Francine didn’t put me in hospital that night, but she might as well have. I was so sore and bruised the next day that I couldn’t get out of bed. It was my own fault, really, because I’d fought back, and she’d retaliated more harshly than she probably would have otherwise. I told Father that I wasn’t feeling well, and I kept to my bed. Served him right to have to put up with her cooking and non-existent house keeping. I was afraid to eat anything she cooked, I was certain she’d put rat poison in my serving, so I just drank water. That afternoon, there was blood when I went to the toilet, and I was really alarmed because it wasn’t time for my monthly. I reluctantly told Father that I needed to go to a doctor, but Francine said I was imagining things and persuaded Father to wait, saying she was certain I’d feel better by morning. I thought I’d probably be dead by morning, and she’d do a dance on my grave. I was feeling really awful, and very sorry for myself, and I sniveled to myself under the covers, moaning quietly every time I tried to move.

I heard the knock on the door early that evening, and I heard Francine answer the door. There was a slightly mumbled conversation between her voice and another, then my father called out, "Hullo, Ritchie, why don’t you come in? Brianna’s ill, I’m afraid." Oh, God, I shut my eyes and prayed that he’d just go away. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I pulled the covers close to my neck and stiffly turned to face the wall in case he would be allowed to look in on me. I concentrated on listening as hard as I could.

"What’s wrong with Brianna, Mr. Cooper?" His voice was enough to send chills through me. He was always so polite and respectful to my father, never using coarse language or anything like that. I smiled through my pain, thinking of some of the things he’d said yesterday afternoon, when it was just the two of us, all alone in our little clearing.

"Oh, she’s just not feeling well, son, I’m sure she’ll be right as rain tomorrow," my father replied. I laughed silently, thinking it would take more time than that to get over yesterday’s beating.

"Can I see ‘er, please? Can I just talk ta ‘er?" I prayed Father would say no. I didn’t think there was any way Ritchie would be allowed into my bedroom, it just wasn’t done. I was aghast when I heard Dad’s reply.

"Well, maybe just for a minute. It’s the door on the right, but leave the door open, son. Can’t be too careful, you know." I closed my eyes, thinking that was the single most stupid statement I’d ever heard, and I heard the newspaper rustle as Father went back to his reading.

I lay still, hardly breathing, listening to Ritchie approach. I knew every squeak in the floorboards, and could track his progress to my door. The door creaked as he pushed it open.

"Bree?" he questioned softly. "Bree, you awake, luv?" I tried to breathe as if I was sleeping, and I listened to his footsteps approach my bed. I could almost feel him looking at me, and I had a hard time keeping still. He spoke in a whisper, "Listen, luv, I just had ta see ya, wanted ta check an’ see if you were ok. I’m sorry yer sick, luv. I hope. . . I hope it wasn’t anythin’ I did. I’ll come back tomorrow, maybe you’ll be feelin’ better then."

I almost turned over, I felt so guilty making him worry like that. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. He waited a moment before sighing, apparently deciding that I was asleep. I heard him turn to go, then he stopped and came back to my bed side. I felt him lean on the bed and I struggled to keep silent as the bed shifted under his weight and jarred my sore body. His lips brushed the back of my head and I closed my eyes as the tears welled up. I could feel his hesitation, then he whispered "Love ya, darlin’." The creaking floorboards told of his progress out of my room and back into the living room.

I rolled onto my back with a quiet groan; it had hurt to lay there on my side like that, my ribs were so sore. I could feel the tears leaking out of my eyes and trickling down into my ears as I listened to him say his goodbyes. I wondered if I’d be alive tomorrow when he arrived.

When I awoke the next morning, I decided I must still be alive, because it couldn’t hurt this much to be dead. I felt worse than I had the day prior, and it was a slow recovery. I guess the bleeding had been temporary, because it didn’t happen again. I found out many years later that I’d probably had a bruised kidney from the beating, but thankfully, it didn’t bother me again. In the meantime, I was just sore and aching and feeling ever so sorry for myself as I tried to lay quietly in bed.

Francine seemed to be a little scared by my slow recovery; maybe she’d gone further than she’d expected, and she actually tried to be nice to me, even when Father wasn’t there. When she brought me soup to eat on the second day, I offered some of it to Joey while she was watching me. I knew that she wouldn’t poison her own son and I figured she’d stop me if there were something wrong with the food. When she didn’t make a move to stop me, I ate what she’d brought and lay back down, exhausted from the brief exercise. This went on for another three days. Even Dad was worried, but Francine told him it was "a female problem," and that promptly sent him out of the room. Yes, it was definitely "a female problem," one called Francine.

Ritchie came by every night, and every night I pretended to be asleep, although I felt terribly guilty about worrying him like this. But I just couldn’t face him until I was feeling better. On the fourth or fifth day after that magical afternoon and that miserable night, I thought maybe I felt well enough to wash and clean myself up before his visit. I crept out of bed and into the wash room, making liberal use of soap and water and toothpaste, trying to clean the accumulated grime from my body. I had to lean against the wash basin as I combed the knots out of my hair, because my legs were shaky after spending four days in bed. I tried to avoid looking into the mirror, but I could see the marks on my arms and legs as I washed, and I wondered what I could wear to keep everything covered. I was at least grateful that she hadn’t hit me in the face, because that would have been hard to explain.

I slunk back to my room, but Francine was there, putting Joey down for a nap. I waited quietly, leaning against the hallway wall; I didn’t have enough strength to go back into the wash room, so I just waited. When she straightened and turned to walk out, she gasped. I hadn’t put my nightgown back on because it hurt too much to stretch, besides, it was dirty and who was going to see me, besides little Joey? So Francine saw full evidence of what she’d done to me. I was wearing my bra and a clean pair of knickers, and it had been hard enough putting those on, now I had to find the strength to dress. I stared at her with no expression whatsoever, and I’m sure I looked pretty frightening. Anyway, she stepped aside when I walked into my room (a minor victory, I thought) and I pulled open a drawer to rummage for clothing. She didn’t say a word, but quickly left the room.

I decided to wear an old flannel shirt and an old pair of Dad’s trous that I’d taken to using for housework. Although it was a warm day, I always seemed cold lately. I didn’t mind being seen in these old clothes, at least they were clean, and after all, I was recovering from an illness and Ritchie couldn’t expect me to look like a fashion model, could he? And besides, they covered everything and they were easy to dress in.

I sat back on my bed after I’d dressed, thoroughly exhausted, and I wondered how long it would be before I felt strong enough to pack a bag and leave this house. Because that’s what I’d decided to do. I wasn’t going to stay here any longer than it took to get well and leave. It broke my heart to think about leaving Joey behind. He was more like my son than my brother; I’d practically raised him since he was a baby. But I was afraid she’d kill me if I stayed here, and I didn’t want to die. I didn’t know where I’d go or what I’d do, but I was leaving, and as soon as possible.

I must have dozed off, because I woke up curled in a ball on top of my bed, sitting upright with a groan when I sensed I was being watched. I rubbed my eyes and looked to see Ritchie kneeling beside my bed with an anxious expression on his face. I must have been sleeping soundly, because I hadn’t heard him knock or even come into the room. And he was early, too, it was still light outside!

"Hello." That sounded stupid even to me, so I cleared my throat and tried again. "How are you, Ritchie?" Not much better, but at least I could talk, I wasn’t sure anything would come out of my mouth when he leveled his bright blue gaze on me. I swallowed and licked my dry lips. I felt so guilty for pretending to be asleep the past several nights when he was there.

"I’m fine, luv, but I been worryin’ a lot about ya. Are ya feelin’ better?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine. When I nodded, he continued, "What’s been wrong with ya, luv?"

I’d already decided on what I’d say, keeping up Francine’s story. "Oh, just a female problem, Ritchie, I’m lots better now." I wished he’d stop looking at me like that; my heart started to pound in my chest and I felt a little dizzy. I closed my eyes to escape the heat of his scrutiny, but opened them again when he asked a question.

"Was. . .did I do somethin’ ta hurt ya, luv? Cuz I’d never wanna hurt ya, Bree, I’m really, really sorry if I did anythin’. . ."

I shook my head. "It wasn’t anything you did, Ritchie, honestly." I looked down at the floor and then back into his eyes. "Seriously, that was the most wonderful afternoon I’ve ever had. You didn’t do anything that hurt me, I promise."

He pulled me into a fierce hug, apparently relieved beyond words, but that hug almost made me faint, how could something hurt so bad and feel so good at the same time? I couldn’t prevent a whimper, but he seemed to think it was a whimper of passion and not pain, because he started kissing me, and oh, that fire flared up so rapidly that I started trembling. "Ritchie, stop, we can’t do this here, you’ve got to let me go," I whispered between kisses, still fighting to keep the pain from showing on my face.

Joey woke up just then, letting out a cry when he saw a stranger in the room. "Shhhh, lovey, shhhhh, it’s all right, Joey, it’s Ritchie, remember him? He’s been by a lot lately, you should know him by now."

I got up with a barely concealed groan and walked over to Joey’s bed. He was a big three year old now, and somehow I got him dressed whilst he giggled and tried to struggle from my grasp. Once I’d finally finished dressing him, he lumbered out of the room and I walked back to sit on my bed with a sigh. I could see that Ritchie’d been watching me the whole time.

"You sure yer all right, luv? You look…I dunno, a little tired, maybe kinda stiff, like."

"Well, I am tired, Ritchie, and I haven’t done much lately, so I’m a little stiff, too. All this lying around and I’m still tired!" I laughed, trying to hide the shortness of breath I was feeling. He pulled me to my feet and into another hug. I closed my eyes, thinking Francine wouldn’t need to kill me if Ritchie kept this up, because I’d be dead in an hour.

"Let’s go outside, luv, it’s a beauty an’ you need some fresh air, right?" He took my hand in his and bent over it, kissing my palm, the brief touch of his lips sending shivers up my spine and he raised his eyes to look directly into mine, grinning at my reaction. I had to smile back, breathless again at how he made my heart pound. Ritchie led me out of the bedroom, telling Francine (not asking, I noticed with surprise) that we were going to sit on the porch. I could feel her eyes following us as we went out the front door. Ritchie sank down on the step, pulling me down beside him, and I landed awkwardly. I gritted my teeth and batted my lashes whilst looking at the ground, trying to blink back the tears of pain. I wasn’t very successful, because one tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek, but it was my left cheek, and Ritchie was seated on my right. I wiped it away quickly when he looked out at the street.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, then he put his arm around me and hugged me, squeezing me around my ribs, and that was just too much for my poor body to take. I pushed his arm away and struggled to my feet, telling him I had to go back inside, I was really tired and needed to rest. He looked bewildered, but followed me back inside and into my bedroom, where I eased myself down onto my bed with a quiet sigh of relief.

