⇾ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐈

Chapter Twenty-Six: Idea (Ding, Ding, Ding!)

October 7, 1961

John walked me down to a place that served fish and chips, confidently telling them we'd take it home, and while we waited, I began asking him a bunch of stuff, staying loyally on the topic of Germany.

It had finally stopped raining and all that remained was a chill in the air and some water on the ground

"Have you been anywhere outside of Hamburg?"

He thought a moment. "We got a day off once and we drove up to Bremen. It's not too far from Hamburg. That's the only time we've been out of the city though. We don't get too much time off." He shrugged and I nodded. The lady at the counter rang a bell, we went and got our food and drinks, and began the walk home.

"Definitely a step up from good ole Liddypool," he joked. I laughed. "I really think you'd like it," he mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. "You sound like a pitiful five-year-old. I'll bring it up to Brian, but don't get your hopes up, Lennon."

He smiled at me hopefully. "What do you wanna do tonight?"

I shrugged. "Got any board games?"

"Who knows," he said. "Probably somewhere in the attic we do."

"Well, that sounds like a nice time, eh?"

He smiled happily. "Anytime with you sounds like a nice time."

I shoved him playfully. "You're such a sap." I laughed nervously.

He took my hand in his free hand. "Just thinkin' out loud," he replied charmingly, beginning to hum a song. I recognized the Buddy Holly hit right away.

Hold me close and tell me how you feel
Tell me love is real
Words of love you whisper soft and true
Darling, I love you

Let me hear you say the words I long to hear
Darling, when you're near
Words of love you whisper soft and true
Darling, I love you

By the time he'd gotten past the first verse, his humming turned into singing, his voice coming out low and almost a growl. I shivered.

"Ye cold?" he asked, snaking his arm around my waist. I was, but chose to answer with a head shake, only leaning in closer to him for warmth.

When we'd made it back to his house, we went inside and set up the food on the coffee table situated perfectly in between the small TV and the sofa. A minute later, John lugged some blankets down from a closet in the hallway and told me to come up and help him with something. I went upstairs to find him in his closet, fumbling with something.

"What's that?" I asked.

He turned with a sly smile. "It's a record player my mum gave me. Mimi doesn't like that I have it, but I always pull it out when she's gone." I smiled. "A little help?"

"Oh, yeah."

When we'd gotten it situated and hooked up, he put a Buddy Holly record on and it began to spin.

"Now, milady," he said jokingly, sitting down on one side of the coffee table, patting a spot next to him. I shook my head, smiling, and went to sit next to him. He reached below the table and pulled out a little wooden board with dents in it, each filled with a few marbles. "Ye know how ta play?"

I shook my head. I recognized the game, Mancala, from seeing people in the children's home playing it sometimes, but never joined in, being the antisocial lump of flesh I was.

"Well, it's simple," he said, taking a bite of his food. "You just want to get as many marbles in your side as you can," he explained.

I nodded. "So," I began and paused, already confused.