If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 68 - 18.April.1966

Chapter 68

April 18, 1966 

"This is a fuckin' daft idea," John said, turning to look at me. His hair was combed forward with little bits at the end flipping out, and his eyebrows were completely covered. His mop of hair looked so damned inviting that I was tempted to get up and run my fingers through it.

"You've said." My eyes fell back to the book I was reading. The worn edges of the paperback rested against my bump, which had somehow gotten even larger in the last week. It got in the way most of the time, but it also had its benefits—it was a lovely resting place for books, bowls of cereal, and cups of tea. "Five times now, at least. Should we go for six, or do you feel like you're finally done?"

"You're due in two days."

"Good countin', John. So proud."

"I'm not in the mood to joke with you," he snapped as he buttoned his shirt and pulled on his favorite new trousers. They were green velvet and had an unusual zipper that he had custom-fitted. When he'd first tried them on, he turned to me with a serious look and asked, "Well, what do you think, Livvy? Do they look good enough for you to want to take 'em off and shag me?"

Since the day of my near breakdown, when I tried to coax my body into labor, I'd managed to stay calm enough to not completely lose the plot. John was right. We were going to be okay, and there was no reason to go mad about something I couldn't change. I just needed to take everything one day at a time.

But the calmer I became, the more uptight John became—it had been like that for most of my pregnancy...we took turns panicking while the other found momentary calm. So after my appointment earlier in the day with my doctor, who had told me to 'hang in there' because the baby seemed quite content staying inside of me, I'd given George a ring, badgering him about his plans for the evening.

There was no recording session scheduled, a rare day off, and George planned to go to the Marquee Club in London to see The Lovin' Spoonful perform. I begged George to take John with him because John needed a night off, a night away from staring at my stomach as if it were moments from exploding. He needed a night to relax, and so did I.

A knock resounded, and Mimi meowed from the foot of the bed before hopping off and scurrying toward the noise. John avoided eye contact as he offered me his hand. He knew that it was next to impossible for me to get off of the bed alone. My feet hit the ground, and I eased myself into a standing position, my hand finding my back as a flare of dull pain radiated. I grimaced as I rubbed the spot, but luckily John's attention was elsewhere.

We both left the room—our bed still unmade from the morning—John striding and me waddling, and made our way down the stairs.

"Why do'ye want to get me out of the house so badly?" he asked, not bothering to turn to look at me as he spoke.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Yeah, you'd like to shag Paul."

When John discovered my plans to shoo him out of the house for the evening, he decided that I shouldn't be on my own, even for a few ruddy hours. He resorted to phoning Paul to come keep watch over me after learning that Ringo and Mo's little one, Zak, had a spring flu...and Pattie, George's wife of almost three months, had supper plans with a mate of hers.

"That's right." I shook my head at his lunacy as we made our way toward the door. "How'd you guess? Been plotting it for years."

"Not fuckin' funny, Liv."

"Well, I'm so bloody sorry you thought me ace joke was horribly offensive."

He grumbled something incoherent in response.