Ritchie sat beside me in silence, just looking at me, and I felt a little uneasy under his steady appraisal. I was having a hard time meeting his eyes, and I turned to look out the window. I wasn’t paying much attention when he took my hand in his. I thought he was going to kiss me again, and I started to shiver in anticipation, because the touch of his lips on my palm somehow seemed to make me weak with a longing to be back in our little park, just the two of us, all alone. Before I fully realized what he was doing, he’d stretched my arm out and started to push my sleeve up.

I struggled with him then, whispering, begging him to stop, pleading, trying to pull my arm out of his grip. Ritchie was gentle but firm, and he ignored my whispered pleas. When he saw the first bruise, he went pale. As the sleeve inched further up my arm and more bruises appeared, his face lost all expression, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Before I could stop him, he’d twisted about on my bed and pulled my shirt up in back. I heard his sharp intake of breath as he saw the bruising along my ribs and back, then he went absolutely still whilst I struggled to pull my shirt back down. "I told you not to," was all I could think to say into the silence that grew as we sat there, watching the sky darken outside the window.

He reached over and took my hand again, and this time, he brought it to his lips, kissing my palm and the inside of my wrist, holding my hand against his cheek as I shut my eyes against the prickling of tears. I leaned into him and he was very gentle as he put his arm around me, careful not to squeeze me. He got up abruptly and opened the closet, pulling out a cardboard box of Joey’s toys. He dumped these on my bed, then opened my dresser drawers, pulling my clothes out and throwing them in the box. He ignored my questions, and went through all the drawers and then the closet, packing everything that looked as if it was mine. I stopped asking questions after he’d emptied the second drawer.

"Is there anythin’ else ya want?" he asked quietly as he helped me to my feet, and I nodded dumbly, licking my dry lips, and I led him to the washroom and added my toothbrush and comb to the meager contents of the box.

"Wait, just one more thing," I whispered. We returned to my room and I went to the closet, reaching with a groan for a small box hidden on the top shelf. Ritchie had to get it for me, and I opened it, looking to make sure that the picture of Mum and Dad and my few saved shillings were safely tucked inside, then I put it in the larger box with everything else.

I straightened up, feeling somehow better now that it had all been taken out of my hands. I nodded to him and said "I’m ready." I didn’t know where we were going, or what we were going to do, but I was ready to follow him anywhere, as long as it was away from here.

I kissed Joey goodbye, fighting the tears. I knew she wouldn’t hurt him, but she wouldn’t love him either, not like I did, and I felt torn by the guilt of having to leave without him. "I’ll come back, lovey, as soon as I can," I whispered to him, knowing he didn’t understand, but unable to keep from trying to reassure him. Francine tried to stop me when we walked to the door, but Ritchie stepped between us.

"Where d’ya think yer goin’?" Her voice didn’t sound quite right. I wondered if she was afraid of Ritchie. I snuck a glance at his face and thought if that look had been directed at me, I’d have been frightened. If looks could have killed, Francine would have been dead with two blue holes bored right through her.

Whenever I was really angry, I’d just go silent, not able to speak, but Ritchie’s anger didn’t show itself like that. He just got very stiff, and his voice was almost gentle and soft as he said, "You fuckin’ whore, jus’ stand aside an’ maybe I won’ call the coppers ta come an’ haul yer arse ta jail." Francine’s eyes went wide and I would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious. I wanted to call her a cow, just for old time’s sake, but I kept my mouth shut, relying on some instinct to be quiet.

She locked her eyes on mine, reaching for me as she hissed, "You clumsy fool, what’d ya tell yer little boyfriend? You know I didn’t do anything…"

Ritchie stepped between us again, and he interrupted her with a string of profanity that made her flinch away from the both of us. I didn’t understand some of what he said, but I was really impressed with what I did understand. I didn’t think anyone could actually do what he told her to do, and definitely not with what he suggested she use, but I looked at him with new respect for his inventiveness and imagination. As he was speaking, I could feel his tension, I was holding onto him and pressed very close to his back, afraid to be out of physical contact with him. He had his hands clenched in fists, and he was very subtly bouncing on his toes. I’m sure he was hoping she’d try to hit him, because he was ready for a fight, and I had no doubt at all in my mind about who would win a match up between the two of them.

"How dare you say that to me? You scum! Get outta this house right now!" Francine sputtered.

Ritchie smiled coldly and said, "Gladly, you piece o’ shite. Bein’ in the same room as you makes me sick!" He led me to the door and opened it, ushering me out onto the porch and leaving her inside to sputter and swear. The air out here smelled sweet and I took as deep a breath as I could, filling my lungs with a sense of relief. We were just out the gate when I heard my father calling me, and I turned to see him at the corner, striding towards home.

"Brianna, where are you going? Ritchie? You know Brianna can’t. . ." He paused, taking in the sight of me dressed in his old clothes, and of Ritchie carrying a box that obviously contained some of my clothing. "What do you think you’re doing, young man? What’s the meaning of this?"

Ritchie looked right into my father’s eyes, nodding politely to him. "You can ask that bitch ya call yer wife what the meanin’ o’ this is. An’ as far as what I think I’m doin’, well, I think I’m prob’ly savin’ yer daughter’s life, before the bitch beats ‘er ta death. Good evenin’, Mr. Cooper." He nodded stiffly, then turned his back on Dad and took my hand, tucking the box under his arm as we walked off, leaving my father standing openmouthed at our front gate. I felt better the further away I walked from the house and I ignored my father’s voice, grateful that he didn’t come after us.

By the time we’d walked several blocks, I was starting to get frightened, as well as being out of breath because we were walking so fast. Ritchie hadn’t said a word to me since before we left the house and I didn’t know where we were going, either. I was afraid to say anything, I didn’t know how angry he was and didn’t want to upset him further. Thankfully, he broke the silence before much longer, much to my relief.

"You all right, luv? Am I walkin’ too fast?" he asked gently, apparently over his anger, or else his anger just wasn’t directed at me.

"I’m fine, thanks. I feel better, I guess I needed to stretch a little, I’ve been doing nothing for several days." I was panting, just a little, from the strenuous pace he’d set.

"When. . .when did she do all that to ya?" He slowed down a little bit, and I felt better walking at the slower pace.

"When I got home that night. Father’d gone to the races." I didn’t want to say anything more about that nightmare evening, so I asked, "Where are we going, Ritchie?"

"Home," he replied shortly. I thought he was probably nervous about taking me home, and I started to get nervous, too. By the time we arrived in Admiral Grove, I was sweating with nerves. But Ritchie walked me into the house, calling a hello to his parents, who were both apparently in another room. He settled me on the couch and went to talk to them, leaving me alone with my nerves to look around the little living room. It was no better or worse than our house, but there were pictures on the walls and magazines on the coffee table, a piano in the corner, and the house smelled wonderful, filled with the scent of good cooking. The house somehow seemed to welcome me, and I hoped Ritchie’s parents would be as welcoming. If not, I didn’t know where I’d go.

A middle aged man and woman came in from the kitchen with Ritchie at their heels, and I stiffly scrambled to my feet, not sure what to do or say. Ritchie took care of that for me, bless him.

"Mum, Harry, this is Brianna Cooper, a friend o’ mine. Bree, this is me Mum, Elsie, an’ me step-dad. Harry Graves."

I started to bob a curtsey, stopping with a blush when I remembered I was wearing trousers. "How do you do, ma’am, sir?" I hesitated, then offered my hand to the motherly looking woman in the apron.

She ignored my outstretched hand for a long moment as she studied me, and my heart was in my throat. But then she came around the coffee table and put her arms around me in a very gentle hug. It was so totally unexpected that I burst into tears and she patted me softly on the back, holding me loosely so that she didn’t hurt me, but she was so very comforting in her presence. I was afraid to look at Ritchie, afraid he’d think I was being a baby, so I hid my face in her shoulder, sobbing quietly.

"There, there, dear, it’s all right, nothing to cry about, you’re welcome here. Come, let’s get you settled in Ritchie’s room, right?" She led me down the hallway to the bedroom on the left and pushed the door open, turning on the light as we walked in. I dashed the final tears out of my eyes as Ritchie followed us and put my box of belongings down, scrambling to straighten up the small room. He had a drum kit in one corner and his bed in the other corner, a small chest of drawers and some pictures on the walls. I smiled to see a picture of the movie star Audrey Hepburn in a frame by his bedside, and he flushed when he saw me notice it, grabbing it quickly and stuffing it into a drawer.

Mrs. Graves (or was it Mrs. Starkey?) gently pushed Ritchie out of the room and shut the door. She turned back to me and folded her arms over her ample bosom, but she didn’t have a threatening manner, so I wasn’t too nervous.

"Well, then, let’s have a look at you, young lady. Ritchie told us what happened. Let’s take a look and see how bad it is, right? We want to make sure we don’t have anything broken, dear."

I bit my lip and reluctantly started to unbutton my shirt, shivering when I eased it off my shoulders. I crossed my arms over my breasts, feeling embarrassed at being so exposed, even though I was still wearing my bra. Ritchie’s mum’s eyes got big and wide, and she tsk, tsk’d as she walked around me.

"Trousers, too, dear, let’s have a look at it all and get this unpleasant business over with, right?" She kept talking as I slipped out of Dad’s pants, and I stood there shaking in my bra and knickers. "Right, then, we’ll just feel along your ribs for a bit, that looks the worst, this might hurt a little, tell me if it’s too bad." She was very gentle, but I gasped once or twice before she completed her examination.

I struggled into my clothes in a hurry when she was done, buttoning and zipping everything quickly. "Well, nothing’s broken, but you’ve been through a lot, my dear. We’re very lucky there’s no permanent damage, aren’t we?" I wondered if she were a nurse, the way she talked, but she laughed when I asked her. "Oh, no, just a habit of speech, picked it up from my own mother. I’m surprised Ritchie doesn’t talk like that, too!" She opened the door back up and Ritchie fell into the room, literally.

I had to laugh, he must have been leaning against the door waiting for his mum to finish with me. He picked himself up off the floor with a sheepish grin and asked, "Is she gonna be all right?" He was looking at me as he spoke to his mother, and he didn’t see her nod, but he saw the smile of relief on my face and he gave a whoop, turning to hug his Mum. I wished it had been me he was hugging, but it appeared he was smarter than I in that respect, although I don’t think he fooled his mother, because she chuckled and gave him a pat on the cheek.

"You just watch your step, boyo, she’s a guest in our home and there’s not going to be any indecent behavior in this house! Now both of you come to supper, I’ve baked a roast for your birthday, Ritchie, and a cake, too!"

I stared at him, open mouthed. "It’s your birthday? You didn’t tell me!" He broke into a grin, taking me by the hand and leading me into the kitchen, where four place settings had been set; apparently Mr. Graves had been busy whilst the examination was going on. Ritchie settled me down in one chair and took the one next to me.

