Once she’d done her stretches in the morning and gotten dressed for the workday, Sharon fixed a nice breakfast for the two of them, toast and chips and cheese n’ egg scramble with tinned mushrooms, an old family favourite.  John ate with evidence of enthusiasm, so she felt gratified for her efforts, which were a bit of an unspoken apology for the way she’d been treating him.  Watching the clock carefully, she sipped tea with him once the room was straightened, finally asking the question she’d thought of the night before.

“However...... however did you know about a hot water bottle and backrub, John?”

“Oh, I didn’t really get ta know me Mum much ‘til I was a teenager.  Then, once I got ta be friends with ‘er, ‘bout once a month, she’d ‘ave some terrible pains.  Got used ta knowin’ when she’d get ‘em, so I’d come ‘round an’ fix ‘er up a bottle an’ give ‘er a rub, an’ it seemed ta make ‘er feel better.  Did it ‘elp ya?  Last night?”

What an interesting and intriguing story, Sharon thought, wondering about his comment of not knowing his mother until he was a teen.  Well, he was still a teenager, but she kept that thought to herself.

“Oh, it was lovely, thank you,” she said.  “I slept like a baby.  I suppose I’ll have to thank your mother if I ever see her.”

His voice was flat and brittle.  “Ya won’t.  She’s dead.”

“Oh.”

His expression discouraged questions or even sympathy, so Sharon quickly changed the subject, leaving the mystery unsolved.

“John, you’re leaving on Monday, is that right?”

“Yeah, our first night playin’ at th’ Indra’s th’ seventeenth.”

He seemed a little nervous, although he’d relaxed when he saw she wasn’t going to question him about his mother.  Sharon smiled reassuringly. 

“You’ll do well, I’m certain!  How are you getting there?”

“Oh, Allan’s gonna take us in ‘is van.  We’re gonna go over t’ Harwich an’ take th’ boat t’ th’ hook o’ Holland, then drive from there.”

“Allan?  Have you been out of the country before?”

“Allan Williams, our manager.  I been t’ Wales, but that’s still here, ya know?  I’m lookin’ forward ta seein’ th’ continent.”

“I’ve traveled around the continent a bit, have quite a few stamps in my passport, although I’ve not been to Germany.  I’m sure it will be quite an experience for you, John.”

“Don’ start that again,” he said warningly.

“What?” Sharon asked in surprise.

“Don’ start with th’ young man thing again.  I can hear it in yer voice.”  He assumed a high falsetto tone.  “Young man, you’ll enjoy an eye opening experience the likes of which you’re too young to have had before.”  He coughed and grimaced, then continued in his normal tone of voice.  “Jus’ you watch yerself, young lady, I’ll ‘ave ta put ya over me knee an’ teach ya some respect.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He grinned, his eyes half-closed and sleepy, a lazy cat-like attitude in his lassitude. 

The effect was quite breathtaking. 

“Try me,” he invited.

Sharon took the tray into the kitchen, blushing and thinking that she might definitely enjoy taking him up on his threat in another few days, if he stayed around that long!  She busied herself washing cups and plates as she tried to regain her composure.  When finished, she returned to the sofa and sat beside him, kissing him briefly and snuggling next to him, frowning at the clock that showed only ten minutes before she had to leave.

“John, I really have appreciated you and Stuart coming by so often lately, but I don’t want to be intruding on your personal lives, either.  I’m feeling a lot better than I was…… two weeks ago.  I don’t think you need to be concerned about me any longer, I’m going to be just fine.”

She put a brave face on it, but she was worried.  She’d grown to rely on them quite heavily over the past two weeks, never spending a night alone, and she knew they’d both be gone to Hamburg for at least a month and a half; longer if their contract were extended!  She had to get over her reliance on them before they left.  Perhaps it was time to start.

“I don’t think you or Stuart should come by for the next few days, John.  Do you mind?”

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Well, you’re not going to get anything off me right now, so you may as well spend some time with one or the other of your girlfriends,” she replied, her lips twitching when John blushed and looked away.  She might as well be honest about this as well.  “And also, I hope you understand, but I need to get over my reliance on you and Stuart.”

He seemed to understand immediately, and she was grateful that she wouldn’t have to explain it to him.

The following two nights were very lonesome indeed, and several times she regretted her words to him.  She slept fitfully, and come Thursday night, she was ever so grateful to see a figure waiting for her as she finished up her chores in the café.  She smiled as she exited the restaurant.

“Stuart, I didn’t expect to see you, but it’s a very pleasant surprise!  How are you?”

“Good thanks, how’ve ya been th’ past few days?  John tol’ me what ya were doin’, how ya feelin’?” he asked, giving her a kiss on the cheek and taking her hand for a quick squeeze.

“Very well, thank you, but I’ll admit to being very happy to have someone walk me home tonight,” she replied with a smile that was difficult to contain.

“Any problems?” he asked sharply.

“No, not at all, I just find I’ve been lonely.  I think I’ve been a bit spoilt by you and John over the past few weeks, that’s all,” she confessed. 

They walked to the bus stop as they continued the conversation, and Sharon asked if he’d any luck in finding his dream girl.

“Nah, not yet, but it’s...... it’s gonna ‘appen soon, I think.”

The bus pulled up and Stuart found Sharon a seat on the crowded vehicle, standing by her side for the ride.  It wasn’t very conducive to talk, so they made the trip in silence.  Up the stairs to her flat and Sharon pointedly ignored Mrs. Porter as the old woman audibly sniffed upon seeing them in the hallway.  She fixed tea and wondered about fixing anything more.

“Hungry, lad?”

“Well, I could use a bit o’ somethin’ if ya got anythin’.”

She pulled out a can of soup.  “Beef barley and crackers?  I’m afraid I don’t cook very often, just simple things.”

“I’m not surprised,” Stuart said, turning to smile at her.  “Ya work two jobs, when d’ya ‘ave time ta cook?  Beef barley an’ crackers sounds smashin’, thanks, luv.”

She heated the soup as he looked through her bookshelf.

“Here it is?”

“What?” she asked.

“That one ya said you’d lemme borrow, Cymbeline!”

“Oh, take it!  Has that been bothering you since we...... since we first talked about it?” she asked, suddenly remembering the night they’d discussed the play.

He set the book on the table and came into the kitchen, resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing her.

“Sharon, please don’ be uncomfortable ‘round me.  I like ya as a friend, an’ I don’ wanna lose ya as a friend.  It’s over an’ in th’ past.  I’m awright with it, I want you ta be awright with it, too.”

She smiled at him, nearly eye to eye.  “I consider you a very dear friend, Stuart!  I imagine I’ll feel a bit odd about it for a while, but I’ll get over it.  So don’t you be wondering if I’ll kick you out on the street, it’s not going to happen.  Are you staying tonight?”

“Yeah, if it’s awright, John’s bringin’......”

He stopped abruptly, a strange expression crossing his face.

“I’d bet he’s bringing a girl to your flat tonight, isn’t he, Stuart?” she asked, turning back to stir the soup, putting two and two together.  His silence gave her the answer she’d been expecting.  “So tell me about John, Stuart.  He said something about his mother this morning, and I was wondering about that.”  She busied herself with the bowls and spoons, teacups and saucers, whilst listening to his reply.

“Oh, John was raised pretty much by ‘is auntie, ‘is parents divorced when ‘e was a wee lad.  ‘is mum died a couple o’ years ago, hit by a car.  Happened before I met ‘im, took me a while ta find out ‘bout that, ‘e doesn’t talk ‘bout it much.  Can I carry that?”

Sharon gratefully accepted his offer and let him carry the tray into the living room.  They sat on the sofa and ate their soup, sipped their tea, still chatting in an easy manner that soon had her feeling quite comfortable with him.

“So…… when’s his birthday?” she asked.

“Comin’ up in October.  I get ta tease ‘im ‘cause I’m older, my birthday’s in June,” Stuart replied with a grin.  “’e might be taller ‘n me, but I’m older, an’ ‘e can’t ferget it!”  He turned a piercing gaze on her.  “Why aren’t ya askin’ John these questions, Sharon?”

“Oh, errrr...... I suppose…… I never really thought about asking him,” she replied, the heat rising in her face.

“Yeah?” Stuart asked, challengingly.

“Yes,” she replied with finality, cursing her wayward curiosity.  She picked up the tray and took it back into the kitchen, started the short clean up process.  She jumped when Stuart touched her on the shoulder, turning to face him, wishing she could avoid his piercing gaze.

“Sharon, are you fallin’ in love with John?” he asked quietly.

“No!  No, of course not,” she answered, turning back to the cups in the sink.  Her heart was pounding uncomfortably hard, and she tried desperately to control her blush.  No, she wasn’t, of course not, not at all!

“Would it be such a bad thing if ya were?” Stuart asked casually, after a long silence.

Yes, it would!  John was simply far too young for her, and she didn’t have room in her life for anything more than a brief affair.  She turned back to look at Stuart as soon as she finished her cleaning chores, wiping her hands on the tea towel.  He had a very slight smile on his lips and was watching her closely.  She felt the blush rising again, but thankfully, Stuart didn’t ask anything more. 

