7th April 1960
'Seventy-five quid he wanted for it. Wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth a bloody fiver.'
George nodded. 'Mmm...'
'Looked like it could have been two cars welded together anyway. The paint didn't match up. You know, the front of one and the back end of another.'
'Yeah...'
'I told him to stick it. The bloke looked at me like I was mad.'
Someone stood in the way, blocking his view. George moved his head but he still couldn't see.
'He said, "But you don't understand, mate. This car's a bargain. I should be charging double."'
He crossed to the left of the living room double doors. He could see again from here.
'Then he pressed a button and the damn thing sprouted wings and flew away.'
'Oh, right. That's good....' George replied.
'George.'
'Yeah?'
'George.'
George snapped alert, blinking. He turned to his friend and smiled. 'Sorry, what?'
Arthur frowned at him. 'You haven't been listening to a single word, have you?'
'I was,' George insisted. 'I-- Sorry. I was... thinking.'
Arthur furrowed his brow deeper, shaking his head at him. 'Thinking? George Harrison, a deep thinker, that'll be the bloody day!' He sidestepped to align himself with George and followed his eyeline through the glass panels of the two doors that separated the dining room from the front room. A knowing smile crossed his face. 'Ho-ho! That's it then! Thinking, indeed!'
'What?' George replied, trying to feign confusion, but feeling his cheeks colour as his friend correctly guessed exactly what he was thinking about.
'Who's the skirt?'
George glanced at her again, scrunched into the corner of a sofa, desperately trying to ignore the couple sharing it with her and who looked very much as if they were attempting to swallow each other. They leaned towards her as if she wasn't there, encroaching on her space, making her squash into the armrest until she finally gave up and went to sit on the other armchair in the far corner of the room.
'Just... Just some girl.'
'She's pretty. Do you know her?'
'Kinda,' George said, with a sniff and turned away from the door. 'I need another drink. Are you ready for one?' It wasn't true, he still had at least half a bottle of brown ale left, but it created enough of an excuse for George to step away from the door and go over to the dining table, peppered with half drunk beers, overflowing ashtrays and upset bottles.
'You don't know her,' Arthur said, following him, clearly not about to let it go.
'I do,' George said, picking up bottles and pretending to examine the labels. 'Not that well. I met her once.'
'Where did you meet her? At one of your gigs?'
'No.'
'Where then? Where do you go to meet girls?'
George pulled his face at him and turned away. 'If you really want to know, it was a couple of weeks ago. My birthday, when I went out with John and Paul from the band. We met her and her sister.'
Arthur shook his head. 'Where?'
'What?' George said, feigning disinterest as he read one of the bottle lables, like he knew what he was looking for. 'Why are you so bloody interested anyway?'
'Where did you meet her?'
'It was, uh...'
'You said you went to that... that club. In town.'
George turned to him. 'The strip club?' he asked, casually, boldly, and shrugged, like he, George Harrison, went to strip clubs every day of the week. 'Yeah. So?'
Arthur laughed. 'You're lying. You never met her in a strip club. Fuck, you wouldn't even have the bollocks to speak to a normal girl, never mind a stripper.'
George rolled his eyes at him. 'I didn't say she were a stripper, did I? She was singing.'
'Singing? In a strip club?'
'Believe me or don't. Doesn't matter to me.'
'What's her name then?'
Hannah Hannah Hannah Hannah.
'Can't remember.'
'Shagged her?' Arthur continued.
'Of course not.'
'But you want to?'
'Don't be daft.'
Arthur stepped backwards so he could look through the door's window again. 'Shame you can't remember her name.'
'Why?'
'Then you could introduce me.' Arthur grinned.
'Sorry.' George smiled, sarcastically.
'I wouldn't forget the name of a girl that looks like that. Don't you fancy her?'
George took a deliberate, direct look at the girl, the first he'd allowed himself, as if he was sizing her up. Assessing her attributes. Weighing the pros against the cons. He sucked air in through his teeth and pulled his face. 'She's okay, I suppose.'
Arthur laughed. 'You need your eyes tested, la.'
*
'Have you seen my sister anywhere?'
George turned around to find that girl, that Hannah, sitting right behind him, looking up at him. The booze must have had more effect than he'd thought, because for a few minutes, he'd forgotten she was here. A miracle, because Arthur, that sod, had moved in on her. To George's annoyance, as soon as he'd renounced any interest, Arthur had said, 'Oh, so you won't mind if I have a go then,' and before George could utter another word, he'd gone over there, introduced himself and plonked his arse on the arm of her chair to chat her up.
Yeah, alright, he had said he wasn't interested, but still, he'd seen her first.
'You're George, aren't you? We met a couple of weeks ago. You probably don't remember...'
He'd been too far away to hear what they were talking about, but George had watched them surreptitiously through the glass dining room doors. At first she'd stared at Arthur, wild-eyed and panicked and George had smiled to himself because plainly Arthur was going to strike out just like he had. But then Hannah had started laughing. And Arthur laughed. And then he fetched her a drink and he'd stayed there for a good twenty minutes before George decided he couldn't torture himself over it any longer and wandered off to look for Paul or someone to distract him from Arthur and his new girlfriend.
But Arthur wasn't here now.
Hannah blinked and raised her eyebrows, expectantly. She had pretty eyes, George decided. They were a funny colour. Not quite brown, lighter than that. A dark orange. Amber. No, umber. Burnt umber, was that what they called it? He vaguely recalled Pete buying a knitted polo shirt in burnt umber once and Harry saying, Burnt umber? It's brown, you bloody nancy! But Hannah's eyes were definitely not just 'brown'. They were burnt umber.
'My sister? Minnie?' Hannah asked again, as George realised he'd been gaping at her for at least a minute without saying anything. 'She was with your friends earlier.'
George found his voice. 'I think she's still with Stu and John.'
'Do you know where they are?'
George shook his head. She sounded Scouse. Really Scouse. He didn't know why, but he hadn't expected it. She hadn't spoke when they'd met the girls in the strip club a couple of weeks ago. He'd heard her sing - briefly - and she hadn't sounded Scouse then. He'd spoken to her twice and she'd not said a word in reply. In fact, other than whispering to her sister, he wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.
Quite without intending it to happen, George looked her up and down. He was above her so the angle was advantageous. She wore a baby blue, fluffy, short sleeve jumper with a polo collar, nothing much on show there, and a brown tartan skirt, which was riding up, revealing a tantalising portion of her thigh. Skin that was not normally on display.
Hannah sighed shortly and George swallowed, certain he could feel an uncontrollable deep flush creeping up his neck.
'Have you got a watch?'
'What?' He blinked, startled.
'The time?'