Elsie (she told me to call her that) was a wonderful cook, and the roast was incredibly tender and tasty. The potatoes and gravy were fantastic, and the carrots and peas had some sort of sweet glaze on them. We all sang happy birthday to Ritchie whilst he blushed, and he blew out the candles on the chocolate cake. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, I mean, chocolate cake, honestly! I thought how different this household was from my own, shaking my head in amazement. It reminded me of home when Mum was still alive.

I insisted on doing the dishes, and Ritchie helped me. A little later, after his parents had gone to bed (shaking a stern finger at Ritchie and me to behave ourselves), I told Ritchie that I was sorry I didn’t have a present for him. A 16^th birthday was a big day, and I felt bad that I had nothing that I could give him.

He looked down the hallway and then pulled me into the dark kitchen, bringing my hand to his mouth as we stood in the dark, and brushing his lips across my palm as he slowly pulled me into a gentle embrace. He covered my lips with his in a long, slow, wonderful kiss. We were in that dark kitchen for a long time. It was lovely and frustrating in turn, but that’s all we did; I was still feeling really sore, and I also felt uncomfortable at the idea of doing anything to upset my wonderful acceptance into this household. But Ritchie was really sweet about it, and he said that the kisses were the best birthday present he’d ever had. I helped him make a bed on the couch and then I went into his room, falling asleep in his bed and dreaming sweet dreams

I spent the next couple of days accustoming myself to their household, trying to settle in unobtrusively and not make a nuisance of myself. As I started to feel better, I took over more of the chores, doing some of the cooking and as much of the cleaning as Elsie would let me do. I didn’t want to be a burden, and I was determined to carry my own weight. I healed up fairly quickly, and was soon feeling very well indeed, and I had to nearly pinch myself to remember this wasn’t just a dream. Harry and Elsie were so kind to me. And of course, Ritchie was there, and I saw him almost every evening, except the nights when he was out with his band. I think seeing Ritchie so often helped speed my recovery.

Ritchie and Harry were gone to their jobs during the days, and I spent the time with Elsie. She taught me how to knit, and I started working on a jumper for school. The evenings were often filled with family and friends coming ‘round, and there was always music and even some dancing. Elsie had a lovely voice, and the house was loud and happy with music from the record player and from the singing. Ritchie would play his drums, and his uncle might pull out a guitar, his grandad had a harmonica, and we’d all sit around singing and laughing and having a wonderful time. Everyone seemed to accept my presence without comment, and I felt wonderfully welcomed and at home in a very short period of time.

I didn’t remember ever being so happy as during the time spent in their household. I missed little Joey and wondered if he missed me, but I didn’t miss being in that house. I didn’t miss Francine by any stretch of imagination, and surprisingly I didn’t miss my father either. I realized I was angry with him for not noticing anything was wrong these past years. I didn’t know if I’d ever forgive him.

August arrived, and the dog days of summer were upon us. It was very hot out each day, and we tried to think up meals that didn’t require using the cooker. That was easier said than done, as the working men always wanted meat-and-potato dinners! Elsie sent me to the market one afternoon, and asked me to buy some items for her, she said she didn’t feel like taking a walk in the heat, and I gladly went instead.

I wandered about the store, picking up all the items on her list, and giving the clerk the money Elsie had entrusted to me. As I walked out of the store, I came face to face with Francine, much to my horror. I realized I must have grown a little bit, or else I was standing up straighter now that I was outside of her influence, because I could almost look her in the eye. We stood there for a moment, and I didn’t say a word, but just stared into her eyes, loathing her and shaking inside. Wonder of wonders, she was the first one to drop her gaze, and I brushed past her as I walked out of the market, breathing in the sweet air of victory and not looking back.

My surprises weren’t over for the day, either. As I walked the blocks towards Elsie and Harry’s home, I ran into another ‘old friend.’ It was Billy. I hadn’t seen him since that day at the library, nearly a year ago, and I was suddenly frightened when I saw him approaching me. Then I got angry with myself for being frightened. I had just faced down my stepmother, Billy wasn’t going to get the better of me, either.

"’ey, if it isn’t ‘er majesty! What ‘ave ya got in the bags, bitch?" he sneered at me, and I just stepped around him. When he grabbed my arm, I quickly pulled away before he expected it.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Billy Maguire. Look, let’s let bygones be bygones and settle this feud now. I’m sorry if I got you in trouble when we were children. But we were children, and that’s a long time in the past. I don’t hold a grudge for what you did, and I’d be pleased if you didn’t hold a grudge against me, either. We live in the same city and we’re bound to run into each other sometimes. If we can’t be friends, we should at least be adult enough to be civil to each other. I’d like to just start over, Billy." I shuffled the bags and stuck out my hand to him as he gaped at me. "Hello, I’m Brianna Cooper, it’s nice to meet you." He stared at my hand for a long moment, then shook it with a bemused expression on his face.

Billy walked me home. He seemed surprised to learn where I was staying, and he walked a little further apart from me as we got closer to the house. I wondered about that, but when we turned the corner and saw Ritchie on the porch, Billy went very pale, stepping even further away from me. He couldn’t very well back down now, however, and he followed me to the gate, calling a hello to his old chum. If they’d been dogs, they’d have had their hackles raised as they faced each other.

Ritchie bounded off the porch and stepped up to the gate. He looked at me quickly, barely glancing away from Billy. "’as ‘e been botherin’ ya, Bree?"

I could see that Billy was sweating, and I toyed very briefly with the novel idea of a fight over me. But it was only a very brief thought, and there was no hesitation in my voice when I replied, "No, Ritchie, we just ran into each other near the market, and he walked with me. Billy and I have made up, and we’re friends now." I saw Billy nod and swallow nervously.

"What kinda friends?" Ritchie asked menacingly, still glaring at Billy.

I pushed open the gate, suddenly disgusted with the whole scene. "Friends only, Ritchie. Now excuse me, I need to get these groceries in to Elsie. You two can just bark and growl at each other all you want, but I’m going inside."

I brushed past him and when I opened the door to the house, I caught a glimpse of them both staring after me with their mouths hanging open. I started to giggle once the door had shut behind me, breaking out into laughter after I’d put the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Elsie started laughing just from hearing me laugh, and pretty soon we were both out of breath. I don’t know why everything was suddenly so funny, but I felt so good and happy that I just wanted to throw my arms around the entire world and give it a big kiss. I’d stood up to my stepmother and to Billy today, and Ritchie had seemed a bit jealous when he saw me with Billy. Life was good!

Ritchie and I sat on the porch after dinner that evening, enjoying the cool air that came after the sun went down, sneaking an occasional kiss. We’d spent most of our nights like this lately, just sitting and talking until his parents went to bed. Elsie would always admonish us to behave, and we always did, mostly. It was getting more and more frustrating, it had been nearly a month and a half since that lovely afternoon in the park, but I really thought the world of Ritchie’s parents and didn’t want to do anything to upset them. Ritchie seemed to agree, and he never pushed me, although I could tell he wanted more than just a few stolen kisses. Well, so did I, for that matter, but I didn’t know how to go about getting that ‘more’ done!

It must have been on our minds even more than usual that night, because we started kissing pretty heavily after his parents went to bed. It most always started the same way, with Ritchie’s lips on the palm of my hand, a feather light touch that made me shiver and quake with anticipation, and the frustration of the past weeks suddenly seemed overwhelming. We were in a dark corner of the porch, hidden from any prying eyes, and his hands were all over me just as mine were on him. I was absolutely vibrating with tension and he wasn’t any better, touching each other whilst we kissed with a nearly frenzied hunger.

He broke the kiss with a gasp and leaned back against the house, panting heavily. "Christ, Bree, I can’t take much more o’ this. Swear ta God, I’m gonna throw ya down on the porch an’ do it right here, right fuckin’ now!" His hoarse whisper sent shivers of anticipation through me.

I leaned back against the house, too, breathing just as heavily as he, whispering just as hoarsely. "I’d let you, Ritchie, I promise! I just don’t want to upset your parents. They’ve been so wonderful to let me stay here, I don’t want to do anything but respect their wishes. But I can’t take much more of this, either!"

We scooted further into the shadows and resumed kissing once we’d cooled down a bit. But the fires we’d started were burning really hot that night, and all thoughts of respecting his parents’ wishes seemed to vanish in a haze of desire. We kept well to the shadows in case there were prying eyes at another of the council houses across the street or to either side of us, and we tried hard to muffle our noises of passion as we each rose on the crest of desire.

When he moved over me and lay atop me, his movements excited me beyond belief, and I think I was ready for ‘it’, anxious and breathless. I could feel his pulse hammering, and mine was probably pounding as quickly. He paused with a gasp, laying still for a moment whilst I groaned at the cessation of movement.

"When’s yer birthday?" he gasped, panting and trembling.

"Next week," I whispered in reply, trembling nearly as much as he.

"That’s close enough, don’t ya think?" he asked as he continued to breathe heavily.

"I don’t know, is it?" I asked, panting a little; it was really hard to breathe with him on top of me like this.

We lay still for another minute, breathless, as we considered it. Ritchie finally gave a great sigh and whispered, "Shit, I don’ ‘ave a rubber, we’re gonna ‘ave ta wait." He rolled off me with a groan and I could breathe again, but I would have rather had his weight still pressing the air out of my lungs.

We made do with what we’d done before. We put to practice what we’d learned in our little alcove in the park, our only illumination that of the starlight overhead. It was as good or better than before, and we put our knowledge to good use. When I could think straight again, I asked him about something he’d mentioned earlier in the evening.

"Ritchie, what’s a rubber?"

"It’s somethin’ a guy puts on ‘imself, like a cover. Then there’s no chance of ya fallin’ preggers, luv."

I was glad that at least one of us had remembered about that! "What about pulling out?" I wanted to know.

He laughed softly. "That doesn’t always work, luv, but ’ow d’ya know ‘bout that?"

"It was in the book my stepmother made me read. It was all really confusing, the whole book, like it didn’t tell everything, and I know it got some things wrong."

"Like what?"

"Well, it said that sex was something a man likes, but it wasn’t very nice for a woman. That’s got to be wrong, because if it’s anything like this, it’s going to be very nice indeed!"

He laughed again, kissing me on the forehead. "It’s gonna be fantastic" he growled softly in my ear, taking my hand and pressing it against him. It looked as though the night wasn’t over yet!

Much later, I wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but then he pulled me over to him, kissing me soundly and putting his arm under my shoulders. I snuggled against him, and whispered, "Happy Birthday, Ritchie. Sorry it’s so late." He started to chuckle and then kissed the palm of my hand, moving on to fasten his lips over mine.