They went back to the sofa and mutually read over a little bit of Cymbeline, discussing the merits of the play and the intriguing characters it contained.

Her third yawn of the night was her signal to turn in, and she helped Stuart make a bed on the floor for himself, then folded out her bed and turned in for the night.  It was a long time before she could fall asleep, though, as Stuart’s question went ‘round and ‘round in her head.  Would it be such a bad thing to fall in love with John?

Morning arrived far too soon, and she took her turn in the little en-suite before waking her guest.  Well, her monthly was now finished and it was Friday as well, she had the weekend to look forward to, perhaps she’d work up her courage and go see a play on Sunday.  She was fixing a kettle when a knock sounded on her door.  She jumped only a little bit before venturing over.

“Yes, who is it?”

“’s Arthur Ryan, Miss Castle.”

She unlocked the door to her landlord.  “Yes, Mr. Ryan, can I help you?” she asked, wondering at his presence on her doorstep.  She’d paid the rent the past Monday!

The man looked quite uncomfortable, not meeting her eyes, twisting his doffed cap in his hands.

“Errr...... I’m very sorry ta bother ya, Miss Castle, but there’s been...... well, there’s been a few complaints...... errrrr...... ‘bout ya maybe ‘avin’ men ‘ere in yer flat,” he said reluctantly.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Stuart came out of the loo, and Sharon nearly cursed his inopportune appearance.

“Oh, Mr. Ryan, I don’t believe you’ve met my...... nephew, Stuart.  From Ireland,” she lied quickly.  Keep it simple, she told herself, don’t trip yourself up and don’t offer too much information.  And pray that Stuart is awake enough to figure out what’s going on!!

Her landlord’s features relaxed a bit.  “Yeah?  Didn’t know ya ‘ad a nephew.  How d’ya do, son?”

***

Stuart didn’t miss a beat.  “Aye, an’ who would I be meetin’ this fine mornin’?” he asked in a rich brogue.  He studiously avoided looking Sharon’s direction, she was staring at him with a comical look on her face and he hoped he could avoid laughing until after the man had gone.  “Is ‘is fella botherin’ ye, Auntie?”

“No, of course not, Stuart, this is Mr. Ryan, my landlord.”

“Pleased ta meetcha, then,” Stuart said, shaking the hand the older man offered.  “An’ what brings ye t’ me Auntie’s flat t’day?”

“Oh, well, errrrr...... I s’pose there’s been a frightful misunderstanding, lad.  I’d been led t’ believe Miss Castle...... well, that she...... errrr...... well, she had some men visiting her.  In fact, I was led t’ believe she ‘ad two men stayin’ with ‘er.”

Stuart continued to keep his eyes off Sharon, he could see her out of the corner of his eye and he thought she was probably biting her tongue to keep from saying anything.   That nasty old busybody must have turned her in!  The old witch must be jealous!

“Oh, aye, ye must be talkin’ ‘bout me cousin John, ‘e’s stayin’ ‘ere, too, but ‘e went over t’ France fer a few days,” he lied easily.  “Yer prob’ly gonna see one or t’other of us ‘round ‘ere fer a bit, ‘twas really grand o’ Auntie Sharon t’ offer us a place t’ stay whilst we’re visitin’ yer beautiful city.  But ye must be daft if ye think me Auntie’s been entertainin’ strange men!”  He warmed to his subject, preparing to wax lyrical over his aunt’s virtue.  “Auntie Sharon’s a respect’ble woman, salt o’ th’ earth, an’......”

“Mr. Ryan,” Sharon broke in, “I hadn’t thought of informing you that my nephew and his cousin were staying with me, is there a problem with that, sir?”

“Errrr...... no, no, not at all, but...... well, no, o’ course not, it’s nice ta see ya got some family visitin’.  Errrrr...... whur are th’ boyos sleepin’, then?”

Stuart turned and looked pointedly at his obvious bed on the floor, pillows and blankets left as they’d been when he crawled out of bed to go to the loo.  “Why, right there, man!”  He almost added “use yer head,” but held off for fear of antagonizing the fellow.

“Oh, well, then, I’m sure that’s fine, sorry to ‘ave bothered ya, Miss Castle.  I’ll take the opportunity t’ remind ya, same as I’ve reminded all me tenants, we’ll ‘ave no shenanigans goin’ on ‘round ‘ere, this is a respectable building.  No offense intended, just a reminder I’m givin’ t’ everyone in th’ building, of course.”  The man backed out the door and turned to go.  “Nice t’ meet ya, son, ‘ave a good visit.”

“Aye, thank ye, sir, ‘preciate yer goodwill.”

Sharon shut the door and sagged against it.  “Well, you certainly came to my rescue, Stuart, thank you.”

“Not a problem.  Yer Mrs. Busybody call th’ dogs out on ya?”

“I think so.  But Mr. Ryan’s right, my tenancy agreement has a morality clause.”

“An’ what’s moral, eh?” Stuart asked.  “Since when’s lovin’ a person a bad thing?”

“Well, I don’t suppose that’s here or there.  Would you like something to eat?  I’m afraid I’m going to have to fly, but make yourself at home.”

“Nah, I’m ok,” Stuart replied, straightening and folding up the bed, settling the cushions in place on the sofa.  He noticed she hadn’t said anything about his “loving a person” statement.  P’rhaps there was hope for the girl yet!  “My bus goes th’ same direction, I’ll ride with ya.”  He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out.  “Sharon, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout not goin’ ta Hamburg,” he confessed.

The surprise on her face was nearly comical.  “Why, Stuart?”

“Well, I really can’t play very well.  They’d be better off without me, seriously.  An’ what ‘bout me classes?”

She came and sat down on the sofa, looking at him so closely he felt uncomfortable.

“Have you talked to John about this?  Aren’t you leaving it rather late?  The band’s already minus a drummer, now to be without a bass player......”

“Well, we’re auditionin’ Pete Best this afta’noon, he’ll work out fine.  An’ Paulie can do th’ bass part easy enough.  They’ll just need t’ find another guitarist, that shouldn’t be a problem, there’s plenty of ‘em out there an’ most outta work.”

“You didn’t answer my question.  Have you talked to John about this?”

Stuart looked away.  “Well...... no, I ‘aven’t.  Figger I’ll tell ‘im t’day.”

“Stuart, you’re not lying to me, are you?” she asked bluntly.

“No, no.  I swear.  I’m jus’ feelin’ like I’m a hindrance on th’ band, they won’t get anywhere ‘til they get a good player in me place.”

He started sweating.  Truth was, he was thinking about aborting the trip simply because he was worried about Sharon.  Of course, he didn’t want her to know that, she’d prob’ly rip the skin off his bones with an acid tongue over that thought!  But he couldn’t help his thoughts, his intuition was telling him that the girl hadn’t seen the last of her ex-husband, and he just knew that she believed that as well, was merely putting a brave face on things by pretending to be unworried.

Sharon checked the clock on the wall and sighed with every evidence of exasperation. 

“Well, I wish we could talk about this a little more, I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything.  But I have to leave for work, I’m sure we can talk about this a little more over the weekend.  Will you be by?”

Stuart nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll stop in Sunday, maybe, since we’re leavin’ Monday mornin’.”

When he gave her a kiss on the cheek as she left the bus at her stop, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.  She might have suspected, but by waiting ‘til it was nearly time for her to go to work, he’d avoided a big confrontation.  P’rhaps she’d forget about it before Sunday.  Now would come the hard part, talking to John!

***

“I think ‘e’s gonna work out fine, lads!” John announced over lagers at the pub. 

Pete had done better than expected, to John’s great relief, and it looked as if everything was going to work out fine after all!  They had a tight five-piece band, and with a few rehearsals, they’d be going places!  Right, he thought with a chuckle, they’d be going places; directly to Hamburg in a few days!  He frowned, checking George’s watch for the time.  He wanted to get over to see Sharon tonight, he only had three days and had to split them up between Sharon and Cyn.  He figgered Sharon on Friday night, if she was over her monthly, Cyn all day Saturday and Sunday morning, then Sharon again Sunday night and he’d be on his way.

“Well, I’m off, lads, see ya t’morrow, then?  We’ll get t’gether over at Pete’s t’ run through some o’ the songs with ‘im...... errrrrr...... ‘ow ‘bout three o’clock?”

Agreement was nodded and glasses drained.

“Whur ya goin’, John?  Thought ‘bout goin’ t’ th’ cinema, wanna come along?”  George asked.

“Nah, George, but ta.  Gonna go see a twist n’ twirl ‘bout some Posh & Becks,” John said with a slight grin that grew larger when George blushed transparently.  The lad was prob’ly still a virgin, Hamburg might be a good experience for him, John thought as he somehow held his natural inclination to tease the boy.  Georgie was a good lad, but he took a lot of things entirely too much to heart, and John wasn’t that much older that he couldn’t remember the agony of not having gotten any yet!  Yeah, the trip to Germany could be good for the kid.

The party broke up and he headed for the door.

