2. The Piano.


A beautiful girl joined my class in late February, 1958. She was an Italian called Maria DiCarlo. I remember the day she first stepped into class, with her school uniform modified into a knee long, pipe skirt, socks folded down and the school blazer hand-sewn inside to fit her waist nice and snug. Her hair was not tied up right behind her head, but rather atop it, cascades of brunette beauty. She was almost like some sort of fifteen year old American film star-to-be, and the type of girl any prudish mother would advise her daughter not to talk to. And, as soon as she stepped into my class, the reaction of the other girls was as expected. Sneers, whispers and comments as she turned her beautiful, Mediterranean face from side to side. No one as much as moved over to share a seat... Except, of course, myself. It’s not like I was the popular girl, anyway. Maria smiled at me as I moved to the side and allowed her to sit.

- Don’t worry...- I whispered to her as I defiantly eyed the other girls. - They’re probably just jealous because they wouldn’t look as good as you do if they tried...

- Grazie...- She whispered back.

- I’m Val...

- Maria.

- Italian, eh?- I nodded. -What brings you to the Pool?

- My father..- She spoke back with a strong accent as she produced a mirror and retouched (oh, shock horror!) her lipstick. - He find work here in the... the... come si chiama? Il porto??

- Oh... at the docks! Merchant marine?

- No, no...- She shook her head. - Stock supervisor.

- Fab.- I nodded. - Just yer dad, then?

- La mia mamma e morta...

Although I didn’t speak a word of Italian, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that her mother was dead. I bit my lower lip and sighed. -I’m sorry... She turned to me with a smile. -Naa, don’t be sorry. Not your fault.

- Well, I ‘ave no dad meself, so I suppose I know how you feel.

I stared at her as she applied layer after layer of lipstick. Soon enough, she became aware of my stare and she turned a bewildered pair of huge, brown eyes to me, before stopping self consciously. - What?

- I’m sorry...- I giggled. - Is that... lipstick? Red lipstick?

- Si...- She grinned back at me. - Why?

- Well...- I fidgeted. -...I suppose none of us really... Well, I...

- I see...- She laughed as she clipped her mirror shut and stuffed it together with her lipstick back into her schoolbag. - You afraid of teacher’s reaction! You afraid she tell you to get out of school...

I pressed my lips together. - You’re... not?

- Hell, no!- She laughed even louder. - It is fun! Sometimes you go to school, sometimes you go out!

- Out?

- Mamma mia... - She shook her head, probably feeling she had just been placed in a convent. -You never cut class in your life?

- N... no...- I sneered. - Well, just once, but...

- Ah, you miss life!- She smiled again. -Maybe someday I take you to the... the...panteone? Ay, how do you say...?

- Say what?

- It’s the place... you take the dead people! Come si dice?? How do you say in English?

Where you take the dead people? While I was partly charmed at her accent and her mish-mash of English-Italian, I was beginning to feel this girl was nothing like anyone I’d ever known. Skipping class? To go to where they put the dead people? The last time I had skipped class had been three years ago for much more innocent reasons than going to a state morgue. Still, I had to admit I was intrigued.

- The morgue?

- No, no!!- She laughed. -You... make a hole! You put them in a hole, and...

- Aw!- I laughed with relief. -The graveyard!!

- Grave...- She squinted her eyes and tried to imitate my accent.

- Grave...yard...

- Yes, yes...- she sighed and settled. - Maybe tomorrow, si?

- We... will get in trouble...- I giggled.

- No, no...- She shook her hand. - Just wait after they check list, then we go... Lei capisce? I have cigarettes in my house. I bring them, yes?

It was easy to tell this bird knew what she was doing. I was a shy, freckled teenager who wasn’t even allowed to go to the movies without an escort, let alone cut class to go and waste the day around a graveyard! The Cathedral’s graveyard, no less, a huge, labyrinth of crypts and trees and mausoleums... and headstones. Popular with truant kids from the Liverpool Academy for Girls, The Liverpool Institute for boys across the street and the Art College around the corner. Nothing I had ever envisioned myself doing. And because of that, it suddenly seemed like the most exciting proposal I had ever heard in my life. Smoking cigarettes and cutting class! Sharing school time with the Inny boys! Regulations about mixing sexes were so strict at my school that we had never been allowed out to go home until all the boys from the Inny had left and cleared the street!

- Ok...- I nodded with a shy grin.

- Ecellente!! We go tomorrow!

That afternoon was spent getting to know each other. She was a year older than I, had lost her mum to heart disease seven years earlier, had been born in a town called Reggio in the south of Italy (the tip of the boot, I was told), was also catholic and (gasp!!) was no longer a virgin. Her dad had taken her and his other five children all over the world since the mother had died and decided to stay in Liverpool because he figured there were too many people moving to New York from Europe after the war and wanted a place that would offer her family the education that had won the war that would not be saturated with fellow Italians. In spite of her “bad girl” attire, Maria had a tough, unique spirit and a friendly smile that could open up any heart. It was easy to tell she had grown with little to no supervision from her poor dad who had to rely on his older daughter Madalenna to look after the huge family while he was out all day making a living.

The next morning, we both met outside, went into class, answered our duly “yes mam” when our names sounded on the list, waited to go out to our first class and simply used the moment to calmly but discreetly walk out of the school premises. It was that easy. I was amazed at the ease with which she walked street, almost as if she had done this a million times. I must have looked like a proper little muffin, with my Catholic School uniform, skirt way below the knee, socks pulled up, baggy blazer concealing any teenage curve that may have formed with the years and not even a proper piercing for earrings. Just as we were nearing the premises of the cathedral, Maria noticed my self-consciousness. -Don’t worry...- She smiled. - We roll up the skirt and pull down the socks...- She stopped, went down on the floor and pulled down my socks. I was shocked, but didn’t stop her at all. - Allora...- She signalled with her hands. -Go on, roll up the skirt...