When we finally broke apart for some air, he whispered, "Best late birthday present I’ve ever had, darlin’! I ‘ope I can make yers even ‘alf as good." We got up slowly, our leg shaking from the evening’s exercise, and we brushed each other off carefully, sneaking into the house and tiptoeing to our respective beds, Ritchie back on the couch and me in his room.

The next week dragged by slowly. We weren’t able to do more than sneak a kiss here or there, because someone always seemed to be dropping by, even late in the evening. Ritchie tried to sneak into my bedroom one night (well, his bedroom, actually), but I regretfully sent him away after only a kiss or two, nervous about waking his parents. It was all so frustrating!

My birthday dawned hot and overcast, a late summer day that promised showers in the afternoon. Ritchie was playing with his band that night. I didn’t really have to ask, but I felt I should get Elsie and Harry’s permission to go out. Elsie granted her permission and then sat me down that afternoon when the expected light rain was falling. She

talked with me for an hour. She told me about "the birds and the bees" as she called it, and while I’d figured a lot of it out by now, it was still really interesting and I was touched that she was kind enough to be telling me all of this. The book had been right about some things and wrong about others, just like I’d thought, and Elsie told it to me straight. When she was finished, she asked me if I had any questions. I nodded.

"Elsie, my stepmother had me read this book, but it said that sex wasn’t much good for the woman, it was just a way to have babies." I felt very comfortable with her, even talking about something like this, and she never made me feel embarrassed or anything, although she smiled at a few of my questions, like this one.

"Oh, dear, the book must have been sadly out of date. It’s surely a lovely thing, for both people, but only when you care deeply about someone. Of course, you’re best off to wait for marriage, but I understand what can happen, I was young once too, you know!"

I kissed her on the cheek and told her "You’re still young, Elsie, and I love you." She had tears in her eyes as I hugged her, and I felt near to crying, too. I couldn’t believe how much I loved her after only knowing her for a little more than a month. She was more of a mother to me than anyone I’d known since Mum had died.

Right before dinner, they all surprised me with presents, and I was ecstatic over my new sweater which Elsie had knitted and a Cadbury chocolate bar, my favourite, from Ritchie! I kissed Elsie and Harry (he blushed), and I kissed Ritchie, too, but just on the cheek, same as his parents. Elsie’d even baked me a chocolate cake, and it was the best birthday I could ever remember.

Ritchie and I started out after supper, taking the bus to the fairgrounds. He’d gone with his friend Brian earlier in the day and set everything up, and when we got there, the stage was all set up and ready for them to start playing. It was so exciting, the music and dancing, and seeing Ritchie up on stage like that. I clapped until my hands hurt, and I danced with all the girls who were there for a listen. It was marvelous fun, and over much too soon. Once Ritchie had packed his drum kit into Brian’s car, he and I wandered about the fair, enjoying all the beautiful lights and even riding on the Ferris Wheel, my first time. I had to clutch at Ritchie’s shirt and hide my face when we were at the top of the ride, it was frightening and exciting to be so high off the ground, and I shrieked when he set the chair to rocking just a bit. He laughed and held me tight in his arms until we were safely back on solid ground.

Ritchie bought us lemonades and we sat at a picnic bench and watched all the people go by. It was so thrilling, I’d never been to a fair before, and we walked all over Sefton Park, drinking everything in and enjoying the pleasant evening air. The summer rain had cooled everything down a bit, and it was a beautiful evening.

We met up with Brian again, and were introduced to his girlfriend Anne (she’d been one of the girls I’d danced with whilst the band was playing), and we walked with them a bit. Before long, we found ourselves at the back of the fairgrounds, and we all decided to rest on the grass. The lights from the fair lit the area only a little, so it was pretty dark, and we could hear the sound of Frankie Laine’s songs coming from the speakers set around the park. Brian and Anne moved a little apart from us and we could hear them kissing and making little moaning sounds. I was a little nervous out here in the open, but it really was very dark, so I didn’t protest much when Ritchie took my hand in his and kissed it, tracing his lips across my palm and then moving on to my mouth. He quickly overcame any resistance I had, his lips soft and warm against mine.

Before long, we were making our own moaning noises, and Brian and Anne’s noises faded somewhat as they moved a little further away. We could still hear them, though, and knew they could hear us as well, and it was incredibly exciting. Groans and gasps from their location quickly set us to doing the same, as Ritchie’s fingers and lips excited me beyond any sense of modesty.

My blouse was open to the cool evening air, my breath coming in gasps when he bunched my skirt around my waist and started touching me as he kissed me. I was a little scared, but I knew Ritchie wouldn’t purposely hurt me, and I knew I wanted this. We were in love and it was right, and it was going to be now.

When he got up on his knees, I lay still and heard a little crinkling sound, and figured that he was working with the rubber he’d said he was going to nick from Harry. This seemed to be taking a long time, and I raised up on my elbows, watching him in the dim light. "What’s wrong?" I whispered.

He groaned. "I can’ get the fuckin’ thing open, shit, shit, shit! Oh, wait," I heard something tear and he continued in relief, "There, got it, luv, sweet Jeezus, these things are ‘ard ta get into!" There was silence for another moment, and I could see him fumbling with something, then he leaned over me and kissed me. I could feel his hand between us, and I reached down to help him as best I could. It felt really odd with the covering over it, and it seemed awfully tight.

"I don’t see how that can feel good, Ritchie, it feels really strange to me. Isn’t it too tight?" I felt him nod, his breath hot against my cheek.

"Yeah, it’s not very good, kinda ruins the feelin’, luv. An’, yeah, it’s too tight, that’s fer sure!" he said with a quiet groan.

"Well, if it’s too tight, do you think it’s going to break?" I asked, our conversation keeping us from doing anything more. I was really afraid of falling pregnant, and Ritchie knew that. He didn’t want me to become pregnant any more than I wanted it. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to have any babies, but I knew I certainly didn’t want them now!

"I dunno, I dunno if these things can break or not. Shit, Jeezus, that ‘urts!" he groaned, falling over on his side and frantically tugging the covering off with a great sigh of relief. "Shit, that feels better!"

My fingers touched the package he’d opened, and I held it up, holding it close to my face and peering at it in the dim light. "It says ‘small.’ Ritchie, do these things come in sizes? Maybe you need a bigger size?"

For some reason there was a big grin on his face, I could see his teeth flash in the light from the fair, and he sounded somewhat cocky as he replied to me.

"Yeah, guess that’s it, I jus’ need a bigger size, eh?" he chuckled, seeming very pleased with himself, and I couldn’t really understand his laughter, because we were no further along in this venture.

"So what do we do now?" I whispered anxiously.

His laughter left him abruptly, and he groaned.

"Christ, Bree, I dunno, I don’ ‘ave another one, an’ even if I did, it’d prob’ly be the same size. Shit!"

We lay side by side for a few moments, wondering what we could do now. The soft moans and other interesting noises from a little distance away were making us both very uncomfortable.

"Do you think Brian has an extra one you can have?" I whispered, fidgeting.

"I dunno, but I’m not goin’ over there right now, I think ‘e’s kinda busy," Ritchie whispered back, and we were silent for another moment, listening. I started fidgeting some more.

"What about ‘pulling out?’" I asked. "I remember you said it didn’t always work, but do you think it’s safe enough to try it?"

He turned on his side, laying against me with our bodies touching, absently stroking me while he thought about it. "I dunno, Bree, I’ve never ‘eard of it not workin’, but me friend Davey said ya ‘ad ta be really careful doin’ it, an’ that it wasn’t so easy ta do."

"Do you think we should try it?" I held my breath whilst waiting for his answer. His touches were making me twitchy, and I had started breathing faster. He seemed to have a little trouble catching his breath, too.

He kissed me in answer, and our passion quickly re-ignited. Our lips were still locked together when he moved over me, and I moaned at the excitement that was building so high. Ritchie kept kissing me, and I could feel his breath against my face, and . . . oh, oh my, this was different, I thought as I tried to accustom myself to the pressure I was feeling. I felt a bit of relief when he stopped, it really hadn’t hurt at all! I relaxed a little, enjoying the touch of his fingers between us and trying to enjoy what was happening. Just as I relaxed, he lunged forward with a strong thrust and I was glad his mouth was over mine, because I’d have probably yelped otherwise; it hurt when he did that.

We lay still like that for a minute, panting, kissing, trying to get accustomed to how different this felt. Ritchie was moaning as he covered my face with kisses. I guess it must have felt pretty good to him, but I wasn’t so sure; it wasn’t quite like what I’d been expecting. He was really sweet, though, kissing me all the time like that, and I think it felt good. Ritchie told me later that pulling out was the most difficult thing he’d ever done, but I was grateful that I needn’t worry about falling preggers.

When he was finished, he collapsed on top of me, kissing me again, his breath coming raggedly as he struggled to control it. He was really heavy on top of me like that, but it felt good at the same time, and we lay like that for a little while until he eased his body off of mine and I could breathe easily again. I felt really sticky and I decided then and there that sex was a messy business. It had been nice, but I thought I liked it better when he was using his fingers and mouth on me.

When his breathing had slowed down, he whispered "That was fantastic, Bree, Jeezus God, I’ve never felt anythin’ so incredible in me life." Perhaps a bit belatedly, he asked me if he’d hurt me. I shook my head and kissed him, not really wanting him to know how sore I was.

Ritchie’d nicked a clean handkerchief off his granddad, and he wiped himself off with that, then used it on me. I was a little alarmed at the dark stains on the cloth, but he reassured me.

"Don’ worry, luv, it happens ta most every bird th’ first time, it won’t ‘appen again, only this once. Ya sure I didn’t hurt ya, though?"

I finally admitted to being a little sore, and he was ever so sweet after that. We didn’t have any water with us, but he used a little of the lemonade on the handkerchief. It was cold against my hot skin, and I jumped a little, then sucked in a breath as his motions started to feel good. I got even stickier when he grinned wickedly and poured a little of the lemonade over me, leaving me gasping and giggling because the lemonade was so cold. We had to move a few feet away after I knocked the cup over whilst I was wiggling around with his hands touching me. Perhaps not wanting to chance his ability to pull out again, we returned to our old methods of pleasure and both enjoyed the rest of our lovely evening in the park.

We’d only just straightened ourselves up when we heard Brian and Anne moving around, and when they joined us, we were sitting on the grass, acting as if we hadn’t heard or done anything for the past hour. I was glad for the dim lighting, because I’m sure I was blushing furiously, but then I thought that if they’d heard us, well, we’d heard them, too! So maybe they were as embarrassed as I was! In fact, Anne looked like her face was a little dark, too, so I decided to not worry about it.

