Wonderful, Deirdre thought sarcastically as she noted the intent look in the customers’ blue eyes, another arse with an eye on her breasts.  Just what she didn’t need.  Her looks had gotten her into trouble in the first place, and the last thing she needed was another imbecile in her life, she’d had her fill of them.

“What d’ya want?” she asked, pen poised over the order pad.

“Chicken sandwich, chips, a cola, an’ a date,” he replied.

She nearly laughed.  A confident arse.  And he wanted a date, what a joke, he obviously couldn’t see her very well from the customer side of the counter!

“What d’ya want on your sandwich, the usual?  Lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles?”

Whilst awaiting his reply, she thought perhaps she’d take him up on his offer, but he’d have to pay.  Anyone offering to buy her dinner right now was a Godsend, it was money in the bank for the lean times to come.  Besides, he had an accent of the area; she could nearly pinpoint his neighbourhood from the few words he’d said, and she thought she could trust him to be at least somewhat respectful.  She thought she’d be off limits to any of the neighbourhood gangs, anyway.  And besides, it was all a moot point; it would be a big joke once he’d caught sight of her after she was out from behind the counter.  He’d take one look and bolt and she’d have to figure out what to do about dinner on her own and payday still three days away.

“Errr, ‘old th’ onions, love.”

“Good choice, they’re not very fresh today.  Is that for here or for take away?”

“Errr, take away.”

Deirdre turned to shout his order to the cook and rang up the purchase.  Accepting his cash, she made the proper change and looked him in the eye as she gave it to him.

“I get off work at six, if you want a date, meet me here then and plan on taking me to dinner somewhere other than this slop house.”

The cook overheard and shouted a rebuke, but she ignored him as she sized up her opponent across the counter.  He wasn’t very tall as lads went, and he was slim, but he had a fairly good physique with nice shoulders and arms displayed to advantage in a black tee shirt.  He had dark hair with a little streak of gray at his temple, an intriguing little beard and mustache, and lovely blue eyes the color of a springtime sky.  Stop it, she scolded herself.  She didn’t care what he looked like, as long as he didn’t try anything and could pay for her meal.

“Errr, fine then, I’ll see ya at six,” he said, taking his bag from the kitchen lad who’d delivered it to the counter.

Deirdre watched him exit the sandwich shop and then turned to her next customer. 

It was a long afternoon, and her feet and back were aching by the time she finished her work.  She looked up and wonder of wonders, he’d come back!  She pulled her light sweater from beneath the counter and struggled into it as she walked around the counter.  She kept her eyes on his, wanting full enjoyment from this moment.   He’d be out the door in another few seconds with some barely muttered excuse, she was certain.  Sure enough, his eyes went wide when he saw her out from behind the counter.  She nearly laughed.

***

Bloody hell, Ringo thought as she came around the counter.  The girl wasn’t big-as-a-house, but there was definitely a bun in that oven, oh, the lads would have a hearty laugh over him asking a pregnant bird for a date!  He tried to think of an excuse, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the weary amusement and cynicism settle like a veil over the girls’ features and he cleared his throat instead.  She was awfully young to have such a cynical look about her, but she was awfully young to be preggers, too.  And by accepting his offer of a date, it was pretty obvious that she was . . . errr . . . unattached.  Her challenging cynicism strengthened his resolve and he smiled at her.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering the girl his arm.

He hid the grin that threatened to surface when he saw her start in surprise.  She’d expected him to run, then?  Well, perhaps she was a fairly good judge of character, but he’d asked for the date and he’d follow through with it.

“What’s for dinner?” the girl asked abruptly, taking his arm.

As they walked out of the shop, Ringo thought she’d covered her discomfiture pretty well, but he knew he’d startled her.  This probably wasn’t a good idea though.  If Rory and the lads found out about it, there’d be hell to pay!  Rory would say it wasn’t good for the band’s image and other assorted nonsense.  Well, he’d worry about that later.

“I didn’t know what ya liked, so I thought I’d let ya pick,” he replied, and noted a crafty look cross the girl’s face.

“D’ya have an automobile?”

Ringo nodded and pointed down the street where his Ford Zephyr Zodiac was parked.  He hadn’t been caught yet, although he didn’t have a license to drive it, and it was his pride and joy.

“Fine, I’ll give you directions whilst you drive, then.”

Ringo opened the passenger door for the girl and got her settled into the car before walking around and getting in the driver’s side.  He had a bad feeling about this, but no matter where she chose, he could probably afford it; the summer season had just ended last week and the Butlins gig at Skegness had paid well.  He’d just have to hope that she wasn’t going to have a laugh by picking a swank restaurant in downtown London or something.

He was surprised at her directions, he knew the area well and it was a fairly bad section of town.  He pulled out into traffic with a shrug of resignation, at least she hadn’t picked a swank place for dinner.  And it wasn’t likely that Rory or any of his friends would see him, so he began to feel a little more comfortable about his duty.

“By th’ way, me name’s Ritchie Starkey.”

“Deirdre Hollis,” she stated flatly.

“Pleased ta meetcha, Deirdre,” Ringo offered.  The girl had an incredible chip on her shoulder, he thought when she didn’t reply to his pleasantry.  Well, he’d buy her dinner and give her a ride home and that would be that, he’d have discharged his obligation to her.