'Oh, uh--' He jerked his arm to check his watch, the arm which had the hand which was holding the glass which held the nasty tasting, cheap red wine which he'd been drinking since the beer had run out. A generous glug sloshed down the front of his pale pink shirt. 'Oh, shit. Oh, fuck,' he said, pulling the cloth away from his chest and wafting it in an attempt to air dry it. 'It's quarter past one,' he replied, grumpily, flicking his eyes back at Hannah to find her trying to hide a smile. 'Glad you think it's funny.'
Hannah's smile widened into a grin and George returned it, despite himself.
'It's my brother's shirt,' George explained. 'He's gonna murder me when he sees this.'
'It'll wash.'
'It'll stain,' he huffed. 'He doesn't know I've "borrowed" it.'
'If you put something on it now, it shouldn't stain.'
George glanced around the room. 'I can hardly do that here, can I?'
'I'll do it for you.'
'What?'
'Don't try and dry it. It's better if it's still wet.' She stood up. 'You'll still have to get your mum to wash it properly, but then your brother won't know you've done anything.'
She took his hand and led him towards the kitchen at the back of the house. George followed compliantly, a little too surprised to protest, but he was still relieved to find the kitchen empty.
Hannah dropped his hand and went to the sink; a large, white ceramic tub with a wooden draining board next to it, and opened the cupboard doors underneath it, searching for something.
'Take it off then,' she said, turning back to him and then crossed to the pantry, opening the door.
'I can't,' George replied, astounded.
'Well, I can't fix it with you in it,' Hannah said, over her shoulder.
She stood up on her tiptoes, trying to reach something from the highest pantry shelf. She was quite short, probably five foot two at most, and quite clearly never going to reach whatever she wanted, although there was something pleasurable in watching her try.
Both the skirt and jumper she wore rode up deliciously as she extended, revealing a few inches of her thigh and more tantalising, the creamy white skin of her back and naked curve of her waist. It gave George the almost irresistible desire to reach for her, to run his hands over her hips and trace the contour through her waist, up, around, then cupping her breasts that seemed to bounce enticingly as she tried again to raise herself higher on her tiptoes.
He came to his senses with a sharp gasp, as if he'd not been breathing for a moment. George went over to her. 'What do you want?' he asked.
'The soda water,' she replied, pointing.
George stepped into the pantry to get the bottle for her, expecting Hannah to move out of the way. She didn't. She waited, and George had to press against her to reach it, panicking for a moment that she might feel something he wouldn't be able to disguise in this position. If she did, she didn't let on. He handed her the bottle. She took it and smiled and went to the other kitchen cupboard, leaving George blinking, heart beating faster, and wondering if she'd intended to have that effect on him or whether it had been innocent.
'The longer you wait, the harder it will be,' Hannah said.
'What?'
'To get the stain out.' She turned away from him, reaching into the cupboard.
George remained stationary, still staring at her. Hannah turned around, a box of table salt in her hand. She put her head on one side. 'It'll work, trust me.'
George glanced towards the door. There was no one there. It was late. A lot of people had wandered off or gone home. Most of the others were still in the front room, rotating Ray Charles and Little Richard forty-fives, smoking and drinking and laughing.
Quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, George unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. He handed it to her, to his chagrin, more shyly than he intended and just thanked his stars that his mother never let any of her sons out of the house between the months of October and April without wearing a vest underneath their clothing.
Hannah took the shirt and spread it flat on the kitchen table. 'It's a nice shirt, this,' she said. 'Pink is unusual, isn't it? For a guy to wear, I mean.'
'Pink's fashionable,' George said and immediately wished he hadn't. That made him sound a right dimwit. 'Like I said, it's my brother's. It was clean and ironed, so...' he added, mumbling and Hannah smiled at him.
She covered the wine stain with a layer of salt and then to George's consternation, spilled about half of the bottle of soda water on top, soaking it through. No going back now. He'd either let her do what she wanted or walk home without Pete's shirt and freezing in his white skinny rib vest top.
'Now what?' George asked as she turned back to him, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
'We leave it for at least half an hour but just to be on the safe side, we'll give it a bit longer. An hour, perhaps.'
'I've got to stand around half dressed for an hour?!'
She bit her lip to stop herself laughing at his distress. 'Well, we'll have to try and dry too, but the stain won't stick, I promise.'
George cast his eyes towards the door again. If John or Paul or even Arthur came in now, they'd take the piss about this for weeks. He wasn't sure what had happened to Arthur. He'd thought he'd still be with Hannah but he hadn't been. There was a distinct possibility he'd come looking for her again.
Hannah followed his eye line. 'It locks.'
George looked at her.
'If you're worried about someone coming in.' She crossed and closed the door through to the rest of the house, turning the long, thin key left in the lock of the door. The glass was mottled, like bathroom window glass. No one would see in. She crossed to the back door door, diagonally opposite, and reaching up again in that way that made him feel his heart beating in his chest, Hannah slid the bolt to the outside door across as well.
'There's people in the garden,' George said. 'What if they want to come in?'
'I don't think there is. It's raining.' Hannah peered out of the window over the sink. 'They'll have to go round to the front. Or knock if they want to come in here,' Hannah said, simply. 'At least we'll be warned then.'
She went to the far end of the kitchen and sat down on the wooden bench there. George paused and then followed her, taking the other end of the bench, feeling tongue tied and self conscious. There were goose bumps rising on his forearms and shoulders. He folded his arms over his chest.
'What time do you think it'll end?'
'What?'
'The party. The people who live here will want to go to bed soon, won't they?'
He shook his head. 'It won't. It's an egg party.'
'A what?'
'An egg party. An all-nighter. Stay up all night and bring an egg for your breakfast.' He jerked his head towards the fridge, standing beside the kitchen door. 'They're all in there.'
Hannah looked at the fridge and sighed visibly. 'Oh.'
'Didn't you bring an egg?'
'No.'
'You can have mine if you like,' George offered, with a grin. 'Y'know, for thanks, for the shirt and that.'
Hannah smiled weakly. 'No, thank you. I'll have to go soon.'
'Go?' George echoed, too quickly to disguise the dismay in his voice.
'I have to go home,' Hannah said. 'I have an exam tomorrow.'
'What exam?'
'English Language GCE.'
'Oh, right,' George replied looking away. That was disappointing. That meant-- 'How old are you then?'
'Sixteen. I'm seventeen soon. In May. I'm a year late taking my exams.'
'How come?'
'My grandmother died when I was eleven,' Hannah replied, shyly. 'And I missed so much of the school year, I ended up missing almost all of it and doing it again the following year.'
'Because your grandmother died?'