Brian gave Ritchie a hand up from the grass and slugged him in the shoulder, laughing, and Ritchie kind of danced around, shadow boxing with his friend. He certainly had a lot more energy than I had! Anne gave me a hand up and we watched them dancing around in the grass, laughing as their antics became more and more crazy. Anne and I started whispering about the evening, and I found out it was her first time, too. That knowledge instantly bonded us as firm friends, and we hugged each other and giggled a bit over our lovely adventure. Finally, we headed back into the fairgrounds, and Brian gave us a lift home in his car. We waved goodbye as he and Anne drove off, and I turned to give Ritchie a hand. I carried the snare drum and hi-hat into his room, greeting his mother somewhat nervously when she opened the door to check on the noise.

"Did you have a nice time, Brianna?" she asked me sleepily as I apologized for waking her.

"Oh, yes, it was lovely," I replied, glad that I hadn’t turned on the bedroom light; my blushes would have been easily visible, I was feeling such heat in my face.

"Did you go on any of the rides, dear? Did Ritchie behave as a gentleman?"

I felt even hotter, thinking of the best ride of the night, and I whispered that we’d ridden the Ferris Wheel, my first time doing that. And my first time doing other things, too, I thought, while I said aloud that Ritchie had been a perfect gentleman. Well, he had, really!

"Well, happy birthday again, dear, and good night. You and Ritchie behave yourselves, if you’re staying up." I swear that was her parting comment to us nearly every night. Elsie disappeared back into her room, shutting the door behind her, and I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling guilty and nervous and a touch dishonest.

Ritchie came in with the rest of his gear, setting it carefully in the corner and trying to be as quiet as possible. I whispered to him, "Your mother’s awake, she just talked to me a little bit, wanted to know if I’d had a good birthday."

He turned to me, taking me in his arms for a quick kiss. "Well, did ya? ‘ave a good birthday, I mean?" His eyes searched mine.

I nodded with a great deal of enthusiasm. "It was the best birthday I’ve ever had! You’re the greatest, Ritchie! Thank you."

He laughed softly, kissing me again. "Jeezus, luv, you’ll give me a swelled head. Thank you, darlin’. It was incredible, an’ I can’t wait ta ‘ave another go. I’m ready now!"

His words warmed me and I had to wiggle a bit, but I whispered "We’d better not, your mother can’t have fallen asleep yet, and anyway, I’m a little sore, so we’d better wait."

He groaned quietly, kissing me and hugging me, then resolutely letting me go. "Yeah, yer prob’ly right, luv. I jus’ can’t stop thinkin’ about it."

I hugged him once more, whispering with a laugh, "Well, show a little backbone, lad!" I pushed him out of his bedroom, whispering a cheery "Good night, then." He struggled briefly with me, still full of the energy he’d had at the park, but he was laughing, too, and he turned to kiss me, lingeringly, making me regret my resolve. I finally pushed him away and shut the door firmly, and I had to take several deep breaths before I could undress for bed.

I fell asleep that night with a big smile on my face, and I think I had some incredible dreams that I could only barely remember.

We had a very difficult time keeping our hands off of each other after my birthday, but it seemed like everything was conspiring to keep us apart. We’d be cleaning up after dinner in the kitchen, hoping for a few kisses, and Elsie would walk in. Or we’d be sitting on the porch, side by side, and Ritchie would reach to pull me into his arms, and Harry would come out on the porch for a ciggie. Or else someone stopped by (nearly every evening!), and the singing and dancing would go on late into the night. It was probably only the fact that summer was nearing an end, and everyone was packing the good times in whilst they could, but it seemed to us that it was a conspiracy and we were feeling awfully frustrated at the turn of events. Ritchie told me he couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it certainly wasn’t out of my mind for very long, either.

About a week after my birthday, we managed a little time alone, but I didn’t want Ritchie touching me because I’d started my monthly that day and I felt really embarrassed about it. He continued to kiss me and feel me up, pestering me until we were both nearly out of our minds with desire. He seemed hurt when I asked him to stop. I finally had to just suck it up and swallow my embarrassment and tell him why I didn’t want to do it, whispering an explanation with my eyes downcast, blushing with great heat over having to talk about something so private.

He sat back and thought about it for a moment, then whispered, "Christ, Bree, I don’ care, I gotta have some, I can’t wait any longer, luv, I’ll explode, swear ta God I will! C’mon, luv, please?"

Well, I didn’t want him to explode, he really seemed urgent about it! So we had a pretty explosive encounter on the porch, he almost couldn’t keep quiet about it, although I shushed him frequently. I was still embarrassed and I didn’t want him to touch me with his fingers, so it wasn’t very satisfying for me in the long run, but he seemed to really enjoy it. We had a miserable time cleaning up the mess in the dark like that, and I felt sick with cramps later. But it got worse the next day, when Harry stamped in from outside, muttering about stray cats in the neighborhood and a bit of a bloody cat fight in front of the house.

I’m sure I went scarlet, locking eyes with Ritchie as I watched him turn absolutely white, and I spun around and walked into the kitchen by myself, my knees shaking and trembling with fear that we’d been found out. Elsie came into the kitchen a few minutes later, and I stood at the sink, re-washing the cups I’d washed earlier, for something to do with my hands. I couldn’t look at her as she puttered about the kitchen, and I was having a hard time breathing.

"Are you all right dear? You’re very flushed" Elsie noted as she started out of the kitchen, pausing to hear my answer.

"I’m. . . I’m fine, Elsie, maybe just a little worried about school starting week after next." It was the first thing that had come to mind. I felt dishonest and miserable in her presence. With her looking at me like that, I was certain she could read my mind, or else tell by my face what we’d done.

I must have looked miserable, too, because she came over and hugged me, patting me on the back and telling me that everything would be fine. She paused again on her way out the kitchen. "Brianna, are you and Ritchie. . ." She stopped, and I prayed, oh, God, please don’t let her ask, please, please, please, I can’t lie to her, please, God, don’t let her ask me about that. Elsie took a deep breath and finally expelled it. She came back into the kitchen, and I continued praying desperately as she sat down at the kitchen table.

She cleared her throat and finally continued. "Brianna, I know that you and Ritchie are very fond of each other. I was just wondering if, well, are you two. . ." I just stared at her in horrified fascination as her voice trailed off into silence, and my heart was thudding in my chest as I continued to pray. She seemed a little flustered, she who’d told me so readily about the birds and the bees. But here, we were talking about her son.

When she finally asked her question, I thanked God for the way she’d phrased it, and I was able to assure her quite honestly that Ritchie had not taken my virginity the previous night. But I know I was blushing fiercely as I said this and I kept praying, hoping she wouldn’t ask anything more. Perhaps she took pity on me for embarrassing what she assumed was a virgin girl . . . or maybe she really didn’t want to know the truth, because she just nodded and then offered me an apology for embarrassing me.

"Just remember, Brianna, if anything like that should occur, you must be sure to use protection. You’re far too young to be having any babies, my dear!" She told me what a good girl I was as she affectionately patted me on the cheek and then left the kitchen.

I didn’t even exchange a kiss with Ritchie that night, and I cried myself to sleep, feeling like the worst and most dishonest person in the world, even though I hadn’t technically lied to Elsie. I swore that Ritchie and I would never do it again. I didn’t care if he was worried about exploding or not, we were not going to have sex again! Never, ever!

So much for never, ever! It was difficult, because Elsie seemed to be keeping a closer eye on us. But we were back on the porch as soon as my monthly was past, and almost every night thereafter, usually very late in the evening, sometimes even waking each other in the middle of the night for our stolen moments together.

And everything got better after that first (and second) time, as we got more and more practice at it and learnt about each other’s likes and dislikes. Not that either of us really had any dislikes, we just had some things we enjoyed more than others. I still liked it best when he used his fingers and mouth on me, and he told me that once he’d got inside me, he never wanted out. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about sex, and I don’t think it was ever far from my mind, either.

Right after my birthday, Ritchie’d bought some rubbers from the pharmacy, and the new ones fit him much better. He was ever so cocky about needing the ‘large’ size and I still didn’t understand why he had such a big grin on his face when he told me about that. Even though Ritchie complained that wearing one of the condoms was like taking a bath with his boots on, we always used protection. I didn’t much like them, either, but I was grateful that I needn’t worry about falling preggers. I think poor Ritchie probably spent nearly all his paycheck on those awful rubbers, because we were going through a lot of them as summer ended and the air started turning crisp.

We tried sneaking to our park one day when Ritchie was walking me home from school, but the bushes had all been chopped down during the summer, and we had no convenient clearing in which to lark about. That made me really sad, because I had such wonderful memories of that park and our time spent in amongst the bushes.

School kept me busy during the day and I had homework and chores at night, and I never really thought much about the home I’d left behind, except for an aching emptiness in my heart when I thought about Joey. I resolutely pushed him out of my thoughts, feeling guilty for being able to do it, and missing him terribly. But I couldn’t go back, I just couldn’t. I thought that chapter of my life was over, and I was mostly as happy as I could be, living with Ritchie and Elsie and Harry. I thought that Ritchie and I would eventually marry, once I was done with school, and maybe we’d stay with his parents a while before we got our own house. It was probably a little early to be thinking of that, I was only 15 and Ritchie only a year older than I, but I thought about it every once in a while, and I was happy.

The first hard freeze hit on a weekend in late October, and it brought an unexpected visitor to our doorstep. I opened the door at the knock and stood in openmouthed surprise, staring at my father as he stood in the doorway with his hat in his hand. Elsie came in from the kitchen, admonishing me for leaving the door open and letting all the heat out, and I just turned to her in mute appeal. I cleared my throat and said, "Elsie, this is my father, Robert Cooper. Father, this is Elsie Graves." Elsie narrowed her eyes at him, but she finally admitted him into the house so that we could shut the door.

Father stood in the entryway, turning his hat in his hands, not really saying much of anything after he’d acknowledged the introduction, and Elsie finally asked if I wanted to be alone with him. I shook my head at the same time that he nodded, and Elsie gave a sigh and pushed me gently into the living room, saying she’d make some tea. Father sat down rather gingerly on the couch, and I sat in Harry’s easy chair.

Father cleared his throat, still looking at his hat. "You’re looking well, Brianna, you’ve grown a bit taller since summer."

I didn’t want to say anything, but I could see that he looked older, and tired. I finally just nodded, accepting his statement. We sat in silence until Elsie brought the tea. She poured for us and set our cups on the low table, then returned to the kitchen. I picked up my cup and held it in both hands, letting the heat from the cup warm my cold fingers, sipping the hot liquid to try to ease the coldness I felt inside.

"Your little brother misses you, Brianna."

Oh, he could have said anything else but that, and it wouldn’t have bothered me. But the very thought of Joey turned my insides out and the cup shook in my grasp, I had to set it down on the table or I risked spilling the tea. I gave a heavy sigh. "I miss Joey, too, Father. But I won’t live in that house with Francine."

Father sipped his tea, it looked to me as if he didn’t really want it, but it was something to do with his hands. "Why didn’t you tell me, Brianna? Why didn’t you tell me what your mother was doing?"

