Get It Straight, Or Say Good Night

That Lennon Boy

"Out, out!! You bloody lads bursting in at all hours. George, get this lout out now" Harold was red with anger as he began bustling toward John to scoot him out the front door.

"I'm here for Louise not George, Mister Harrison" Johns face was contorted with a mix of worry, panic and a small trace of terror, he had planned everything but hadn't told Louise and looking at her now he deduced he probably should have. No other way to say but she was a mess with a red cheek to boot.

Harold ceased movement toward the door and returned to his seat, head in hands, dejected and suddenly looking a lot older than his years.

Paul entered the fray leering in over Georges shoulder.

It was fast becoming a free for all.

Louise groaned to herself and began pacing not wanting the panic to set into her pores and make her regret ever having confided in John. W. Lennon. Watching her feet, one hand over her cheek the other clutching herself across her stomach, that stomach.. she moved about til she stood by the fireplace.

Her mother joined her there.

During Christmas and the cooler months, they would often stand together quietly and watch the new days' freshly lit fire come to life, the small pieces quickly sparking to smoke and crackle. Or better still, when they harmonised together, singing carols or other tunes while the dinner cooked on the stove. Now it was a meeting place of sheer regret and horror of her daughters future for the mother and terror of the unknown for Louie.

"Louise" mother put a hand carefully on her child's shoulder, her daughter, the baby she oft cuddled even as a girl of her age now they were still close. Now she was facing womanhood head on at such a tender age "Is John, John Lennon, the father?"

Louise looked at her mother blankly, not registering the question posed. Her mother shook her by the shoulders at that point wanting the answer come hell or high water.

"Is the Lennon boy the father, Louise" Mother said it louder and shook Louie once again. Louise glanced across, over her father's head settling her eyes on her brother. George had questions written over his face like tattoos of intrigue. She couldn't answer his eyes now and perhaps not ever and her gaze flickered over to Paul, eyes watching worriedly and finally settled upon John.

He smiled the secret smile not many saw, her mother was having none of the silence and shook Louie til her bones rattled. "Is that boy the father" The finger pointed toward John and he immediately walked toward the women, making himself a prime target for Louie's father to damage his person as he was within arm's length now.

"Yes Mrs H. I'm the dad" John spoke clearly and loud enough for the entire room to hear his words, Paul had to physically restrain George from launching at Johns back. "I'm here to see you and Mister Harrison, mam"

If it hadn't been a tense moment Louie, Paul and George would have hollered with glee, John cap in hand was not a sight seen often, if at all.

But it wasn't a carefree moment it was Louie's watershed, her life.

Louie stared blankly ahead, the small cuckoo clock held her eyes fixed on the hands ticking quietly, her hold on reality felt as though it was disappearing, slipping away toward possible nightmares of the unknown. John wasn't the father was he, no 'o course not.

"No!"

"Louie, it's alright. We need to tell them" John was stood beside her, she hadn't noticed him move so close, his fingers on her elbow holding steady "I'll look after you Lou, promise"

She felt faint and dis-attached from her body.

Like she was looking down upon a scene of a play.