'I was eleven and my sister was thirteen. There was no one to look after us. My mother had passed away when I was four and my father was an army officer stationed in Germany at the time. Minnie and I had to stay with our aunt in London until my father could leave the army a few months later, but by then we'd missed such a lot of school, I had to start again in September. I'd missed doing the eleven plus and my father insisted I take it, so I had to repeat the year.'
'I'm sorry,' George said, adding, 'About your mam and your grandmother,' when Hannah looked confused.
'Thank you,' she said, politely.
'So you probably shouldn't have come to a party the night before an exam.' George smiled.
'No,' Hannah agreed, ruefully. 'MInnie's idea. She promised we'd go home before midnight. I can't stay up all night.' She cast her eyes down and picked at a loose piece of thread on her skirt.
'I didn't get any GCE's,' George told her, as much to fill the silence as anything else. 'I didn't do that well in the mocks. I went to the Inny. Liverpool Institute on Mount Street, you know?' Hannah nodded. 'You had to pass three at least to get put in for the O levels. I did the first one alright, and then failed the lot after that.' He smiled and she returned it. 'Fail, fail, fail, fail. Like dominos. I got two percent in my English Language.'
Hannah laughed then, surprising him. It wasn't a cruel laugh, not mean-spirited or mocking. George's own smile widened.
'How did you manage to get just two percent?' Hannah asked. 'I thought they gave at least five percent for turning up and writing your name on the page.'
'I must have got my name wrong,' George said. Hannah laughed harder, and George decided he liked making Hannah laugh.
'What was the one you passed?'
'Art.'
That made her laugh too, leaning forward now, doubling over with it. George wasn't even sure what it was she found so funny, but he didn't mind. She looked pretty when she laughed. No, she looked pretty when she smiled, she looked beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes lit up and she was animated when normally she was so still. She seemed more alive.
Hannah recovered from her giggles and sat up to catch her breath, reaching for George's hand absently and squeezing his fingers. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said, wiping at her eyes with her other hand. George gripped her hand too, moving his thumb over the back of it. 'I'm not laughing at you,' she insisted. 'It's just the way you said it.'
I could kiss her, George thought. Does she want me to? She took my hand. What would she do if I just--
He wasn't going to do that tonight. He'd spent other parties snogging a girl all night, getting no further than a quick fumble under her top, but over her bra, and ending up going home frustrated, cock throbbing and aching painfully. He was just going to have a few drinks tonight instead, have a laugh with his mates. But for her, he might change his mind.
But he's already over thinking it, losing his courage, even with several bottles of brown ale and a few swills of the cheap wine flowing through his veins, it's not enough. Hannah takes her hand back and the moment has passed already.
'What did your mum and dad say when you told them you'd failed?' Hannah asked.
'I didn't tell them. The inny sent this report and testimonial thing I was supposed to give them, but I read it and I couldn't bring myself to do it.'
'Why? What did it say?'
'It, um, it said I "possessed tenacity" but that I wasted it, and it was all about how awful I am, and how I haven't done anything in school, an' I felt so bad and guilty I burnt it instead.'
Hannah's eyes widened. 'You burnt it?! What did your parents say?'
'Nothing.' George shrugged. 'No one missed it and I didn't go back to school much after, so no one asked me about it.'
Hannah looked away, trapping her hands between her knees. 'Gosh, I'd be in so much trouble if I did something like that.'
She went quiet and still then and George couldn't think of anything more to say. 'What are you predicted for it?' he asked, eventually, feeling awkward and daft for harping on about school. Hardly the conversation of sophisticated adults.
Hannah looked round at him, lost in her thoughts for a moment. 'Oh, uh, I should get a few B's and C's,' she replied. 'But I'm terrible at science and maths or anything like that, so I don't think I'll pass them.'
'What about English?'
She smiled, modestly. 'Yeah, I should pass that, so long as I don't fall asleep on the exam paper!'
'What did you get in your mock?'
'Um, ninety-four,' she replied, looking away, embarrassed.
'Ninety-four?' George repeated. 'Percent? Ninety-four percent?'
She nodded.
'So, what? You're like a... genius or somethin'?'
Hannah laughed and the animation in her, the life, ignited again. 'No, I'm just okay at English. And history. And I'm not too bad at Latin. But anything... technical, I can't do.'
'Ninety-four percent is better than okay.'
Hannah smiled, bashfully. 'If it makes you feel any better, I only got seventeen percent in my maths O level. A fail.'
'So you'll go to college after? University?'
'I'd like to. I could do A levels in English and Latin at the college, I looked into it. One of the teachers wrote a recommendation letter for me and they offered me a place provisionally but...' The smile faded from her face. 'No,' she said. 'Probably not. I can't really go.'
'Why not?'
'I, um... I don't think it'll be possible. Minnie and I have to...' She stopped abruptly and smiled again, a little forced this time, George thought. 'I want to get a job and earn some money instead,' she said.
'Doing what?'
Hannah shrugged. 'I'm not sure. Minnie works as a waitress,' She rolled her eyes. 'Sometimes. She works at a cafe restaurant near the Philharmonic. She said I might pick up some shifts there. It's only a stop gap until we can get the singing going. If, I should say.'
'Singing,' George repeated.
'Don't tease,' Hannah said, a smile creeping over her face. 'That club was a disaster. Minnie swore she didn't know what it was.'
'I never said ewt about it.' George grinned.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'Believe me, I would not have set foot in that place if I knew it was a strip club.'
'I believe you. Thousands wouldn't.' George laughed and Hannah playfully punched his side.
'It was our first attempt at a live performance. For an audience, like that. It wasn't exactly a resounding success.'
'I thought you were good,' George said, a slight white lie as he didn't remember all that much about what she sounded like at all.
'That's sweet of you to say, but I think, truthfully, we were awful.' She sighed. 'It's a pity, because we practiced and practiced for it. We didn't even last two full songs.'
'Yeah, well the, uh... audience weren't really there to listen to music.'
'I suppose not.' She arched an eyebrow. 'So what were you there for then?'
'It was my birthday. The lads thought it'd be a laugh to do it. I didn't even want to go in. They made me.'
'Mmm,' Hannah said, doubtfully. 'I believe you. Thousands wouldn't.'
George chuckled. 'I don't frequent strip clubs.'
'Where do you frequent then?'
'What?'
'With your band, I mean. Where do you play? Me and Minnie go to quite a few clubs and things, but I don't think I've ever seen you playing.'
'Oh, um, well, it's John's band really, not mine, but we haven't played that many gigs yet. We're... in between drummers at the moment.'
'That mean you haven't got one?'
'Yeah. Can't play drums, can you?'
Hannah laughed and shook her head. 'What sort of music do you play?'
