If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 84 - 3.June.1967

Chapter 84

June 3, 1967

I parked my car in the driveway and pulled my sunglasses from my eyes, placing them on the dash as I eyed our massive home. It was the fourth time that John had kept Maggie for an entire day since the Sgt. Pepper press launch. I'd spent the morning at a photoshoot and the afternoon sipping tea with Adam, chatting his ear off about finally having a bit of work again, even if it was photographing some no-name band. It didn't bloody matter who I was taking pictures of, not when I'd been without steady work for so long.

I hurried toward the front door, the sun setting and creating a beautiful pink hue in the sky, and used the starkers lady knocker to let John know I'd arrived. My lips pulled into a smirk...I couldn't help but smile whenever I saw the knocker that John said had tits that resembled mine, no matter how foul my mood might be at the time. I waited with one hand on my hip and the other fanning my neck, trying to find relief from the unseasonably warm June evening.

The door swung open, and John stood on the other side, his glasses over his eyes and an easy smile on his face.

"I'm late, I know. I'm sorry," I said as I took a step past him and into the foyer, desperate to get out of the heat. My eyes darted about the room. "Where's Maggie?"

John shrugged before winking. "Off swimmin' in the pool by herself would be me guess."

I shoved my hand against his shoulder. "Sod off with tha."

"Was only jokin', ye'twit. Just put her down...she was zonked after playin' with Rich's kids for hours. Fell asleep almost instantly." He closed the door behind him. "What's with you usin' the front door, Liv?"

I turned on my sandal-covered heels. "Dunno, I just...well, I just knocked, all right? Wanted to be polite."

"Sure, cause you've spent yer whole life bein' the very definition of polite."

I pursed my lips and messed with the bottom of my dress as John stood looking at me with his hands on his hips and his elbows jutted out.

"Just come in next time, won't you?" He brushed past me, his feet covered in dark socks, his trousers striped and multicolored, and his shirt white. Two of his favorite necklaces hung around his neck. "It's yer house, too."

"I'll keep that in mind." I followed after John, one hand wrapped around my torso and the other running through my hair. "Just where do you think you're goin'?"

He stopped, turned, and looked at me. "Thought you might like a drink."

It didn't usually go like this when Maggie spent the day with John. I typically dropped her off in the morning with a bag of necessities and then showed up for less than a minute near her bedtime to grab her and hurry back to Catherine's flat. And John and I had been sticking to minimal amounts of talking, focusing most of our sparse conversation on Maggie.

"I can't," I said, staring at him. "I've gotta run."

"Not sure the last time I saw you run."

"Not exactly what I meant." I scowled as I narrowed my eyes. "And you should talk, you lazy louse."

"Maggie's sleepin' upstairs," he said, ignoring me, "so where could you possibly have to run off to?"

This separation wasn't much like our previous one—the one where we'd broken up and spent months on end barely speaking, almost completely ignoring each other—especially now that we were seeing each other more regularly to hand Maggie back and forth.