If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 47 - 29.April.1964

Chapter 47

April 29, 1964

I was practically numb the entire flight, too consumed with my row with John—with the truth finally being out in the open—to worry about an engine exploding or to imagine plummeting to my untimely death. I replayed every awful word in my head, torturing myself as silent tears fell for most of the flight.

The plane landed, and I shuffled forward with all of the other passengers, not really aware of my surroundings. I wished I'd been dreaming, that the row with John had never happened. But I wasn't lucky enough to be sleeping. No, I was living a damned nightmare. My father was long gone, dead, but he was somehow still impacting my life, still hurting me.

I hurried through the terminal, only my purse in my hands and a hat over my head, as I continued to put one foot in front of the other. I kept my head down because I was sometimes recognized even when I wasn't traveling with the boys. And I wasn't in the mood to be chased by some fans who wanted to know everything about John or to tell me that I wasn't good enough for him. I'd probably end up blubbering in front of them or telling them off... either way would be less than ideal.

With one hand on my hip, I hailed a taxi and climbed into the back of the first one that pulled over.

"Where to, Miss?"

"Roman Camp Hotel," I muttered as I settled into the back seat. Pulling my hat from my head, I pushed my hand through my hair, trying to make it look presentable. Then I added, "Please."

"Hour drive, that is. It'll cost ya, lass," the man said, not bothering to turn to look at me.

"Can ye'get me there or not?" I tapped my foot against the floor of the taxi as I gripped my hat between my fingers.

The man's beady eyes flicked up to look at me through the rearview mirror. "You've got money on ya?"

"Loads," I mumbled, biting back my attitude. I wanted to scream at the driver to step on it, to get me to John as fast as he bloody could. I wasn't sure what in the hell I was going to say to John, but I needed him in front of me. And then I hoped everything would just come together in my mind, like it so often did when I was around him.

What I'd done was awful...I damn well knew it all along. I was getting exactly what I deserved. I shouldn't have kept the letter from John, but I did. I had my reasons for not telling him about the letter, and reasons that kept me from reading the rest of the fucking thing myself, but none of my reasons were good enough, I knew that. But I still hoped he might be able to understand why I did what I did if I didn't explain myself like a bumbling twit. At our flat, I'd been caught off guard. I hadn't been thinking straight.

I couldn't give up. We worked so well together because I was willing to be a pain in his arse, to push his buttons, to fight for us. John and I, we'd made it through so much together, and I just needed to have faith that we could get through this too.

It was late when the man pulled away from the airport and headed north. I attempted to make a plan, to think about what I wanted to say to John, but my head refused to cooperate. So I laid my temple against the window and pinched my eyes closed, trying to sleep. But sleep evaded me like it so often did. I wrapped my arms around myself as I got closer to John, hope still alive in my heart.

*        *

The Roman Camp Hotel was a bit of an odd shade of pink. It was secluded and had a lush lawn and mature landscaping. The out-of-the-way hotel was meant to be the boys' hideaway between their Edinburgh and Glasgow performances, but it wasn't much of a surprise to see girls outside the hotel, even as it neared midnight. Apparently, news of their arrival hadn't gone unnoticed.