telephone for you, Mr Lennon,’ the bellboy stammered back.
John followed the bellboy downstairs to the hotel reception in silence. He picked up the waiting receiver to the black GPO phone on the front desk, wishing he could go somewhere a little bit more private and put it to his ear.
‘Hello?’ he said, or rather grunted into the phone.
‘John?’ Her voice was faint, echoey, as if she was at the end of a very long tunnel.
‘Cyn?’ John replied, dropping his voice. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I can hardly hear you, the lines bad. I was just calling to say we might come up tomorrow, instead of today. Julian’s a little under the weather. I can’t be doing with taking him on the train.’
‘Oh, right,’ John said flatly.
‘Are you cross?’
‘No. I thought Brian said he’d send you a car?’
‘He did, but I’d rather make my own way.’
‘Right, fine then. See you tomorrow.’
‘You are cross.’
‘I’m not,’ John sighed, beginning to lose his patience.
‘It’s not like we would even see you. We have to stay in a different B and B and...’
‘Jesus, Cyn, if you don’t want to come, then don’t bother,’ John replied sharply, shooting a glare at the woman busying herself, behind the reception desk, pretending not to listen. Cyn was still talking, protesting, but John wasn’t listening anymore - Ringo had just opened the door. When he saw she wasn’t with him, only then did he realised he’d been holding his breath. Ringo raised a hand to him as he headed towards the stairs.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he talked over Cynthia. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, Cyn. I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ He dropped the phone back into it’s cradle before she could reply. ‘Ringo!’ he shouted after the drummer.
Ringo paused on the fourth step up and waited for John to catch up with him before continuing up the creaky wooden staircase towards the bedrooms. The hotel was a 12 room bed and breakfast. If this was the finest Llandudno had to offer, it was left wanting. That was the strange thing about UK tours. One night you’d be in the Plaza. The next night you were in Yr Gorsaf Guest House.
‘Alright?’ Ringo said.
‘Yeah, that was, er, Cyn. She’s not coming. Not tonight anyway.’
Ringo nodded, disinterested.
‘She might come tomorrow instead.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Ringo stopped outside room 3 on the second floor. They all had their own rooms; an unusual luxury, mostly down to the fact the rooms were tiny. You could hardly get one single bed in there, never mind two. ‘Neil said we’d go back down at about five, so I thought I’d try and get a kip before,’ Ringo said.
‘Oh, okay,’ John replied, still standing.
‘Something you wanted?’
‘No,’ he replied, a little too quickly.
Ringo smiled. ‘So what was all that about earlier?’
‘What?’
Ringo shrugged. ‘Never mind,’ he said, taking the room key from his pocket and opening the door to the room. John stood in the way as he went to close it. ‘You don’t have to go home, son, but you can’t stay here,’ Ringo told him wryly.
‘Did she... Did she say anything?’ John asked quietly.
‘Who?’ Ringo replied facetiously.
John narrowed his eyes at him.
‘Yeah,’ Ringo continued. ‘She said lots of things.’
‘About me?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No, why would she? You just totally ignored her when we came in before.’
‘How do you know her anyway?’
‘Ruby? Everyone knows Ruby, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ John was used to these verbal jousts they’d have. The piss taking, the jibes, the ribbing. But right this moment, he wasn’t in the mood. ‘So... what did she want?’
Ringo pursed his lips. ‘Want? Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘There must be an echo in here. She didn’t want anything in particular.’
‘So she just happened to be here. Waiting outside this hotel. Just coincidence?’
‘She’s going to the show.’
‘Tonight?’
Ringo shrugged. ‘Why? What’s she to you?’
‘She’s... she’s no one. No one at all.’
***
Five Years Earlier
SMACK!
The slap rung in his ears for several seconds afterwards. John put his hand to his cheek absently, it seemed to glow hot.
‘What was that for?’ he said, half annoyed, half stunned.
‘What do you bleedin’ think?’ Ruby snapped, yanking the hem of her skirt down.
‘Frigid slag,’ John spat.
‘How can I be that then?’ Ruby asked him. ‘Both frigid and a slag?’
John smiled despite himself, but Ruby didn’t see. She was already stalking off down the road, teetering on high heels she wasn’t used to wearing. Uneven, angry, tap-tap-taps on the pavement.
‘I’ll see you next week then,’ John shouted after her. ‘Ruby!’
Without turning around Ruby stuck two fingers back at him. John grinned at her and stuck his hands into his jeans pockets.