“Wait up, John, I’ll walk with ya.”

He waited for Stuart and they left the pub together. 

“John, I wanted t’ talk t’ ya ‘bout th’ trip.”

“Oh, yeah, well, we’re gonna meet over at Allan’s place on Monday morning, in front o’ th’ Jacaranda.  Did I tell ya ‘is wife’s comin’ long?  It’s gonna be a tight fit, ‘e doesn’t ‘ave any seats in th’ van, we’ll ‘ave ta sit on our amps, but we’ll jus’ ‘ave ta make do.”

“Right, right, but……”

John warmed to his subject.  “Figure we’ll get there Tuesday night, what with th’ custom checks at th’ borders an’ all.  We’ll start playin’ on Wednesday, so we’ll ‘ave plenty o’ time t’ get settled afore we start playin’.”  He squinted down the street.  “Oh, bloody hell, that’s me bus, I gotta go, see ya later, Stu!”

John raced for the departing bus, barely catching the driver’s attention to stop.  He waited impatiently through the ride, then the walk up the hill and up the stairs to her flat.  He tapped on the door.

“Yes?”

“’lo, Sharon, luv, it’s John.”

The door opened with gratifying speed and she had a happy smile on her face.  It appeared she’d just gotten home.

“Hullo, John, come in!  It’s lovely to see you!”

He walked in, shut the door behind him and swept her into his arms, kissing her with a deep hunger that had been building during the entire bus ride.

“Mmmmmm, feelin’ up t’ some comp’ny t’night?” he asked during a break for air.

“Oh yes,” she breathed, pulling his head back down for another kiss.

***

“There, how’s that?”

“Ow, no, that’s no bloody good!”

“Well, move a little to your right.  Oh, ow, not that far!”

“Bloody ‘ell, there’s no chance I can move, it’s too tight...... oh, ok, there, that’s better.”

“No, it’s not!  It feels as if you have your knee in my back!”

“That’s not me knee!”

Sharon started laughing helplessly.  “I don’t think this is going to work,” she confessed.

“I don’ think so, either.  Look, why don’ I get out an’ you ‘ave a li’l wash an’ I’ll follow after ya?”

“That sounds good.”  Sharon struggled to unwedge herself from the little tub and allow him room to get out, it had been a bad idea from the outset, oh, what she wouldn’t give for a large tub that would fit two in comfort!

She stretched out (as much as possible!) after John got out and began drying himself, surprised when he knelt beside the tub and got cloth and soap to wash her back.  Lovely!  When he started to wash her hair, she purred at the unequaled sensuality of having someone cater to her like this.  Oh, lovely, indeed!  She abandoned herself to his ministrations, growing aroused as he explored her body with soap and cloth.  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the building desire as his fingers lingered to stroke one area or another, the rough cloth moving against sensitive areas and heightening the arousal.  When the water grew cool, she abruptly stood and reached for the towel, unwilling to wait any longer.

John turned on the taps, and she reached over and turned them off. 

“There’s no more hot water,” she said as she applied towel to skin.

“Oh, great, yer gonna make me take a cold wash now?” he asked with a grimace.

She shook her head as she hung the towel on its hook.  “No, John, I’m going to take you to my bed and heat you up quite nicely, I think.”

“Oooh, I like th’ sound o’ that,” John said with a grin, getting up from the floor.  “But I don’ think I need much heatin’, it was nice playin’ with ya like that in th’ bath.”

She took his hand and raised it to her mouth, catching his gaze as she kissed his slightly water-wrinkled fingers, then gently sucked one into her mouth.  She nearly laughed at the way his eyes lit up, but settled for a smile as she released his hand and led him to her bed.

***

Jesus, if this was the way a girl reacted to a little bit of fun in the bath, he wanted to become a fish!  John lay back and let her do what she wanted as he struggled to keep enough control to enjoy what she was doing without having it end too quickly.  She was fabulous, though, and she seemed to know exactly when to hold back, so the buildup went on forever!  She’d left the light on as well, and she didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he was watching what she was doing, and that made it even more exciting!  Hell, Cyn only ever wanted to do anything under the covers and in the dark, and he still hadn’t been able to convince her to do this.  He leaned back on the pillows and stroked his fingers through Sharon’s short, damp hair, shuddered as the heat and pressure of her mouth took him past the point of no return.

“Ohhh, God, Sharon……” he groaned, the buildup reaching its zenith, the eruption turning him into a quivering lump of flesh under her talented hands and mouth.  Oh, God, yeah!  She’d had plenty of practice at this, hadn’t she?  He tried to push that thought from his mind, feeling somehow jealous over any past partners she’d enjoyed doing this with.  He panted for air and tried to move but nearly couldn’t, lying limp and exhausted as she moved to lay at his side and snuggled against him, apparently content to wait for his recovery before she got any treats of her own.  It took him a little while to recover.

“Mmmmm, girl, yer pretty incredible, ya know that?” he asked lazily, enjoying the touch of clean sheets under his back, the warm silken body at his side.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she replied with a smile in her voice.  “I’m glad I could be of…… of service.”

He looked at her, the pause in her statement had coincided with a stillness that overcame her, the smile gone from her voice.  She’d been reminded of something, and he wondered what?  He hugged her, not willing to intrude, but hoping it wasn’t anything bad.  When he began kissing her, she responded willingly enough, but he couldn’t shake the thought that she had something else on her mind.

***

Sharon tried to lose herself in the lovely kisses he was giving her, but she’d been a bit shaken.  When she’d teased that she was glad to be of service, she’d suddenly remembered Stuart saying that to her after their night together, and she’d felt rather uncomfortable. 

Was she making the right choice, in not saying anything?  It didn’t appear as if John even suspected anything, and that was all to the good, but what if he found out later and was hurt even more by the silence on the subject?  Oh, this was ridiculous, it wasn’t as if she had any kind of future with the lad (man, she reminded herself), he was simply too young for her, it was a lovely little summer affair and that’s all.  She resolutely put all thoughts of that night from her mind; it was over and done, in the past, a past that she wouldn’t dwell on.  It was the here and now she planned on enjoying to the utmost.

Oh, his touch was like fire on her skin, his lips and tongue like velvet on her heated flesh, his mouth seeking her breast, her centre, the touches and strokes growing bolder and stronger as she required them.  Oh, lovely man, beautiful man, yes.….. just…… like…… that, oh, yes!  She was still in the throes of exultation when he moved into her with an energy and vigor that couldn’t be denied.  His rocking movements took her back to the precipice to linger, breathless, on the edge until he joined her there, both of them trembling in a joint reaction that left her near faint and lightheaded.

Much later, after an evening full of enjoyment, pulling the covers up over them both, she looked down into the face of the man in her bed, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.  He murmured in his sleep and moved his head away from her touch; she held off from touching him any further, not wanting to wake him, but she watched him for a long time before finally turning off the light and settling at his side.  She thought of Stuart’s question again before drifting into a fitful sleep.  Was she falling in love with John?

***

The rehearsal went well on Saturday, and John was pleased with how Pete seemed to rise to the challenge of learning everything.  Paul and George were sounding bloody inspired, the upcoming trip seemed to have really spurred them along, and he had a private laugh at how enthusiastic they were.  Not that he wasn’t enthusiastic, too, but he tried to hide it a bit from the younger lads, wanting to appear the more experienced man of the group.

“Thanks fer lettin’ us stow our gear ‘ere, Mrs. Best,” he said politely to the drummer’s mother.  “We’ll be back fer rehearsal t’morrow, then we’ll pack ev’rything out early Monday.”

He helped George move the amp into the storeroom the woman was letting them use.

“You’re welcome, John,” she older woman smiled.  “Now, I wanted to ask you a few questions about this German trip……”

“Mum, would ya please quit?” Pete exclaimed, obviously embarrassed.

“Well, Petey, you know I just want to make sure you don’t get in with the wrong crowd,” Mrs. Best began, and Pete flushed a dull red.

John clapped him on the back, taking pity on him.

“Not ta worry, Mrs. Best, we’ll all take good care o’ Pete.  Gotta rush off now, see ya t’morrow, ta ra!”

He escaped, with George, Paul and Stuart at his heels.

“Bit of a mama’s boy, i’nt ‘e?” Paul asked, and George broke into a fit of giggles.

“Petey?” he chortled with adolescent glee.

“‘is mum’s just worried, same as yer Da, Paul.”  John looked over at George.  “An’ like yer parents, too, Georgie, so don’ be laughin’ too hard, yer parents were th’ same way when we first tol’ ‘em ‘bout th’ trip, don’ ferget ya made me come over t’ ‘elp break th’ news to ‘em!”

The giggles ended and the younger boy flushed at the rebuke.

“Well, I gotta get ‘ome,” Paul said.  “Me Da an’ Mike wanna ‘ave dinner t’gether t’night an’ t’morrow.  Think Pop’s gonna try an’ tell me ‘bout ‘ow t’ stay outta trouble on th’ trip.  ‘e’s still not ‘appy ‘bout me goin’, but ‘e won’t make me stay now.”

