If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 63 - 6.Dec.1964

Chapter 63

December 6, 1964

I raised my hand and rapped my knuckles against the door. Catherine stood next to me looking a bit ill. She tucked her recently-cut bob of dark hair behind her ears, and her brown eyes blinked rapidly as we waited.

I nudged my elbow into her side. "Calm down, would'ya?"

"How can I?" She tucked her hair again as if it had fallen out of place in the last handful of seconds, which it hadn't. "This is John Lennon's house. And they're the bloody Beatles."

"And they were the bloody Beatles when you woke up in George and Ringo's flat still sloshed out of yer mind and proceeded to vom a few more times. Twice into a rubbish bin and once into the sink, if I think back," I said as I pushed out a breath and knocked again. "Didn't seem to mind then."

Catherine's cheeks flushed, turning beet red. "I don't even remember bein' there, Liv. I'm still so—"

"Stop. You don't need to apologize again for that night." I shook my head as I suppressed the memory. "I've already told you that, and I really don't wanna talk 'bout it again."

She shifted from one foot to the other and stuck her hands into her coat pockets. "Is uh...George gonna be here?"

"Dunno, Cath. I didn't ask." I sighed and turned to look at her. "Listen, John just rang and invited me round for a bit of relaxin'. You sounded chuffed to bits back at the flat to come with," I said, though it was more than likely that George was inside. John liked being with his Beatle buddies, and that never much bothered me because I loved them, too. They were my family, and it was beyond good for my heart to finally be back around them. Not that I hadn't seen them on and off while John and I were apart, but it wasn't the same.

"Yeah, and I am chuffed, but I just...they're so bloody famous."

I widened my eyes, feigning shock. "Really? I had no clue. Was it the fans beyond the wooden gate that tipped you off? Or perhaps this ridiculous mansion?" I hammered my fist against the door this time, my breath visible in the night air. "Bloody fuckin' hell, John. Open the damned door. It's Baltic out here."

The door finally swung open. Paul stood on the other side, a cig dangling from his lips and his hand clutching the doorknob. He wore a dark sweater and jeans, had no shoes on his feet, and his hair looked recently combed. His dark hazel eyes blinked as he smiled.

"Took you ruddy long enough," I mumbled as I walked past him. "Where's John?"

"Inside," Paul answered without giving any other details.

"Comin' in Cath? It's much warmer in here." I turned to peer at Catherine, who still stood outside, her legs seemingly unwilling to move. "Paul, you remember Catherine?"

"Sure do." Paul's lips pulled into an inviting grin as his eyes wandered from her head to her toes.

"Jane here?" I flicked his arm and shoved the bottle of wine we'd brought into his hands.

"Nope. She's always so bleedin' busy." Paul cocked his head to the side and looked at poor trembling Catherine, beckoning her inside. "Come 'ead, then, love. Wouldn't want you to stand out there all night."

"At least you've got me, Paulie. I'm good company." I shrugged out of my jacket and smoothed the static from my sweater, which fit smoothly into my high-waisted trousers.

"Good company? Is that what you've been told?" Paul closed the door behind Catherine, who had silently crossed over the threshold. But now she stood staring at Paul like he had one too many heads.