Lonely People

Home Again

George and I arrived home late in the afternoon. The lunch rush had come and gone and the dinner rush was fast approaching. We disembarked from the plane at the very last second, once the crowd had thinned out completely. The stewardesses bid us farewell with a fake smile as we stepped back into Liverpool.

"It's just as gray as I remember," I commented as we passed a large window.

George shrugged, "At least it's not raining. S'pose we should find a phone and call the lads, tell them we landed."

"And a cab," I replied, "Didja tell your mum you were coming home?"

George shook his head, "No, going to surprise her. Tell your Dad?"

"I'm not tellin' that wanker anything," I replied, "Might as well pretend he doesn't even exist."

George shrugged. I glanced out a window to see a plane take off. The sound shook the building, but nobody questioned it. They were used to it. I winced at the sound, my stomach churning with flashbacks to the ride. That moment, I swore, I would never ride a plane again. 

We found two pay phones tucked away in a cubby hole inside the terminal. One was in use by an elderly business man, but the other was free. George and I went up to that one. He began patting his pockets and scowling, "I haven't got any shillings."

"I have one," I replied, digging in my own pocket.

I pulled out a rusty shilling and handed it to him. He winked at me and shoved the coin into the phone. I watched as he dialed. When he finished, he held the phone horizontally by his ear. We both held our ears close to the speaker.

"Who is this?" John answered.

The phone was crackling, making his voice sound obscure. In the background, I could hear Paul ask something and Stuart reply. John shushed them both and did his best to focus on the scratchy sound coming through the phone.

"It's George and Amelia," George replied.

John sighed, "Georgie, we were wondering when you'd call."

"We just landed," I told him, "The plane was bloody slow."

George chuckled. We could hear an argument in the background of the song. John had covered the microphone so we could only hear muffled voices. Air moved across the phone. It sounded like a cyclone had touched down. Moments later, Paul's voice came over the speaker, "Lia?"

"Here, Paulie," I replied.

"You can't go home, I don't want you to have to face Dad alone," Paul sounded worried.

I shook my head, "I wasn't going to, I'm not even going to tell him I'm back."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I dunno," I replied, "I was thinking of staying with Molly."

George had told me his parents wouldn't let me stay over. They weren't the sort to let their son's female friend stay the night, even if I stayed with his sister. They were a bit strict, but no where near what my Dad was. Even so, to this day, I swear George's Mum is an angel is disguise. She's a blessing and always has been. Had it been up to her, she would have let me stay with them in the blink of an eye. George's Dad was the one against it. 

"Good. Are you two alright?"

"Fine, Paulie," George answered, "We're about to call a cab and go home."

"Sadly," I muttered.

John said something in the background. Paul sighed, "Got to go. Bye lads."