Nobody Wants To Know Him

IX - I Am The Eggman

Saturday 2nd December 1972
Liverpool, England
10.12am

Dad would've gone to work by now, so it was just us in the house now, but I still wasn't having John walking round in just his boxers. Plus it was December now.

I didn't have a full-time job yet, although I was looking for something in addition to my paper round since that wasn't particularly high paying.

I used to work full-time in a pub, until I got super pissed and threw some crisp packet at a regular customer who was mates with the owner*. Needless to say, I got sacked from that. Long story.

"Ready." He said, and we headed downstairs.

______

10.27am

My mind kept replaying that kiss as we walked down the stairs. What was I thinking? God, what happened now? What did it mean? Did it even mean anything? I'd only met the guy last week, I was so stupid. I barely even knew him!

Stepping into the kitchen, I opened the fridge, looking for what there was to eat.

"That cupboard over there, above the sink," I pointed John towards it. "Yeah, that one. There's some ibuprofen in there. D'you eat eggs?"

He mumbled an affirmative. Scrambled eggs it was then. Maybe we had some bread I could toast?

I pulled out a pan and spatula, placing them on the hob.

"Hey John, can ye get a bowl? Third cupboard along there, yeah that one."

There were enough eggs for the both of us in the fridge. Hopefully the milk hadn't gone off.

Twisting the lid to the milk, I lifted it to my nose to sniff. John placed the bowl on the counter next to the hob and walked over to me.

"That doesn't smell bad, does it?"

He took the glass bottle from my hand, bringing it to his nose, shaking his head. "Smells fine to me."

He placed it on the counter next to everything else, and I placed the eggs in the bowl he'd gotten out.

"Can ye get the butter? Should be a block of Lurpak** in the fridge." He obediently did as asked, bringing me the butter as I got out the salt and pepper.

"Ah, one more thing, John," he turned to me, leaning casually on the counter. "That cupboard there, next to the one with bowls," I cracked open a couple eggs, setting the shells on the side. "Can ye get the bread out of that bin in there and pop a couple in the toaster? Ta."

"So," he leaned forwards eyeing up the eggs I was beating with a fork. "What's on the menu then?" As if he couldn't tell.

"Eggs." He gave a laugh, standing up straight. I poured a little bit of the milk into the eggs, whisking them together.

The flame from the gas cooker lapped at the bottom of the pan as I twisted the nob, popping the butter in. John helpfully passed me the bowl with the eggs in when the toaster popped up.

"Flip the toast, would ya? Lovely."

"Feel like I'm a servant for ye..." he playfully mumbled, a grin plastered across his face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The eggs spread out across the pan as I poured them in, letting it cook for a moment before running my spatula across the bottom of the pan.

Whilst I was cooking, John was tapping his fingertips on the counter, watching me, seemingly still half-asleep.

"The toast, John."