Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]

20. That sweet little boy

A car horn honked so loud; it was almost deafening.  

The car couldn't give any more warning signals; the headlights were already beaming over the figure standing in the middle of the road. 

Once again, the driver gave a prolonged blast of the horn, like a cruise ship leaving a dock.  It didn't slow down. It was too close, too dangerous, and it continued to speed towards the girl with her feet stuck like glue to the concrete. 

Why the hell isn't she moving?!

John gripped the blonde girl's shoulder and yanked her behind him, just as the car zoomed past. The driver double honked as it continued to bolt down Menlove Avenue. 

John spun around to face the loon standing behind him on the pavement, the sound of his heart rapidly thumping through his ears.

"Christ girl, do you have a death wish or somethin'?! Why the fuck didn't yer move?!"

"I-I left my handbag on the bus," Celia Pooley stuttered. She was just as flustered as he was. She rubbed her palm across the top of her ribcage as if to give her heart the solace it needed. 

"No, yer didn't forget it. I've got it here." John pulled out Celia's brick of a bag from underneath his armpit and pressed it to her chest.

He was annoyed, aggravated, relieved. If she'd run out into the road a minute later, that would've been it. The car probably would've knocked her down dead the speed it was going. He would've been left with a haunting memory and a lifelong sentence of guilt for not taking better care of the girl who was as pissed as she was witless.

"Oh. Thanks," Celia timidly replied. 

"Can I trust ya to walk on yer own or do ya intend on jumpin' in front of any more headlights tonight?"

"I can walk by myself," she frowned. "I'm not a kid."

"Stop acting like one, then. Come on, ya pillock."

It was proving to be one hell of a task getting the pisshead to his gaff. John had spent the remainder of the bus journey thinking of ways to avoid letting her into his home. Perhaps the girl could just jog up and down the road a few times. That would surely sober her up, and then John wouldn't have to face Mimi's wrath when he walked into the house with a drunken broad stumbling in behind him.

Most of the time, John would do what he wanted regardless of what his aunt had to say about his actions or whereabouts. He'd always have a crafty lie hiding up his sleeve, but Mimi was the only person who could have John biting his nails like a famished mouse. He had to give props to her; the woman was powerful.

Celia toppled behind John and he turned around to see she'd landed on all fours.

"I thought ya could manage on yer own?" John said through a smirk. "You're still bevvied."

He offered Celia a hand, but she tutted and whacked it away as he were a peasant with a hand covered in pig shit. It was the second time the ungrateful bitch had done that this evening and he wouldn't be doing it again.

"I'm cone sold stober actually," Celia asserted, clumsily standing on two feet again.

John laughed. "Yeah, you sound it, love."

She glared at him while flicking her hair over her shoulder and then continued to flounder down the pavement. It didn't take her long before she lost her footing against the edge of the kerb. John quickly caught her before she fell again. If the girl wasn't careful, she'd end up injuring herself and then he really would leave her there. It was hard enough getting her to walk even without her turning into a bloody cripple.