"Cynthia, love, please! You're twenty-eight years old. Come have a bit of dinner. You'll never get over that sorry excuse for a man if you stay locked up there day and night. Time is ticking my dear!"
"I'm fine, mum!' She called, smoke exhaling from her nostrils as she stubbed out her cigarette. "Honestly. I'm just doing a bit more work. I'll be down in a bit."
Cross-legged and sitting in the middle of her childhood bedroom floor, she stared into the ash try. "Blimey" she muttered to herself, realizing she had almost gone through an entire pack of fags since that morning.
Standing up, she carefully stepped over the many half-finished drawings that had covered the floor, and walked over to the dresser where she had left her cigarettes. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but think of John. Dressed head-to-toe in black, with her hair in a ponytail and eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed specs, she was the spitting image of her former art school self. When she first met him. When she first fell in love nearly ten years ago.
It had almost been a week since Yoko turned up at her flat and he returned to Kenwood. She had not heard from him since, and refused to embarrass herself any further by ringing him.
Sitting back down on the floor in a huff, she lit another cigarette and leaned back into the side of her bed, biting her bottom lip between drags as she stared straight ahead. He had said he wanted to make it work. They made love. They were supposed to spend Christmas together; start a new life in London. Why didn't he tell Yoko to sod off? Why did he insist on taking her back to Kenwood?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Quickly maneuvering herself to the window, knees rubbing against the white carpet, she subtly lifted her head high enough to peek out. "Bloody 'ell" She hissed, quickly ducking her head back down in case he happened to look up. Puffing away franticly, she finished her last cigarette in record time as she got up and raced to the door, pressing her ear against it.
"You've got a lot of nerve turning up at this house!" Lil exclaimed. "She doesn't want to see you."
"Give it a rest, Lil, would ya? Is she up there? I need to speak to 'er."
"You may be a Beatle, but you'll always be a ted to me, and I don't allow teds in my home."
"For Christ's sake. I thought you mighta come up with a new bit by now."
John's voice was getting closer. Was he on the stairs already?
"Don't you dare go up there, John. You don't even know where you're going."
"Wanna bet? I know exactly where her bedroom is Lil, ta luv."
Cynthia cringed, imagining the expression on her mother's face.
There was a knock on the door that followed shortly thereafter.
"Bugger off!" She shouted, stepping away from the door. Not only did she look a shadow of her former self, she felt like it, too.
"Open the door, Cyn." His voice remained calm, which only fed her worry.
"You must be thick if you think I'm --"
"Still haven't sorted that lock out, have ya?" Stepping into the room, he shut the door behind him before turning around to face her.
"Cynthia are you alr--"
"It's fine, mum. I can handle this," she called, before crossing her arms and meeting his eyes.
He was dressed in jeans, white turtle neck and white trainers - a stark contract to her black jumper and trousers - beneath an oversized shaggy fur coat.
