I woke first, gently roused by the noon light shining through John's window. He lay close beside me on his stomach, one arm wrapped around me, deep in sleep, moving slightly with every breath.
Something small made me almost move away from him, but then I remembered last night and his promise to me. I gently sat up, careful not to wake him, but he opened his eyes and said, "Cora?"
"Hi," I said.
"Hi."
He seemed to realize he was staring too long and looked away almost like he was ashamed. "You hungry, love? Do you want breakfast?"
"Look at me," I told him, my lips barely moving. His gaze flitted to my face. "Last night, I made the choice to trust you again. And I want with all my heart to believe that you'll be true to me. I also have to think about the things that I told you and work them out, but for now, I want to put everything that happened in the past few weeks behind us."
He squeezed my waist and hesitated. "I wish the past few weeks never happened. I just wish it was like before, and I wasn't so idiotic, and—"
I stopped him. "John, it's all right. It's over now. It's like a dream sequence now."
"Having you has been like a dream," he whispered. "A magical dream, like the ones I used to have when I was smaller. You're just the kind of girl I've always wanted." I couldn't help but let a smile escape. He looked down and hesitated again.
"You can kiss me," I said after a moment of thought. What good was it, making him squirm a bit. He mirrored my small smile and leaned over to kiss me, giving me one slow, deep kiss, getting us both tangled in his sheets.
"You taste so good," he mumbled.
"Liar. I probably have morning breath."
"All right. But even so, you still overpower that with your wonderful delectability." He leaned back to sit against the wall, his arm still touching mine so gently. "Shall we go check on Martin?"
"Martin—! Yes, oh, let's do." I hopped out of bed and he followed me towards the room in which Martin was sleeping. I half expected him to be gone; it would be so like him to stay for as little as possible. He didn't like imposing on other people. But as I turned the doorknob and opened the door I saw him curled up against the wall, breathing deeply.
"He's still here," I said.
"Well, where'd you expect him to be?" John asked. "Ta, he slept even later than we did." At that moment, he shifted and sat up slowly, gazing at us for a few seconds before giving a start and immediately sitting up. "Ah!"
"Morning, Jones," John commented calmly from the doorway.
"Sorry, Lennon, I didn't mean to stay this long," he said, his cheeks going scarlet. His hair was standing up on one side. He looked different without his glasses, and I saw his facial expression change with remembering what had happened last night. I bit back a giggle as I too remembered John playing "Till There was You."
"Breakfast, Jones?" John asked. "Ye stayed over, might as well eat with us." Martin looked unsure and then finally gave in to reason, getting up quickly and making the bed, then disappearing into the bathroom, leaving a room behind which looked like he was never there.
***
Mimi didn't look surprised to see us, but didn't look to thrilled either. All that was shadowed by the breakfast for three she had prepared on the dining room table.
"Mimi," John said, at a loss for words.
"You and your friends eat and then leave, John. We have no space nor time to house them." She looked over at me then Martin, and she asked, "And who are you?"
"My name is Martin Jones, miss," he addressed Mimi. She looked both mollified and confused, taking in his pleasantries and manners to his torn shirt and bandage on his face. "You're the one who was in a fight?" I flinched, but Martin nodded. "Eat, then," she commanded and we all followed Martin to the table. The spread included fried eggs, beans, toast with butter, and ham, and I marveled at the variety. "Thank you, Mimi," I whispered as I took my seat.
I stared at the toast and eggs and noticed a shadow slowly take a seat next to me at the table. Mimi. Mimi, wearing a muted floral dress, stockings, and a pair of brown shoes. We all sat like statues until John lunged forward and started cutting a piece of ham and egg.
"The rest of you can begin, you know," Mimi commented.
I slowly took my utensils. My fork sank slowly and satisfyingly into a piece of ham, which opened its scent to my nostrils invitingly. It was cooked to perfection. Typical Mimi. I put the ham in my mouth. "Delicious," I commented. "No one does it like you, Mimi."
There was a pause, and then she said, "Thank you."
I decided to focus my attention on eating the spread before me. Martin was here, and he seemed to somewhat mollify Mimi. I got to my toast before I heard Mimi ask, "Martin, are you all right? John told me you got into some sort of fight last night."
He hid his blanch well. "Yes miss—"
"—You can call me Aunt Mimi—"
"—Yes Aunt Mimi, I'm fine. John and y/n were very kind to me. I'm healing up nicely now. Thank you for letting me use your house."
Mimi nodded. I dropped my spoon and John quickly took a sip of tea.
"Did these boys just happen to attack you?" Mimi asked. John put down his tea. "I think that's his business, Mimi."
"John—" she shot her nephew a look.
"It's all right," Martin said. "Yes, I suppose they just don't like me. That happens sometimes, with everyone. There are people who just don't like people, for whatever reasons." He shrugged. I glanced at his plate. He had managed to finish all of his breakfast.
Mimi nodded, looking deep in thought, her eyes looking at the dining room wall in front of her with an unfocused stare. Suddenly she stood up and said, "I'm going upstairs for a rest. I'm sure the three of you want to talk amongst yourselves anyway. Leave the dishes in the sink and I'll do them later."
"Mimi, is it all right if I do them?" I asked, putting what remained of my utensils by the side of my plate and looking at her.
She thought for a moment and I thought I almost saw the right corner of her mouth rise. "Yes dear, you can do them. Thank you." She disappeared round the corner and I heard the creak of the wooden staircase. Martin slowly looked at John, who speared the last of his toast and ran it over the rim of the plate, soaking in the last of his egg yolk. "Bit of an old bird, but she cooks a fantastic spread."