'Rock and Roll. A bit of R 'n' B. Covers, mostly, but Paul and John are trying to write some songs for us.'
'Don't you write songs?'
'Me? No.'
'Why not?'
He shrugged, taken aback by the question. 'I wouldn't know how to start,' he answered, simply. 'Two percent in my English GCE, remember?'
She smiled. 'You should give it a go.'
'Yeah. Maybe. If I think of something to write a song about. I should probably just stick to the day job, eh?'
'Mmm. You're an electrician at Blacklers.'
'Yeah. How did you--?'
'Arthur told me. He's your friend, isn't he? Does he work there too?'
'No, he's at Cunard's.' George smiled, tight lipped. Why'd she have to ask about Arthur? He'd thought it was going alright. The last thing he wants to talk with her about is Arthur bloody Kelly.
'See, that's something I could never do. Electrics. I'd be terrified of electrocuting myself, or someone else. You must have been good at science then, even if you did fail the exam?'
'I'm just an apprentice electrician,' George explained. 'They don't let you near any of the dangerous stuff until you're fully qualified and that takes five years. I'm only five months into it. All I do is clean bulbs and keep tubes clean and that.'
'Do you like it? Being an electrician?'
'It's okay. It can be a bit... boring, but when it gets like that, we stop the lifts and skive off in the lift shafts for a while.'
'You stop them?'
'Pretend they've broken down.'
Hannah giggled and put her hand over her mouth.
'I'm only there coz my dad wanted me to do something. My brother Pete's an apprentice panel beater. My dad's got this idea that we could all learn a trade and then get together a business. Harrison Brothers, or somethin'.'
'You're not keen on the idea?'
'No,' George confessed. 'I'd rather play guitar for a living. If I can. I don't think Pete really wants to do it either though.'
'Is that who owns the shirt? Your brother Pete? Is he older than you, then?'
George nodded. 'Yeah. I'm the youngest. I have another brother, Harry and a sister, Louise who are all older than me.'
'I'm the youngest too,' Hannah said. 'But that's not all that remarkable because it's only me and Minnie.' She turned her head from him and pursed her lips, like there was something wrong. 'It must be nice to have a big family. I wish Minnie and I had more brothers and sisters. I think things could be very different if I had a brother.'
'Different how?' George asked but Hannah ignored the question.
She shook her head as if shaking off the thought and turned back to him, moving a little closer to him on the bench. 'Do you go to The Cavern?' she asked, brightening. 'It's on Mathew Street in town. It's not that far from Blacklers, actually. About five, ten minutes down. Near the Iron Door.'
'I've been there before.'
'We go sometimes. It used to be all jazz but they put more rock and roll groups on now. They've got a Beat Night starting in May. It's supposed to be a regular thing. First one has Rory Storm and the Hurricanes on.'
George blinked at her. Was she asking him out? That was... unexpected. Girls never asked boys out, did they?
'Oh,' George said, as casually as he could manage. 'Do you... Would you like to go?'
'Yeah,' Hannah said, with an air of indifference that surprised George even more. 'Minnie's been talking about it, so we'll probably go.'
Would you like to go with me, George scolded himself. He should have specified with me. 'Uh, well, we could maybe...'
'Depends on what date it is though. It's in May. If it's before the fourteenth, we'll go. If it's after then we might not.'
'What's the fourteenth?'
'That's when I turn seventeen.'
'Right,' George said, wondering if he'd missed the point. 'Why does that...'
'We might have gone away by then.'
'On holiday? For your birthday?'
'What?'
'You'll have gone away on holiday?'
'Um, yeah... Holiday,' She said distantly and turned her head away again, as if she was looking out of the kitchen window, but it was completely dark outside. It was raining properly now, drumming a tattoo on the glass.
George cleared his throat quietly. 'If you're not away then, we could go to that thing. Together, that.'
'Hmm?'
'If you liked.'
She turned back to him. 'What?'
'To the Beat Night...' George said, weakly, his confidence waning.
Hannah sat forward, onto the edge of the bench. 'I should go home,' she said abruptly.
'Oh. Okay...'
'It's late. I can't be out this late. He'll be furious if he's still awake.'
'Who?'
'I don't want to go back there without Minnie though,' she mumbled, thinking aloud. 'I don't want to go back there at all. I should though. I should go.'
There was suddenly something wrong. He'd said something he shouldn't have, something which had touched a nerve with her, but George didn't know what. She moved away a few inches, putting her hands between her legs, making herself small, stiff, closed off.
George opened his mouth to ask her what it was when she stood up.
'Don't go yet,' he said, quickly and chided himself again. Playing it cool was obviously not in the George Harrison book of patter and chat-up lines.
'What? No, uh, I was just going to look at your shirt. It might be okay by now,' she told him, crossing to the table.
'It's been an hour already?' George asked, checking his watch.
'Well, forty minutes but...'
What had he said? There was something. She'd been fine a minute ago, chatting and laughing like a drain and then suddenly she'd changed, switched off and now he thought she was trying to get away from him. It was when he asked if she'd like to go to that Cavern Club night. With him. She doesn't want to go with him. She was keen on it until he suggested that. Why would she be suddenly so...
Arthur. That fucking bastard. She must like him. Bet she'd go to the Beat Night with him. George thought maybe there was a chance Hannah was flirting with him earlier, but it was obvious who she preferred.
Hannah took the shirt to the sink and brushed the salt off it. Turning back to George, she opened it out. 'See? That's not bad, is it?' She smiled, triumphant, holding it up for him to see.
'Yeah,' George said, but he wasn't looking at the shirt, he was looking at her. It was back again now, her real smile, igniting her eyes. 'Ta for that.'
Hannah stepped closer to him again so he could inspect it. George finally cast his eyes down to the fabric, and she was right, the stain had more or less vanished. A faint outline left, but the fabric was soaked from the soda.
'It smells of the soda water though,' George said.
'Oh, yeah, it does. I'll rinse it,' she said and before he could stop her, she'd thrown it into the sink, thrown the taps on and was rubbing it and wringing it beneath the stream of water. George watched silently. She'd done it, there was no point in protesting about it now. He was going to be walking home in the morning in his vest, holding a sopping wet shirt. He could see it now.
'You just need to wash it properly and it'll be good as new,' Hannah told him, turning the taps off and wringing the last of the excess water out.
'How can we dry it?'
'I thought about that,' she said and turned away from him again. 'We'll put the cooker on low and hang it in front of it. Shouldn't take too long, hopefully.'
George watched as she turned the oven on, opening the door. She searched around the kitchen and found a wooden clothes horse, draped the shirt over it carefully and set it up in front of the oven door, then she returned to the bench and sat down next to him again, a little bit closer this time, wrapping her arms around herself.