***

Deirdre wondered about this fellow.  He’d definitely surprised her by not running away as soon as he’d seen she was preggers.  Well, it didn’t really matter, he was saving her the cost of dinner and bus fare; since he’d given her the choice of it, she’d picked Frank’s for dinner.  Firstly, it allowed her to avoid having to pay for the bus because she lived across the street from the restaurant.  Secondly, the food there was good and also cheap; no matter what this fellow’s circumstances, he could probably afford dinner.  She wasn’t particularly happy about the fact that it made her beholden to him, but she’d just ignore the social niceties of the situation.  She’d never see him again anyway, so what did it matter?  She hoped he wouldn’t skip out on the bill, but if he did, she’d probably be able to work something out with Frank since she worked there on weekends.  She had to consider that it was a good night, she wasn’t out any money this evening for food or transportation.

“You can park in front of the café, it’s better in this neighbourhood to have the auto close,” she commented, pointing out the tiny storefront.  She didn’t wait for him to come ‘round to open her door, but opened it herself and stepped out.  Home sweet home, she thought to herself with a grimace as she slammed the door and led the way into the restaurant.

“Hello, Frank, can we have a table in the back, please?  And will you have Frank Jr. keep an eye on this fellow’s car, please?  It’s directly out front.”

The man nodded and took them to a table, handed them menus and then left them alone.

“Don’t worry, your car will be fine,” she felt compelled to say.

“Oh, I’m not worried, I grew up near ‘ere, it’s practically ‘ome sweet ‘ome,” the fellow replied. 

What had he said his name was?  Oh, yes, Ritchie something-or-other.  She’d thought he had a Dingle accent, it wasn’t surprising that he’d think of this awful area as home. 

“D’ya come here often?” he continued, and she nearly laughed, it was such an obvious attempt at casual conversation.

“Sometimes.  The food’s really good.  And cheap, too.  I’d suggest the lasagna or the spaghetti and sauce, but anything on the menu will be fine.”  Why was she being so chatty, she wondered?  She needed to be quiet, it wasn’t like this was a ‘real’ date or anything like that.  He was just taking care of an obligation and trying not to lose face in the process.

“Are you ready to order?” Frank asked, appearing at the tableside as if by magic.  She wondered how he did that, he was such a big man, but he moved so silently.

“Lasagna, please, Frank.  And a salad with extra salad cream and bread.  And a glass of milk, please.” 

She looked at her table mate, daring him to say anything about her order, but he simply smiled and said he’d have the same meal, but he wanted red wine instead of milk, then he smiled at her again.  He was so irritating, with his ready smile and friendly blue eyes, she thought, feeling disgruntled.

***

Ringo smiled in a determined manner.  The bird wasn’t easy to get to know; she’d begun replying to his small talk with simple, one word answers or just a nod or head shake.  She was so prickly, he couldn’t wait to have this meal over with!  Too bad he’d felt an instant attraction towards her at lunch.  It had been her nose with its light sprinkling of freckles that had caught his attention; oh, yes, a lovely little nose, slightly turned up at the end.  She was pretty enough beside that, with dark brown hair that held red highlights and dark brown eyes, but the nose had clinched his attraction for her.  It was no wonder that petite little noses were so attractive to him, he thought with a laugh, it was something he’d never see whilst looking in the mirror, that was certain! 

Their salads arrived and Ringo felt relieved to have something with which to occupy his hands and mouth, and he set to his food with good appetite.  She did, too, he thought, passing her his extra salad cream without comment when she dipped her bread in the little bowl, noting with amusement that she scowled at his gesture but accepted the offering.  She was eating for two, so she’d probably need the extra food, he thought; she was awfully thin despite the gentle swell at her abdomen.  He wondered how far gone she was, and he decided he wasn’t certain when a woman got big when preggers.  Especially on a first pregnancy, which he supposed this was.  She looked too young to have a brood of children at home.  Poor thing, she’d had some bad luck to fall preggers so young.

Their salad plates were scraped clean and the bread basket was empty when their meals arrived, and Ringo was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food.  He hadn’t had Italian food this good in a long time.  He asked for more bread and used it to sop up the tasty sauce surrounding the thick chunk of lasagna, noticing that the girl was doing the same.  Yes, she was definitely eating for two, he thought, wondering where she was putting everything she ate; she must have a hollow leg.  Or a hollow belly!

“Do they ‘ave a good dessert ‘ere?” he asked casually after they’d both devoured their dinners.  He really didn’t want anything else, but if she was still hungry, he could certainly afford it.  He thought the meal would probably cost less than he paid to have his turquoise suit and gold lame shirt cleaned!

“Actually, they have a lovely fruit tart, Frank’s wife makes them fresh each morning,” she replied, the words spoken grudgingly, and Ringo promptly ordered two servings.

They sat quietly and nibbled at their desserts, she’d been right, they were excellent.  When Ringo asked for the bill, the waiter set it on the table and then turned to the girl.

“I won’t need you here on Sunday this week, Dee, just the regular hours on Saturday, and Friday night.”

“Oh, all right, Frank,” she mumbled in reply, turning a decidedly dark shade of red. 

So she worked here, no wonder she knew of the place, Ringo thought.  He wondered that she hadn’t said anything about that.  Well, she hadn’t said much of anything over their meal, he reflected as he pulled out enough money to cover the bill, wondering at the girl’s barely concealed sigh of relief.  Had she thought he’d skip on the bill?  Poor little cynic.  For whatever reason, this girl intrigued him; there was something about her, maybe he was just curious about her, about why she was so bristly.  Perhaps she had just cause for her cynicism and suspicious nature.  She was still a pretty bird, even with her pregnancy, and Ringo was surprised that he still found her attractive.  He wasn’t sure why, but it just didn’t seem . . . decent . . . to feel attracted to a pregnant bird, and he flushed uncertainly at his thoughts.

