"You'll never have guessed what just happened."
I was leaning on the phone next to John, the two of us getting our heads as close to the receiver as possible. Paul's excited voice had cut through the air: "Remember the fancy bloke? Epstein? He wants to meet with us, to talk about management. Management!"
"We don't need fuckin' management, we have me." John had snorted. And then in an afterthought, he added thoughtfully, "And Mona."
That Sunday when we had our meeting with Eppy we were all late. I kept checking my watch, but after a few drinks at The Grapes pub on Mathew street, my concept of time and obligation flew out the window.
"Don't we have someplace to be?" I mumbled, reaching across to snag the last chip from the bowl in the middle of the table. The boys saw me and they lunged for it as well.
"Now now, Cora, that chip is mine," Pete said as his fingers moved briskly over mine.
George cut in. "Best, ye've had more than any of us combined since they've come."
"Naff off all of ye. George, ye should talk," John said as his other hand reached to tickle me, making me lose my grip on the chip as he dove for the prize. "Wanker," I mumbled and threw an arm over the table. "I'm tired."
"Don't we have someplace to be?" Bob Wooler repeated my question, frowning as he sipped his one beer, ignoring the chips. John had him come along because he wanted to get his opinion on Epstein.
"Shite, I think it's that meeting with Eppy," Pete slowly recalled. "Are we late?"
"S'pose we are," John said. "Should probably go."
No one moved.
"It's all the way in Whitechapel," Pete said and downed the rest of his beer.
"We are in Whitechapel," I said. "We're a few meters away, wanker. It's next door."
Even with all that, we were late. Brian was sitting at his desk, looking apprehensive as we walked into the NEMS office.
"Hello boys and Cora," he said after no one said anything. There was a little pause where he looked like he wanted us to say something.
"Oh—sorry we're late," I finally managed to say as I looked at the clock, the numbers on the clock being far later than the number he had said on the phone.
"Where's Paul?" Brian asked, looking like he was hiding his upset.
"He's taking a bath. He just got up," George said. "But don't worry, he may be late, but he'll be very clean." All of us burst into laughter and Epstein put his head in his hand from the ludicrous situation, but I couldn't tell if he was laughing or upset. "This is me dad," John finally said, grinning, pulling Bob over by the sleeve to introduce him, and when Brian raised his head, I saw he had a faint smile on his lips.
***
Anna was going to have supper with us that night at the dumpling place John and Paul and I had eaten at, back when Paul showed up in baggy trousers because he was depressed about Dot and his life choices about the band. I, however, was thinking about Martin's comment to me after we last met: someone at his house who I knew, but I couldn't meet him until after we had the dinner.
"At least tell me who it is?" I begged, sliding in my last coin for the public phone near the restaurant.
"I don't even know him," Martin's voice said mysteriously. "Never seen him before in my life. He's odd, though."
For a small moment I wondered if it was the older version of Martin, but that was laughably impossible. I put the thought out of my head. "Can I come over tonight?"
"You can come over?" Martin said, surprised.
"Yeah. I'll tell John I'm coming home late. He'll understand."
"All right then," Martin said, sounding amused. "Go on and tell John you're coming home late. I'll be home with grandpa and our guest." As he hung up there was a dry chuckle on his end and I frowned, a little annoyed.
In the restaurant, seated around a tiny table drinking out of soup bowls, after we had relayed our meeting with Brian ("Paul came in late, and by the look on Eppy's face, he might as well have only been wearing a bath towel") a flushed Anna was telling us about her day. She was taking painting, calligraphy, and sculpture, and was looked upon well by the other art students for her forward sense of fashion, thanks to Hamburg.
"What are the other students like? Back in my time—"
"—your time my arse, John, that was only a couple years ago, you sound like my Großvater—"
"Back in my time they were all pretty decent."
"They're nice, really," Anna said, picking up her soup spoon. "You get a mix, as I'm sure you know. Some don't give a shite and just want to be popular amongst their friends. And then there's the other type. The type who's a little bit of a—how do you say it—goody two shoes? I think that's the American term—anyways, like that. Always wants to do what's right and all. My teaching assistant in my painting class is like that." Anna rolled her expressive eyes. Her bare shoulders revealed more tattoos she had gotten presumably in Hamburg after we had left, and I was sure they created an impact in college.
"What can I get you all?" Mrs. San grinned at us, coming toward us with a notebook in hand. She knew us well. John and I were regular customers.
"有没有酸辣汤?" I surprised myself, blushing red.
"你会说华文吗?" Mrs. San asked, looking surprised. "你为什么上次不跟我说啊? 你是中国人吗?"
"不知道," I said, smiling. "我妈妈是中国人。爸爸是英国人。"
"What are you saying?" John's hand was at my arm.
"She's just wondering why I've never spoken before," I said.
"And why haven't ye?"
"Good question," said Mrs. San dryly.
"I'm not sure. I suppose I just wanted to try it out today," I said as Mrs. San playfully held up chopsticks from her apron. "Want these instead, then? Cora, right?"
"对。You know what?" I said. "I'll take them."
"Give me a pair too, Mrs. San," John said. "I'll poke Cora with them for not doing this sooner."
***
"Anyone for drinks?" Anna called out gaily as we left the restaurant, coats drawn tightly around us; it was slightly gusty in the night air.
"Can ye drink a glass of wine with chopsticks, Cora?" Paul mused "You'd have to have very good muscle control, I assume."