'It's cold in here, isn't it? It'll warm us up too while it dries the shirt.'
George lifted his arm, a corny line about moving closer to him to keep warm on his lips, but he remembered the underwhelming response to the suggestion they go to the Beat Night together and chickened.
'Do you, uh, want a drink?' George offered a moment later. That was better. It was more grown up, sophisticated, to ask her that. That's what people did on proper dates, wasn't it? Oh, would you like a drink, love? Shall we go back to my place?
'No, thanks,' Hannah replied and stuck her tongue out. 'I think I've had enough. If I drink any more wine it'll make my stomach turn.'
Oh, that's it then, George thought. She's pissed. That's why she's talking to him. That's why she's suddenly a lot more sociable. She'd been so quiet when he'd met her. Quiet? She'd been silent! Her sister had done all the talking. It was so odd. One minute she was singing, on a stage, to an audience who were expecting strippers no less - and the next she didn't seem to be able to manage a single word. John liked her sister. He'd been showing off, making daft, lewd jokes and bragging about the band. Paul had been flirting with her as well, putting his arm around her. George would never dare be so forward. Not that he didn't want to. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. He'd made do with attempting conversation with Hannah.
He'd complimented her singing, even though he hadn't really heard much of it, and the bit he had, he'd not really paid attention to. She'd ignored it. He'd moved closer to her and invited her to come and watch the band. She'd just smiled and nodded. Minnie had replied instead and they'd both left not long after, leaving George to wonder if he stinked or something.
Still, he was doing better tonight.
'I should really be going home,' Hannah said, wistfully.
Perhaps not then.
'I don't like going back without Minnie but I have to get some sleep or I'm never going to manage this exam.'
'I'll walk you home if you like?'
She turned to him and smiled, a little sadly. 'No, thank you. You stay and enjoy the party.'
I'd rather be with you, George thought, but he didn't say it.
'Besides, your shirt might not be dry for a while yet.'
'You can't walk back on your own. Not this late. It's the small hours of the morning.'
'I'm alright. I'm not scared.'
'It's not a case of that.'
'Believe me, George. There is nothing that bad which can happen to me on the way home.'
George smiled. She'd said his name. He wasn't sure she even knew his name. She didn't say anything to him when they'd met, but she must have been listening.
'It's nearly half past two,' Hannah said, and counted on her fingers. 'Gosh, if I went to sleep right this minute, I'd still only get about four or five hours sleep before I have to get up again.'
'What time's your exam?'
'Half nine, but you have to be in the hall by quarter past.' She huffed, fretting. 'I suppose I could stay here, stay up all night and then go to the library before the exam. Revise a bit before I go in. I could walk from here. My school's only on the other side of the park...' She looked at George. 'I'm stuffed either way, aren't I? How am I supposed to write coherently with no sleep?'
'You could... sleep here.'
'What, go upstairs?' She widened her eyes. 'I don't think so.'
'No, I meant with me.'
Her eyes got bigger and her face paled and anyone would have thought he'd suggested they got down to it right here on the kitchen table.
'Uh, no funny stuff,' George said, quickly. 'I just meant you could try and get a bit of kip here, while we wait for the shirt to dry. Door's locked, isn't it, and it's not that noisy back here.'
Hannah frowned. 'What, on the bench? It's a bit hard. I don't know if I'd be able to...'
'You can lean on my shoulder.' He gave her a small smile and opened his arm to her. Hannah looked at it like she didn't know what it was. 'I'm not going to do anything, I promise,' he said, grinning. 'I won't... You know. You can trust me. I wouldn't do that sort of thing. I'll keep an eye out, wake you up if anyone comes or when it's time to go. An' if you want, I'll walk with you to the school in the morning.'
Hannah pursed her lips and put her hands on the edge of the bench seat. George folded his ridiculous arm back in. She didn't speak and a couple of minutes passed in silence, with George inwardly kicking himself for saying it and spoiling everything.
A moment later, she moved over on the bench, closer to him. 'Okay,' she said in a voice so slight that he nearly missed it, even in the empty kitchen. She turned her head to him. 'Would that be alright?'
''Course,' George said, like he did this all the time. 'Come 'ed, then.'
He lifted his arm for her again and nervously she inched closer to him, wary, as if he might smack her one.
'Here, there's a cushion,' George said, and pulled a lumpy looking blue cushion out from behind his back. 'You can use this.'
Hannah took it from him and put it over his shoulder and chest. She twisted round and put her head on the cushion and George couldn't quite reach his arm around her, so he let it lie on the back of the bench, which was a little uncomfortable but he didn't mind too much because this close he could smell the scent of her shampoo on her hair. It was sweet and fresh, faintly of apples. Lovely.
A moment later Hannah removed the cushion and put her head on his chest instead, pulling her legs up and folding them underneath her. She sighed and closed her eyes and murmured, 'Thank you, George.' Without the cushion in the way, he brought his arm around her shoulders to stop her from slipping and wondered how long it might be before he could get his shirt back on.
He shuffled slightly, slouching on the bench more so he could accommodate her a little easier. She stirred and he froze, but she just sucked air in deeply through her nose and put her hand, palm flat in the centre of his torso. When he thought she was asleep, George gently laid his own free hand over the top of hers.
BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG
'Hannah?! Hannah, are you in there?! Open the bloody door this minute or I'll break it down!!'
George's eyes shot open but Hannah, still leaning on his chest only mumbled something in her sleep.
'Hannah! Do you hear me?! Hannah James! Open the fucking door NOW!!'
More voices followed, muffled, talking and laughing in the corridor outside the kitchen.
It took him a moment to get his bearings. The kitchen at the back of the house. Warm and stuffy now with the heat from the oven. His back was achingly stiff. The arm he held around Hannah completely numb. He must have drifted off to sleep with her. Judging by the early morning twilight streaming through the window over the sink, he'd been asleep for a while.
'What are you doing in there! Who are you with? I can see you through the glass!'
'I think it's George...'
'Who's George?!'
'Open up, la! We want the eggs from the fridge!'
George tried to speak, failed and coughed to clear his throat. 'Uh, Hannah...'
'Why have you locked the door?! Hannah?! Hannah!! Right -- You, kick it down!'
'What?!' John's voice. George cringed.
'Han, it's your sister... I think...' George said.
Finally Hannah woke with a groan and a mutter. She sat up from George, blinking herself awake. 'Oh, for...'
George flexed his arm, trying to get the feeling back into it.
'I'm not kicking it down! Who do you think I am?!'