“’e couldn’t make ya stay anyroad, Paulie, yer an adult, tell ‘im t’ stick it in ‘is shorts,” John suggested.

“Ah, John, I can’ do that, ‘e’s me Da!” Paul complained, laughing nervously.  “Anyroad, I’ll see ya t’morrow, ‘round th’ same time, right?”

He waved goodbye as he walked down the street, disappearing ‘round the corner.

George looked a bit subdued at the reminder of parental disapproval, and he coughed.

“Yeah, maybe I’d better be ‘eaded ‘ome, too.  D’ya…… d’ya think we’re gonna be awright in Germany?  I mean, I think we’re gonna ‘ave a smashin’ time, but…… do you think so, too?”

John sighed.  He’d been through this several times already with George, and he suspected the younger lad was feeling homesick before he’d even set foot outside of England!

“It’s gonna be great, Georgie, I promise!  We’re gonna ‘ave th’ time of our lives, I’m sure of it!  Why doncha tell yer folks I said hullo, right?  Go spend t’night with ‘em, they’re prob’ly gonna miss ya whilst yer gone, an’ they’ll appreciate ya bein’ ‘round t’night an’ t’morrow.”

“Ya sure?” George asked.  “Ya sure ya don’ wanna go to a movie or somethin’, John?”

“Nah, I got some plans, George, I’ll see ya t’morrow, right?”

George nodded and gave an awkward wave before trotting off, headed up the street and towards home.  John sighed in relief when the boy was out of hearing.  He turned to Stuart.

“Th’ kid’s gonna be dead homesick, i’nt ‘e?”

“Yeah, I think so.  John, I been wantin’ ta talk t’ ya fer a bit,” Stuart said, appearing nervous.

“So talk, what’s been keepin’ ya?” John asked easily, turning to begin the stroll to the bus stop.

“Uhhhh…… errrrrr…… I been thinkin’ ‘bout not goin’ t’ Germany,” Stuart blurted.

John stopped in his tracks, not believing what he’d just heard.

“What?” 

It wasn’t a very intelligent thing to say, but it was all that came out, he reflected in stunned astonishment.  He tried to organize his thoughts. 

“What th’ bloody hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?  We leave day afta t’morrow, what d’ya mean yer thinkin’ ‘bout not goin’?” he demanded furiously.

“Well, ya know I’m not any good……” Stu began.

John interrupted him, the shock of the announcement rapidly turning to anger.  “Don’ be tryin’ ta feed me that shite.  Yer fine, we been through this before, an’ ya been lookin’ forward t’ gettin’ outta th’ UK fer a trip, what th’ hell’s wrong?  What’s goin’ on?”

Stuart shrugged, visibly wilting under the glare John leveled on him. 

“I dunno, jus’…… jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout not goin’ on th’ trip.  Th’ autumn classes start next month, an’ I’m jus’ thinkin’……”

“Yer not thinkin’, son!” John interrupted again, struggling with his anger.  “Don’ tell me yer feelin’ homesick already!  It’s gonna be fantastic, an’ th’ experience alone oughta be worth all th’ bloody classes ya could take whilst we’re gone!”

“I dunno, John, I jus’ don’ feel very good ‘bout leavin’ now.  An’ I’m a bit worried ‘bout Sharon……”

John’s anger exploded.  “An’ ya think I’m not?  Bloody hell, Stu, I’m worried ‘bout th’ bird, too!  But this is th’ band we’re talkin’ ‘bout!  She’s gonna be fine!  We can’t just throw away th’ chance, it’s too big!  How th’ bloody ‘ell can ya spring this on me now?”

“You could find another guitarist dead easy,” Stu argued.  “I jus’ don’ feel right ‘bout leavin’ Sharon now……”

“Yer daft!  What is she to ya?  She’s jus’ a bloody friend, I’m th’ one who’s worried ‘bout ‘er……”

“She’s a good friend, John, a’ I’m worried sick ‘er bastard ex-husband’s gonna show up an’ cause problems!” Stuart gritted out through clenched teeth.

John saw the warning signs in his usually mild-mannered friend, saw the anger heating to a slow boil, but he couldn’t stop himself.  His subsequent laugh held no trace of humour.

“Ya know what I think?  I think ya got a crush on ‘er, ya idiot.  All those paintings ya been doin’, ya think I ‘aven’t seen ‘em?  Everythin’ yer paintin’ lately’s been blonde birds, ya want th’ girl fer yerself, doncha?  Ya think with me gone ta Germany, ya got a free road t’ th’ bird, doncha?”

“Bloody hell, John, yer a fuckin’ idiot!” Stuart shot back. 

John realized the boil had been reached, his friends’ hands were clenched in fists at his sides and he was visibly shaking with an attempt to control his anger.  John couldn’t resist the urge to strike out, though, and he stumbled on regardless.

“Yer daft, yer a bloody fool,” he sneered.  “D’ya think Sharon’d even look yer way?  She’s got me, I’m man enough fer her, she doesn’t need ya ‘angin’ ‘round, arsehole!”

“You arrogant bast’id, she deserves better than you, ya prick!  An’ why th’ bloody hell d’ya think I couldn’t ‘ave ‘er if I wanted……”

John cut in furiously, “She’d never even give ya th’ time o’ day, son!”

“What, ya think yer God’s gift t’ women or somethin’?” Stuart shot back.  “She’s already……”

The street grew suddenly quiet.  John felt all the fight drain out of him as he watched his friend, his friend, stutter and stammer an attempted explanation.

“John, I didn’t mean…… I mean…… I jus’…… I been tryin’ ta......”

“Ya gewsed with ‘er, didn’t ya?” John asked, stunned.  “You ‘ad sex with ‘er.”  He watched as Stuart swallowed nervously, held his emotions tightly in check as he instinctively realized the answer to his question.  “You fuckin’ bast’id,” he commented quietly, turning on his heel and walking away.  If he didn’t leave, he was gonna smash Stu to a pulp, and as angry as he was, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop once he got started.

“John, I’m sorry, it wasn’t what ya think, man, please listen……”

John kept walking, keeping tight control over himself, the blood pounding in his ears.  Bastard, bastard, bastard, his heels beat it out on the pavement, a cadence, a rhythm in tune to the beat of his heart.  Heartless bitch, heartless bitch, heartless bitch.

He went to Cyn’s, caught her alone for a change and tried to purge himself of the anger, taking her violently, over and over again, somehow maintaining enough control so that he didn’t frighten her too badly.  He was able to keep her thinking he was simply passionate and upset about leaving her for the German gig, but he knew in his heart that it had nothing to do with her. 

It was all about Sharon.  And Sutcliffe.  The betrayal was absolute, the anger near blinding. 

John left his girlfriend before her Mum came home, and went back to the flat.  Once there, he got out a knife and methodically slashed every canvas that the bastard had recently painted, all of them variations on a theme, his best friend’s betrayal, and done with a blonde girl John had thought he was growing to love.

***

Sharon bathed carefully on Sunday evening as soon as she got home from work, dressed in a colourful and sexy bit of silk, pulled a light robe over it, then waited impatiently.  Before she’d left him to head for work on Saturday, John had told her he’d be by Sunday after she arrived home, and she was looking forward to a final night with him. 

Well, she wasn’t looking forward to the ‘final’ part of it, but she was looking forward to the night.  By the time he came home from Germany, he’d probably have gone on to other things, and she had to assume that tonight would be the last night of the brief affair.  A sad reality, but she wasn’t going to think of that, she was simply going to enjoy every minute of the evening.  She resolutely pushed away the little voice that told her she’d have heartache to survive when it was over; she wasn’t in love with John, she wasn’t, she told the voice, but it argued mightily with her.  She finally simply stopped listening to it.

It was very late, near ten o’clock when the knock at her door came, and she bounded over and opened the door without even asking who was there.  She blinked in surprise.

“Stuart?  How…… how are you?  Come in, I’m sorry, errrr, I’m glad to see you, but I’m a bit surprised!  Oh, I’d forgotten you said you might stop by, here, I’ve got the kettle ready, would you like some tea?” she asked, drawing her unexpected visitor inside and shutting the door behind him.

She pulled her robe about her a bit more tightly, feeling a little uncomfortable in the scanty attire she was wearing.  She slipped into the loo and exchanged robes, pulling on her heavy one before going to the kitchen to make tea, the teacups and tray already set for her lover, now to be used for her friend.  As she set the tray down, she realized that Stuart hadn’t said a word to her yet, and he looked…… off, his eyes shadowed, his jaw set.

“Stuart, what’s wrong?” she asked, point blank.  Her heart fluttered nervously in her throat, had something happened to John?

“John knows,” Stuart replied baldly, picking up his cup and sipping from it.  “It hurt ‘im, Sharon.  It hurt ‘im bad.”

