December 24, 1967
Knightsbridge, London
Cynthia**
Flying through the door in a whirlwind, she tossed her keys on the table and immediately checked the answering machine as she unbuttoned her coat.
No messages. She knew she was mad to have expected him to call so quickly, if at all, but her heart ached for the possibility.
Her flat seemed empty and stinging now that Roberto had gone; his enormous presence, loud laughter and mischievous ways warmed up the place dramatically. It was only just starting to feel like a proper home before she ended it. Now she spent most of her time at the kitchen table with a cigarette and glass of wine, sketching as she watched the world go by outside the window of her Central London flat.
She looked at her watch as the sun began to fall behind the buildings. It was nearly five. She could probably still catch a train up to Hoylake and make it in time for Christmas morning. Now that John was out of the picture, she was sure her mum would be thrilled to see her and she could stay there until the gallery opened again.
Before beginning the agonizing task of packing her case for a week away, she poured herself a large glass of Merlot and sat down at the table. Taking a sip she closed her eyes and told herself she deserved a few minutes of peace. She thought of John. This time last year they were at Kenwood; she was making a mess out of Christmas dinner while he sat playing the piano. He was happy to be home and seemed genuinely relaxed; there were no visitors, Dot was off and they hadn't made any plans. They had a good laugh despite the disastrous meal and wound up drinking a bottle of wine, curled up together on the sofa. He slept soundly, head on her lap, as she sketched mindlessly.
It was one of those perfect days. She could still smell the burnt lamb, hear the piano playing. She'd give anything to go back.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She glanced at the clock and realized it was already past six. Don't be stupid, she told herself. It couldn't be John. Nevertheless, she necked the rest of her wine and got up to answer the door.
It was him.
He took off his glasses and stared into her eyes. Neither said a word. Swallowing hard she stepped aside to let him in.
She watched him as he walked inside, quickly moving past her and running his hands through his hair as he stared at the ground. She hadn't seen him that stressed in a long time and remained silent, waiting for him to say something. He turned around and walked back towards her. Now there were only inches between them.
Pulling her into his arms, he held her tight. "You're a right pain in the arse, Powell."
She wrapped her arms around him with as much strength as she could muster and buried her head into his shoulder, "I'm sorry..."
"I'm sorry too, luv." He kissed the top of her head. "We really fucked this up, didn't we?"
She pulled her head back to look at him, "but we'll fix it, won't we?"
"I'm willing to try if you are."
"What do we do now?"
"Make up?" He kissed her softly. He tasted of home, his lips soft and moist.
She smiled at him, "Starting over doesn't mean we take up from where we left off."
"I have to go to India in a few weeks y'know."
"So...we'll make the most of it and then we'll have some time to miss eachother..."
"You're mad."
"Look who's talking." She pulled him closer again into another hug. "Move back to London..." she whispered.
He pulled away to look at her, "What's gotten into you?"
Pulling off his coat from his shoulders, she walked over to to the hall closet to hang it up. "Sit down and pour yourself a glass of wine. There's a bottle already open on the table there."
She heard him mumbling as he went to sit down.
"Why is it that the good girls are the ones that give you the most trouble?"
"I'm not giving you any trouble," she said as she sat down across from him at the table, "I just think you're bored...and I'm bored...and we'll just wind up resenting eachother again if we don't change our circumstance, love."
"But you want a baby. We can't have a baby in the city."
"I don't need a baby right now, John. You and I both know we're nowhere near ready for that. We can barely manage taking care of this relationship, let alone a child. I think we should work on us first...and try to communicate more instead of bottling everything up until we both explode again...you know?"
He nodded and poured himself another glass of wine, becomming quiet. "I haven't told Yoko yet. She's supposed to be going to India with me," he muttered sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.
Cynthia sighed, "For Christ's sake John..."
"What the fuck was I supposed to do Cyn? You leave me with this bleedin' letter professing your love for me, tellin' me everything I had wanted you to tell me for years in one fuckin' go, and she won't be back for a few days. She's with her daughter. I couldn't stay there on me own, waiting around, driving meself mad trying to figure out a way to tell her." He reached for her arm across the table. "I will tell her Cyn."
She pulled away. "Don't you dare bring her with you to India."
"We're not back together for thirty minutes and you're already bloody naggin' me."
"I have ten years on this woman and my biggest mistake in our relationship was not telling you enough how much I loved you, so I'm telling you now. I love you and you are not taking her with you."
He cracked a small smile. "Who's the possessive one now?"
"I'm serious John."
"Alright, alright. She's back on Tuesday, Boxing Day. I'll tell her then."
"Good. Now, are you hungry?"
"I'm starvin'."
"Well, there's some left over chicken curry in the..."
He started laughing.
"What's so funny?"
"You. Another delicious Christmas meal with Chef Powell." Tounge in cheek, he leaned forward, leering at her jokingly.
"It's not Christmas yet..." She smiled.
He stopped laughing. "Come 'ere..."
She stood up and walked over to where he sat, standing before him.
"As soon as I get back from India, we'll go the registry office. I'll get Freda or someone in the office to sort it out for us." Reaching out to her, he took her hand and pulled her into his lap.
"John," she sighed. "It's not that simple..."
"Isn't it though? I already told ya, Cyn, I won't fuck it up again. Now stop yer moanin'..." He kissed her, slowly and passionately - the kind of kiss that made her weak in the knees - in a clear attempt to put an end to the conversation.
"Stop it..." She whispered against his lips, eyes still closed. "We can't just jump back into this."
Kissing her softly once more, he reached below her and picked her up as he stood to his feet. He said nothing - only smiled wickedly as he carried her towards the bedroom.