I had spent dinner trying to teach everyone how to use chopsticks after John's request. This resulted with food being dropped everywhere. Nearly everyone gave up halfway into the meal but John was oddly stubborn, sticking it out till the end, even though by the end there was still food left on his place: he couldn't use them fast enough yet.
"Oh, I have someplace to be," I said, stopping by the bus stop. "The rest of you can go on."
"Where are you going, Cora?" John asked, stepping toward me.
"Martin's. Sorry, I forgot to tell ye."
"Martin's?" John cocked his head at me. "At this hour? You all go ahead, I know where the drinks place is," he told the rest, and they reluctantly at first moved forward, Anna dragging behind to make sure I was all right, but I shooed her away, giving her the thumbs up sign.
When they were gone John looked me up and down. "Can't believe you were thinking of going out like this by yourself. Easy target."
"Easy target for what, John?" I snapped at him.
"Maybe it's different in the future but here, people get mugged, or raped, or worse."
"Stop reminding me where I'm from, John." I drew the coat around me tighter, undoubtedly knowing he was right. Maybe he could've come with me but now I was pissed off. "I'm a grown woman."
"That's the point. And is that why you suddenly spoke Chinese today?" John said. "Because you don't like reminding me where you're from? You've never spoken it from the start.
"Mandarin," I corrected him. "And you're... you're not Chinese. I didn't see any need to speak it with you." I paused. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I can teach ye if you'd like," I offered weakly, but now he looked more annoyed, flashes in his eyes as he neared me. "What does this have to do with anything anyway?" I asked.
"You didn't tell me you knew how to speak Mandarin," he said. "What else do you know? Swahili? Quantum mechanics?" he gripped the plaid tweed arm of my coat.
"What are you trying to say, John? I don't know everything about you," I said, struggling to release from his grip. He stood there with me by the bus stop just in leather, my knight in shining leather, looking angry as he tried to process why I didn't tell him I knew Mandarin.
"But ye do. Ye know about Julia and all that. I told ye about all that. Fuck." He swore and turned away, his thin lips pressed together. "I'm being an idiot. Let's just go home."
"I want to see Martin," I told him, adamant.
"Why?" He turned around. His new haircut made him look both softer and harder at the same time. Softer because the longer hair balanced out his face, but it also brought out the roughness in his face, especially in times like these.
"He says there's someone at his flat I should see."
"Bullshite. Bet that bugger's really not a queer and he just wants to see ye," he muttered in one breath, easy to slip, but I caught it between the cracks and yanked it out. "What the fuck did ye just say, John?"
"I said—" and then he stopped. "Nothing," he muttered, looking like a sulky schoolboy.
"I'm going," I said as the bus rolled up to the stop.
"You are not. You're coming back to the pub with me and the rest."
"I am." the bus doors opened.
"I'm locking ye out if ye go," he said, looking deathly angry, his hands trembling a little.
"It's my rent," I said, stepping closer to him. "You have to let me in. I'm seeing Martin. While I'm gone, have a think about the idiotic thing you said about Martin."
"Fuck off," he shouted and an old man on the bus coughed loudly as the doors closed.
I sat, fuming, as the bus started to life again. We reached Martin's stop and all I could think was, why was John so upset that I never told him I could speak Mandarin? It then dawned on me that this might be because my love was so protective. So damn protective. I leaned my head against the window and cried a little, seeing John raging at the bus stop in his leather coat, all because he loved me so much.
***
"You came," Martin said as he opened the door, looking surprised.
"So I did," I said, and waved to Martin's grandfather over his shoulder. "It's your girlfriend!" Grandpa laughed, raising his beer toward me.
"It is I, the girlfriend," I yelled back as I stepped inside. The joke was old, but so was Grandpa. He knew about Martin, but still didn't quite understand.
"Why didn't you think I would come?" I asked Martin.
"I didn't think Lennon would let you out of the house, or out of his sight. So late at night too." Martin sighed as he closed the door behind me.
"You're right," I said quietly, taking a small step inside.
"What's that?"
"You were right. We got into a fight at the bus stop. He was angry that I was even thinking of coming here by myself. He said he wouldn't let me in if I came back home," I said. I knew John would be at home, possibly raging, but we would make up when I got home. Hopefully. I glanced at Martin, but he just shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you except it'll probably be good to talk it over."
He passed me a glass of water and I drank it gratefully. "Who's the guest you mentioned?"
"He's in the bedroom," Martin said, running a hand through his longish hair. Even his hair was starting to take on the trend of the Beatles. "You can go say hi."
I walked down the hallway past the phone I used to call George on my first night here and opened the door to find someone sitting on the bed, but nothing prepared me for this.
"You've got to be fucking me," I said, throwing a hand on my forehead so it responded with a light slap as I took in the sight of my familiar stoner, sitting on Martin's bed, hair as long as ever and with the same disturbed look on his face as that night in Ringo's. If Danny was here, well... I thought back to the the burning book, the images both John and I had seen, and how the nightmare wasn't over.
"Hello, Cora. Good to see you again," Danny said, not looking directly at me. "Please sit down. I promise I won't be long." He paused. "Or I might be. I'm not sure how you're going to take this news."
Hi all, I know it's been a long time but I'm finally publishing again! How are you all doing? What do you think of the new chapters? I hope you're all doing well and are having a great start to 2020!