Sharon’s heart sank to the depths of her belly.  She felt ill and wondered if her stomach was going to keep its contents where they were supposed to be.  She sighed with regret; perhaps she should have talked to him, but it appeared it was too late.  If wishes were horses……

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“I dunno, really,” Stuart confessed, and Sharon saw how his hands shook.  He sighed heavily and set his cup down, clasping his hands together, looking at his knees or the table, not looking at her.  “I was talkin’ to ‘im on Sat’day ‘bout maybe not goin’ ta Germany, an’...... I dunno, it just all went wrong.  ‘e lit inta me ‘bout wantin’ t’ back outta Hamburg, an’ it got ‘round t’ me sayin’ I was worried ‘bout ya, an’ ‘e started talkin’ ‘bout me paintings.”  Stuart looked up briefly and then returned his gaze to his knees, studying them carefully, with all the concentration he had.  But the brief glance had shown Sharon a deep sadness and tears lying in their depths.  “I been doin’ a lot o’ paintings o’ th’ girl in me head...... but ‘e thought it was you.  Then ‘e tol’ me I ‘ad a crush on ya an’ was paintin’ ya, an’ ‘e just seemed so...... so bloody arrogant, such a bast’id, that I ‘ad ta take ‘im down a notch……. an’ somehow...... I dunno, somehow it jus’ came out an’ ‘e asked me if I’d ‘ad sex with ya,” he said in a rush.

“What did he do?” Sharon asked, drained and tired.  The tears were very near, threatening to overflow at any moment.

“’e jus’......’e jus’ walked away.  ‘e wouldn’t even talk ta me, thought ‘e’d bash me up good, but ‘e walked away, real stiff, like.  Dunno where ‘e went, but when I got ‘ome later, ‘e wasn’t there.  ‘e’d kinda wrecked th’ flat before I got there, though, cut up a bunch o’ me paintings.”

“What paintings?  The ones you’ve been doing recently, of your dream girl?”

“Yeah.  All of ‘em,” Stuart admitted.  “Doesn’t matter though, she’s in me head, I can see ‘er so plain, I don’ need th’ paintings fer that.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Have you...... have you talked to him since then?”

“Well, not really.  At ‘im, maybe, but not to ‘im.  ‘e was gone all Sat’day night, dunno where ‘e went.  Kinda waited ‘round t’day, we ‘ad a rehearsal over at Pete’s at three, an’ ‘e didn’t show up fer that.  ‘e came ‘ome t’night t’ pack fer th’ trip, ‘e’d been drinkin’.  He tol’ me t’ be at Allan’s t’morrow mornin’...... ‘e said ‘e couldn’t find a bass player on such short notice, an’ I’d signed th’ bloody contract with ‘em.  Then ‘e walked outta th’ flat an’ I came over ‘ere, was hopin’, maybe......”

“He hasn’t been here, Stuart.  Besides being drunk, what was his attitude like this evening?” Sharon asked.

Stuart shook his head and sighed.  “’e didn’t even seem drunk, but I know ‘e’d been drinkin’.  But ‘e wasn’t listenin’ to me, ‘e was just so...... so bloody cold.  I never seen ‘im that cold before.  Just like there was nothin’ inside, no emotion at all.  ‘e...... ‘e wouldn’t even look at me.  I dunno what ‘e was feelin’, it’s like ‘e turned inta this stranger I’d never seen before.  I’ve known ‘im fer quite a while, we been friends fer over a year, an’ we been livin’ t’gether fer th’ past six or eight months an’ I’ve never seen ‘im so...... I dunno, I just never seen ‘im like this before.”

Sharon shivered and let the threatened tears slip down her cheeks unnoticed.

“I’m dead sorry, Sharon,” Stuart said quietly, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

“It wasn’t your fault, Stuart, so don’t be sorry,” she replied absently, giving him a brave smile, somehow finding the reserve to stop her tears from falling.  She retrieved her hand and patted him on the arm before picking up her teacup.  She was pleased to see that her hands barely shook.  Janice’s work, obviously.  “Oh, Stuart, the ending was always in sight even at the beginning, so it’s not…… unexpected.  I’m just sorry he’s been hurt so badly.”

“Yeah, me too.  ‘e’s me best friend.  I dunno what t’ do t’ fix things.”

“I don’t either, Stuart.  I wish I did.”

There was really nothing else to say, and once the tea was drunk, Sharon pulled out paper and pen, writing a quick letter and then sealing it in an envelope.  She handed it to Stuart.

“This is for John, if he should ever…… I don’t know, if it seems like the right time to give it to him.  I don’t know if there will ever be a right time, but there’s really nothing else I can do.  I’m so very sorry, Stuart, I hope you and he can come to terms with this and remain friends.  This is all my fault.”

“Takes two t’ dance a waltz,” Stuart said with a wry smile.  “Don’ be beatin’ yerself up over this, I think there’s enough blame t’ share, luv.  Ya gonna be awright?”

Sharon nodded.  “Yes, of course, I’ll be fine.  Don’t worry about me.”

“Take care o’ yerself, Sharon,” he said awkwardly, giving her a hug.

She felt his thin shoulders shaking with the control he was trying to maintain, and she hugged him fiercely, desperately wishing it hadn’t ended like this.  She couldn’t contain her tears any longer, and she clung to him as she tried not to sob.  He held her with equal desperation, and they stood in mutual soggy misery for a brief time before he pushed away.

“I gotta go,” Stuart muttered, head low, eyes looking towards the floor.

Sharon nodded, recognizing his need for escape, pretending not to notice the redness of his eyes, the tears on his cheeks.

Once the door closed behind him, she finally broke down in truth, wilting to the floor for a timeless period of desperate heartache and tears.  The little voice in her head was thankfully silent; she didn’t think she could take more reproach than what she was already heaping upon herself.

***

Stuart stood on the fringes of the boisterous group and tried to pretend he was glad to be there.  All the gear had been packed into the van and it looked to be a very crowded trip to Germany.  Paul and George were excitedly chatting about the birds they might meet, Pete was quietly smoking a cigarette, Allan and his wife Beryl were fretting about the delay, and Stuart was worried; John hadn’t been home last night, and he had no idea where he might find his friend.  Ex-friend, he thought sadly. 

The pain his friend had been feeling yesterday was obvious, and so strong that it was nearly tangible.  But he hadn’t listened to anything that Stuart had said.  He’d been so hoping that John would have been at Sharon’s last evening when he’d gotten there, he’d been shattered to realize his friend was simply gone.  Stuart rubbed his eyes.  He hadn’t slept well, trying to come up with some way he could mend things with John, but as much as he’d thought about it, he hadn’t been able to think of anything reasonable.

“’ey, John!  We been waitin’ fer ya!  Ready ta go?” George shouted.

Stuart looked up from his steady appraisal of his shoes and saw John approaching them.  He watched as his friend greeted the others, a smile on his face that didn’t reach the coldness of eyes that were shadowed from a sleepless night, the Scotch strong on his breath even at this early hour.  Stuart sighed as he was completely ignored in the rounds of greeting, tried not to let the confused looks from the others bother him.

It was a miserable trip to Harwich, packed into the van in such close quarters and nowhere to escape the stiff silence that pervaded the drive.  Allan and Beryl chatted gaily about the day, but the back of the van grew quiet as the others slowly recognized and accepted the fact that Stuart was being totally ostracized by their leader. 

Once they arrived into Harwich, they had a short wait for the ferry, but at least they were outside in the fresh air and not confined into a small space.  The van was loaded onto the ship and they scattered to different parts of the ferry when it cast off.  Stuart stood quietly at the railing, smoking cigarette after cigarette.  A pretty little blonde girl stopped by and tried to chat him up, but she wasn’t the one, so he just smiled briefly and she soon wandered off to chat with someone more receptive. 

About the fourth or fifth cigarette, when the pitching of the ferry had become a bit heavy because of the rough seas, George joined him at the ship’s railing, looking decidedly unwell.

“Ya never been on a boat afore?” Stuart asked mildly.

“Not like this,” the younger lad admitted, swallowing desperately, turning pale and then green in alternating waves.

Stuart judged the wind and led George to the opposite side of the ship.  If the boy puked, at least it wouldn’t come back in his face on this side of the boat.

“’ere, hold onta th’ railin’, an’ look out in th’ distance, don’ look down at th’ water, right?  Take a couple deep breaths, son, th’ air’s so fresh an’ clean out ‘ere, it’s great, innit?  I love th’ fresh air like this, never get t’ feel it on yer face like this in th’ city, ya know.  So this is yer first trip t’ th’ continent, eh?  What d’ya think we’re gonna see first thing when we get t’ th’ land, eh?”

“Errrr, uhmmm, I s’pose we’ll ‘ave ta go through customs, right?” George replied weakly.  “That’s what me Da said, we’d ‘ave t’ go through checkpoints on th’ way.”

“More n’ likely, I s’pose,” Stuart replied.  “Did ya bring anythin’ they might confiscate?  Did ya bring any drugs?”

George turned wide eyes towards him, clearly shocked out of his seasickness.  “D…d…drugs?” he stuttered, and Stuart smiled for the first time the entire day.

He kept the young man talking and got his mind off the rocking of the boat, and by the time they were approaching the shore of Holland, George was talking excitedly about the trip and was looking much less green, with even a little colour to his cheeks.  When the little blonde bird strolled by, Stuart snagged her and set her to talking with George, whilst he wandered over to watch the docking procedure.  He kept an eye on the boy, glad to see that the colour was definitely back in his cheeks now that he had his attention firmly fixed on the smiling girl.