Fuck, how many of them were out there? George looked for his shirt, but too late because Hannah was already at the door, unbolting it, turning the handle, 'Bloody hold on, will you?! I'm coming!' and opening it.
Minnie, Hannah's sister, flew into the kitchen, but not at Hannah as George would have expected. She went right for him instead. He had his shirt in his hand, but then it wasn't there anymore because George was pressed against the wood panel wall behind the kitchen bench by a woman taller than Hannah, taller than him, who pinned him with one hand flat on his shoulder and the other wrapped around his throat.
'What have you done?!' she demanded. 'What have you fucking done to her? If you've so much as touched her I'll cut it off you! Do you understand you little bastard--'
'Minnie! Minnie, stop it! Let him go, he hasn't done anything!' Hannah shouted behind her and George could only stare, not even aware of what it was he was being accused of doing.
More people had followed Minnie into the kitchen, John and Paul behind her, Stu hanging back in the doorway and others George didn't recognise, all sniggering at George's plight.
'Got some did you, Georgie?' John asked, laughing as he lifted himself onto the edge of the kitchen table. 'Finally managed to get shut of it. 'Bout time too!'
'Got shut of what?' Minnie asked, whipping her head round to him.
John wriggled his eyebrows. 'In the kitchen of someone else's house, nonetheless! Not very hygienic, George. Bit inconsiderate. We've got to cook breakfast in here now.'
Minnie widened her eyes and tightened her grip. George tried to protest his innocence but her thumb was pressing into his windpipe making his words come out as a squeak. The boys laughed harder.
'Nice vest, George!' Paul said.
'Minnie, get off him!' Hannah cried and shoved her sister, successfully separating her from George.
George rubbed the skin on his throat. 'We weren't doing anything. We fell asleep,' he said, plaintively, eliciting more laughter from everyone except Hannah and Minnie. Even Stu had a wry, amused grin on his face.
Minnie rounded on Hannah. 'What do you think you were doing locking yourself in here with a... a boy!'
'Not whatever you were doing with those boys!'
'You've got an exam today!'
'And you promised we would leave by midnight! I looked for you. I couldn't find you.'
'You could have gone home without me.'
Both girls fell silent, glaring at each other.
'Next time I will,' Hannah said.
'Don't be stupid.'
'I'm not being stupid.'
George scooped his shirt up from the floor, slipped it on and fastened the middle three buttons. It was still a little damp to the touch.
'You're selfish, Minnie! You only think about yourself. You knew it was important to me. I think you want me to fail.'
'Of course I don't--'
'I've already said, haven't I? I'm leaving school. I'm not going to college. You don't have to sabotage my exam grades as well.'
'I'm not doing that! I would have thought you'd prefer to spend the night away from that house anyway.'
'Well, that's what I did. Thanks, Minnie. You're rich, accusing me of things. You're the one who's spent the night with three boys. Or however many others.'
Minnie didn't reply. They stared at each other for a moment then Hannah went to the back door, reaching up to unbolt it.
'Where are you going?'
'To school. Where do you think?'
'Bit early, aren't you?'
'I'm not going home. I'll go to the library.'
'Wait then and I'll come with you.'
'Don't bother.'
'Hannah.'
She spun round to her. 'No, don't bother, Minnie. I'd rather go alone.'
With that she was gone, the door slamming behind her.
Minnie turned around, glaring at everyone, challenging them to say anything. No one did. No one would dare. The laughter had died out during the row and now they all cast their eyes around at the room, embarrassed or amused or a mixture of both. George caught John's eye and he grinned at him. Someone went to the fridge and opened it. 'Who wants fried and who wants boiled then?'
George stepped towards the back door. Minnie stood in his way. 'Where do you think your going?'
'I, um...'
'You just stay away from her.'
'I'm not going to do anything to her,' George snapped, his initial shock merging into indignation. 'I haven't. We were getting along fine before you arrived. We're just... friends.'
Minnie pursed her lips and took a step backwards. 'It can speak then, can it?'
George ignored her and tried to move past her, but Minnie side-stepped into his path again. She put her hand against his chest, holding him back. 'Leave her alone. I'm warning you. She doesn't want it.'
John slipped off the table, onto his feet. 'He's alright, Minnie,' he said. 'He's harmless.' He wrapped his arm around George's neck and pulled him into him, making George bend over. 'Toothless, aren't you, Georgie? Wouldn't know what to do with a girl if you got one, eh, son?'
That annoyed George, but wanting to get away, he didn't argue. Instead he wrenched himself from John's grip and went for the kitchen door instead.
'Plus,' John said behind him as George found his ginger coloured suedette sports jacket - also originally one of Pete's, now handed down to George - hanging on the stairs bannister in the hall. 'He could be useful to us, couldn't he? If he were to keep your sister occupied while we're...'
'Fuck off, Lennon,' Minnie said, unamused.
*
She was already a good hundred yards down the road before George could catch up with her, still trying to finish buttoning his dampish shirt. Hannah walked quickly, stamping her feet, arms folded, furious.
'Hey,' he said, jogging to draw alongside her. 'Hey, wait up.'
'What do you want?' Hannah snapped, angrily, surprising him.
'Uh, I was going to walk you to school, remember? Make sure you get there okay.'
He smiled in what he hoped was a sweet, boyish, endearing manner, eager to recapture the easiness they'd shared before. It had been easy to talk to her. Easy to laugh and kid around, just easy being with her. He'd never experienced that with a girl before. He usually ended up running out of things to say to them. He rarely had much in common with a bird. Whenever he'd managed to cop off with one it often felt like she'd only let him to avoid the awkward silences. It hadn't been like that with Hannah.
Shame in a way, because the longer he spent with her, the more he'd found himself wanting to do just that.
'I can find it myself,' she said, sarcastically. 'I have been there before.'
'Well, I'll come with anyway. I fancy a walk.'
Hannah sighed shortly and marched on. George frowned and followed her. There was no reason for her to be pissed off at him. It wasn't his fault her scary sister had jumped to conclusions like that. Still, the chances of George copping off with Hannah anytime soon seemed to be getting slimmer and slimmer by the minute.
She turned sharply into the park gates, making George have to double back and run again to catch up with her.
'If, um, if you don't want me to come with you, you only have to say, y'know--' he joked, trying to evoke one of those cute smiles, a laugh to break the ice. He was met with a scowl instead.
'I don't want you to come with me,' Hannah said, without the merest hint of humour.
The grin faded from George's face. 'Well, I'm here now,' he mumbled. 'We're halfway there already.'
Hannah stomped on, George dawdling a pace or two behind her, wondering if he should just stop walking and let her go on alone without saying anything. He stopped. Hannah either didn't notice or didn't care and kept walking. He watched her go. She folded her arms over her chest. She didn't have a coat. She'd stormed out of the house so fast, she would have left it behind even if she'd got one.
