Norwegian Wood

Chapter 1

As I approached the front door, I had to take a moment. Standing to the side and resting my head against the brick wall. I silently willed myself to have the courage. The courage to knock, at least.

Exhaling heavily, I stood up straight, determined to do it. To knock onto John Lennon's front door.

Despite what you might think, this wasn't the first time I'd knocked on his door, nor was it the first time we'd encountered each other. Far from it.

An affair, lasting only two weeks. Probably not significant when compared to the numerous others he's had, but it's led me here. About to knock on his door, him unknowing of my presence in London.

Raising my clenched fist, I tap firmly on the wood, and await an answer. Moments of nothingness end, when he opens the door.

"Hello, John."

"Hello?"

He doesn't remember me. Of course he wouldn't. Whilst he was in America, he probably had ten or more women, all nobody's, like me.

"(Y/N), or 'Little Bird' as you got so used to saying."

I watch as his eyes widen in recognition. I stand there, facial expression stern and unwavering. I already knew how he would react.

"Shit, ermm...how are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I came to see you."

"I can see that." John chuckles, nervously, before stepping back and allowing me access into his abode.

He usher's me into the living room, where there are brown leather sofas, surrounded by book shelves containing masses of books.

I sit down, and cross my legs. He sits next me, scratching his head awkwardly.

"So... you've been alright then?" John asks again, trying to make conversation with someone he thought he'd never see again.

"Yes. And yourself?"

"Oh, busy you know."

"I can imagine." I nod.

"Listen, YN," I'm caught off guard by him using my real name, rather than my pet name he gave me. "Why have you come all the way from New York just to see me?"

"I said- I wanted to see you. You promised to write me you haven't, not even a phone call."

He shakes his head, frustrated and stands.

"You remember what we said! I said if we were to go through with that thing whatever it was-"

"It was an affair." I state bluntly.

"Affair, call it what you want. We said that we couldn't carry it on once the tour continued, and I said that I wouldn't be able to contact you. I have the band and the music and my fiancee to worry about! We both agreed no strings attached!" He shouts, getting angrier by the minute.

"There were no strings attached then! But there is now! I'm pregnant!" I shout back, standing up and squaring up to him.

I watch as all the colour drains from his face and his eyes avert to the side. He slumps back into the armchair, struggling to take in his new information.

"Th-this is a joke! Some sick joke to get me to come running back to you! Well I'm not falling for it!" He accuses, not wanting to accept that I am expecting his child, and he's due to get married in a month.

Noticing my stern expression, he comes to the realisation that I'm telling the truth. He exhales loudly, and lowers his head into his hands.

"You were right about me wanting you to come back with me, but not for me. I want you to come back for your child." I admit, cradling my stomach.

He says nothing, so I sit down again, awaiting a response.

"How long have you known?" He finally asks.

"Six weeks."

"And you didn't think to phone me?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you. You who promised to ring."

"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I'M SORRY!" He roars, making me flinch for the first time and hold my stomach protectively.

Seeing me cower in fright, he closes his eyes and calms himself down.

"I didn't want this to happen John. But I want you to consider what it would do to this child if you weren't there. And what it would do to you, knowing you have a child, growing up to be just like you, but not knowing you. I'd like to think you have the heart to think about your baby."

John lowers himself down next to me, and places his head in his hands again, eyes squeezed shut.

"I know you don't care about me. I know you have Cynthia and your career and all that to think about. But spare a thought for your child. They never asked for this, so please don't send us away. Please. Be with your baby." I feel the sensation of tears, rolling down my cheeks and filling abruptly into my lap.

Then, the words I had dreaded since the day I found out I was expecting left his lips:

"I'm sorry. I can't."

I look up through my wet eyes in shock. I thought he had a heart somewhere beneath all that pain. Maybe I was just wishful thinking. As I squint my eyes at him in despair, I see that he is also crying.

"I thought I knew you." I whisper breathlessly.

"How can you? When I don't even know myself." John spits, followed by a sob.

I look down at the floor, and know I need to go. I can't look at him any longer.

"We'll go then. But in twenty years time, when your son or daughter comes knocking on that very door," I start, pointing harshly to the front door through which I came in, "you'll be the one explaining why you left them, and why you didn't have the courage to stick around."

I stride purposefully to the door, grasping the handle when I reach it. Before I turn it and walk out, I have one last thing to say to him.

"Oh, by the way, Cynthia knows. Good luck." I smile triumphantly.

I slam the door on my way out.