***
Ruby smoothed the front of the skirt of her dress nervously as she waited, leaning against the low crumbly brick wall in the small car park behind the bed and breakfast. She hoped she had the right place. The woman inside had said it was but wouldn’t let her wait inside. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer. She’d put on a bit of weight since she’d last seen John. He was bound to notice, bound to comment on it. Some of his ‘jokes’ could be a bit more hurtful than he realised.
She’d never been this nervous about meeting John before. But then, a lot had changed in the last few years. The last time she’d seen John, he’d just been another waster from Liverpool. Now he was the world famous Beatle John Lennon. You couldn’t switch the TV on or open a newspaper without seeing his face. Toppermost of the poppermost - just like he always said he would be.
All at once everything seemed to buzz with excitement. A shiny black car pulled up in the mouth of the car park, not fully turning into it. The back doors opened and some figures stepped out. Ruby stood up straight and took a deep breath, finding a stupidly wide grin spreading across her face in anticipation.
It was George she saw first. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been an awkward, gangly teenager with a overgrown Elvis hairstyle. He’d turned into a handsome, strong, young man. Tall, thin, chiseled cheekbones, the brooding, mysterious ‘Quiet One’; a trademark Beatle mop top replacing the quiff.
And then, behind him, was John.
John, just how she remembered him. Sure, he’d changed too. He’d filled out a little bit but it made him look healthier. The mop top hair softened what had been his ‘Teddy Boy’ look. But he was still the same old John.
He was laughing at something George had said as he stepped from the back of the car. Pausing to light a cigarette, as Paul joined them and then Ringo. He took a long drag from it as he began to follow them towards the hotel. And that was when he saw her.
He looked directly at Ruby, glanced away and then back again as the penny dropped. She knew he’d recognised her. It was unmistakable. She saw it in his eyes.
Ruby raised a hand in a wave. ‘John!’ she called.
John didn’t react. Or rather, he tried not to. He changed the trajectory of his path slightly and headed towards the steps leading to the hotel reception.
‘John!’ Ruby tried again, the smile freezing on her face. This time George and Paul looked round, just as John levelled with them. She saw them look to John and then all three turned their backs to her and walked - actually, nearly jogged - up to the hotel door.
‘John...’ Ruby was starting to feel rather stupid. Surely he must know who she was. He wouldn’t think she was just another crazy fan trying to get an autograph, would he?
Ringo looked round, seeing Ruby. He frowned, but stopped. Paul looked round at him and Ruby was sure she saw a slight, almost imperceptible shake of the head. Ringo ignored him. He turned back and ambled over towards Ruby instead.
‘Ruby?’ he said, unsure.
‘Hi Ringo,’ Ruby croaked, her voice sounding small and faint.
Ringo hadn’t been in the band when Ruby had known John back in the late fifties, but she’d known him from The Dingle. Ruby had grown up a couple of streets over from Ringo - Ritchie as he’d been then. She had known him vaguely, but he’d spent so much of his time in hospital or ill in bed when he’d been a kid she’d never got to know him well. By the time Ritchie was back at school, Ruby and her mother had moved away from The Dingle, across the city to Allerton.
‘I thought that was you. I haven’t seen you in years! How are you?’ he asked, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Ruby forced a smile back. ‘I’m alright, thanks. I see you’re doing well.’
‘Ah, you know. Just playin’ around.’
Ruby nodded absently, her eyes still trained on John, disappearing into the building without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Ringo followed her eye line. ‘D’you know John?’ he asked carefully.
‘Yes, well, I did. I knew him... at art school,’ she said with a pause.
‘Oh, right. He, uh, must not have seen you,’ he replied diplomatically.
Ruby looked at him. ‘Fame make you blind as well as deaf, does it?’
Ringo scuffed his boot heel on the ground. ‘We get a lot of... hangers-on,’ he said. ‘You know, people trying to get in the inside. Happen he thought you were just another fan or something. He wouldn’t have looked at you properly.’
Ruby drew herself up. She suppose he would have old ‘friends’ coming out of the woodwork, trying to bask in the reflected glory, but John wouldn’t think she was one of then - not after everything they’d been through - would he? ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said to Ringo. ‘Perhaps you could give him a message for me?’
‘Sure,’ Ringo agreed.
‘Would you tell him... well, actually, don’t worry about it. I’m sure if John wants to talk to me, he will. And if he doesn’t, then I haven’t got any time for him either.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow.