My anger flared up immediately and threatened to consume me in the blaze. "She’s not my mother, she was never my mother! My mother died and that bitch moved in, and she might have been married to you, but she was never a mother to me. Never!" I spat the words out, flinging them at him hurtfully, glad I could finally say them aloud. Elsie poked her head into the living room when she heard my raised voice, but she went back to the kitchen when she saw we weren’t at each other’s throats. After a long silence, I continued, a little quieter. "I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d believe me. And I was afraid of what she’d do to me if I told." I picked my cup up again, and gulped my tea, burning my throat a little, but it felt good, too. Father just shook his head.

"Fran’s gone, Brianna. She told me she was sick of all the cooking and cleaning, she said she was sick of me and sick of being a mother, and she ran off. She just left. It’s just me and Joey now."

Well, that explained why he looked so worn down. A three year old was a handful, didn’t I just know it? But the news that Francine was gone made me want to sing, I was so happy that the slut had run off. Of course, I tried to feel a little pity for my father, she’d been his wife, after all, and he’d apparently loved her. But it was hard to feel anything besides an angry kind of relief and joy. I felt guilty for wishing bad fortune on anyone, but I wished that the worst fortune in the world would befall her, I wished she’d die in the streets and never bother another person, ever again.

My joy and my anger combined into a powerful tension, strong enough that it made me jump to my feet, restless and stiff, pacing the floor. When the door opened and Ritchie walked in, I rushed into his arms, not caring what anyone would think, not caring if Elsie saw me, or if my father wondered at my actions, I just needed Ritchie now, more than I’d ever needed anything before in the world. I whispered, over and over, "She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone", breathing in the wonderful warm smell that was uniquely Ritchie, comforted by his strength and the feel of his arms around me, holding me safe from the rest of the world.

Ritchie hugged me tight, kissing me on the forehead, then shook hands with my father before taking off his coat and hanging it in the hallway closet. He seemed somewhat subdued, but I was filled with glee, happy that I would be able to see my baby brother again and I didn’t ever have to worry about being beaten by her again.

It didn’t hit me until Father asked me to come back home, but maybe my subconscious mind had known and pushed me into pacing and then into Ritchie’s arms when he’d arrived. I stopped breathing, realizing only then that it meant I would have to leave the Graves’ happy home. And that meant leaving Ritchie. I met Ritchie’s mournful eyes as the shock settled over me and I had to take a deep breath. He’d known right off that I’d be leaving, he was always quicker to catch onto things than I was.

And I couldn’t not return home, not with Joey needing me, not with Dad left on his own to care for a toddler and a house and working all day, too. I packed tearfully, thanking Elsie and Harry for their hospitality, weeping when I was hugged soundly and told I was like a daughter to them both. Father went on ahead, he needed to retrieve Joey from the neighbor’s house, and I don’t think he wanted to witness my departure from my adopted home. Elsie told me that I’d always be welcome in their home, and to be sure and come by to see them whenever I liked.

Ritchie carried my box of belongings and walked me home. My eyes were sore and tired from weeping by the time we rounded the corner and I saw the house. My breath started coming fast and I had a very sick feeling in my stomach as we pushed open the gate and walked up to the porch. Ritchie set my box on the step and pulled me into his arms as I started shaking. The last time I’d been here had been in early July, when Ritchie’d rescued me and taken me home with him, and all I could think of was how I’d been in such pain the last time I’d been in this house.

"It’s ok, Bree, she’s not ‘ere any more, don’ be afraid, she’s not ever gonna ‘urt you, not ever again," Ritchie whispered to me, holding me tight and patting me.

We sat down on the porch step and he just held me in his arms, rocking me and humming a tune, I think it was a lullaby. Finally, my trembling stopped and my breathing evened out, and we walked into the house, but I wouldn’t let go of his hand until I saw for certain that there was no trace of Francine in the house.

I looked around, knowing I was going to be busy for a while. I’m sure Father’d tried to keep things up, but he’d never been very good at domestic work, and I shook my head at the mess. Joey threw himself at me when he saw me, grabbing onto my legs and not letting go, jabbering excitedly. He seemed to remember Ritchie, too, because he didn’t complain or cry when Ritchie detached him from my legs and picked him up, holding him and playing with him so that I could at least get out of my coat.

It was a happy reunion with my little brother. But it was extremely hard to let Ritchie leave that night. We’d been together every day for nearly four months, and we’d become very close. I sometimes thought that Ritchie was the second part of my soul, and I was only complete when were together. He seemed to feel the same way, because he didn’t want to leave, either. He stayed quite late and helped me straighten things, working in the kitchen with me until after Father and Joey were already asleep.

I think that was the first night we really, truly made love. We’d had a lot of fun and lust over the past months, it was nearly a year now since he’d started calling on me, and I knew I loved Ritchie and I knew he loved me, too. But that night, we had to face the fact that we weren’t going to be easily accessible any more, there wouldn’t be any more late evenings on the porch. There would be no friendly blue eyes to greet me in the morning, no torrid kisses at night before bedtime. It was a definite parting, pure and simple, and it tore at my heart. I think Ritchie felt the same way. He’d always been gentle, it was just in his nature to be a loving partner, but that night was extraordinary.

We were on the couch in the dark living room, our sighs and moans kept to a very low level, but at that point, I couldn’t have cared if my Father had walked in or not. After Ritchie’d aroused me to fever pitch, both of us were approaching a tremendous release when he breathed his question, nearly gasping it, "Marry me, Bree, swear ta God you’ll marry me, luv?"

"Yes, Ritchie, oh, yes, yes," I gasped, the waves washing over both of us at once, groaning softly at the completion of our efforts, letting the pent up emotions crash over us and then collapsing in each others arms, sated and joined and together as one.

I tried to keep from crying as we cuddled afterwards, lying together on the couch late that night, but my face was wet with tears as he kissed me tenderly. And if he had tears in his eyes as well, who was going to say anything about that? Not me, that’s for certain. He kissed me over and over, murmuring that he loved me and we were meant to be together. Never mind that I was at least 3 years before legal age to marry and Ritchie was 2 years too young. He finally left just past midnight, after taking my hand and bringing it to his mouth, his lips gently caressing my palm like a promise, and then he went his solitary way home.

The long winter set it, and my hours were full, what with school and homework and housework and caring for a lively toddler. Cooking and cleaning and reading and writing seemed to be my life, and it might have seemed a sterile existence to some, but it wasn’t any worse than when Francine had been living here, and it was infinitely better in some ways. I had less free time to myself, but I wasn’t living in fear for my life, so that was a good trade off.

Father seemed to be a shadow of his old self, I think Francine’s departure had really knocked the stuffing out of him, and I felt sorry for him, but only up to a point. I rarely got out of the house to visit Elsie and Harry, and when I did, I always had little Joey with me. My time with Ritchie was even more limited. He was busy with his job and his band, and was hardly ever home when I was over. On the rare occasions that Ritchie was able to stop by to see me, I was busy with school and the house, and we had an ever present chaperone clinging to me. Weeks would pass without seeing each other, and I was gloomy and depressed.

It was a very difficult winter, both because of the weather and because we rarely saw each other. But the cold was almost the worst. On the very infrequent occasions we were alone together, we had no where to go, it was too cold outside and too dangerous inside. A few kisses here and there had to last us through the long cold winter, a virtual famine after a summer of feasting. Everyone in the Dingle tottered along at the edge of poverty through that miserable time, and we waited anxiously for any signs of spring. Winters were always harsh in these poor neighbourhoods.

In the spring of ’57, the newspaper plant shut down, and Father was without a job for the first time in his adult life. The letter from Uncle Bill arrived two weeks later, on a Monday, just as we were wondering about being evicted because Dad hadn’t found another job yet. Uncle Bill was starting a newspaper in Seattle, Washington, in the USA, and he wanted Father’s help, as part owner of the family business. He’d even found a little house he thought we’d like. All the work permits and legal paperwork had been taken care of, and Uncle Bill had located a school for me to attend; Joey would be in Aunt Sarah’s care whilst I was in class.

It was an incredible offer, even including tickets for a plane trip to America, and the flight he’d selected for us was leaving at the end of the week. Father was all for accepting the offer, saying savagely that Liverpool held nothing but bad memories for him, but I was adamant. "I can’t go, Father. It’s impossible. I’m not going to America, I’m staying here, in Liverpool!"

He was just as stubborn. "Brianna, listen to me, you’re only 15. . ."

I interrupted him. "I’ll be 16 in a few months!"

"You’re 15 right now, and this is not under discussion. You will do what I say. You’re a minor and if I say we’re going to America, then we’re going and that’s that!"

"Father, I’m staying right here, I’m not going anywhere. Ritchie and I are going to be married when we’re of age, he’s already asked me and I accepted. And that’s that!" I was taking a grave chance saying this, Father could have gotten really angry at that point. But I wasn’t too worried, he’d never struck me and I didn’t think he’d start now. Besides, I was really angry as well as frightened; this was my life he was talking about!

Father just sighed. "Brianna, I’m certain you’re very fond of Ritchie. . ."

I interrupted him again. "We’re in love, Father, and we’re getting married as soon as we can! I’m not going to America, I’m not!" I started to cry desperate tears of fear. I couldn’t leave Liverpool!

That’s when Father played his trump card. "I need you, Brianna. And your brother needs you. Joey doesn’t have a mother any more. You’re more like his mother than a sister, and he’d never understand if we left you behind. He’d never get over it."

Joey had been clinging to me for the past months, always keeping an eye on me, never letting me far from his sight, crying in the night if he woke and didn’t see me in the room with him. The poor little fellow must have been traumatized when I’d left before, stuck with an uncaring and indifferent mother, and I felt guilty once again for running away to live at Harry and Elsie’s home. What was I going to do? I loved Ritchie, and it was only another year and a little bit before we could be engaged, and then married the year after that! How could I leave him? But how could I leave Joey, either? What could I do? I slammed the door as I ran out of the house, taking to the street, my feet pounding along the pavement, blinded by tears and gasping for breath as I ran and ran, trying to outrace my troubles.

I found myself at Ritchie’s doorstep, and I was made welcome by Elsie when I knocked on the door. I blurted out my fear and despair to her, crying in her arms for what seemed like hours, until I simply lay there, hiccuping and exhausted in the aftermath.

Once my grief had worn itself out for the time being, Elsie settled me on the couch by myself and busied herself with the teapot, fixing fragrant cups of tea for the both of us. The hot liquid eased the ache in my chest, but only by a little bit, and I shivered, feeling so alone in the depths of my hopelessness.

Ritchie got home soon after we’d finished our tea. He saw my tear streaked face and immediately assumed what he thought was the worst. "Is that bitch back? I swear ta God, I’ll kill ‘er meself!"

