Telltale ~ Liam Gallagher

AUGUST 2001 - CONT AGAIN

A/N: This part has been a long time coming. Cut a long story short, I started Year Twelve this year and have been swamped with work. It's the summer now so I can get back to writing about my favourite musician! I actually just got tickets to go and see Liam with my sister hiddlesbatchers  and I am so excited! Sorry this has taken so long, I'll do a little recap so you don't have to go back and re-read the last chapters. Thanks for sticking with me :)

Recap: previous part:

Clambering out of bed, I fumble for my crutches (my new best friends) and start towards the door when I feel something crispy beneath my not-fucked-leg.

Paper.

A warm sense of nostalgia sweeps over me, knowing exactly what this is before I've even looked at it. A note. From Liam. Just like the ones he used to write me when life was simpler and less... catastrophic.

THINGS LIAM IS NOT ALLOWED TO SAY:

- that despite Penny having a screwed-up leg (which Liam takes full responsibility for by the way) she was remarkably good in bed.

I actually find myself laughing; re-reading the note over and over in sheer relief that he hadn't just walked out and left me. This notes proves that at least one small brain cell of his was thinking of me. And that's enough to put a smile on my face.

I flip the note over in my hands, brushing my fingertips across the creased paper. In tiny letters at the bottom of the paper is scrawled a small message. If I hadn't inherited my mother's amazing eyesight I wouldn't have the slightest chance of deciphering what it says, but I can just about read the words:

Pack a bag :)

-------

Pack a bag. Pack a bag?! What does that mean? Even though I am super chuffed that Liam hasn't just abandoned me after we slept together, I am now stressed as to what 'pack a bag' means. Weather conditions, activities, length of trip... I need to know! Ah the many issues that come with being a huge control freak.

I end up throwing a bit of every season in the bag. I'm sure I'll be able to find a washing machine, or just a sponge, if necessary. If I'm being honest, right now I'm too excited to allow myself to over think it.

He wants me. Liam wants me.

He hasn't even told me where to go, at what time, if I need a passport... I guess that's his style though; disorganised and irritating. I love it.

I hope it's a gig. Or a festival. I want something really thrilling. Ever since hurting my leg I've been cooped up like a hamster in a cage. I need to get out, feel risky and a little bit dangerous. I'm sick of acting like a menopausal woman in her dressing gown. I need to live. Liam is the one to make me live.

The only problem is, my grotesque cast is making me feel really unsexy. Like a period would. You could be wearing the sexiest little black dress, but on your period, you'll feel like an ogre in a bin bag. Not fun. This cast is making it really difficult to wear anything vaguely attractive. But, in all honestly, he wouldn't have fucked me last night if the cast was a huge issue. Sorry. Pretty blunt there.

I ram my burgundy passport into a small leather handbag as well as my wallet and keys. Prepared. I get up, lace my sneakers, and then sit by the front door like a sad little puppy, waiting for a knock or for the phone to ring.

This is the moment in the romcom where the girl waits for hours for the man to come to her door. And he never arrives. She'll wait for him all night, wide awake like a child on Christmas morning. And he will have forgotten her, or just bailed. Either or. That's what happens to girls like me. The unlucky ones. We get swept underneath the rug like dust.

I cling to the note like it's a golden ticket out of this boring hell. It becomes slightly creased beneath the pressure of my finger tips as I wait by the door with eagerness and fear.

And then it comes. The rapping at the door. I suddenly feel quite nauseated.

His silhouette prances behind the glass, and I wonder if he can see mine.

"Ready to go?" He grins as the door swings open, and a wave of relief washes over me, replacing the nausea. He grabs my bag. I find myself watching to see his reaction to the size and weight of it. Does he think I've under packed, meaning we are going somewhere for a long time, or that I've over packed and completely misinterpreted what he said to me earlier? It's no use. He just looks like Liam.

"It's hard to judge whether I am ready to go or not, when I don't even know where 'there' is." I take one last glance at the flat, checking I haven't left a tap running or a light on, and lock the front door knowing that I won't miss my dingy abode even if we end up staying in a swamp.

"Did I never tell you?" He wrinkles up his nose and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Where is somewhere you have always wanted to go?"

He is patient as I hobble down the concrete steps to the ground floor on my battered crutches. I don't know how, even I am beginning to run out of patience for myself. He holds a hand out for me when we come to the last step.

"That's a big question." The sunshine on my skin feels so odd. I haven't surfaced from the flat in a while, so the fresh air, light and heat feels different. "I've always wanted to go back in time and watch one of The Beatles' first gigs-"

Liam laughs at me and waves at the car which is waiting for us. "No, somewhere in the now, not in the past."

I can't tell if I've gone red or not, but I probably have. Luckily the intensity of the sun means I could pass it off as sunburn...

"Oh right..." I try to peer into the windows of the car but they're those special darkened ones. No nosiness today Penny. "Berlin? Moscow? Ljubljana?"

"Stop guessin'!" He mock yells, hurling my bag into the boot. Thankfully, the car is empty. I was half expecting to have to share a ride with him and his brother. Which would not have been fun. Imagine being trapped in a confined space with two emotionally traumatised and immature chimps. "The more you guess wrong, the more underwhelmin' it'll be!"

I smile and nod, "Fine, just tell me!"

"Prague."

"Prague?"

At this moment I cannot remember ever mentioning Prague to Liam, but he seems so excitable that I decide to keep the charade going.

"We have a gig there in three nights. Thought you might fancy comin' along early and spendin' some time with me." He pauses to lob my crutches in the boot and then steadies me with his hands. "I have heard that Prague is the most romantic city in Europe!" He grins.

I can't help but laugh and smile with him, "Whoever told you that," presumably Noel, "-was lying. But I'm sure we can make that work."

I'm just shocked he knows where Prague is.