The purple in my high waisted trousers certainly went well with the purple stripes in my blouse, I thought, as my walk gradually slowed to a stop in front of the storefront mirror on the main road of Liverpool. It had been a good choice. I couldn't help but admire the strange way my brown satchel and black flats pulled the look together. Cora, you did it just right, I thought, smiling at myself in the glass, subconsciously pulling at the strands of my hair. It had grown longer over the past few months, past my shoulders, dipping halfway down my chest.
"Such a vain bird," I caught a voice next to me. I didn't even have to look, because in my mind's eye I could see him clearly, hands shoved inside Uncle George's coat pockets, a leer on his face. I almost didn't remember I was annoyed with him, but then it all came tumbling back. And so I didn't look but rather turned around ninety degrees and continued on my way away from him.
"Hey—where are you going?" came a voice behind me. He was clearly not happy with being ignored.
"To see Kathkeen and Martin," I yelled into the winds in front of me.
"Don't walk away from me."
I slowly stopped walking, a frustrated sigh building inside of me as I turned around to finally face him. I had been spot on. He was exactly how I had pictured him. "Do you have something you want to say, Lennon?"
"Do I have something I want to say?" He repeated.
"Well, do you?" I said conversationally. He stepped forwards, starting, "Hey, I just wanted to talk to—"
"Cora!" Suddenly Kathleen flew into the picture somewhere from my right, or perhaps behind me; I tried to make sense of where she came from as she pulled me into a hug. "You made it! Hello, John," she casually greeted him with a bright smile, unaware she had disrupted any conversation. John barely greeted her; she released me and said to him, "We're going to the library, d'ya want to—"
"Another time," John cut in. He turned around and walked the opposite direction, his coat flapping behind him. The two of us watched him for a moment until Kathleen suddenly realized, "Oh, did I interrupt anything?"
"It's not a big deal," I said, resigned. "Come on. Martin will be waiting."
Saturday, Match 25th, 1961, with a full day free and of course we were spending it at the Library. Clarence nodded a hello to us as Kathleen and I pushed open the doors and walked inside the beautiful building. If Liverpool didn't have much it certainly had this building to brag about. "Martin is in the back room," Clarence called over a few bookshelves. "Ladies, please try and get him to come out to greet some people." I gave Kathleen a knowing smile and we made our way to the hallway which I now knew so well.
Kathleen had her head in the clouds most times. It was funny, the more I knew her, the more she revealed this side of her to me. I never would have guessed she was like this when I first met her, the time she had first called me oil the phone and said, "Hello! This is Kathleen Richards from the stationery company you applied to a couple of weeks ago. I'm pleased to say that we have an opening for you!"
Ha.
***
Martin and I embraced the same way Kathleen and I had when he opened the door. He was wearing the same shade of purple as I was with an oversized cardigan, slim brown trousers, and had his black wavy hair gelled in an Elvis quiff. We all ended up leaving the photo room and, deciding to catch a Disney film, The Absent Minded Professor, which had come out only nine days prior. I felt relaxed sitting next to two of my close friends in the theater, surrounded by curious people, excited to see a new work of art. The theater lights dimmed and the lights and sounds of the movie washed over me. I felt refined and slightly cold, until Martin passed over his sweater to me.
It was raining when the movie ended and we got outside. Great big drops of the sky's tears were splattering on the concrete ground; the sky was grey. Many rushed over to a small cafe next door and Kathleen and Martin and I rode the wave of people into the warm and crowded area. Puddles of water on the black and white tiling, umbrellas being jammed into their stands as people ordered hot coffees by the warm lighting of the homey looking cafe lamps. We all ordered coffees and three eclairs and they came quickly, the waiter hurriedly plonking them down as he rushed off to serve the next dripping wet customers.
"John upset at ye or what?" Kathleen asked me over a bite of pastry. "He didn't seem very happy with ye back there." Martin looked quizzically at us; for a second I saw his older self spring out in ghost form and yell, "You're back together again? He doesn't deserve you."
"Cora, why... are you giving me a look?"
"Oh, sorry," I quickly told Martin, blushing as his older ghost gave me a wink and disappeared. "John and I are just having a small argument, that's all." I glanced to my right at the crowd, which had thinned a little.
They both shared a glance which meant, clearly, I'd like to know the tea, but I wasn't about to discuss my sex life in front of a bunch of post-moviegoers. I put a bite of pastry into my mouth, feeling the flaky bits melt with the chocolate and I chewed, an annoyed expression on my face. Kathleen leaned forwards. "C'mon, Cora, just tell us," she said in a sing song sort of teasing voice, bobbing her head so her short, honey blonde hair followed the motion of her head.
I shook my head, still smiling. Conversation moved to the film; we finished our coffees and I looked outside, the rain had stopped.
"I feel like a smoke," Martin said. "Anyone else want to come?"
Kathleen nodded, her eyes half closed, and I shrugged my shoulders and tagged along with them. We pushed open a door to the outside seating area. No one was there; the glass tables and metal chairs were still wet, dripping with rain. Large green bushes lined the fences. Martin took a packet of cigs out of his pocket and Kathleen produced a lighter. They passed the cigs and flame back and forth. I felt a sense of outsiderness—and guilt, because I wasn't stopping them.
The smoke blew into the air and faded into the post-rain breeze. Martin had his eyes closed, his cig between his index and middle fingers. He was standing against the wall, one foot propped up against it. Kathleen had brushed the water off of a seat and chose to sit down, crossing one leg over the other and smoking like I had seen women do only in movies. With no cig, I automatically reached for my phone but remembered I couldn't use it, so I observed the scene like a painting.
Kathleen excused herself to go to the toilet; I moved closer to Martin. The sky had turned into a foggy sort of grey, until all I could see were the bushes lining the back area and Martin next to me.