"Ritchie, that’s not the problem, dear," Elsie said, frowning at him for his use of language. "Here, I’ll leave you two alone, Brianna needs to talk. Oh, dear, oh dear."

She walked out of the room, leaving us alone. I started to cry again, my eyes hurt and my head ached and I was hardly able to breathe after such an extended bout of crying. I felt like my whole world was gloom and despair.

"What’s wrong, darlin’? Jeezus, I ‘aven’t seen ya in so long, Bree!" He kissed me, hugging me tightly, then continued, "I’m sorry, luv, I’ve just been so busy with me band, I’m playin’ with Eddie Clayton now, an’ we stand a good chance o’ goin’ somewhere. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but it’s been really hard work ta get it goin’ these past months. But ya know I love ya, Bree. Tell me what’s wrong, luv?"

His arms were around me and I sniffled into his shoulder as he patted me on the back, closing my eyes as the ache in my chest finally eased, knowing he’d have the answer, and feeling safe in his arms. I explained to him through the tears, and he was silent for a long time afterwards, just holding me as I cried.

"I don’t know what to do, Ritchie," I whispered, totally worn out from crying. "I love you, and I don’t want to leave."

Ritchie sighed, stroking my hair as I lay against him on the couch. He kissed me sadly and I burst into fresh tears, the ache in my chest raging back full force. Ritchie didn’t have any answers either.

How could I ask him to come with us, to give up his chance of going somewhere with his new band, and to leave his own family? I couldn’t ask him, it was an impossible situation, and it wasn’t fair to him. How could I leave Joey and my father and stay here? Another impossible situation, and not fair to Father or Joey. They were my family, and I couldn’t leave them. And so we had no choice in the matter, I understood this immediately. I had been so sure Ritchie would know what to do, and I felt sick to realize that he didn’t. He was older and wiser than I, but really, we were both children in an adult world, and our choices weren’t merely limited, they simply didn’t exist.

Ritchie and I were so heartsick that we walked back to my house in complete silence. We weren’t able to think of anything to say to each other, and so no words of comfort passed between us. I think we were both completely stunned by the events. I know I was. I felt as if my entire future was shattered, washed away right before my eyes, and I had no say in the matter and nothing I could do to prevent it. I felt helpless and adrift. I think Ritchie felt the same way. His arm was around me the entire way home, holding me tightly, trying to find some way to comfort the both of us.

A kiss on the porch and a long hug ended my sad evening, and I let myself into the house and watched as Ritchie walked away. Packing occupied me for the rest of the night, and I continued to cry sporadically as the boxes were filled.

I couldn’t sleep that night, and I lay awake trying to think of something, anything, that would allow us to remain together. At my most miserable moment, I wondered what if we were to die, like Romeo and Juliet in the play I’d read in school? But that was no answer because of the loved ones left behind, especially Joey. Well, could we run away and elope? But how could we support ourselves, where would we live? To add to the impossibility of that idea, no one would marry us, we were just teenagers, minors, under-age children. We were simply too young, and all choices were out of our hands. I knew that Ritchie was the only man I’d ever love in my entire life, and if I couldn’t be with Ritchie. . . oh, God, the very idea of life without him was agonizing! It was only in fairy tales that there were happy endings, I thought in despair.

At age 15-going-on-16, it’s a very sad thing to realize that your life is over. I thought there would never be another spark of happiness in my life, as long as I lived. Suppose I lived until I was in my 60’s, I’d be such an incredibly old woman then, and that would be 45 or more years of unhappiness, all that time lived without my Ritchie. I didn’t think I’d survive a day, let alone 45 years of this. I think I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion; I know I’d run out of tears hours before.

I continued packing in the morning, moping around the house as I boxed most everything we owned. I still had the household and Joey to care for, and Joey was the only light in my life at this point.

Ritchie came by that afternoon and told Father we were going to the movies. I think Father was actually glad to be rid of me for a while, I’m sure my long face and tears during the day had hurt his conscience. I hoped so, anyway, because I kept praying that he’d change his mind, but there was no sign of that. The neighbors graciously kept Joey whilst we were away and Father continued with our packing.

As we left the house, Ritchie turned me the opposite direction of the movie theatre, but he didn’t say a word about this change in course. I was so lethargic and depressed that I didn’t even bother asking about it. I just wanted time to stand still, with his arm around me and just the two of us together, forever. I didn’t want to think about Saturday.

We walked for several blocks, stopping finally at a house I’d never been to before. Ritchie told me that Brian lived here, he and Anne had gotten engaged in the winter and were working to set up their household before they married in the summer. We knocked on the door and Brian graciously vacated his little flat, leaving to meet Anne at her home. The two of them went to the movies in our stead and we had the afternoon to ourselves.

The winter had been so long and so lonely. That afternoon in Brian’s flat was the first time we’d been together since the previous autumn, the night I’d moved back home. Any initial shyness Ritchie and I felt was quickly transformed into a sort of desperate hunger for each other.

"I got an idear, Bree," Ritchie gasped through the kisses as we struggled out of our clothes. "All I gotta do is make ya preggers, an’ they’ll ‘ave ta let us get married. Maybe yer Da won’t even leave, if yer gonna ‘ave a baby!"

"But what if he still leaves? What will we do then?" His touches and kisses were making me weak with desire, my legs shaking and forcing me to hold on to him in order to remain standing.

Ritchie continued kissing me as he moved me backwards towards the bed, covering my face and neck with little bites as our clothes were shed frantically, his urgency and mine meeting as the hunger continued to grow.

"I dunno, I dunno, I ‘aven’t got it all worked out yet, we’ll figger that out later, right now I gotta get ya preggers, luv." He paused, looking me up and down, and I realized this was the first time we’d ever seen each other naked. I blushed when he whispered, "My God, yer so beautiful, Bree," and he lifted my hand to his mouth, my fingers curling around his beautiful face as his lips lingered on my palm, chills running up my spine at his caress. He swept me into his arms for another kiss, our bodies molding to each other as the kiss went on and on.

Once we broke apart for air, Ritchie pushed me back onto the bed, grimly determined and without any of his usual tenderness. Our coupling was urgent, frantic, and ever so desperate. This was serious business, not sport, but, oh, the feel of his naked skin against mine, with nothing between us, no condom keeping us from being joined totally together! Oh, God, it pushed me over the edge and I held him tightly, kissing him over and over again, murmuring his name as if it were my salvation.

I don’t remember how many times we tried to get pregnant that afternoon, but we were back at Brian’s the next day, and the day after that, and on Friday as well. Poor Brian and Anne, I think they went to every movie that was playing in Liverpool, at least twice. True friends, I thought in complete and utter gratitude as Brian left his flat with a sigh each afternoon when we arrived.

Sadly, our time together was far too short. Father and Joey and I left for America that Saturday, all our worldly goods packed and carried in the cargo section of the plane. I cried as the distance separating me from Ritchie steadily increased, and I prayed that I was pregnant so that we could be quickly reunited. We finally reached our destination, and we were greeted by my aunt and uncle and taken into their home to recover from our exhausting journey. I started my monthly bleeding the first day after we arrived.

I thought my tears would never stop falling.

I wrote to Ritchie every week. We were both devastated by the failure of his plan. I swore I’d never love another man, and that I’d love him, only him, forever. We made all sorts of farfetched plans to meet and try again, but we were minors, and poor as church mice. We didn’t stand a chance in hell of meeting again; a very large country and an equally large ocean separated us quite effectively.

I learned over time that absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. It just makes the heart grow weary of constant grief, and if one can’t get past that, life isn’t worth living.

As the lonely days turned into weeks, and the weeks became months, and the months passed into seasons, time and distance started taking their toll. Ritchie wasn’t a very good letter writer, and his letters to me were infrequent, although I got occasional postal cards. But the cards came less and less often as time went by. Gradually, over a desolate time measured in years, as my life became occupied with high school and caring for our new home, I started writing less often, too.

I knew that Ritchie was going places, because one of his postal cards wrote of his new band, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. He was constantly busy, playing in exotic locales like Germany, and he was wildly enthusiastic about their chances of ‘making it’. I kept telling myself I was going back to Liverpool, to marry Ritchie, but then I was accepted to university, and I was busy with that and with making new friends. College was a whole new world to me. Psychology wasn’t a typical profession for a woman in 1960, and I struggled in my male-dominated classes, but I was determined to succeed.

Sometime during my second year in college, long after Ritchie’s letters had stopped coming, the day arrived when my recently posted letter was returned to me with a note from the Royal Mail "no longer at this residence", with no forwarding address. It was almost a year later that I became study partners with Chris Parker, a dark-haired and blue-eyed student I barely knew, and we eventually became good friends.

The heart is a fickle thing. If it can’t have what it wants, it eventually finds other things to fill the void, and after a long pursuit and much resistance on my part, in spite of a feeling of disloyalty to Ritchie, I left behind my childhood dreams. My friendship with Chris became affection, and the affection grew into love. I knew enough psychology to know that part of the attraction was the dark hair and blue eyes, but Chris was sweet and gentle, and I was tired of being alone. Once we became lovers, I quit thinking about returning to Liverpool.

Sometime after that, I read in the papers of a new band that had emerged from my old hometown. The Beatles were taking the world by storm, and after seeing a picture of the band, I had to smile; Ritchie had ‘made it’, he was a big star now. I don’t think Chris believed my story about knowing Ringo Starr of The Beatles, so I quit talking about my association with Ritchie. But in 1964, The Beatles played a concert in Seattle, and I bought tickets as a graduation present to myself. There was no chance I could get through the police and screaming fans to talk with him, and at that point, I wasn’t absolutely sure that was what I wanted. It had been seven long years since I’d left Liverpool; what would we have in common now? What would he think about Chris? Would Ritchie even remember me?

I think I was happy for Ritchie when he married Maureen Cox the following year, but I shed a few tears, too, wondering what might have been. I remained a devout Beatles fan in general, and a Ritchie fan in particular, as the years passed.

When the Anthology finally arrived, I ripped the box open and read through the first three chapters with barely concealed impatience. Upon reaching the fourth chapter, I started smiling, then giggling, and I finally burst out into full fledged laughter. By the time I finished the chapter, I had a hard time catching my breath, I was laughing so hard. What a character he was!

Chris popped in from the garage and asked me what was so funny. I patted the couch beside me and enjoyed a brief snuggle for a moment, then pointed out some passages from the book.

"What, you?" Chris asked, startled, blue eyes going wide in amazement and disbelief when I nodded.