“Errr, can I drive ya ‘ome, love?” he asked as he recovered his composure.

***

Wonderful, he probably thought that buying her dinner entitled him to other liberties, Deirdre thought with a sniff.  And he probably thought since she was already preggers, he needn’t worry about a thing.  Well, he could think all he liked, but there was no way in hell she’d be letting him into her apartment.  Or her knickers.  She’d had plenty of that already, and look where it had gotten her, on her own before she was even eighteen, rejected by her family and by the louse that she’d trusted when he’d said he loved her.  She’d best set him straight right now.

“No, I don’t want a ride.  I . . . thank you for dinner,” she added grudgingly.

“Well, come ‘ead, love, lemme at least drive ya ‘ome, it’s not really safe in these neighbourhoods like this.”

“No, it’s not necessary.”

“Ya afraid of somethin’, gurl?” he asked, a devilish glint in his blue eyes, staring a challenge at her.

“Of course not,” she replied stiffly.  The arse!

“Then lemme give ya a lift ‘ome.”

The . . . bastard!  That cheeky smile simply dared her to accept.

“I said no, I don’t need a lift,” Deirdre argued stubbornly.

She couldn’t very well tell him to go away, but that’s what she wanted to do.  And she couldn’t very well tell him she lived across the street, she might have unexpected and unwanted company.  Determined to avoid a confrontation, she stood and turned on her heel, then walked into the ladies toilet; he couldn’t follow her in there.  She waited long minutes in the tiny room, surely he’d left by now, surely he’d gotten the hint!  She barely cracked the door open and peeked out.  He’d taken a seat and was watching the door, she was mortified to see that he gave her a saucy smile and a nod when he saw the door move.

Deirdre swiftly shut the door and wondered if she’d fit through the small ventilation window.  She eyed the window and looked at herself in the mirror.  Perhaps if she held her breath . . . .  A gentle knock on the door stopped her.

“I wouldn’t be tryin’ ta get out the window, either, Deirdre, yer gonna be really embarrassed if ya get stuck,” his hated voice said from the other side of the door.

She could tell he was laughing, and this wasn’t funny, she thought furiously.  She pulled the door open and he nearly fell into the room, the arse!

“I jus’ wanna make sure ya get ‘ome safe, love.  Lemme be a gentleman, right?” he asked as he stepped back to let her out of the room.  “Seems ta me ya ‘aven’t seen many gentlemen lately, lemme drive ya ‘ome.”

He wasn’t laughing at her now, she realized as she glared at him.  She thought she read compassion and sympathy in those blue eyes, but no trace of laughter.  An underlying humour, definitely, but he wasn’t laughing at her.

“Fine,” she muttered as she led the way to the door of the café.  She stalked across the street and stopped at the door to the building, turning back to face him.  “There, you’ve taken me home.  You can go away now.”  Deirdre decided that she didn’t much like herself right now, she was being so rude to him, but he simply wouldn’t take a hint!

“Well, can I walk ya to yer flat, then?”

“No.  Good night.”

He must need a piece of lumber against his head, was he deaf or simply dense?  She struggled with her key in the door and finally got the old lock to work, stepped through the door and quickly shut it behind her, locking him outside the building.  She turned and walked down the hallway to the stairs, fidgeting with the desire to turn around and look to see if he was still there, angry with herself for being so abrupt, angry that she was angry because this was really about self preservation, she thought.  He’d been nice enough to buy her dinner and save her bus fare, but that’s as far as it went.  And she’d thanked him for dinner.  She had, really.

She climbed the three flights to her squalid little bedsit, pausing only long enough to peer out the broken glass of the hallway window to see if he’d gone.  His car was still parked across the street, and she felt a chill at the thought that perhaps he’d find a way into the building.  Thank God she didn’t have her name on her mailbox, she thought as she struggled with the key to her flat and opened the door, locking it behind her as soon as she was inside.  Home sweet home.

***

Ringo walked back to his car and looked up at the building, noting that a light had just come on in a window up on the third floor.  He watched a bit longer, but no other lights came on, so he counted windows and figured she must have the sixth flat from the north end on the third floor.  She certainly hadn’t taken to his teasing very well, but at least he knew where she lived now.  He questioned himself as to why he even cared and then reminded himself that the most beautiful and sweetly scented roses were the ones with heavy thorns.  He frowned as he wondered why that thought had crossed his mind.  Shaking his head, he got in the Zodiac and started it, relieved that nothing appeared to be missing from the car, and he headed for the Blue Angel pub, it was nearly time to meet Rory and the lads.

***

“What d’ya want?” she asked, her eyes on the order pad, her thoughts on her aching feet and back.  It had already been a very long day, and it was only half past one!

“Chicken sandwich, chips, a cola an’ a date.”

She looked up quickly, amusement warring with irritation.  What was he doing back here, and what was he doing asking for another ‘date’?  She thought she’d been nasty enough to him that she’d never have to worry about seeing him again, and she hadn’t worried, not for the three weeks that had passed since that night.

“No onions?  For take away?” she asked grudgingly.

“Ta.”

