Nobody Wants To Know Him

XXXI - We Can Work It Out

Sunday 25th February 1973
Liverpool, England
11.42am

John was at Kenwood preparing lunch for the both of us while I gathered the rest of my things. It felt odd being in my room. A couple of my posters were still up, and my furniture was still there, but everything else personal to me was gone.

Downstairs, even though my door was closed, I could hear Nancy and Charlie bickering, the pair having a heated argument. About what, I had no clue. The last books were safely tucked under my arm in a small box, and my guitar was slung over my shoulder as I made my way down the staircase, careful as to not bash my six-string against the wall.

My siblings' quarrel was cut short as the doorbell sounded. Charlie's footsteps came through the hall, but I told him I would get it. Nonetheless, he still rushed through to the front door anyway. Setting my guitar and the box on the floor next to me, I opened the door, only to be greeted by an unexpected face, although perhaps one I should have anticipated.

It was Tim.

A good thing it was that I had set my items down, because I was sure that if I had held them, they would've tumbled to the ground out of pure astonishment. I had scarcely seen him since Christmas, avoiding him deliberately at all costs, and we had not met at all since Valentine's, with our little disagreement, to put it nicely.

"Oh... hey... Tim," I stammered, backing up slightly in the porch as Charlie appeared behind me, placing a soft hand on my shoulder which startled me.

Tim let out a shaky breath accompanied by an unconvincing lopsided smile - if it could be called that; it was more of a pained grimace.

"I- Hey, _____. Boxes?"

Nodding, I scratched at the nape of my neck awkwardly, hands itching to do something. "Yeah. I'm, uh... movin'."

A small flicker of something flashes across Tim's countenance causing unease to pool in my lower abdomen, and I felt the urge to vomit right there and then in my front porch.

"Oh. I didn't know that-"

"Are ye here for anythin', Tim?" Charlie's voice sounded from behind me, relatively hushed but firm and commanding.

The man outside shuffled on his feet in discomfort. "I guess ye could say that."

With reluctance, my brother and I exchanged one brief glance before letting him in, heading to the kitchen. I leant against a counter beside Charlie while Tim was opposite us near the fridge, not daring to speak as both of our eyes bored into him.

"What d'ye want?" I spat, not yet forgotten about our last encounter.

I watched him swallow thickly, momentarily rendering himself unable to voice his thoughts. "I'm here to apologise."

Charlie scoffed to my right and I kicked him softly.

"Are ye really?" I asked, squinting slightly at him, mistrusting of his intentions.

Ever since finding out that Tim had feelings for me, which was something I guessed was true now, it all made so much sense. The way he lit up everytime I walked into his small corner shop, Christmas day, him getting so angry about John... all of it. But it made me trust him less, and guilt was all I felt at that. I was flattered, of course, and Tim had been my friend for years, but I couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, unable to keep my thoughts from wandering to whether he had any ulterior motives here.

Tim took a deep breath, steadying himself on the fridge door. "I shouldn't 'ave done anythin' on Christmas. I never should've asked for anythin', and I don't blame ye for gettin' pissed at me. I didn't mean what I said, y'know. About it bein' yer fault. I just went and fucked it up, and I should've just left it, not said anythin'. But it's too late for that, so I guess all I can say is that I'm sorry."