'Do you want my jacket?' George offered, holding it out to her as he jogged alongside her, catching up again. He gave her a hopeful smile, already feeling the fresh morning breeze making the hairs on his arms stand up.
Hannah cast him a look. 'I thought you'd gone.'
'Are you cold?' he continued, ignoring the comment. 'Want to wear my jacket for a while?'
'No,' she said, bluntly, but shivered despite herself.
'Go 'ed, it's alright.'
'I said no. I don't want it. Are you deaf or something?'
George shrugged it back onto his own shoulders and fell silent, trailing behind her again. He was ready to give up now. Would do, if they weren't already half way through the park and it was just as fast to walk to the bus stop this way as it would be to go back the other. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, thankful that the ungrateful cow didn't want it because it was bloody freezing.
They came out of the wooded part and walked quickly over the grass, wetting George's shoes with the remnants of the night's rainfall, and along the side of the boating lake. He looked out over the water. There was someone out with a pedalo, even this early.
'Smile! Say cheese!'
A click and a whir and George nearly walked into Hannah's back. She'd stopped, wary, as a tall, blonde man with a camera stands in their path. He had a card on a string around his neck and another camera slung around his chest, resting on his hip.
'Name?' he asked, taking a short, stubby pencil and a little note book out.
'What for?' Hannah asked, the ire gone out of her and replaced with an anxiety that made George stop and look at her.
'For the photo. So you can pick it up.'
He's one of those tourist photographers, George realised. They take your photo without asking your permission and then try to sell it to you. What's he doing out here this early? Must be short of cash.
'I'm not giving you my name,' Hannah said. 'What do you want it for?' There was a tremble in her voice although she was trying to disguise it. She took a small step back from the man and stumbled into George. He put his arm up to steady her. Hannah turned her head to him, eyes wide, afraid. It was odd. There was no need for it.
'I need your name, love, or you can't collect the picture,' the photographer said, speaking as if she was slow and wouldn't understand. 'Don't you want a nice photo of you and your boyfriend?'
'Harrison,' George said, stepping in front of her as Hannah moved behind him. 'Put it under George Harrison.'
The man scribbled it down in his book and ripped a square receipt out. 'Three bob for a three by five, or a crown for four by six,' he said, gruffly, handing it to George. 'Leave it at least a day before you collect.' Then casting Hannah a strange look, he pushed past and went on his way.
'Just a tourist snapper,' George said when he'd gone, offering the receipt to her. 'See? You don't have to buy it. Just chuck the receipt away.'
'I didn't like how he looked at me. What's he doing in the park this early?'
George looked over his shoulder. The photographer was looking back at them. Catching George's eye, he turned away again, jammed his hands in his pockets and started off quickly.
'He won't hurt you. He's harmless.'
'The ones who look harmless who usually aren't.' She took the ticket and put it in her pocket. They walked on, slower this time. Hannah turned her head to George and gave him a small smile. 'Thank you,' she said, sheepishly. 'I'm glad you were there.'
George grinned wryly. 'You did need me to walk you t'school, then.'
Hannah smiled. 'Yes, I suppose so.'
They arrived at the end of the park. The bus stop was in one direction and the girl's school, where Hannah was going, the other. Hannah didn't pause. George took a cursory glance at the bus stop, then followed her.
'Did I do somethin' wrong?' he asked, sticking his hands into his jeans pockets.
Hannah looked at him and frowned.
'Somethin' to offend yer?' he added. 'I'm sorry, for whatever it was. I didn't intend to. Only before your sister turned up, I thought we were... Well, it was nice, spending time with you.'
Hannah wet her lips. 'No, you didn't do anything wrong,' she said, quietly. 'It wasn't you. It's Minnie I'm annoyed with. Embarrassed about. Grabbing you like that. I should apologise to you for her. She judges everyone by her own - low - standards. It was nice, before she ruined it. You've been nothing but... a gentleman.'
George laughed. 'No one's ever called me that before.'
Hannah smiled, kindly. 'Well, you are, and thank you for it. Most boys aren't like you.'
'Thanks for fixing my shirt.' He wafted the fabric to demonstrate. There was a very faint outline where the wine had been, but barely visible. Only if you knew where to look for it. Hannah had been right. A quick wash and Pete wouldn't know the difference.
'You're welcome,' she said. 'It wasn't any trouble. Is it dry?'
'Yeah, pretty much.'
They were nearing the school. It was now or never.
'So, uh...' George coughed to clear his throat. 'Do you have a boyfriend, Hannah?'
Hannah snapped her head round at him as if he'd accused her of some terrible crime. 'No!' she said, eyes like saucers. 'No, I do not!'
George pressed his lips together. He'd been ready to reply with something corny if she'd said no, something like, What? No boyfriend? A pretty girl like you? But given her reaction he's not sure how that would go down and now he's left floundering for words again.
'I, uh, I don't either,' he mumbled, absently, surprised when she laughed. He gave her a small smile. 'I mean, I don't have a girlfriend.'
They walked on and with each step, time was running out.
'Do you like the flicks?' George asked, almost desperately.
'Flicks?'
'Films, that. Movies.'
'Oh. Yes, of course. Who doesn't? I don't get to go very often though. I was telling your friend, I wouldn't mind going to see Pillow Talk.' She lifted her head to him, when he didn't respond. 'Doris Day and Rock Hudson? It's on at the Roxy soon.'
'My friend?'
'Arthur. That was his name, wasn't it?'
'Is he taking you?' George asked, unable to keep the resentment, the obvious tinge of jealousy out of his voice.
'Taking me where?' Hannah frowned, confused.
'To the... The Roxy whatsit. To see the film.'
She blinked, innocently. 'Why would he?'
'I thought he might have asked you.'
'No.'
Only because the little git probably didn't have the balls to do it. The pressure was even worse now. If he didn't do it now, right now, Arthur would find her again and beat him to it.
'Actually, he said he thought you'd said you'd wanted to see that. I should ask you if you fancied going.'
George blinked. Arthur put in a word for him? What a good mate he was. George's oldest friend. His best friend. Knew him better than he knew himself, it seemed. He'd have to buy him a drink.
'But I said I didn't think it'd be your cup of tea. It's not really a 'boys' film. And he must have been thinking of something else because you don't even know what it is.'
'I do,' George said, eagerly. 'Uh, yeah, Rock Hudson. I love Rock Hudson films.' Too eagerly and too desperate. He was going to frighten her off once and for all at this rate.
'Probably not this one. It's a romantic comedy.'