"It was a long time ago, love. He’s got some of it all wrong, you know, we were never formally engaged because we were too young, and I don’t remember that I ever pressured him to give up his drumming. But this part," I pointed out the passage, "this part’s definitely true. Ah, Sefton Park, I remember it well, just me and Ritchie, with Brian and Anne a little distance away." I ruffled Chris’s short dark hair, noticing that it was turning a lovely salt-and-pepper with gray. "Not to worry, my dear, you know I love you! It was a long time ago in a land far away." I chuckled at the line from one of our favourite movies but Chris was silent. Well, perhaps there was a little jealousy there, in spite of the disbelief, and maybe a little loving would take care of the problem. If my thoughts that day centered around a time long ago, in a little clearing in some bushes, and my first sweet climaxes given to me by Ritchie’s eager hands and lips, well, I kept those thoughts well hidden, and Chris was none the wiser.

I couldn’t believe we were here! We stood in line to get into the Arts Centre, clutching front row tickets, a surprising early Christmas present from Chris. I’d been unaccountably nervous, and had tried on three (or was it four?) outfits before deciding on a simple dark brown skirt and a patterned brown sweater. Chris looked quite dashing in a black suit with a red silk shirt, the ensemble making me think of the video we’d seen of The Beatles at their Budokan concert. Secretly, guiltily, I’d made a small poster and had tucked it into my purse with difficulty. I was planning on pulling it out at some point during the show.

I fidgeted in my seat as we waited, and then the moment was here. The crowd noise was tremendous! I hadn’t been to a concert in years and it startled me to hear everyone screaming. But then Ritchie came out on stage and I found myself screaming, too.

He looked so good, and I was overjoyed at how happy he seemed to be. He smiled at the crowd, very much at ease on stage. When someone screamed his name, he just smiled and said "Yeah, that’s me name!" and we all laughed. He was never the greatest singer in the world, but the rest of the band worked with good nature to cover for him, and it was a wonderful evening. He sang lots of his old songs, and the other band members sang their songs, and during the encore, when he was chatting easily with the crowd, I unfolded my poster (to Chris’s great surprise!). I’d written, in large block letters, "Hello, Ritchie, love from Brianna Cooper!" and I held it up when he looked in our direction. Would he remember me? I held my breath.

I could see his eyes focus on my sign, and then snap to my face. A delighted smile broke out on his lips and he shouted "Bree!" from on stage! I’m sure I was blushing, and that’s a funny sensation for a 59 year old woman! He rushed to the edge of the stage and leaned down, I reached up and our fingers brushed. He had the most wonderful smile on his face, and I’m sure I was beaming like an idiot.

Ritchie straightened back up and called a member of security onto the stage, speaking with him and then pointing to me. People around us were looking at me now, and I felt a bit foolish. But the encore went on, with many glances in my direction during the rest of the show. I swear that Ritchie embarrassed me half to death when he sang "you’re 16, you’re beautiful, and you’re mine" directly to me. Chris just stared at me in disbelief, and I had to laugh because I knew I’d never been believed all those years!

I couldn’t get the smile off my face, I was so happy! Ritchie left the stage long before the other musicians, and I was disappointed that he hadn’t come back out for another bow. Oh, it had been so lovely seeing him again.

At the end of the concert, I was surprised when the security guard Ritchie’d spoken to came up to me as we were gathering up our coats and programs and preparing to leave.

"Ms. Cooper? Mr. and Mrs. Starr would like to have you join them for tea, if you don’t have any other plans."

I had an ear-to-ear smile on my face as we followed the guard to a waiting limo, clutching Chris’s hand in a sweaty mixture of terror and joy and heart pounding anticipation. It had been over 40 years since we’d spoken, would we have anything in common after so long a time? I don’t suppose I really cared, because I was going to see Ritchie again, and I was overjoyed that he had remembered me.

The limo took us to a lovely grand hotel, and a man was waiting to usher us to the penthouse suite. Ritchie himself opened the door at our knock, and he pulled us inside the room. He hugged me, squeezing me tightly and I almost lost myself in his strong embrace, hugging him back and fighting the prickling of tears in my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, keeping an arm around me when he introduced me to his lovely wife Barbara, and I introduced them both to Chris. Handshakes were exchanged all around and we took off our coats and laid them on the chair by the door.

We stood chatting for several minutes, almost talking over the top of each other’s voice as we said this and that. I couldn’t believe how well Ritchie looked. I had a hard time keeping my hands to myself; I kept touching him, as if I needed to make sure he was real and that this meeting was actually happening.

Fortunately, Barbara didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she understood my state of mind, or perhaps she was used to people’s reactions to her famous husband, but she was relaxed and smiling, and she let us talk without any interruption. I wondered what, if anything, Ritchie had told her about me. Maybe he’d just said that we were childhood friends in Liverpool. Chris knew, of course, but had never really believed me all these years. I wasn’t going to ask what Barbara knew, and I was sure that Chris would remain silent as well. Perhaps too silent, I thought, and I tried to tone down my excitement, but it was very difficult.

We all finally sat down, arranging ourselves about the living room of the suite, with Chris and me on one couch, and Ritchie and Barbara on the other couch, facing us across the low coffee table. I think Ritchie and I were really the only ones talking, and I know I was just babbling. We’d lost touch with other so very many years ago, and it was wonderful to just sit and talk with him again. I found that listening to his accent was soothing, and it even brought back a little bit of mine from whence it had mostly vanished in the long years since I’d left England.

Ritchie showed us pictures of his children and grandchildren, and I showed them pictures of Joey and his wife, along with my beautiful nieces and nephews. I confessed that I almost felt like a proud grandparent, since Joey had always been more ‘son’ to me than ‘brother’.

Ritchie smiled broadly when I told them about the shelter for abused children which we’d founded 10 years earlier, after Father’d passed away and left me his newspaper money. The psychology degrees Chris and I had struggled for in the 60’s had worked to our advantage, and the shelter had prospered. I’m sure I bored them to tears with my chatter about the special foster children we’d cared for during the years, but Ritchie very kindly listened to my babbling, and Barbara even asked questions about the children and the shelter.

During a break in the conversation, when Ritchie and I had both paused for breath, Barbara kindly offered to make some tea. I gratefully accepted her offer, and she left, walking across the large suite’s living room and disappearing into the kitchen. So then it was just the three of us, sitting in a bit of an awkward silence.

After a few moments of silence, I turned to Chris and suggested that perhaps Barbara might want a bit of help in the kitchen. I was on the receiving end of "the look," but no argument was offered as Chris got up to leave. I thought I’d probably be read the riot act at some point, but I’d just have to deal with that later. And then it was only the two of us left sitting across from each other, just Ritchie and me.

Ritchie watched Chris walk out of the room, then turned to me with a question in those still vivid blue eyes.

"I think Chris is a bit jealous," I said in answer to his unspoken query. I gave a little shrug. "I don’t think she ever really believed me when I told her about you."

He chuckled, and his smile was still as beautiful as ever. "I never woulda figured you fer bein’ like that, darlin’. Still, it’s a big world, an’ it looks like yer happy, an’ that’s all that matters, right?"

I shrugged again, but I felt singularly relieved at his easy acceptance of the matter. "You can’t always pick who you fall in love with, Ritchie. We’ve been together for over thirty five years now." I had to smile as I continued. "And anyway, you know I never wanted to be with another man after you."

He started to laugh, rolling his eyes and looking towards the ceiling. "Oh, God bless, I was that bad, then?" he groaned, giving me a somewhat embarrassed smile through his soft laughter.

"Oh, no, Ritchie, you’ve got it all wrong! You were that good!" I replied with a wicked grin.

We both started laughing, and Ritchie came and sat beside me, hugging me close. I was surprised that this wonderful man could still set my heart to pounding wildly, even after all these years. I breathed in his uniquely Ritchie smell, still there even under the aftershave, still my Ritchie, taking me back years and years with the memories it evoked. A small part of me wondered again how different my life would have been if we’d succeeded in our desperate attempts at pregnancy, way back in 1957, but I tucked my thoughts carefully away. It wouldn’t do to hurt Chris’s feelings, or Barbara’s, for that matter. We pulled ourselves together, still chuckling occasionally.

"You’ve had an exciting life, Ritchie," I continued before he could question me about what I’d said. He could think what he liked, but I alone knew the truth of the matter. "I’ve read about you over the years. Seems like everything’s going really well for you now? You’re looking very well, love."

He nodded with a smile. "An’ you’re as beautiful as I remember, Bree. But yeah, I’ve been really lucky, I got a second chance at life an’ it’s been fantastic." I saw the love in his eyes as he looked towards the kitchen.

"She’s lovely, Ritchie, I’m sure you’re a very lucky man."

"Hey, now, don’t be complimentin’ ‘er too much, or I’ll think ya got designs on ‘er!", he teased.

"Not a chance, buddy!" I said in feigned shock, a smile on my lips.

"Listen to you, girl! You sound like a bloody American!", he laughed.

"I’ve been living here for over 40 years, Ritchie, d’ya want me ta still be carryin’ a bit o’ the ol’ Liddypool slang ‘round, eh?" I smiled as I deliberately exaggerated the old accent, and Ritchie chuckled.

"Why not?" he asked with a smile and absolutely no trace of a scouse inflection in his voice. "It’s worked for me all these years!"

The laughter threatened to consume us and we had to hold onto each other to keep from falling over from the force of it. Chris and Barbara joined us from the kitchen, asking what we were laughing about, and we had to dash the tears out of our eyes whilst holding onto each other and trying to explain. The girls looked at each other and shrugged in unison, and somehow that set us off again. Pretty soon, they had to join in because Ritchie had such an infectious laugh and we were all four chuckling and relaxed once we’d caught our breaths, the ice of a ‘first-meeting’ utterly shattered by our laughter.

We had a lovely evening in that grand suite, sipping tea and chatting about what had happened during the past 40 plus years. In spite of all the differences in our lives, we found that the four of us had a lot in common. And, really, it all boiled down to family and friends and the things we enjoyed, didn’t it?

It was a wonderful night. Warm hugs were exchanged between all of us when we parted. I breathed in deeply when Ritchie’s arms were around me, trying to store everything in my memory. Oh, the feel of his strong arms around me, the warm and familiar smell of him . . . and the fleeting pressure of his lips as they briefly covered mine, right at the moment when Barbara and Chris turned away to get our coats.

Time seemed to stand still as our all too brief kiss ended. I looked lovingly into his beautiful blue eyes and I fancied I still saw a spark in them, shining there just for me. I raised my hand to caress his cheek, and he caught my fingers in his, holding my hand still as he kissed my palm, smiling as he felt me shiver at the touch of his lips. He pulled me into his arms for another hug. There were words that neither of us could allow ourselves to speak, but they were written in our embrace and I shut my eyes against the rush of emotions. It was a long time ago in a land far away, I thought as I hugged him fiercely, swallowing with difficulty around the lump in my throat. I stepped back with a smile of regret that was mirrored on his lips.

Somehow, I waited until late that night, long after Chris had fallen asleep, before I allowed the tears to fall.

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.