If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 30 - 3.Dec.1961 - 6.Dec.1961

Chapter 30

December 3, 1961

"What time's the appointment?" I asked, my foot tapping on the floor of the bus. John sat beside me, leaning back and looking unconcerned.

His brow pinched together as if he had to really think about the answer. "Half-past four."

I glanced at my watch. "Ye know it's already half past, dontcha?"

"Didn't have a clue," John said before pulling in a long drag of his cig.

I glared at him.

"I know the time, Liv," he said. 

"Y'think it wise to be late? Didn't you say Brian Epstein is interested in being yer bloody manager?" My leg kept shaking as I looked at him, my brows raised.

In their previous meeting, which the boys had also been tardy for after falling into the Grapes for a few bevvies, Brian had asked about their management arrangements. He'd arranged this subsequent meeting to iron out some details.

"Settle down, Livvy. We're almost there, all right?"

I bit the inside of my lip before plucking John's cig from his lips and taking a quick drag. "Why am I here, anyway?"

"Apparently to be a naggin' pain in me arse," John muttered as he took his ciggie back. "Get yer own damned cig."

"What crawled up yer arse and found a home?" I asked, grumbling as I turned to look out the window.

"Yer ruddy attitude." He pushed his hand into his hair before placing it on my bouncing knee. "Dunno why it's so hard for you to come to one simple meetin'."

"It's a band thing, innit?" I turned to face him. "I'm not part of yer band, just in case you forgot how incredibly non-musical I am."

"Need you there, all right?" His fingers gripped my knee. "This could be somethin'. Need to know what you think of Epstein. Make sure he's not some kind of con man, y'know?"

I blinked and then nodded. "Yeah, all right. I'm here, aren't I?"

He hummed in response as he blew out a puff of smoke. The bus came to a stop, and he wrapped his hand around mine before leading me off the bus. I stepped closer to him as the chilled air enveloped us. John kept his hand around mine as we walked the short distance to Brian's store. The large block letters of NEMS came into view. John hesitated in front of the door, taking in a few last drags of his ciggie before throwing it to the ground and crushing it with the tip of his shoe. We were only a few minutes late when we pushed through the door, out of the cold, and into the shop. The walls were covered with LP jackets and posters, and there were countless aisles of boxes filled with records.

John dropped my hand as he walked toward the others. George and Pete both adorned black overcoats and stood looking absently through stacks of records. Mr. Epstein's narrowed eyes moved to John before glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. Brian was, as always, immaculately dressed, his suit well-fitted and his shirt crisp. Around his neck hung a thin black tie, and on his feet were well-polished black shoes.

I stopped walking and stayed several feet behind John, fiddling with the bottom of my jacket. I glanced around the store, my lips tipping into a frown. Where the hell was Paul?

"John," Brian said, stretching his hand forward.

"Brian," John replied, shaking his hand. "Paul not here?"

"I was hoping he'd be with you," Brian said as he stood tall, his posture impeccable. He eyed the door and then the clock again.

"Oi, Georgie, Pete, where's Macca?" John hollered to his bandmates.