“’oy, Stu, so what’s goin’ on with you an’ John then?”

Stuart turned with an easy smile to face Paul, who’d come to stand beside him, likewise watching the docking.

“Ah, just a bit of an argument, nothin’ ta worry ‘bout.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Stuart replied with casual finality, turning back to see the lines thrown to the men waiting at the pier.

It looked as though Paul wanted to ask more questions, but the arrival bell clanged and they prepared to disembark, Stuart working unobtrusively to put a bit of the crowd between them.  He really didn’t want to talk about this, at least not to anyone besides John.  But John wasn’t talking.  How long could he maintain the level of indifference he was displaying, Stuart wondered?  He hoped John would get over it soon and they could return to the easy friendship they shared.  He worried about it, though, and he wondered if things would ever be the same again.  Why had he even come along on the trip?  He shook his head ruefully; because he was a bloody coward, afraid to make matters worse, hoping against hope that John would come ‘round sooner or later. 

The wait for the van to be unloaded was long, but Stuart amused himself by smoking and watching George with the little blonde bird, the lad was clearly interested but the girl was just a tease.  It was fun to watch, and it made the remaining wait enjoyable.  Poor kid, Stuart thought with a grin, Georgie’d be aching from the few glimpses the girl was coyly giving him, leaning on a railing to show a little cleavage, straightening her stocking and giving him a nice flash of thigh.  A definite tease, she was, and the boy was obviously hoping for more.  Stuart turned away when they started to do a bit of kissing, not wanting to intrude, but he was certain a little snogging was all that George was going to get off that bird!

Regrouped with the others, but with the girl glued to George’s side as if they were inseparable, shuffling through the line for customs, Stuart was surprised by the questions they were asked.  The guards seemed most interested to know if they had any coffee!  They didn’t ask about drugs or alcohol, only whether they had any coffee in the van, and they searched diligently for the offending item.  Stuart wondered if there was a huge black market in coffee that he’d never heard about.  It was rather late by the time they got underway; Stuart thought they must have looked like coffee smugglers or something, the way the guards had been swarming over the van!

Packed once again like herring in the van, Stuart laughed privately at George’s obvious discomfort after his prolonged bout of unrelieved snogging with the little blonde from the ferry, the poor kid needed to find a willing girl, and fast!  There was little else to be amused about on the drive, as John continued to ignore him.  Paul, Pete and finally George eventually took their leaders’ hint and likewise ignored Stuart. 

Despite the use of Allan’s map, several wrong turns were taken and that didn’t help matters; they ended up having to spend the night stuck five to a room in a hostel in some Godforsaken corner of Germany, near a little town named Leipzeg.  Allan and Beryl disappeared into their room and didn’t surface for the rest of the night. 

Following an entire day spent being mostly ignored, Stuart tried to escape to the only pub the town seemed to contain, but his escape was short lived as the others apparently had the same thought.  Determined to avoid another round of disregard, Stuart finished his drink and quietly left the little hofbrau and returned to their room at the hostel, staking out a place on the floor and trying to sleep.  The noisy entrance of four somewhat drunken musicians several hours later woke him and he had a hard time returning to sleep after that.

Tired and miserable from lack of sleep and heartache, Stuart determinedly crawled back into the van the next morning and settled down for another long day of torture.  The passing scenery didn’t even catch his interest, the windows were small and usually taken up by the others and he didn’t feel like fighting for space.  Not when they everyone continued to ignore him.  His sense of isolation grew and he sat quietly, smoking and turning inwards on himself, trying to tell himself that the excommunication from the group didn’t bother him.

It was very late by the time they found their way to Hamburg, and later still by the time they found the proper street and the club, which had already closed for the night, but Allan was able to work miracles and somehow found the club owner.  They all shook hands with Bruno Koschmider and were told, in heavily accented English, that there was nowhere for them to stay.  They bedded down in the club for the night, sleeping on the floor or in the booths, and Stuart suspected that everyone felt the same dismay at seeing the seedy club in which they’d be playing for the next several weeks. 

John, of course, put a good face on things and cracked jokes about the décor and what an experience it was going to be, jollying Paul and George and Pete until the younger lads were in a better mood, full of enthusiasm and excitement.

Stuart lay awake for a long time that night, wishing and wondering how he could possibly mend things with his old friend.  As much as he tried to pretend it didn’t, being ignored like this was bothering him mightily and, without a friend, he was feeling awkward and homesick.  And that, after only two days out of England!  He wasn’t sure how he’d survive the next weeks like this, and he turned over on the hard floor, trying to get comfortable and wishing he could turn back the calendar.  He finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

***

This was bloody difficult, John thought, tossing about and trying to get comfortable.  It had been a miserable trip, and to find the club to be such a seedy fleapit was nearly the last straw!  Lying sleepless and restless, he wished he’d been able to find another bass player before they’d left England, he should have spent Sunday looking up a few guitarists he’d known, and let Paul take the bass line.  Sutcliffe’s presence was wearing, even though he’d appeared to be staying out of John’s way as much as possible.  Sutcliffe acted like he didn’t care, he was just a bastard, that’s all.  It was bloody difficult for John to keep acting like everything was normal, when what he really wanted to do was smash his old ‘friend’ until all the hurt and anger and despair went away.

He wondered how much the other lads knew of what had happened, had that bastard Sutcliffe bragged to them about shagging a stripper, about how he’d pulled the wool over John’s eyes?  Bastards, all of them! 

John realized he just had to pick himself up and ignore the looks he thought he was getting, he had a job to do.  He snorted in irritation, this should be the best bloody time of his life and here it was the absolute worst.  Damn him!  Damn the bastard!  John finally drifted into a very uneasy, fitful sleep.

Next day, after a near sleepless night and after Allan and his wife left, Bruno got them situated in some really disgusting and tiny rooms down the street behind a cinema, they were three to one room and two to the other.  There was a bit of an awkward moment when the rooms were divided up, as the younger lads had all appeared to assume they’d be sharing the one room, leaving the other for John and the bass player.  Without even thinking of it, John signaled Paul to share one of the rooms with him, leaving Pete, George and Sutcliffe to haggle out the remaining space in the second room.  No windows, a ladies toilet as their washroom, the place was utterly disgusting, and yet John couldn’t wait to get up on stage.  He thought that he could lose himself in the music, immerse himself in the work and thus be able to forget his pain, forget the way the others seemed to be looking at him.  And maybe look for someone to replace Sutcliffe as soon as possible.

They began playing that very night, dismayed at the hours they’d be working, but excited to begin.  They had to nearly pull people in off the street at first, and the kind of people they saw was quite an eye opener, gangsters and prosties and sailors and other very colourful characters.  As the long days wore on, John sank further and further into himself, only coming alive on stage, where the customers and club manager urged the band to ‘mach shau’ and really liven things up. 

Any time the Sutcliffe bastard tried to talk to him, he simply walked away, unwilling to give him the time of day.  John would never admit it to anyone, but he was afraid to let his anger out, afraid it was a killing rage.  By keeping it all inside, he could keep it nicely packaged in a nice little compartment where it was handily contained until he was ready to let it out.

John discovered the Prellies that the washroom attendants sold, and those helped him get through the long nights.  The beer and champagne that the patrons sent up on stage was eagerly consumed; he played half drunk most nights and completely drunk the remaining nights and the other lads weren’t much better, although he felt a distance growing between him the the others.  That made his depression worse, and the drinking and pill taking increased.  He lay awake many nights, sweating and tossing and turning from the Prellies, and he somehow continued to keep his anger and hurt contained inside.

Through his downward spiral, he maintained a stony silence around his erstwhile friend, the traitor, the enemy, and Sutcliffe eventually gave up trying to talk to him.

John lost track of the days and made friends with the barmaids, taking one or more to his bed as often as possible, yet he was never quite able to purge a traitorous blonde bird from his blood.  He wrote songs with Paulie, their enforced togetherness spurring them into a kind of competition to see who’d come up with the best tune and lyrics.  They even began incorporating some of the songs into their show, but his sense of isolation grew even as the distance grew between him and the others in the band.

After about a month, the Indra was closed down because of the noise and John feared they’d be out of a job, but Bruno moved them to another club called the Kaiserkeller, and it was a much nicer place than the Indra, it even had a dance floor.  The nautical décor was a bit odd, but it seemed to work and more people started frequenting the club.  The long hours increased as they began alternating sets with another band, and John made friends with Rory Storm and the Hurricanes.  He eyed their swank suits and thought their drummer sounded smashing, better than Pete, and he wondered if he could get bass player and drummer from Rory’s band to join up with him; maybe he’d simply start over with entirely new musicians and a new band. 