She turned to shout his order to the cook and then took his money.  What had his name been?  Oh, yes, Ritchie something.  She handed him his change.

“Here you go.  Your order will be up shortly.”

She pointedly turned to the next customer.

“Six o’clock, then?” he asked.

She ignored him and took the customer’s order, shouting it back to the cook and making change.  She felt the breeze of the kitchen lad passing to drop Ritchie’s order off.

“Six o’clock, then?” he asked, a little louder.

Deirdre sighed and finally nodded in reply.  She reminded herself that it was a savings, and anything or anyone who saved her money right now should be blessed and not reviled.  Nothing bad had happened last time, maybe it would be all right this time as well.  But she wondered why he was back for more.  It’s not as if she’d given him any encouragement!

***

Ringo took his lunch sack and walked to the nearby park to enjoy his sandwich in peace.  He wondered why he’d come back to the sandwich shop, it’s not as if the girl had given him any encouragement, not three weeks prior and not now!  But she’d been on his mind since he’d last seen her, and he found himself wondering how she was.  As he’d waited in line to place his order, he’d thought she looked tired, but she’d been as pretty as he’d remembered.  And the attraction was as strong.  He chuckled as he fed some of his bread to the birds that gathered at his feet in fiercely competitive groups.  This was the weirdest thing he’d ever experienced, being attracted to a pregnant bird!  Wouldn’t the lads have a laugh if they knew?

Speaking of the lads, he thought he’d better call Rory and find out if there were any gigs this week.  Ringo finished his lunch and then walked to the corner phone booth to place the call.  Bloody hell, tonight?  And so early?  A dinner event over at the Blue Angel.  Well, he’d have to break the date with Deirdre, he’d make it up to her another time.  He walked back to the sandwich shop and waited patiently in line.  She looked up when he got to the front of the line.

“What d’ya want, was there something wrong with your sandwich?”

“No, no, it was great, love, but somethin’ came up, sorry.  I can’t make it tonight, Deirdre, ‘ow ‘bout next week?”

“Right,” she replied dispiritedly.

“I’m really sorry love, I don’ mean ta disappoint ya, I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.”

***

Deirdre laughed tiredly and without humour.  “You haven’t disappointed me, I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep well and my back aches.  I could care less if you ever come ‘round here again.  Go away, I have work to do.  Next?” she called to the customer behind him.

She was horrified at how badly she was treating him, but her nasty disposition today made her snap at him.  And truthfully, she was disappointed, she’d been looking forward to not having to cook dinner, and a comfortable auto ride home instead of having to stand on the bus as usual had sounded divine.  She took the order from the customer, then turned back to Ritchie.

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually so bad tempered,” she admitted grudgingly, without meeting his eyes.  There, at least she’d apologized to him.  She shouted the order to the cook and took the customer’s payment.

“Look, I feel badly fer disappointin’ ya, why don’ ya come with me tonight?  We’re doin’ a gig at th’ Blue Angel, I’ll buy ya dinner between sets an’ drive ya ‘ome afterwards.”

“Are you a musician?” she asked with only a little interest.

“Yeah, I’m a drummer with Rory Storm an’ th’ Hurricanes,” he replied.

She took the order from the next customer as she thought about his astounding offer.  It’s not as if there was anything waiting for her at her bedsit, simply four walls and some threadbare furniture that had come with the tiny flat.  She continued to work on automatic, placing orders and making change whilst thinking.  His friends would surely think that she was a girlfriend, and pregnant with his child.  She finally turned back to him where he’d stood waiting, staring him in the eye as she asked a simple question.

“What are your friends going to think about you showing up at your gig with a pregnant girl?”

She watched as his eyes shifted away, just a little bit, and that made up her mind.  He hadn’t thought about it at all, that was pretty obvious.

“Well, thank you very much for the offer, but I . . . I have other plans tonight.  Perhaps another time,” she said, turning back to the line and taking another order.  It allowed him a graceful exit from his offer, and she wondered why she cared about that.

“Errr, yeah, right, I’ll . . . I’ll see ya soon, Deirdre, ‘bye.”

She didn’t reply and she didn’t look up to watch him leave.  She continued working and tried to tell herself that she wasn’t disappointed.  The afternoon was long and arduous, the scrubbing in the kitchen after the shop closed late in the afternoon caused her back to ache even more, and the bus ride home was spent on her feet.  Deirdre was thoroughly depressed and exhausted by the time she arrived at her apartment building.  As far as she could figure, she was only a little over five months along, what was it going to be like when she was closer to her delivery date?  She shivered at the thought as she trudged up the three flights of stairs to her flat.

Standing at the door to her bedsit, noting that the lock was broken, she could only bless the bank manager for allowing her to open a savings account in spite of her being underage.  She might have been burgled again, but at least her money wasn’t gone this time.  The robbers had certainly left a mess, though, they’d apparently been angry that they hadn’t found any money and had taken their anger out on the furnishings.  She hoped the landlord wouldn’t expect her to pay for replacements, it would take more than she had at the bank.  She wondered if she should leave before he found out about it, but she had nowhere to go and no one to go to.  She’d have to tell him about it in the morning, if only to get the lock fixed.

Looking around the little room, she wondered if anything that had been left wasn’t broken beyond repair.  She found one teacup that was salvageable, and the tea kettle was dented but still serviceable, but the tea had been taken, so she simply got to work trying to clean the mess.  She tried to ignore her growling stomach; all the food had been taken and she wouldn’t be paid until the weekend.  She’d have to try to get to the bank tomorrow, she thought, begrudging the few pounds she’d need to get by until payday.  She pretended it was the sweat of physical labour that wet her cheeks, and not tears.