'Oh, right. Is it? Well, um, I don't mind them too much. We... We could go and see it together, y'know.' He added a hapless shrug. 'If you wanted.'
Hannah gave him a small smile. 'That's kind of you, but I don't really have any spare money to spend on cinema tickets.'
'I'd pay.'
The smile was frozen. 'No. Thank you, George.' There it was again. The frostiness. She's friendly, warm, encouraging even and then, without reason, she withdraws from him.
A shoulder height hedge ran around the perimetre of the playground at the front of the school. It was deserted. They were early. They reached the two large black gates, thick poles with spikes on top. One was left ajar, a space for people to enter. Hannah stopped. She turned to George and patted the side of his arm, business-like. She'd shake his hand in a minute.
'Thanks for walking me. See you around.'
'Good luck with the exam,' George said.
'Yeah, I think I might need it,' she replied, cheerfully, and then she's stepping through the gate and leaving him and George can feel his hopes ebbing away.
'Hannah!' he shouted, a little too frantically.
She stopped, a couple of yards from the gate and looked back, expectantly.
George beckoned her back to him with a jerk of his head and she returned to the gap in the school gates, a frown on her face. 'What's the matter?'
'Uhh... Thanks for doing the thing, with me shirt,' George said, awkwardly. 'You've really saved me neck there.'
Hannah smiled, confused. 'You've thanked me already. It's fine. You're welcome. I hope your brother doesn't notice.'
George grinned, widely. Too widely and for too long. 'Would it be alright if... Can I, uh... Can I see you again?' he asked, tripping over the words, feeling like a donkey.
'What for?' Hannah asked, innocently. She was going to be hard work.
'To... Because... We could go out somewhere,' he said, pathetically. Hannah frowned at him, not understanding what he was asking her.
Oh, sod it, George thought. He stepped through the gates, planted his hands firmly on her alluringly curved waist, pulled her into him and pressed his lips against hers. His heart fluttered in the most peculiar way as their mouths met, but before he could think what to do next, Hannah put her hands on his chest and shoved him back with more force than he would have reckoned she had in her. He had to stagger backwards a couple of steps to stop himself falling flat on his arse.
'What the hell do you think you're doing?!' she demanded angrily, her eyes flaring.
'I was... uh...' George replied, surprised, wrong-footed. 'Sorry, I thought...'
'What?' she snapped, hands flailing in indignance. 'What did you think? Because I haven't got a boyfriend I must want one? Because I spent awhile talking to you, you think it gives you the right to... to do whatever you please?'
'No!' George protested. 'No, of course not! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--'
'I take it back. You are just like every other boy!'
'I'm not! I'm sorry, Hannah!'
Hannah took a deep breath and calmed down. 'Don't you... ever... do that again,' she said forcefully, then turned on her heel and strode across the playground, leaving George watching, bewildered. As she reached the doors of the school she cast a glance back at him and he couldn't resist giving her a small, hopeful wave. Hannah scowled at him and went inside, letting the door swing shut behind her.
George turned away with an odd feeling, both elation and despair. And confusion, definitely confusion. He thought she liked him. She'd spent all night sitting on that sofa, not talking to anyone except when Arthur was trying to chat her up, but then she'd chosen to talk to him, George. He hadn't approached her. He could have sworn she liked him. Alright, she'd turned down his invitations to the cinema and the Cavern's Beat Night, but still, the way she smiled at him, the way she laughed at his jokes, surely that meant--
'George!'
George turned at his name to see his brother, Pete, rushing over the road towards him. George stopped and let him catch up.
'What you doin' here?'
'Goin' home.'
'Home from where?
'Terry Slater's house. There was a party there last night.'
'Doesn't he live over on Woolton Road?'
'Yeah. I was... walking someone to school.'
'To school?' Pete laughed.
'Yeah.'
'You cradle snatcher!'
George smiled, good-naturedly. 'It ain't like that. She's seventeen in a month.'
'So, why so glum chum?'
George shook his head. 'I'm not. It's... She just a friend. Just a girl I know, that's all.'
'She turned you down then?'
They walked on for a couple more steps before George replied, 'Yeah.'
'What did you say to her?'
'She wanted to go see a film. I said I could take her.'
'And?'
'And... No, thanks.'
'Ah, well, happen she's one of them,' Pete said, raising an eyebrow.
'One of what?'
'Them. Y'know.'
George frowned and shook his head.
'Them!' Pete replied, nudging him with his elbow. He moved his head closer to George's ear and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Girls that only like girls!'
George laughed. 'I don't think so.'
'Well, that's probably right. Can't blame her, can you? Any girl in her right mind would turn you down.'
George ignored the comment, but smiled anyway.
'What was her name?'
'What do you want to know that for?'
'See if I know her. I could put a good word in for yer.'
'You don't know her.'
'I might.'
'You don't. No one knows her.'
'You do.'
George smiled. 'Yeah, I do. I know her.'
'Well, I suppose it's all moot. Never mind who knows her. She doesn't want to know you, does she?' Pete teased.
George shook his head. 'It doesn't matter,' he said, jovially.
'Don't it?' Pete asked, looking at him. 'You're definitely an optimist, our George-- Hey, is that my shirt?'
It didn't matter, because George knew he wasn't going to give up that easily. He'd ask her again. And if he had to, he'd ask her again and again. She had to say yes to him eventually. She had to, because he had a feeling that she should do.
Tenacity. That had been the only thing on George's burned school report that had been the least bit positive. It'd been written by Jack Edwards, the headmaster of the Inny, known inexplicably as "The Baz", and whom George had only met a handful of times, each time when he'd been in trouble for something. The Baz had written, 'George possesses more tenacity than most boys his age. However, it is a pity that he insists on applying this to frivolous pursuits such as guitar playing instead of book learning.'
He'd memorised the word before he'd put a match to the blasted report in the field behind Upton Green. He didn't know what it meant. He'd suspected something bad, something to put him down, but when he'd looked it up in his mother's copy of the Oxford English Dictionary he been pleasantly surprised.
Tenacity /tɪˈnasɪti/ n. 1. The quality or fact of being able to grip something firmly; grip. 2. The quality or fact of being very determined; determination. 3. The quality or fact of continuing to exist; persistence.
George found he didn't mind that bit of his school's assessment of him. Determination. Persistence. It was true. He didn't give up easily. Once he'd set his mind to something, he had to see it through. He had to achieve what he'd set out to get, and right now, as of this morning, that was Hannah.
He knew she would be his, one day, and he'd be hers. Maybe he already was hers. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to do it, but he would. George wouldn't ever give up on Hannah James. He knew he wouldn't and he knew one other thing too.
George was well and truly in love with Hannah James.