Penny Lane ~ John Lennon

act one scene three

The sound of Beethoven's third cello sonata in A minor was so prevailing in the dingy bedroom that the listener was unaware that the phone rang. She was also unaware that the person ringing was calling specifically for her.

"Nance, for Christ sake stop playing that shit and speak to this lad." Her brother was screaming from two floors below and within a short period of ten seconds she had made it to the bottom floor to answer the phone.

"Yello," She said (a peculiar greeting, though one likely to have some sentimental meaning behind it).

"I rather prefer blue."

"Oh hello, stranger."

On the other line was her apparent friend from her music class. Unbeknownst to her there was three of them: Her, him and his friend, who sat listening attentively.

"What would you like, on a Sunday as grey as this?" She asked.

"Well, you might find this hard to believe, because I'm brilliant, but," He began. "I can't read music so I thought you, being brilliant too, could start me off on the basics."

"Okay." A pause followed. "You're taking a music degree."

"Yes."

"And you can't read music."

"Yes."

"You absolute shitting melon."

Paul heard someone else yell from the other side of the phone something along the lines of: 'For fuck's sake you're only seventeen, you can't be swearing like that in front of your sisters!' and then an apology from Nancy.

"So where are we meeting?" She asked, casually.

"Your café?"

"It's as mine as England belongs to France."
And then a chuckle.

~

Perhaps, to a normal person, having someone you've spoken to on occasion invite you out to teach them music theory would be considered odd. But Nancy Roberts was not considerably normal by most and the to the rest she was normally not considered. It certainly did not strike her as odd when the person she was planning on seeing brought his second in command without a forewarning but there they were sitting in the horrible old white chairs.

She approached and sat down in ease with a folder tucked under and within the cloths of her velvet jacket. She was modern art to him; odd but understandable to him and nobody else.

"Hiya,"

"Hello,"

They had already ordered: bacon butties and coffee. Two cigarettes had been put out in the ash tray and they were each on their second now.

"Fag?"  Paul asked her.

"I've never had one. Me mum's boyfriend does; smells like shit and he nearly burnt the house down once."

John knew that was a lie

"Is that a no?"

"Yeah, go on then."

John held out a cigarette were she took it in her teeth, his two fingers - middle and index - remained intact and they made contact with her lips. It was brief but like an electric shock. Powerful, perhaps. 

-

"Which way you going?" John had remained near the door whereas Paul had walked halfway down the street and had stopped to observe.

"Left,". John glanced up the street, a thoughtful bird fleeted across his face. He answered with "Good. I'll walk with you."

The girl glanced up towards Paul and seeing his puzzled face, questioned why he, John the lad, wanted to walk - or insisted upon it - with her rather than his friend. When challenged by this, he simply replied with: "I live that way." However, Paul knew that he didn't but said nothing but a goodbye with a wave.

And so, they walked in each others' company with him starting the conversations. He started with statements or questions and was given short, dry replies.

"You do music."

"Yes,"

"Why cello?"

"My dad liked it."

"Why classical?"

"My dad liked it."

Silence for a few strides.

"You don't talk much, do ya?"

"Is that an issue?"

Silence once more, dragging out before them and stretching beyond them. And then something extraordinary occurred: it wasn't John being the first to talk.

"Sometimes, I feel like talking and sometimes I don't." She said. He didn't reply for what seemed like a while. It was starting to rain. "Just depends on what day it is."

"It's not an issue." He wouldn't have said that had it been any other girl. Yes, if it were any other girl he would have been snappy and full or curses. But, he wasn't. "Do you know the scenic route?"

"Apart from this, the only time I go out is for school and work. So, no."

He lead them on a diverted path but she protested. "Why are we going this way? It'll take longer."

"Go the other way then." He retorted with his sweetheart visage becoming hidden by the person he truly is. He was stupid and to her he was a boy. Just a boy with a temper; not a mature nineteen year old she'd want. She went with him, though she didn't feel like it was the best option but she felt compelled. Compelled as one would be when doing something ridiculous for the thrill of it. He was stupid to her but she knew she was as well.