***

Ringo paid for the tarts and thanked Frank, then scrambled across the street.  The gig had been a short one, and he thought maybe the bird would like some dessert, he hoped she wasn’t already asleep.  He punched a few mailbox buzzers at random and grinned when he was rewarded with entry to the building.  Racing up the stairs to the third floor, he counted doors and knocked on the one he thought belonged to Deirdre.

“What d’ya want?” a muffled voice responded, and he nearly laughed.  She was the prickliest person he’d ever met.

“Room service,” he replied cheerfully. 

He was in a great mood, the gig had been fantastic, the band was so tight, and he’d seen some old friends, the lads with whom they’d alternated sets in Hamburg the prior winter.  Rory had invited them to the gig, and it had been fun to touch base with them.  But he’d been thinking of the girl the entire time, and he’d left early to make the trip over to see her. 

Ringo waited patiently through the long pause, and he was almost ready to knock again when she finally replied.

“Ritchie?”

“Yeah, I got dessert, thought ya might ‘ave a bit of a sweet tooth, love.”  He waited through another long pause, was the bird going to tell him to go away again?

“How did you know my flat number?”

“I counted windows last time I was ‘ere, saw when ya turned on th’ light, figured this’d be yers.  C’mon, love, lemme in, th’ tarts are gettin’ cold.”

“They’re cold anyway, Frank’s wife makes them in the morning,” she countered suspiciously.

“Well, she ‘ad ta make a fresh batch, they’re warm outta th’ oven an’ they smell so good, I think I might ‘ave ta eat both of ‘em, love . . . unless ya let me in.”

“Will you just leave the tarts and go away?” she asked hopefully.

He laughed.  “Not a chance, ya greedy little bird!  I want one fer meself.  C’mon, love, I don’ bite, I promise.  Lemme in.”

“I’ve had a bit of a problem, my flat isn’t very presentable right now,” she said stiffly, her voice still muffled through the closed door.

“Anythin’ I can do ta ‘elp?” Ringo asked.  “C’mon, love, open up, th’ neighbours are gonna complain.”

“The neighbours never notice anything,” she said, and Ringo thought there was a very savage tone to her voice, but he didn’t pay much attention because he heard the sound of something heavy being dragged from the door.

When the door was finally opened, he jauntily stepped across the threshold and stopped in surprise.  She’d had more than a little problem, the tiny little flat was a shambles!

“I’m sorry, there’s nowhere to sit except the floor, and there’s only one teacup and no tea,” the girl said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

“What ‘appened?”

“I was burgled again.  They apparently weren’t too happy that they couldn’t find any money this time.  Could I . . . could I have a tart?  I’m sorry, but I’m really hungry,” she admitted, and Ringo noticed that there appeared to be tearstains on her face.

He handed her the bag wordlessly and tried to give her the courtesy of not watching her eat.  He looked around the tiny flat, there wasn’t much left that could be repaired, the poor bird!  It appeared that she’d been methodically working her way ‘round the room, because nearly half was spotless and the remainder was a mess.

“Don’t you want your tart?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“D’ya want somethin’ more ta eat?  I can run over ta Frank’s an’ get ya some dinner, doesn’t look like you’ve ‘ad much time ta fix anythin’ tonight.”

The way she licked her lips and swallowed made up his mind, and he walked back out the door, noting the number so she could buzz him in on his return.

“I’ll be right back, love.”

Frank was nice enough to include silverware and plates once he learned for whom the order was being placed, and Ritchie was shortly back across the street with spaghetti and sauce, bread and salad with extra salad cream.  He’d prevailed upon the restaurant owner to provide him with a bottle of wine, wine glasses, tea and cups, so he was fully laden when he struggled up the stairs.  He thought the girl was going to start crying when she opened the door and saw him standing there with his arms loaded down with largesse.

***

Deirdre opened the door at his knock and simply stared at her benefactor.  The smells emanating from the sacks spoke of Frank’s good cooking, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying even as her mouth began watering.  Two fruit tarts didn’t make up for missed meals, and she’d only been able to sneak a lone slice of bread at the sandwich shop earlier in the day.  She took one sack from Ritchie as she invited him inside, and then set it in the kitchen before returning to the door and moving the chair over as a replacement for the broken lock. 

She paused once this was accomplished, she’d just effectively locked herself in her bedsit with this Ritchie character.  Well, if he had any designs on her virtue, he was welcome to it as long as he let her eat dinner first.  She wondered idly when her moral character had degenerated to the point that her virtue was worth the price of a spaghetti and sauce dinner?  Some virtue, she thought as she turned to find that Ritchie was dishing up food onto two plates.  Oh, he’d got Italian sausage, too, how lovely.  That in itself should be worth any remaining virtue she might possess.

Deirdre tried to be ladylike as she ate, but it was difficult, she was so hungry.  She sat cross legged on the floor and balanced her full plate on her knee.  She was grateful that her skirt was long enough to cover her decently, although she reminded herself that virtue and decency were in short supply right now. 

