In which the illegitimate granddaughter of Beatle Paul McCartney finds herself in Liverpool in the early 1960s, falling hopelessly in love with John Lennon.
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9th October, 1960
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On what was John Lennon's twentieth birthday, he was rudely awoken by the sound of a flushing toilet from the girls' toilets next door to the band's 'bedroom' at the Bambi Kino, a cinema where they had been up for their stay in Hamburg.
It wasn't the first time since arriving in Hamburg that John had been woken up by the sounds of a woman relieving herself - in fact, it had happened every morning - but on his birthday, he wanted to sleep in for a little while longer.
They weren't playing a show until later, anyway, and the dead silence of the room (disregarding the flush) told John that he was alone in the room.
So they've gone for brekkie without me, John thought to himself, how thoughtful.
His sarcasm was ripe despite the (in his opinion) ungodly hour of almost noon.
John got out of bed with a heavy sigh and set to getting dressed for the day, not bothering to slip into the girls' bathroom for a wash because it was already in use. He could have used the boys', but the girls' toilets had locks on them, and for him, that was essential when washing his crack and sack.
John smirked at the crude phrasing he had come up with and yawned, stretching. He knew that he needed a good wash - a shower, preferably - and wondered if he could convince Astrid, who was (pretty much) Stu's girlfriend, to let him borrow the shower at her flat for a few minutes at some point in the next few days. Maybe it could be his birthday present from her.
"Thought you'd be asleep, John." Paul breezed into the room, entirely too smiley for John's liking so early in the day. "Went out for a walk."
The older Beatle snorted, "you?" He echoed, "a walk? Paul, which girl were you with and why didn't you bring her back with you?"
Paul flushed a deep red. "I w-wasn't with any girl -"
"Yeah, right." John threw himself back onto his bed, groaning as an uncomfortable spring dug into his back. Changing the subject, he said, "I never thought I'd miss the shitty mattress back home," he paused, "but here we are." His mattress at the flat that he shared with Stu was not entirely comfortable - it was probably almost as old as he was - and he had once thought that it was the most uncomfortable thing in the world - boy, had he been wrong.
The flat that he shared with Stu... and Ruby.
He had not forgotten her, and in fact the younger girl had been playing on his mind at almost all hours of the day - once or twice, she had even featured in his dreams... and one of those dreams had not been the kind of dream that you had of a friend. John felt guilty for thinking about Ruby and not his girlfriend. Cynthia was beautiful, and as Bardot-like as he was likely to get, but there was something about Ruby that drew his attentions to her and made him want to touch, smell and taste her. He wanted everything with Ruby, and that was what scared him... because she didn't seem interested in him.
How many times since they had met had John made a subtle pass at Ruby? Two or three, at least, and every single time she had rebuffed him or denied her attraction to him.
"Anyway," Paul changed the subject again, "lads and I clubbed together to get you a little something." John was momentarily brought back to the dingy room behind the cinema screen of the German cinema, but his attention didn't stay on Paul for long.
Very soon, he wondered what Ruby was doing at that moment. Did she know it was his birthday? How could she? They had never talked about when their birthdays were.
"Or someone."
For a split second, John thought that he had spoken out loud, or Paul had somehow picked up on what he wanted and had got Ruby over from Liverpool.
"Noticed you've been going to bed alone the last couple of nights, Lennon." Paul continued to talk, "reckon you could do with the company. Tonight, there'll be a nice girl waiting for you at the bar - Marion - she'll see you right."
Paul smirked and John picked up on what he meant immediately.
The lads had hired John a prostitute for his birthday.
"You think I can't pull a bird?" Was the first thing out of John's mouth.
"No," Paul answered, "I know you can - you've got Cyn back home, haven't you?" Cynthia. Yeah, John had her - but for how much longer? "And I've seen you get with more girls than you've had hot dinners, John - I just know you've been a bit, um, distracted, the last few nights - well, the last few weeks, really -"
"What's your point, Paul?"
Paul was silent for several seconds. John actually wondered if his friend was going to say anything at all... but then Paul answered quietly, "Marion's got brown hair, y'know. She's leggy, I think, and she looks a bit like -"
"Don't say it." He gritted his teeth, a deep growl at the back of his throat. Animalistic, almost.
"Come on, John," Paul, who had known John best since he had been fifteen and John seventeen, knew the conflict of feelings which his friend was struggling with, even if John wouldn't admit it to himself. "There's nothing wrong with falling out of love with -"
"I'll go with your stupid prozzie," John interrupted, standing up and striding across the room so quickly that it was more of a jog, "but only because I'm fucking horny." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Paul with a smirk on his face. He knew he was right.
