If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 25 - 28.Sept.1961 - 1.Oct.1961

Chapter 25

September 28, 1961

I was alone at the McCartney home when the phone rang. I skipped down the stairs and hurried to answer it, managing to pick it up on what was probably the last ring.

"McCartney residence," I said as I pressed the phone between my shoulder and my ear. My wet hair hung unbrushed around my face and down my back, creating a spot of wetness on my shirt.

"Am I speaking with Olivia Woods?" There was something familiar about the voice.

"You are." I twirled the cord around my finger and gazed at the fireplace. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Olivia." And then it clicked. It had been almost a year since I'd heard his voice, but it was ingrained in my memory...especially from our last encounter, the one that had left me afraid for my life and fleeing the country. "It's your father."

Disbelief crashed over me like a wave, and I took a single step back before collapsing onto the plush brown chair. My eyes closed as I pushed my head into the palm of my hand. I let out a shaky breath and attempted to pull myself together. I'd come a long way since crawling out of my window and running from his house. He'd controlled and hurt me for far too long, and I was finally beginning to see the light again. He damn well wasn't going to take that from me.

"Are you there?" he asked, his voice exactly how I remembered it, though I barely remembered him sounding so sober.

"How'd you find me?" My voice was low, but at least I sounded in control. Although fear coursed through my veins and my hands trembled, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much hearing his voice affected me.

He hesitated before answering. "Does it matter?"

I pushed my hand into my wet hair and sighed. "What do ye want?"

"I need to speak with you, Olivia," he said, his voice strained. He almost sounded like he had right after my mother had passed away—sad, dejected, hopeless, teetering on the edge.

"Well, here I am. You found me, and for some dim-witted reason, I haven't hung up yet." I searched for a pack of cigarettes, my fingers itching to hold a cig. I needed something to stop my hands from shaking, but Paul hadn't left a pack on the coffee table like he so often did. "So talk if you're going to."

"This would be better done in person."

I scoffed and twisted the cord even tighter around my finger, practically cutting off my circulation. "You've got to be joking me."

"Olivia." My name came out as a sigh. "I'm ill."

"You're ill?" I rubbed at my eyes. Why hadn't I bloody hung up the phone?

"Cancer, says the doctor."

"Ye wha?" There was no way I'd heard him correctly. I leaned back in the chair and pushed my hand to my forehead, forcing myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest.

"Cancer," he repeated. A long sigh came from his side of the telephone. "Prostate cancer."

"Okay," I said, my voice low. My head swam a bit, and it was probably best I was sitting. "All right, so what does that mean?"

"I'd like to see you, Olivia."

"I'm not interested in seein' you." My pulse raced. "I imagine you know why."

There was silence for a moment before he pushed out a long breath. "Yes, I know why. But I'm looking to apologize to you, to make amends."

I didn't speak. I didn't know what to say. He wanted to apologize to me? That didn't make any sense. There had to be some ulterior motive for him wanting to see me.