Penny Lane ~ John Lennon

act one scene two

John managed to muster up the courage to start consecutively visiting the, quote, 'badly decorated café' on his own, consecutively each week, whilst also going with Paul and George. He'd order the same thing: a coffee and a bacon barm and then he smoked a cigarette on the way to school.

Nancy was always the one that served him and it came to a point where she would come over and say: "bacon and coffee?" because she knew what he wanted before he did. She made use of the practice room facility and practiced cello there on the weekends and throughout the week. Every time Paul passed with John he'd say: "That's her." as they went to bunk off of lessons.

†

Nancy was passing a cup of orange juice to Carol when a thick-set, giant lad came tumbling through the door in an eager haste. His limbs were clumsy and one would not presume that he was a sibling to Nancy who was so dainty. His eyes had a severe cast to them and he repeatedly tried to speak but the words couldn't come out.

"What's wrong, Kenny?" Carol was the first to speak.

"Nick's kicked off."

"He always does." Nancy stated, like it wasn't unusual.

"It's bad this time though." Ken had a head of tight leucous, barbed wire-like curls in contrast to his sisters bush, near black hair.

"What's happened?"

"Nick's kicked off, how many times do I have to fucking tell you?" He repeated, with a tone dripping with anger. He huffed and he composed himself. Carol was oddly unnerved by this sudden outburst. Ken lowered his voice to a hush. "I need you to be there for mum so I can get Nick out."

She was about to kick off herself. What logic is there in leaving someone alone in the presence of a man whose anger is fuelled by his own despair.

"I wanna go." Carol whined.

"Not the place for you, Caz."

Nancy leant on a chair and looked at Carol. And then at John, who'd now been unwillingly dragged into this messy business. Eyes remaining on him, she bit her gums and then said: "She alright to stay with you?"

"Yeah, no that's fine." He stuttered awkwardly. Bloody Lennon putting his image to shame; not keeping up the arrogant attitude. "Don't you need to do your job and that?"

"They can fire me. Bloody hate this place." She scoffed.

Nancy went to the kitchens and threw her apron on a counter before walking out with Ken.

†

John was sat awkwardly with his eyes focused on one point of his newspaper with this ten-year-old opposite him. Swinging her legs, as children do in excited states, and sipping her orange juice she chatters to John who replies with single words whilst he wrung his hands together anxiously.

"This always happens at home." She told him quite plainly and, oddly, nonchalantly.

"Hmph."

"Like," She started. "I'd be out with Nance an' then she'd go home to mum. The bizzies have been about a few times an' that. Yano, because Nick hits her."

"Hm?"

"D'you like me sister?" She asked.

"Suppose,"

"That's a yes, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

"How come you're here all the time?"

"How come you're here all the time?" He repeated, easing into the adult role for once.

"I asked you first." She whined.

"And I'm older. If I buy you a cake will ya stop pestering me?"

†

Nancy was either told off, fired or had quit. Because John had never seen her there since and eventually, he stopped going. However, Paul saw her frequently and it came to the point where they could almost be considered friends. The same goes for George. They'd often use her for help on their music theory.

They were sat, working on their written work, when she felt a soft tap at her shoulder. She spun round to see Paul looking eager and gripping his pencil. His work was scruffy and the page usually covered in scribbles and markings made by a pen. Now he was using a pencil.

"So, " He began. "You probably get lessons, so you'd be more musically inclined than me."

"I don't but okay."

"Anyway, can I have your number? With your given consent, of course."

"How very gentlemanly of you."

"Thank you, dear."

He didn't see why John took the form of a desperate poet when pondering such a girl. A girl who he saw as the one with sharp, sloping shoulders; gangly limbs; dark, unkempt hair; and was skinny, but not in a model or ballerina type of way. Skinny to him as if she was malnourished. But alas, the art of the raphaelites was attacked by the critics that lived parallel to it.

She, in careful cursive figures, wrote her house number down on a piece of paper ripped out of a book.

And now John wanted to fashion himself in a way that she would not critique.