As the salad and bread and spaghetti and the lovely sausage disappeared, she started to feel better, as if she’d got her wind back.  She sipped her glass of wine, and as the food and drink went to work on her, her suspicions and mistrust settled back over her.  Why was he being so nice?  Why had he come here?  What was she thinking, letting this strange man into her flat?  What did he want from her?  Why would any normal lad want to spend time with a pregnant girl?  What did he want from her?  Well, what did any man want, really?  And despite her earlier weakness, he wasn’t going to get that; the very idea!  How could she get him out of her flat?

“I think I already ate all the dessert,” she admitted stiffly after the last crumb of bread and sauce was gone, the bare plates accusing her of gluttony and nearly making her blush.  She was twice beholden to him now, and the thought didn’t sit well with her.

He laughed and replied, “I’m stuffed full anyway.  But d’ya want anythin’ else?  If Frank’s still there, I’m sure I could get a few more tarts or somethin’.”

Deirdre shook her head, it was decidedly awkward sitting on the floor like this, but the chairs had been smashed to kindling.  “No, thank you.  I . . . appreciate dinner, I didn’t realize I was so hungry,” she lied awkwardly.

“Well, eatin’ fer two, ya gotta be sure an’ eat regular meals,” he said with an easy smile.

Deirdre bristled, how dare he be so personal?  She struggled to her feet, blushing in anger and outrage.

***

Ringo thought it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.  He watched, whilst trying to appear that he wasn’t watching, as the layers of prickliness came back over the girl as she got some food into her, and maybe a little bit of rest by sitting whilst eating.  It was like peeling an onion in reverse.  The inner girl had been visible when she’d let him in with the food, then as she’d eaten, he could nearly count the layers of defense as they were rebuilt over her vulnerable, soft center. 

The poor kid, he thought, she’d been having quite a rough time.  He could very nearly pinpoint the neighbourhood in which she’d grown up by her accent, and it wasn’t in the Dingle.  Living here was probably the best she could do at this point, and it was a terrible place if you weren’t used to it.  He thought that her family had probably thrown her out when they’d discovered she was preggers, but he wondered what had happened to the father of the child?  Most lads would do right by their girlfriends, it was the manly thing to do.

When he said something about eating for two, the girl went pale and then red.  Oh, that had been a mistake, he thought as he got up from the floor and offered her a hand, she was having a hard time getting up.  She ignored his hand and clambered to her feet; her face was so expressive he thought he could nearly read the thoughts that were crowding through her mind.  Why was he here, what did he want, why had she let him into her flat?  Those were the main ones, and Ringo realized he didn’t really know the answer to some of them himself.  What did he want?  He wasn’t sure.  But the bird had remained in his thoughts since nearly the first time he’d set sight of her.

Giving her a moment to get her thoughts in order, certain she’d direct him to leave her flat momentarily, he walked over to the couch and tried to win her trust by stuffing batting back into the slashed cushions.

“I got a rug in th’ car, love, if we can stuff all this back inta th’ cushions, ya can throw th’ rug over it an’ it’ll cover it up enough that ya can use it.  Prob’ly turn th’ cushions over, too.”

He worked energetically, stuffing and plumping the cushions, then stepped back to check out the effect.  Not bad, he thought, especially when the cushions were turned over, the slashes had only gone through the material on one side, the other side wasn’t bad.  With a rug over the whole thing, it could still serve as the girl’s bed, he thought.

“Shall I go fetch th’ rug, then?” he asked, determined to get a response from the girl, hoping he was appearing harmless enough that she wouldn’t be afraid of his presence. 

Ringo had the feeling that her defenses were concrete by now, but she surprised him by nodding stiffly, and he left the flat on his errand.  Returning with the wooly car blanket and a small kit of tools he thought might come in handy, he rang the buzzer and was surprised when he wasn’t buzzed in.  Perhaps she’d needed to run to the loo, he thought pregnant women did that a lot.  He waited a few minutes, then tried again.  Still no reply.

After a third try, he had to smile in amused irritation, the little bitch had locked him out, and he’d walked right into that one by offering to get the rug.  He punched some buzzers at random and was finally admitted to the building by someone who was too lazy to check to see who it was.  He climbed the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the girl’s door.

“Dee, ya in there?  Open up, love, I’ve got th’ rug an’ some tools, I think I can fix it so you’ve got at least a chair ta sit on.”

Silence.  He knocked again.

“Dee, open up.  C’mon, love, I know yer in there.”

Ringo knocked on the door until his knuckles were nearly bleeding, talked at the door until he was nearly hoarse.  He never heard a sound from within the little flat.  His anger finally erupted and he pushed the door, wincing as the chair that held it closed screeched across the floor.  Squeezing his way into the room, he saw that the girl was crouched against the opposite wall, her expressive eyes and white face bespeaking her fear and mistrust, and he stopped with a sigh.  The poor child, she was all alone, with no one to trust but herself.  He couldn’t be angry with her.  He held up his hands in a gesture of peace, palms up and facing her so she could see he didn’t have anything up his sleeve.

“Dee, I swear, I’m not gonna ‘urt ya, love.  Trust me, I jus’ wanna ‘elp ya.  Doesn’t seem like ya ‘ad any ‘elp in quite a while.  I know ya can’t figure out why I’m ‘angin’ ‘round ya, an’ I can’t really tell ya th’ answer ta that, either.  But ya been in me thoughts lately, darlin’, an’ I’m worried ‘bout ya.  Look, ‘ere’s th’ rug fer th’ couch, I’m jus’ gonna try an’ fix a chair fer ya, then I’ll leave, right?”