Ringo smiled wanly. ‘I’ll tell him Ruby Hendry was looking for him,’ he said kindly. ‘Are you still a Hendry? Or..?’
Ruby glanced at the thin band around the middle finger of her left hand. ‘No, still a Hendry for the time being,’ she said. ‘Not for much longer though,’ she added, holding up the ring for him to see.
***
Six Years Earlier
Ruby hesitated in the doorway of the main entrance to the Liverpool Institute High School for Girls. He was there again; hanging around by the school gates, cigarette in mouth. It could be a coincidence, Ruby thought. No reason to suppose he’d be waiting for her.
Except, he was obviously waiting for someone.
The girls school let out half an hour earlier than the boys Institute, ensuring the girls were all gone home before the boys appeared, but for the last week or so, he’d been there, every day, waiting. Ruby didn’t know how he managed to get out so early.
Today she’d waited when the bell rang for the end of the day. She’d helped the teacher tidy up the class room, wasting time until she’d heard the boys school let out - the rabble of noisy, rowdy boys flooding out into the street, eventually fading away as they all drifted off home. Still she’d hung back, pretending to search for a book she needed. Finally, twenty minutes later, when she thought it must be safe, she’d put her coat on and picked up her satchel.
Drawing herself up, she clutched the books in her arms to her chest defensively and holding her head high, marched across the tarmac playground, avoiding looking at him.
But he’d seen her. Of course he had. He waited beside the gate, leaning on the black spikes that ran round the playground perimeter, knowing she’d have to come through the gate.
‘Alright?’ he asked in a thick scouse accent as she neared. Ruby averted her eyes and tried to walk past him, ignoring him.
‘You’re late today,’ he continued, unfazed. ‘I nearly gave up.’
Ruby forced herself to squeeze through the gap between the gates and his body, blocking the way, as she still tried to ignore him, refusing to look at him. As she did, she felt his chest brush against the back of her hands, still holding on to her books for dear life.
‘Hey,’ he said, as she started off down the street. He jogged to catch up with her. ‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to ignore someone when they speak to you?’
‘My mother told me never to speak to... boys.’ She relented and finally looked at him properly.
He wore a checked flannel shirt under a short denim jacket. He had light brown eyes and hair the same colour - long but combed back in pseudo teddy quiff. He smiled. He looked kind when he smiled, but Ruby had to remind herself that he was not.
‘Very good advice,’ John replied. ‘If I should see any boys trying to talk to you, I shall chase them off right away.’
Ruby frowned. ‘Just... just leave me alone.’
‘Ah, come on. We’re only talkin’.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘Course you do.’
‘No, I really don’t...’
‘John,’ he filled in for her.
‘What?’
‘“I really don’t, John,”’ he said, and there was that smile again. ‘I’m John and you’re..?’
Ruby turned her head away from him, intending to walk faster, only they had already reached the bus stop, and she was forced to stop. The bus she normally caught would have left ages ago. She made a big point of checking the timetable, attempting to ignore him, this John, as he leaned the other side of pole.
‘I don’t bite you know,’ he said.
‘Glad to hear it. I would hate to catch something.’
John laughed, and then without warning snatched the books from her grip.
‘Hey!’ Ruby cried and tried to grab them back from him. John held them away from her, putting his body in the way as he held them aloft, struggling to open one. ‘Give that back,’ Ruby said, feeling her voice break, unbidden tears beginning to brim in her eyes. One of the books slipped out of John’s hands and fell open, face down into a muddy puddle. John didn’t seem to notice as he found what he was looking for inside the book he still held --
‘Ruby!’ he said triumphantly. ‘Ruby Hendry, that’s yer name then.’ He looked back to her and stopped. Hot, embarrassed tears ran down Ruby’s cheeks, as she wiped at them roughly, hating to show him how he’d got to her.
‘You’ve ruined it,’ Ruby mumbled as she bent down to pick the book out of the puddle, the pages crinkling and creasing from the water damage.
‘Sorry,’ John said, offering her the other book back to her, all the mirth evaporated from his voice.
She took it from him, refusing to meet his eyes. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, angrily. ‘Hanging around, waiting for me? Is it just to pick on me? Just to bully me?’
‘Bully you?’ he repeated, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I’m not...’ He stopped himself and looked down at the book still held out. A darker expression crossed his face. ‘Fine, then, if that’s what you think,’ he said sullenly and dropped the book he still held, letting it fall into the puddle at Ruby’s feet as he stalked off down the street, ramming his hands into the pockets of his drainpipe trousers.