Go To Him (A Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Five - Roll Over Beethoven

2nd January, 1960

Dear Diary,

IT'S A NEW DECADE! If ever there were a more perfect chance to begin anew, I have yet to come across such a rare marvel. Even the air feels fresher than usual with its typical wintry bite. I've never minded the cold, for it presents to me a distinct reality where the heat only tantalises me with its vast, rippling mirages. When frost makes my arms flush raw pink and my teeth chatter involuntarily with every gust of wind beating against me, I feel alive, so I say bring on the winter and all its hardships, and I'll show everyone just the kind of stuff I'm made of.

It's strange to think that last night now belongs to another year, almost another era, yet I MUST tell you all about the party! Yes, you read that right, Cyn and I threw a housewarming/New Year's Eve party, and let's just say the house was plenty warmed by the time we were all done with it! The whole thing was Paul's idea, or at least he was the one who pitched it to me. Me, being the shy recluse that I am, at first protested strongly against it, pointing out that we still had boxes strewn everywhere from moving in and we'd never have the place cleaned up in time for New Year's Eve, but I have to admit the guy can make some pretty darn good arguments.

"Nobody's even going to notice that when they've a few down," he'd insisted, tugging my arm persuasively, "and it won't be a proper piss-up or anything, I promise you. Just a few of the lads from the Cavern and ourselves. Y'know, Rory Storm and his mates, maybe Derry Senior ... but hey, it can be just us, either, y'know. I wouldn't ever force you into anything."

He'd stroked my cheek the entire time and bent down to plant a kiss my hand. He knew full well I wouldn't be able to say "no" to that.

"Okay already!" I'd exclaimed, bowing in to his touch as I always do, "enough with the peer pressure, I'll do it. But let it never be said that Anna Gallagher turned down the sweet brown sugar that is the puppy eyes of Paul McCartney. And you'd better keep watch over me the entire night and make sure I don't embarrass myself like last time, you hear me?"

"Done," he'd grinned mischievously, undoubtedly thinking how easy it is to win me over just by a look, "did I ever mention that I love you? I can't quite remember."

"Shut up, you cheeseball," I'd giggled, yet my heart had soared across the sky no less than it had the time he'd first said it to me, way back when he asked me out what seems so many years ago.

Nat, when she found out, looked like Christmas had come twice in a week for her and she immediately took it upon herself to organise the entire party, planning every last detail down to a T. I couldn't help but laugh aloud when I found a lilac sheet of paper from her notepad jammed into our pigeonhole. It was scented with a dab of her perfume, a funny little habit of hers. I unfolded it carefully and attempted to read her sloppy, evidently-rushed scrawl:

Tasks for New Year's Party

John - get some booze (try not to nick them, I'd rather see you at the party without any bulletholes through your shoes)

Cyn - sneak your mother's record player out of the house (put a box where it's meant to be and cover it with a towel, works every time)

George - track down some good party music (keep in mind not everyone is as into rock 'n' roll as yous lot, so spice it up a bit, yeah?)

Paul - Dish out the invites (only the bare essentials, please don't get too carried away)

Anna - Round up some glasses for people to drink from, I don't care where you get them from (and yes, I know that's boring, but do you want a party or not?)

'I don't know if I do, to be honest,' I thought.

"I'm crazy," I said aloud, shaking my head and laughing to myself as I walked towards the stairs to show Cyn the note the others surely got a copy of as well.