He threw the rug over the back of the couch.  In a gesture of trust, he turned his back to the girl and sat cross legged on the floor in front of the smashed chairs, pulling a screwdriver from his tool kit and working to remove the screws holding the chair legs to the seat bottoms.  He thought he could probably salvage four legs out of the eight available, and one of the seat bottoms hadn’t been slashed, so there would be one chair for her.  He hoped she wasn't going to hit him over the head with a frying pan or anything, and he had a crawling sensation along his defenseless neck at the thought.  He closed his eyes in a quick prayer and then concentrated on his work.

***

Why was he here?  She couldn’t stop asking herself that question as she watched him struggle with the legs of the ruined chairs.  Why did he want to help her?  Was he really just a nice man?  All indications seemed to point to that, but how could she possibly trust him?  Her own family had turned her out, believing Tony over her.  If her own family and the bastard who’d said he loved her (just so he could get into her knickers, she now realized) had treated her like that, how could she possibly believe a stranger when he asked for her trust?

It had been such a long day, and there had been so many long days during the course of the past four and a half months, and she was so tired and her back and feet hurt so badly.  She finally just sank down on the floor and sat with her back to the wall, watching him as he worked.  She was careful to keep a very close eye on him when he got up from the floor and tested the chair, bouncing up and down in it to make sure it was sturdy.  She hadn’t thought anything was salvageable, it was a surprise that he’d been able to combine parts from two separate chairs into a serviceable item.

“There, now ya got a bed an’ a chair, guess th’ rest will ‘ave ta wait.  I’m leavin’ now, Dee, jus’ like I told ya, ok?  G’night, love.  Be sure an’ . . . an’ lock up behind me, ok?”

She started to cry after he’d gone.  She cried for herself, for the person she’d been only six months before and for this mistrustful, suspicious person she’d become since that awful day Tony and her family had turned on her.  She cried for him, maybe Ritchie was just a nice guy after all, fancy that, and she had treated him so badly . . . once again.   And she cried for her baby, an unwanted child that would have no hope of a future unless she gave it away for adoption.

When her tears finally dried up, she stiffly pulled herself up from the floor and began working on the remaining mess, trying to put her flat to rights.

***

Ringo knocked on the window to the sandwich shop and the man inside the building shouted that they wouldn’t open for another half hour.

“Where’s Dee?  I wanna talk t’ ‘er,” Ringo called back.

The man shouted that she hadn’t come in yet, and she’d better get her arse to work before she was fired.

Ringo stepped back from the window in exasperation.  He hadn’t wanted to stop by Deirdre’s flat this morning, he didn’t want to scare her again, but he was worried about the girl, and the fact that she was apparently late to work caused him more anxiety.  He started towards his car, but then saw the girl at the corner, hurrying his direction, nearly stopping in her tracks when she saw him.

“Dee, I was worried,” he blurted in relief.  “Are ya all right, love?” 

He thought she looked extremely tired, and he wondered if she’d stayed up all night trying to get her flat straightened up.  Poor kid, he wished she’d let him help.

“I’m late, I had to go to the bank,” she said flatly, but for some reason, she didn’t seem quite as stiff as she had the previous night.

“Dinner tonight, then?  Six o’clock, right?” Ringo asked.

“Why?” she wailed.  She sounded confused and tired, and he thought she had a definite chink in her armour.

“Maybe ‘cause I like ya, gurl.  Maybe ‘cause I think yer a nice gurl that’s fallen on some ‘ard times an’ needs a friend.  Maybe ‘cause I like bad tempered gurls who treat me like dirt.”

She blushed a nice, deep rose colour, and Ringo thought he must have hit a nerve with that last one.  It had been a little bit barbed, so he apologized.

“C’mon, Dee, jus’ teasin’ ya a bit.  Yer late, I don’ wanna keep ya from yer work.  But if ya really don’ want me ‘angin’ ‘round, tell me now an’ I won’t come back.  Otherwise, I’ll see ya at six, ok?”

He didn’t wait for her answer, didn’t wait to see what her expression told him, but simply turned and got in his car and drove away without a backward glance.  He’d been afraid she’d take him up on his suggestion, tell him to leave and never return.  He didn’t think he could do that, because right or wrong, for better or for worse, he was involved with the little bird by now, and he couldn’t just turn his back and forget her.

It was just a few minutes past six o’clock when Ringo pulled up in front of the sandwich shop.  Deirdre came out of the door as he was getting out of the car, so he simply walked around to open the passenger door for her.  Once she was settled, he got back in and started the car.

“Where to, love?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied tiredly, and he thought that some more of her prickly nature had disappeared through exhaustion or depression, he wasn’t sure which.  He wondered if she’d ever lose all of her thorns.

“Well, d’ya fancy a steak, or some fish?  What sounds good?”

“Steak would be lovely, I can’t remember the last time I had that,” she admitted quietly.

Ringo smiled and pulled out into traffic.  That admission must have cost her a lot, and for the first time, he thought that perhaps she might truly open up, she might finally accept his friendship.  He hummed happily as he drove.

“I know jus’ th’ place ta go fer a good steak.”

The Jive Hive was a club and bar, but they had a good kitchen, he thought as he drove the few kilometers to the place.  Once parked, he opened the door for the girl and helped her out; she seemed startled by the courtesy.  They walked inside and Ringo found an empty table and asked how she liked her steak, made a face at her response, then placed their order with the man behind the bar.  Their orders were swiftly prepared and delivered.

