August 30, 1967
Kenwood
Weybridge, Surrey
*Cynthia
She stared out the sitting room window at the garden. It was raining heavily now and she became transfixed, watching the rain drops race each other down the enormous glass pane.
"Cyn?"
She turned around and looked at him standing in the doorway. She barely recognized him anymore. His eyes, hidden behind his newly found "granny glasses" were often glassy, empty. She often wondered if the man she fell in love with was in there at all.
"You proposed one year ago today, you know." She turned back to face the window.
"Has it been a year already?"
She heard him walking over towards her and soon felt his arms encircle her waist from behind. He smelled like cigarettes and whisky. It wasn't even noontime.
He had been on another bender since they arrived home from Bangor. He had discovered another escape, meditation, but they had to leave early. Brian was dead. She had been crying for days while John lost himself in acid and booze. They were on a downward spiral, beaten up and weakened by the blows that seemed to keep coming.
She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the enormous lump that was now forming in her throat. "What are we doing John..." She was barely able to get the words out.
"I don't know..."
They stood in silence for awhile, and she closed her eyes when she felt his chin on her shoulder; his breath tickling her neck.
His body became stiff behind her, "I've got to get it off my chest Cyn....there have been other women."
Running a hand over his, she began to nod as she felt the tears finally come. She turned around to face him and managed a brave smile. "You must think I'm daft to have never suspected anything."
"I'm so sorry Cyn..."
She closed her eyes again, tightly this time as she felt the back of his thumbs against her cheeks, wiping away her tears. "It's OK love." She whispered.
He kissed her softly and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "You're the only one I ever loved, you've got to know that Cyn."
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his. "You were with Yoko last night, weren't you?"
"Come on Cyn..."
They met last year, at her gallery. It was a massive event, a reopening as the Indica Gallery with new management, a new face and a new scene. Yoko Ono, the avant garde artist from New York, was one of the main attractions.
Cynthia hadn't thought he would show up. Things were not good between them when he left for Spain and he barely phoned her while he away. He had been back for only a few days.
She had always been used to his flirting, but something was different with Yoko. She saw them - testing eachother, laughing together. The body language was right. In a weird way it reminded her of how they used to be. She hadn't seen him that relaxed in ages.
"Maybe Yoko's the one for you..."
"Don't be daft." He unwrapped his arms from her waist. "She's mad, totally screwed up with all her avant garde bullshit."
She was crying again.
"For fuck's sake Cyn!"
"I don't even know who you are anymore...maybe she's what you need because clearly what we have isn't working."
