In My Life - George Harrison/The Beatles

Chapter Twenty One: Advice

August 1958

The rainy day Connie had spent with the boys in July  ended up being one of the best through bittersweet hindsight. The rest of the summer holidays ended up being rather dreadful, especially after the news of John's mother's death hit them all. Connie hadn't known her Aunt Julia very well since John had lived with his Aunt Mimi for as long as she could remember, but she knew Julia had been a close friend of her own mother, and it was utterly heart-breaking for her to see her cousin in such a wreck. She'd never, ever seen John so broken. She'd only ever seen him cry once before, and that was at her own mother's funeral, and nothing could have prepared her for his reaction to the news.

It was a tragic time, so Connie wouldn't have been surprised if John had ditched her in place for reckless self-destruction. She'd planned to let him know she'd be there for him if he needed her, but also give him as much space as he needed, which was why it was quite unexpected that he'd spent pretty much every day since the funeral over at her house.

That afternoon was no different, as the two of them had spent all day sat in her living room leaning over a board game whilst the radio blared out the latest hits, and as much as Connie wanted to be nice to John considering everything that was going on, it was hard to stay sympathetic when he was such a good Monopoly player.

"I hate you," Connie grumbled at him as she threw the paper money at his face, though it didn't stop his smug grin.

"Lover's tiff?" her father's voice called from the hall as the front door slammed shut.

The living room door opened and there he stood, exhaustion evident on his face and no wonder, considering he'd been working for over twelve hours. Connie had once asked her father why he seemed to work constantly, most of his shifts being at night, and though he'd never really told her the answer she was knew him well enough to know he worked night shift to avoid being at home for too long, the place full of bittersweet memories of her mother. She'd guessed it was also to avoid having to sleep, and she didn't blame him; If she'd been through the war the way he did, she'd not want to sleep for fear of nightmares either.

The two of them didn't talk about those things, however. They rarely spoke of Connie's mother, and they never talked about the war. They rarely talked about his work as a fireman either, except for when he'd tell her to stop smoking in the house and how he'd refuse to smoke a cigarette because 'I get enough bloody smoke at work, Con'. The two were like ships in the night and it was rare they ever spent more than a few hours together, but they were closer than ever with an unspoken bond.

"Serves her right for not buying Mayfair when she had the chance," John glanced up from the game board looking rather pleased with himself, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. "Alright, Uncle Arthur?"

"Don't listen to him, Dad, I couldn't afford Mayfair even if I tried," Connie argued back, flicking one of John's houses off the board in retaliation, though he responded by taking her only house off its spot.

"Welcome to the working class, love," her father muttered, his accent a perfect mix of Yorkshire and Liverpudlian as he huffed out a sarcastic laugh.

As her father kicked his boots off, throwing his coat down onto the arm chair next to him, Connie got to her feet, stretching for a moment before moving over to where he'd just left his coat and boots. Without complaint, she placed the boots on the rack in the hall, hanging his coat up on it's peg by the stairs, and by the time she'd come back into the living room he'd gone through the living room and into the kitchen.

"How was work, dad?" Connie asked as she stood by the sofa, glaring down John who was still counting the monopoly money.

"Same shit, different day," her father called from the kitchen, and John let out a short laugh; he'd always been quite amused by his Uncle Arthur's bluntness.