Go To Him (A Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter Eleven - Baby It's You

2nd November, 1958

 Dear Diary,

Oh, I've just had the most horrid morning! I don't even know where to begin,  but I have a rotten feeling in the pit of my stomach that a storm is brewing for me somewhere down the line. So today, I was sitting in English class, and even though I've been trying really hard to focus in school and bring my grades back up again, I couldn't help but constantly sneak a look at my watch. I willed the hand to move faster towards one o'clock, which is lunchtime and the only part of school I actually enjoy, because I get to be with Paulie. I forced myself to concentrate on the novel in front of me and told myself that if I kept my head down and came out of that class having a decent amount of work done, then that would make my time with Paul all the more worthwhile and deserved.

 I peered past Irene, who was deeply engrossed in yet another bourgeois "classic", to see George with his elbow propped up on the table, looking equally as unimpressed as I was. He felt my stare and looked over at me, grinning toothily as he always does and rolling his deep brown eyes. I smiled and looked back at my novel, trying to find the line Mr Thornton was bellowing across the room in his excessively dramatic reading voice.

I had just found the sentence we were on when the headmaster barged into the room. Everyone straightened up in their chairs like privates in the presence of a sergeant and droned flatly, "good morning, Mr Kingsley." He carried in his hand a slip of paper and read from it, "Anna Gallagher?"

"Yes, sir," I answered obediently but tremulously all the same, terrified about what sort of trouble I might be in now.

His harsh look softened slightly when he followed my voice and saw the timid, terrified young girl it belonged to.

"Come with me," he said simply, motioning upwards with his hand to rise me out of my seat. I stood slowly, aware that the entire room's eyes were fixed on me, and that I must appear indifferent about whatever scolding and telling off may be in store for me in front of my classmates.

Once we were out in the corridor, I strode diffidently beside him, already letting feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing break into my thoughts as I reasoned that this meeting could only be about my slipping grades and poor academic performance. There were a couple of boys belonging to other year groups sitting on stools outside his office, presumably waiting for a caning.

"Go back to class," the headmaster, or Mr Kingsley as I probably should call him, barked, "I'll deal with you lot later. And don't any of you think I've forgotten you; I have a list."

I followed him quietly into his office and took a seat. Mr Kingsley shocked me in how his demeanour completely changed from hard-hitting to soft and compassionate once he took his own seat opposite me. I saw a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes as he spoke reverently, "I just had a call from your mother..."

'Oh, God, no!' I thought, 'what could this be about? Is it about my grades? Or Paul? What if she's changed her mind somehow and won't let me see him? I dread to know.'

"Anna," he said gently, "your father's been in an accident over at the fish factory."

"W-w- ... what?!" I stammered, all of a sudden consumed by a fear of the worst, "what kind of an accident?"

"Your mother didn't say," he informed me, "she seemed quite upset, understandably. Apparently he was lucky to have escaped with his life. They have him sent to hospital now, but they say he's still in a critical condition. He'll have to be kept under close surveillance for the next few hours."

An infinity of the most dire, ghastly thoughts swam around in my head and I grabbed onto the arms of the chair I was sitting on for balance as I took it all in.