Misery (John Lennon Fanfiction)

Part 32

Amelia's POV:
"I remember that girl, she was always strange" Gran quipped from her chair, musing on about John's mother.

"She was nothing but lovely to me, and it's terrible for John." I hummed, fixing my hair in the reflection of the oven.

"Quite horrible." She nodded. "Are you two going steady dear?" She turned around in her seat, making eye contact with me as I turned to face her.

"Well..." I paused, making my way towards her chair. "I think so, there's no other way to describe it."  She just nodded, a hint of a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Could she know what John and I have been up to? I mean, she wouldn't be able to know if I haven't told her.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting my train of thought.

"I suppose that's him, I'd better be off Gran." I grabbed my coat from the counter.

"Good luck sweetheart."

I opened the door and he was there, leaning against the wall. He looked up at me through his fringe, which hung over his eyes, and offered me his hand.

***
John's POV:
She squeezed my fingers periodically, the cool wood of the pew was un-sanded in places, creating rough splinters in the wood which threatened to snag my jacket.

In slow motion, I leant in towards hers throughout the sermon, gently bringing her head down onto my shoulder before planting a soft kiss on her head. While everything else buzzed in my head, the words of the priest, the girls reading their little poem, the mumbling of the crowd around me, at least I had control of her, us.

I could feel the warmth of her hand in mine and her steady breathing calmed me. Although I couldn't control the occasional tear she wiped them sensitively.

After the service was the God awful reception, lunch in the function room above the pub. I sat at a small table with friends, Minnie was there, Shotton, Paul, his friend George whose parents knew my mother somehow. Until Mimi came along.

"John dear, come, we must say hello to the people paying their respects" her first words to me in two weeks.

"They're only here for the food and the grog." I said, prompting a thwack on the head in perfect Mimi fashion.

I straightened my tie again and looked around, my eyes sifting through the hoards of women wearing tweed and black cotton, their chirpy gossip filling the air. The group of men gathered at the bar looked equally repulsive, yet less intimidating.

"How y'doin fellas" I approached, leaning on the bar.

"Fine, an y'self young man? Say, are you the son?" A bald man, apart from bushy ginger eyebrows remarked. I nodded solemnly in response.

"Gee, we're feeling for you mate" another added, evoking a sympathetic hum from the others.

"Where's your dad?" The first grabbed my shoulder, looking around the room. I shrugged him off out of impulse, swallowing my moment of anger and fear. It was just a mistake.

"I dunno." I swallowed. "How-, How did you know my mother?" I asked.

There was a chuckle. "Oh, we knew your mother well." Ginger smiled "Hell, maybe your father is sitting right here son."

I would say I didn't mean it, but that would be a lie. Before I could think about it, blood was gushing from his most likely broken nose and there was a dull ache in my knuckles. I stole one of their flasks from the bar while they attended to their wounded ringleader, stuffing it into the pocket of my blazer.