"I like her," Martin said unexpectedly. "Reminds me of my mum."
***
Martin's fierce determination at going home alone made me nervous, but I knew better than to argue with him. He was fine with John putting him up for the night and a delicious breakfast, but he put his foot down here. "I live too far away. Don't argue with me, Lennon."
"Right," John said back from the front door. "Ta, Jones."
"See you, Martin," I said, and almost sent him off with a get home safe which my friends and I always yelled at each other when we finished our days out shopping or catching a film, but I bit back the words. John closed the front door. "That was nice of you," I commented.
"What?" he said.
"You know. Making sure he's all right."
"Well, I... you would've done the same thing."
"Yes, I would have."
"So that's that, love. I don't want anyone else to know about this because... because I'm sure Jones doesn't want anyone to either."
"Oh?" I asked, raising my eyebrows in jest. "What'll stop me, then?" He moved slowly towards me, eyes sparkling and I ran into the dining room, him chasing me, easily dodging the armrest of Mimi's chair which almost impaled me. I grabbed John's empty plate and stood still with it. "I'm going to do the washing up."
"Too clever, my dear. All right." We both brought the dishes to the sink and he helped me wash up, taking Mimi's dishes and drying them with a butter yellow dishcloth. "John," I looked up at him with a smile. "I won't tell. Don't worry."
The dishes done, John mentioned, "We've got the Cavern tonight. We're headlining I think. Macca mentioned something about Johnny Sandon and the Searchers and..."
"The Four Jays," I supplied. "Did you know they were originally called the Fourmost?"
"Sounds like the Toppermost of the Poppermost," John joked, applying a posh British accent onto the words. "TOP" for short." Twenty One Pilots, I thought and laughed. John would've liked them. It was too dangerous, though, to show him some of their songs. Music had so much of a ways to go, and John had to fulfill his role as one of the biggest leaders of music in history.
"Well, should I introduce the concept to the band?" John smirked. "TOP?"
"Macca would go through the roof," I commented, straightening the dishcloth. "Sounds a bit naff, anyways."
"Agreed." He started stacking some plates. "What do you say about spending this beautiful sunny day outside before the show tonight? We've got our instruments here anyways. I'll just give Neil a ring that we're both here."
I nodded, smiling. "I think he got that from last night." I breathed out a sigh of relief, thinking back to what if I had begged the roadie for a ride home and thanking the heavens that I hadn't. Mimi still hadn't come downstairs. I wasn't sure what she was doing, but John said, "Come on, let's go. Let Mimi have the house to herself. She'll be glad we did the dishes." I felt a spread of warmth at the word we as John bounded up the stairs like a small boy. He tossed me one of his shirts. "Please. As much as I love the faint smell of coffee grinds, well, I'm sure with the heat tonight the mix won't smell very good." I changed and knotted the shirt at the waist and we left Mendips behind. He laced his fingers with mine and we walked lazily in the summer heat down Menlove avenue.
"Strawberry field?"
He gave me a wistful look. "Ruined the surprise, love. Should've blindfolded ye."
I shook my head, bemused, as we turned right at Beaconsfield and slipped between the red gate. The moment we stepped in, it felt like entering another world. I'm sure my expression gave away my approval at the appeal of the place.
"Come on, love," John said as he slipped into a light jog ahead. I watched the figure ahead of me in a t-shirt and jeans lightly bounding across the field towards the sunlight, he looked behind and called, "Are ye coming? Am I going to have to come and get ye?" The laughter echoed in the fields. It was like a glass bubble. I started to follow him, starting to cautiously jog but breaking into a run and leaping onto him.
"Yer heavier than you look, love," he teased. I chuffed him on the shoulder, pinning him against the ground for a minute before getting off and lying down against the grass, snuggling up next to him. The sunlight was like a blanket. We lay for a few minutes.
"I think I can hear your heartbeat," I commented.
He turned and smiled, saturated with the magic of the sun. "Wish they could go on beating forever."
"Yes. Yes, I wish."
"Then everything would be perfect. I just think sometimes..." he trailed off and stared right into the sky and the puffy white things floating about against the sea of blue. It was deathly quiet in the field, just you and your thoughts and perhaps a third party if you happened to bring one along.
"Have you ever thought about... speaking to someone about it?"
He had been stretching his legs out on the field, but now he stopped and looked up at me incredulously, balancing himself on his elbow. "Speaking to someone? About that?"
"Yes," I said. "It might help."
"Don't see how it's going to help," he muttered, looking away from me and playing with a few blades of grass. Strawberry field looked beautiful in the summer, in contrast to the last time we were here at the end of the winter. "Speaking to a fuckin' bloke who's probably qu—some sort of ladies man about her?"
"Sometimes it's better to talk it through," I said. "Who have you spoken to about it?"
"Macca," he threw in. "His mum's dead too," he tossed out casually like he was commenting on the weather. "Macca. That's all I need." I remembered how Paul had ushered me out of his house that one afternoon where things had gotten heavy. "Oh, and ye."
I mulled this over. On one hand, on the slight chance that he took my advice and actually talked to someone about it, he might get better. On the other hand, which seemed more likely, he wouldn't, and I would have to deal with that. Was it worth it? I thought to myself, imitating John and picking at some grass. I felt a hand on my waist; he drew me close to him and kissed my hair. "I love you," I said.
"I love you so much," he said quietly. "You're all I need. You and Macca. Well, I don't love Macca in the same way." He gave a self-conscious laugh and I thought, well, that answers the question. "But you, Cora, love, you're all I need to get by."