With the move to the new club, Die Beatles also began to attract an interesting mix of people, including a group of students who began to call ‘round.  Even though there were language difficulties, he learned they called themselves “exis,” after the existentialist Franz Kafka, and they were a fascinating bunch.  Jurgen, Klaus and Astrid seemed to be the leaders of the group, and when John noticed Sutcliffe was taking a shine to the Astrid girl, he started thinking of a way to exact some revenge on his ex-friend, a way to let his anger out.  Maybe it was time.  The bastard deserved it, deserved to know what it felt like to be betrayed.

As John’s despondency and sense of disconnection increased, the thought of revenge turned ‘round and ‘round in his head until it became an obsession.

That thought was uppermost in his mind on a break between sets one night in late September, and John approached Astrid as she came out of the women’s toilet.  He knew he was nearly pissed on his arse, although not quite.  But the beer had certainly been flowing freely that night!

“’ey, Astrid, ‘ow ya doin’, luv?”

“Hullo, John,” she replied in accented English. 

He knew she didn’t know a lot of English, but he figgered she was learning some from Sutcliffe, they were nearly always together these days.  He smiled winningly at the beautiful blonde.

“’ow’s ‘bout you an’ me ‘avin’ a bit of a go ‘gainst th’ wall, a little knee trem’bler, luv?  I think you an’ me could have a bit o’ fun, what d’ya say, luv?”

She smiled a little hesitantly.  “Sorry?  My English not very gut, vill you sit mit…… with Stuart und me?  Ve haf been speaching of tooking photographs of band, perhaps this veekend?”

“Yeah?  I fergot, yer a photographer, aren’t ya, luv?”  He leaned closer, using the wall for support, his fingers finding her wrist and stroking her soft skin.

She looked at him in obvious confusion, her smile shrinking just a bit.  “Errr, ja, I am photographer, I vould lof to showing you some of my vork."

“Yeah, I’ll bet ya vould,” John purred, continuing to stroke the inside of her wrist.

“John!” 

It was the bastard’s voice.  John smiled at Astrid before slowly turning to face his enemy.

“Get lost, Sutcliffe.”

“Astrid, would ya get me a lager, sweetheart?  Ta, luv, ‘preciate it,” the traitor said quietly.

Astrid slipped past John with a beautiful smile and a kiss for her lover, then walked over to the bar.  John watched her go with an admiring whistle.

“John, what th’ bloody hell are ya doin’?”

“Don’ like it, do ya?” John asked casually, leaning against the wall and casually lighting a fag.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Me movin’ in on yer gurl, ya don’ like it, do ya?  Maybe ya finally know how I felt now.”

“John, I’ve always known ‘ow ya felt.  I dunno ‘ow many times I can say I’m sorry.  I’ve been tryin’ fer th’ last month and a half, but ya won’t listen, ya jus’ shut me out.”

***

Stuart ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he could talk some sense into John.  The lad was still hurting, nearly six weeks after they’d left England, and the anger had simply festered.  After a dozen attempts to talk to him, Stuart had given up and had simply tried to stay out of his way entirely, hoping John would get over his anger with time.  But now he wondered if he’d simply let a canker grow beyond healing. 

Thank God for Astrid, Stuart knew she’d saved his sanity these past few weeks!  He’d felt so isolated from the others, merely going through the motions, wishing he had the stones to walk out.  But he’d looked out at the audience one evening, and he’d seen her come into the club with those two fellows who nearly matched her in beauty.  That very first moment he’d seen her, he’d known she was the one, and he’d set about wooing her with all the sincerity in his heart.  She’d apparently felt the same way about him, calling him ‘beautiful,’ which made him laugh.  But she was such a sweet, gentle soul, and so beautiful, he knew he was deeply in love with her even after knowing her for only a few short weeks.  If he thought about it, he could truthfully say he’d loved her before he’d ever seen her.  She was the missing half of his heart, and Stuart somehow knew he would spend the rest of his life at her side.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the drunken man in the hallway.

“Lookit ya, Johnny, yer pissed on yer arse, why doncha take a rest whilst Rory an’ th’ lads are playin’?” he suggested sympathetically.

“’cause I’m gonna take yer li’l girlfriend ta me bed an’ fuck ‘er senseless,” John said casually, grinning.  “Th’ bitch wants me bad.”

Stuart was unprepared for the fury that erupted without warning.  It was simply staggering.  He found himself with his hand gripping the collar of John’s jacket, knocking his friend back against the wall, face to face as he spat, “Don’ ever talk ‘bout Astrid like that again, John, I’m givin’ ya fair warnin’.  I won’ warn ya again.”

He released John and stalked away, the adrenaline pounding the bass drum of rage in his ears.

“Stuart?  I haf your drink?”

Stuart joined his girlfriend, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, smiling into her beautiful face and thinking what a lucky fellow he was.  He resolutely shut John out of his thoughts.  Bastard!

***

John smiled in triumph, he’d got under the bastard’s skin, had found the Achilles heel, and his ex-mate’s vulnerability was exposed.  A little voice in his head said he was far too drunk to even remain standing let alone contemplate revenge, but he told it to shove off and had another lager whilst tuning up for the next set.  This had been building for a long time, and it had just waited for the right moment.  He’d show that bastard what it felt like!  For the first time in nearly six weeks, he felt happy.  Well, maybe happy wasn’t the exact word.  But he was looking forward to this, he’d either get the girl away from Sutcliffe or he’d beat the shite outta the bastard, and he found he really didn’t care which way it went, either would be enjoyable, either would make him happy.

He began needling his old friend when they started the set, making comments between songs to the bass player about how good it was going to feel to have those legs wrapped around him whilst he pounded into her.  He kept after it, watching the slow burn rising in the bass player’s face, enjoying the buildup.  He’d waited long enough, hadn’t he?  After weeks of depression and restraint, he was gonna enjoy pounding on that hated face.  To hell with self-control, he was looking forward to a brawl or to some great sex with Sutcliffe’s little girlfriend!

“Oh, yeah, gonna enjoy gettin’ a piece o’ that girlie, she’s got those beautiful lips, Sutcliffe, ‘s she a screamer, does she do whatever ya want?  She might not with you, but I bet she will with me, I’m gonna take ‘er every way I can think of, an’ I got a great imagination, ya know,” he commented as he strummed the intro to the next song.  “Bet she’s a screamer, mmmmmm yeah, can’t wait t’ try ‘er out, I’m gonna make ‘er scream me name, it’s gonna sound dead sweet, ohhhh John, do it t’ me like that, ya know vhat I like…...”

The crash of a bass guitar being thrown down was his only warning.

***

Goaded past his normally easy going endurance, Stuart threw his guitar down and jumped, his hands circling ‘round John’s neck, knocking the taller man to the floor, the guitar giving a nasty screeching bit of feedback as it hit the stage.  Hands tried to tear them apart; he swung wildly and George fell back with a startled exclamation that Stuart disregarded.  He was back on top of John but the guitar between them was hindering his punches, so he straddled his old friend on his knees and tore the instrument off him, throwing it somewhere and then hitting him as hard as he could.  He ignored the noise of the crowd, they were enjoying the change in the show and there were shouts all around, but he ignored that as well.  Bastard!  Bastard!  He swung with each breath, some blocked by the man lying on the stage beneath him, some connecting on shoulder or ribcage, a few to his face, hurting Stuart’s hand with the impact.

After the initial shock, John lunged up underneath him and they rolled about on the stage whilst trying to inflict as much damage as possible on each other.  The leather jackets took a lot of the impact and the multiple beers they’d both drunk made them uncoordinated, but some blows continued to connect as the fight went on for several long minutes.  Bets were shouted around the stage as the German audience began choosing sides.  More beer was called for and the barmaids did a brisk business.

“You bloody bastard, I warned ya, why th’ hell wouldn’t ya mind yer own business?” Stuart grunted, arms feeling like lead weights and resorting to an attempt to choke his old friend senseless.  "I tol’ ya, ya can’t talk ‘bout Asser that way!”

John was panting for air, got his hands around Stuart’s wrists and forced him to release his grip.  Stuart ducked away from the punch that was aimed for his face, he wasn’t as far gone as John and had a bit more coordination to him.  And the anger was rapidly turning him sober.

“I didn’t do near what you did, ya fuckin’ bast’id,” John spat.

“She.  Was.  Hurting!” Stuart gritted out between clenched teeth, rolling over again as John lunged beneath him, both of them crashing into Pete’s drum kit.  “I been tryin’ ta tell ya, she was scared!” he panted.

“Scared o’ what?” John demanded, on top and in control, hands clenched in fists, cocking his fist for another blow.

Stuart caught his friend’s wrists in his hands, desperate for a clear shot, he was about to lose this fight and he couldn’t afford to lose.

“Ya bloody fool,” he growled, “get off me, if we’re gonna talk ‘bout this, we’re gonna do it civilized, not in a bloody brawl whilst th’ Krauts are bettin’ on which of us is gonna win th’ fight!”

The surprise on John’s face was genuine and he looked around at the shouting crowd. Stuart put all his strength into one last shot at his friend’s chin as John was turning back to look at him, and the force behind the blow was just enough.   John’s head snapped back, his eyes rolled up and he collapsed on top of Stuart.