He suddenly spoke. "Grandpa's found out."
Without even asking, I knew what he was talking about.
"Oh. Is he okay with it?"
"I suppose. I think he half knew. He's just disappointed that he's not getting any great-grandchildren." Martin chuckled dryly and stuck the cig between his lips again, taking in a deep inhale.
Think again, I thought, remembering the charity shop. "Anyways, I just wanted to let you know," Martin said, a sigh emitting from his thoughtful frown.
"Well... I think it's good," I said. "You can keep the secret from one less person now."
"Yeah." He shuffled his foot. "I just don't think I want anyone from school knowing."
Martin and I had a strange, unspoken pact that I didn't ask about his parents and he didn't ask about mine. This was especially helpful with me, considering my background, but still, I felt a hankering to know more about Martin's parents and his background. Katherine, for her head being in the clouds so often, didn't ask either about our parentage. Maybe she didn't care or it hadn't come up yet.
Kathleen came back out and we all shared a cab home, with Martin being dropped off first, then Kathleen, and finally me. I gave the last of my change to the taxi driver and hurriedly hopped on the driest part of George's drive up to the door where Mrs. Harrison greeted me with a warm towel. After lying in bed with the towel round my head writing in a small notebook for a few minutes, I quit procrastinating and went to take a steamy bath in the Harrison's tub, feeling my bones melt in the warm water, tracing patterns in the soap until I came out, donning a black turtleneck and black pants, then walked towards my room for a comb. Through George's open door—he was at work—I could hear the rain splattering against the window.
"Cora, love?" Mrs. Harrison's voice came floating up the stairs. "Someone here to see you. In your room."
For some reason I figured it was Kathleen. She sometimes came over so we could walk to the library, but we had already gone today. So I walked into the room with the towel on my head to see John sitting on my bed, slightly wet, wearing a similar outfit as mine.
"Hi love," he said, looking up at me.
"Hi," I said, resolutely standing by the door.
"Come, sit with me," he patted a space on my bed next to him. I closed the door behind me and walked over to him. He took my hands and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run out like that."
"Oh, the cafe," I said, remembering. I paused, then said, "Yeah. You really shouldn't have."
"Anyways, love, I'm here to just talk to you about something—"
I cut him off with a sudden sentence I couldn't stop as a chill ran up my spine. "You want to break up."
He closed his fingers around mine and said, "No. No. I just wanted to hear you out, ye know, to see what you've got to say. Ye mentioned—" he rubbed his nose "—not to judge you before knowing the whole story. Well... let's hear it." He sat on my bed and fell back on it, staring at the ceiling. After a moment's hesitation I sat down and started talking, all the while looking at the rain splashing against the window outside.
"I—I went to Paul's after that. Talked it over a bit," John said to the ceiling.
"Oh?"
"Cora," he sighed. "I still don't understand why you feel this way but you are a strange alien from the future—" he suddenly turned his head and stuck out his tongue at me "—and I suppose I get that, as hard as it is. Look, I like you too much." He sat up, didn't touch me but just looked at me. I stared back at him. "I'll give you your time."
I let out a half sigh, half giggle of incredulous happiness. "John—"
"Love, I hope you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you."
I turned away, slightly blushing, skin still hot from my shower. "I was afraid you'd break up with me."
"Never." He drew an arm around me and pulled me close and just like that we were a couple on a bed, cuddling, just being in the presence of each other.
"I brought you something."
I sat up. I loved surprises. "What is it?"
John got up and retrieved a black guitar case which was sitting in a corner. I hadn't noticed it before; he must have brought it in before I had come inside. "Take a look," he said, setting it on the bed and unclasping it.
My confused look didn't change. "It's a bass. Did you write something or..." A look of understanding dawned on me, and I squinted, a tentative smile forming on my lips. "Wait. That's not..."
"Your bass," John said, sitting next to me. "Some part of a rock star's income must be disposable, beatle girl, bass player. And what better way—"
I tackled him into a hug. "I missed mine."
"I know," he said, and I heard the smile in his voice.
I held the instrument towards him. "Play something." He held his hands up with a cheeky grin. "No, you."
"John, I want to hear something. From you. The first song played on this bass, from you." He took it in his hands and ran his fingertips down the wood. I sat there and watched every inch of the man and his instrument. Such was too much, it was all too much. I watched him fingerpick root chords and start to sing, getting more comfortable: "Ain't she sweet? See her walking down that street, yes, I ask you very confidentially, ain't she sweet?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's this about, then?"
John's voice got lower; he gave me a sensual look and whispered, "Hitler."
I spluttered and someone entered the room. "Cora! Oh, sorry."
"Come in, George," John called. "We were just talking history."
"Well, write this one in your history books, then," George said. He stood in the door, soaking wet, one hand on my doorknob. "Hey Johnny lover boy, I've got news. Hope you've got another Mach Schau! in you. We're going back to Germany, we got approved around two hours ago. Paul called in at work. He tried to get you, but you weren't—"
John wasn't listening; he had hopped off of the bed, a familiar glint in his eye. "Germany? Hell, George, Mach Schau! Heil Hitler! My Bonnie! We're going back, we're going back, we've got a fuckin' gig!" And with that, I found myself hoisted into the air as he lifted me off the bed. We all joined hands, doing some sort of strange dance on the top floor of George's house, until I heard a thumping noise from the floor which could only be interpreted as the top of a broomstick handle from Mrs. Harrison below.
Hope you all enjoyed! Hope you didn't forget about our dear German characters, because Mach Schau, we're headed back soon! Also more than 18,000 reads, lovely readers, I can't believe so many people are reading my writing :,) <3