“This is really good, I have to say I’ve been craving a good steak,” Deirdre said shyly, not quite meeting his eyes, and he was charmed by the shyness she was exhibiting.  There were entire, vast sections missing from the girl’s armor now, he thought with relief.  Maybe the first chink in the armor had caused an avalanche of pieces to fall out.

“Yeah, they got a good cook ‘ere, glad ya like it.  Mine’s good, too.”

“How can that possibly be any good?” she asked.  “You made them cook it until it’s more disgusting than dried up shoe leather.”

“Oh, cheeky now, are we?  Just ‘cause you eat yer steak while it’s still got a ‘moo’ in it!” he teased back, delighted with her emergence from her shell.  He was amazed at how quickly it had all happened.

The entire meal had been served at once, family style, so the table was laden with food; everything from barley soup and green salad, steaks and potatoes in their jackets, peas and carrots, as well as rolls and butter, were spread before them.  They made steady inroads to the feast and plates were cleaned away as they finished them.  The staff was as good as the cook, Ringo thought in satisfaction, enjoying how much the bird seemed to be enjoying her meal.  She was still awfully thin, he thought critically, and he wondered if he dared bring up her delicate condition to ask if she was doing all right.  Perhaps not yet, he decided, he certainly didn’t want to spoil their growing rapport.  He looked up as someone approached their table, smiling when he saw who it was.

“’ey, lads, ‘ow are ya?  Didn’t expect ta see ya ‘round ‘ere, what’s th’ word?  Oh, this is me friend, Deirdre ‘ollis.  Dee, I want ya ta meet Paul McCartney, George ‘arrison, Pete Best, an’ John Lennon.  They’re in a band called th’ Beatles.”  He laughed.  “They’re me competition!”

***

Deirdre swallowed what was in her mouth and smiled weakly at the four handsome lads crowding ‘round the table to greet her newfound friend.  Well, she certainly hadn’t expected to be meeting any of Ritchie’s mates tonight, and to find they had a friend in common was a surprise.  She’d had a crush on him for several years as an adolescent, but before then he’d simply been her childhood playmate, ‘that Harrison boy down the block’; she’d known him for as long as she could remember.  Oh, this was definitely an awkward surprise.

“Hello, Paul, John and Pete, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, nodding to the three she didn’t know.  “Hi, George, nice to see you, how are you?”

“Dee Hollis, how are ya, gurl?  I don’ think I’ve seen ya since th’ dances at th’ Innie years ago.  What ever happened ta that Tony character ya got on so well with?  Thought you’d be married ta ‘im by now.  What are ya doing hanging ‘round with Ringo, ya know he’s a bad influence, don’t ya?” George asked with a laugh.

Deirdre knew she’d turned scarlet and she was grateful that the pub was fairly dark.  She didn’t think any of them could tell that she was preggers, she was seated fairly close to the table and she didn’t think she looked very pregnant outside of her steadily increasing belly, which was hopefully hidden by the table.  She reflected that the monthly dances at the Innie, the Liverpool Institute where George had attended high school, had been fun.  But the memory was a bad one as well, because it was at one particular dance that she’d first really noticed Tony; he’d been a student as well as a neighbour from further down Arnold Grove past the Harrison home.

She watched with a sinking heart as the four men pulled chairs over to their table, she was surrounded.  Well, she’d best say something, and mention that she hadn’t known Ritchie for long as well, or else when they discovered she was preggers, as they surely would soon or late, they’d think it was his!

“I’m well, George, thank you.  Ritchie and I met not even a month ago, he’s been a fairly steady customer where I work, a little sandwich shop over near Princes Park, off Ullet Road.  I think he’s rather adopted me as a little sister.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, she told herself, she was simply talking too much!  She glanced at Ritchie and saw that he looked amused as well as somewhat startled, as if he was wondering what had prompted her chatter.  George looked interested, but she hoped he would stop questioning her.  Paul and John simply looked bored, and Pete didn’t look anything at all, he seemed very standoffish.  The talk at the table quickly turned to gigs and set lists and instruments and records and people that she didn’t know, so she continued eating her meal in silence whilst she listened and tried to comprehend what they were talking about.  She figured out that Pete was the drummer of their group, same as Ritchie was the drummer in his band, and that the others played guitar and sang, but she didn’t know much else.

It looked as though they were here for the duration, she thought forlornly when George asked what the other lads wanted, and then left to place an order at the bar.  He returned with a tray of ales and passed them around, setting one in front of her and tapping her glass with his before drinking.  She took a sip and smiled at him, then picked up a leftover roll and nibbled on it.  By the time the men’s order arrived, she was nearly fidgeting with the need to leave the table, she hoped they’d eat quickly and then leave, she’d had to use the loo with increasing frequency of late, and once she stood up, they’d know for certain that she was preggers.  She wanted to avoid that if at all possible; if George told his parents, then the entire neighbourhood would know and her parents would be further embarrassed by the whole situation.  As much as she wished that none of it had ever happened, they were still her parents and she didn’t want to do anything to make it worse on them.

An hour later, it was no longer possible to avoid having them find out about it, she’d waited beyond human endurance and they were still talking and drinking.  She caught Ritchie’s eye and mouthed “I’m sorry” and stood up.  There was a definite silence at the table as she excused herself and walked away, blushing.  She wondered what they’d be saying behind her back now.

Go Read Part Two!

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.