***

Oh, Christ, he hurt.  Felt like he’d been pounded on good, and his head was simply spinning!  John cracked an eye open and wiggled his jaw gingerly, hell, that must have been quite a punch that had taken him out.  His lip was swollen and his cheek was throbbing, but his chin was the worst.  He moved carefully, realized he felt sore but didn’t think anything was broken.  He peered out from beneath what felt like an ice pack and saw his erstwhile friend sitting on a chair next to the bed he found himself lying on.  Stuart was bruised and disheveled, looking nearly as bad as John felt, and he had a murderous expression on his face.  John looked quickly ‘round the room as the ice pack slid off his face; hell, whomever was staying in these rooms behind the Kaiserkeller certainly had a better deal of it than they did at the Bambi Kino!  It was near luxurious by comparison!

“Nice of ya t’ wake up, John,” Stuart growled.  “D’ya ‘ave any sense in that thick head o’ yers?  Are ya gonna listen t’ me?”

John groaned and tried to sit up.  “Get th’ fuck outta ‘ere,” he muttered.

Stuart reached forward and John felt himself pulled into a sitting position by the collar of his jacket.  His head rocked to the side when Stuart slapped him across the face. 

Slapped him, open handed, like a bloody girl!  John was too shocked to do anything except blink at the smaller man that sat back and glared at him.

“Now shaddup an’ sit there an’ listen or I’m gonna beat ya ‘til ya puke, John!  I’ve ‘ad enough o’ yer shite, I’m not gonna put up with it any more.  Ya been a drunkard, ya been a sick bastard, an’ I’ve ‘ad enough of it.  Yer tearin’ th’ band apart with yer attitude, ‘aven’t ya seen ‘ow Paulie an’ Georgie don’ even wanna be ‘round ya?  Yer scarin’ ‘em.  An’ yer scarin’ me, too.”

John just stared at the man in the chair as if he’d never seen him before.  Stuart sighed.

“John, ya been me friend fer over a year now, yer me best friend.  I been tryin’ ta let ya get over this on yer own, but yer not healin’.  I’m sorry I hurt ya, man, I’m so sorry.”

“Ya didn’t hurt me, I’m not bloody hurt,” John insisted, finding his tongue.

Stuart smiled briefly.  “Right.  John, lookit, here’s exactly what happened.  Th’ girl was shattered by what ‘er ex-husband did, she was afraid she’d never be able ta ‘ave sex again an’ enjoy it.  I wasn’t th’ one she wanted.  But I was th’ one who could help ‘er get over ‘er fears.”

“Bullshit!” John spat.

“No, John,” Stuart replied, shaking his head.  “Absolute truth.  She wanted you but she was scared t’ death she wouldn’t be able t’ do it with ya an’ enjoy it like she ‘ad afore.  At th’ point she an’ I ‘ad sex, I think if she hadn’t done it then……no, listen t’ me, John!” he said insistently as John rolled his eyes in disgust.  “I think if she ‘adn’t done it then, I dunno if she’d ever ‘ave been able t’ do it again.  She was bloody scared, man, can’t ya see that?  I wasn’t th’ one she wanted, she wanted you, but she was scared.”

“That’s just bullshit!  She didn’t ‘ave any reason t’ be scared o’ me!” 

He tried to turn away.  But Stuart caught him firmly by the chin and kept him looking into that intense gaze that always turned John inside out, looked so deep into his soul that he just knew his friend saw the doubts and fears and pain that he couldn’t show to the world. 

“It’s not bullshit, John,” Stuart said gently.  “Th’ girl’s in love with ya.”

John clenched his jaw, trying to keep the raw emotion inside.  “She’s gotta brilliant way o’ showin’ it,” he blustered, “gewsin’ with me best friend.”

Stuart sighed and released him.  John rubbed his chin and tried to regain his composure.

“John, sometimes people do stupid things.  What we did wasn’t…… planned.  It just ‘appened.  It wasn’t anythin’ we ever repeated, or ever wanted t’ repeat.  She told me she didn’t want me, that she wanted t’ be friends but not lovers.  She told me that I wasn’t the one she wanted.  An’ she wasn’t th’ one I wanted, either.”

“What ‘bout all those paintings?” John asked, wishing desperately for some water, his lips and mouth were so dry.

His friend’s smile was wry, amused.  “What, th’ ones ya ruined?  Those were Astrid.”

“Bullshit!” John announced, triumphant at catching his old friend in a lie.

“Nah, serious.  I know ya think I’m wacked, but I started seein’ ‘er in me head an’ had ta paint ‘er.  I knew ‘er before I ever met ‘er,” Stuart explained.

John looked at him closely; the sincerity in the smaller man’s eyes was unmistakable.  He looked away, down at his hands, clenched them into fists when he saw they were trembing.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” he asked.  “Why didn’t ya tell me ‘bout you an’ Sharon?”

Stuart sighed and then shrugged.  “I dunno, John.  I said people do stupid things, maybe it’s ‘cause I was stupid, figgered I’d tell ya only if ya asked.  Guess I figgered if you an’ Sharon got back t’gether, ya didn’t need ta know.  ‘cause it wasn’t anything either of us wanted t’ repeat.  ‘cause I was afraid you’d react just like ya did when ya found out.  ‘cause I love ya an’ didn’t wanna hurt ya.”

“Ya fuckin’ queer.”  The accusation was out of John’s mouth before he even thought it.

Stuart merely looked annoyed.  “Get yer head outta yer arse, John.  ‘ow long ‘ave we been friends, ‘ow long were we livin’ t’gether?  Did I ever look at ya that way?  Did I ever try t’ seduce ya?  Yer not me type.  Yer too hairy an’ ya ‘aven’t got any tits.  Not t’ mention yer missin’ a certain somethin’ I ‘appen t’ enjoy.  An’ ya got a certain somethin’ else I’m bloody well equipped with an’ I’m not interested in yers!  But I still love ya.  Even with what ya said ‘bout Astrid.  But if ya ever say anythin’ like that again, I swear t’ God, I’ll thump ya ‘til ya can’t get up.  D’ya unnerstand me?”

The fierceness behind Stuart’s tone was pronounced, and John merely nodded slightly, recognizing an immovable object when he saw one.

“I don’ wanna fight with ya anymore, John,” Stuart continued.  “I’m tired o’ watchin’ ya an’ waitin’ fer ya t’ get over this.  I’m sorry I hurt ya, man.  I can’t tell ya how sorry.  But I’m not sorry it happened, I can’t say that I am, an’ I can’t pretend it either.  If we’re gonna stay friends, ya need t’ know that.  I’m glad I was there t’ help th’ girl.”

John lay down and rolled to face the wall, putting his back to his old friend.

“Yer so fulla shite, Sutcliffe, ya jus’ wanted ‘er fer yerself.  Yer a bloody, fuckin’ double-crosser, that’s all there is to it.”

He felt a hand grab the collar of his jacket and was startled to feel himself swiftly pulled out of bed by the smaller, slighter man, landing with a thud on the concrete floor, banging his elbow painfully.  He didn’t have time to dodge the slap, and it knocked his head to the side.  He tasted blood, his already swollen lip had split with the impact, and he spat onto the floor, wiped the slimy trickle from his face with the back of his hand.

“Don’t do that again, Sutcliffe,” he said warningly, found himself shaken firmly by the man kneeling over him.

“Then don’t be so bloody stupid again, Lennon!” Stuart replied fiercely.

“What?” John asked, trying to remember what he’d said.  The alcohol level of his bloodstream was slowly receding, but it was still fairly high despite the fight and aftermath.

“Listen ta me,” Stuart commanded.  “I’m gonna say it once more, an’ I’m gonna say it slow so maybe it’ll sink inta yer thick head!”

John found himself shaken firmly with each sentence, his head spinning.

“I did not want Sharon for meself.  I enjoyed it.  She enjoyed it.  I’m glad I was there t’ help ‘er.  I don’t want ‘er again.  She doesn’t want me again.  She’s in love with you, ya soft hapath!  I saw it in ‘er eyes.  She may not wanna admit it, but th’ girl’s in love with ya.”

John watched from his prone position on the floor as the slighter man climbed to his feet and stood swaying with exhaustion.  He eyed the hand Stuart held out to him.

“John, I wanna be friends again.  I’m tired o’ bein’ at odds with ya, it’s makin’ me sick.  An’ it hurts me ta see ya so depressed.”

John could feel the flush burning his cheeks.  “I’m not depressed.”

“Yeah, right,” Stuart said with a brief smile.  “Look, Astrid won ‘bout 50 Deutchmark on th’ fight.  Why doncha lemme buy ya a drink?”

John was outraged.  “She bet on you?”

Stuart smiled broadly, then winced, and John realized for the first time that his friend had a nasty split lip as well.

“What d’ya expect?  I’m gonna ask th’ girl ta marry me, she’d better place th’ bet on ‘er future husband.”

Go Read Part Six!

C.A.Jones is a long-time fan of The Beatles, but was never lucky enough to see them together in concert. An avid reader since childhood, C.A. only recently tried her hand at writing and now has another hobby with which she consumes her all-too-little spare time. She lives in the Western United States with husband and pets and computers.