With a resigned sigh, I duly obeyed and soon enough, the skirt was reaching my knees. It was a very cold, late winter day and there was a nasty cold wind blowing in from the Mersey. I felt goose pimples as we jumped over the fence and into the forbidden gardens of lust and depravation.

At first glance, all I saw were equally dressed schoolgirls, skirts rolled up and socks pulled down, making out with blazer and tie clad Inny boys. The deeper we walked, the larger the gravestones got, the denser the trees and the older the truants. Some looked downright bohemian, with black, sailor trousers, polo-neck jumpers and suede jackets, sitting around on the grass with a sketchpad under one arm and a bird under the other. But nothing could have prepared me for the final shock; just behind a large willow tree sat a kid with an obvious mean streak, a giant quiff atop his head á la Elvis, drainpipe trousers, a checked, pastel pink shirt with the neck pulled up and the longest pair of winkle pickers I had ever seen. He was leaning on the tree and strumming out a few chords in a red and yellow guitar that was notoriously cheap. His appearance would sort of stand out in a crowd, eyes thin and hazel, a thin, hooked nose and lips always pressed tight. The prototypical Teddy Boy one had to fear. Next to him stood another guy with an equally large quiff but a more bohemian attire, dashingly handsome and, like the rest of the bohemians around us, held a sketchpad under his arm... but no girl under the other. All my biggest fears materialised as Maria suddenly raised an arm and waved at the scary pair. - Buongiorno, Giovanni!!

- Buongiorno, bella ragazza!! - Smiled the mean looking Ted. I could see him looking in our general direction, having recognised Maria’s voice, but it was plain to see he was desperately trying to focus in the two approaching females. I knew then he was probably as blind as a bat and was obviously not wearing his glasses for the sake of his bad-arse image.

- Your accent... terrible accent. -Greeted Maria with a solemn kiss on the cheek.

- Oh, like you spoke the Queen’s bloody English,...- he smiled at her. - Missed ya, luv, where ‘ave you been ‘iding, then?

This was no Italian acquaintance, but as Liverpudlian as the River Mersey itself.

- Change of scuola, Johnny.

- So, don’t tell us yer a college pudding now, eh?- He looked at me and squinted, trying to make out a face.

- Put yer glasses on, mate...- Laughed the bohemian guy as he stood from the grass to greet Maria. -‘Ow are ya, luv?

- Good, good, Stuart, mille grazie.. Boys, this is Val. She is the only one who treat me good in that school.

- Oh, Val, eh?- John finally put his glasses on. -Going through yer rite of passage, are ya?

Cat caught my tongue.

- Go on, Val, he no bite!- Maria laughed. - John is a... a musicista, a musician. He just a little eccentric.

- Cum from the Girl’s Academy, then?- The other guy named Stuart smiled at me, helping me to instantly regain my confidence. - Don’t let you half breathe even, do they?

- Feel sorry fer you, poor sods... You and that sorry bunch from the Institute.- John added sharply. - But at least you ‘ave sum hope... Val...

- Yes. - I added, dead proper. - That’s why I go to the academy, because I have hope...

- Ooooh...- John smiled. -She’s got a touch of daring-do! How’s yer left upper cut, eh?

- Relax, Val. - Maria sighed as she sat on the grass and pulled me down with her. - Enjoy the moment.

Stuart joined her on the floor. - Go easy on ‘er, Lennon... She’s a newbie. - He then turned to me. -So, Val... Short for Valerie?- I nodded and he held his hand out. -I’m Stu Sutcliffe. This is John. John Lennon. Never mind ‘is attitude, ‘es a pussycat, really.

- Aye, aye, mind me rep, lah!- John laughed, put his guitar down and also sat on the grass, before turning to Maria. - Ok, let me remember this... err... preggo, io desidero fumare una sigaretta, signorina...

- Allora...- Answered Maria as she pulled out her ciggies and gave one to John. -Good, John! Val?

I was being offered a cigarette. I had never smoked in my life! I knew that I couldn’t win; refusing would be embarrassing, but smoking and coughing out the smoke would be equally shameful... I chose the latter. And, as predicted, as soon as I took the ciggie to my mouth and inhaled the smoke, I began to cough insanely, to everyone’s deep amusement.

- First time fer everything...- John offered with a pat on the back. -You’ll get the hang of it.

After a few minutes and with the thick ice now broken, I began to see through the image of these blokes. John was terribly friendly and it was easy to see that underneath his bad guy facade was a really beautiful guy. While Maria and I sat around, I never heard his or his friend utter a single foul word, and Teds were famous for their foul language. But the climax of the moment came when John picked up his guitar and began to play.

- Oh... dirty Maggie Mae!!! They ‘ave taken ‘er away... and she’ll never walk down Lime Street any more!

He sang, a nasal voice in perfect tune. Soon enough, Stuart and I joined to sing the very famous Scouse song while Maria clapped. I was suddenly reminded of Mary McCartney, smiling and clapping as someone else did the singing and playing. I was so far away into my memories, I hadn’t noticed that both John and Stu had stopped singing, and I was doing a huge solo. As soon as I became aware of it I stopped and found myself surrounded by, first, three smiling faces, and then a round of applause.

- What?? -I huffed.

- What is it about these bloody goody-two-shoes schools, then?- John smiled, shaking his head and leaning his arm on his guitar. -Just a bunch of musical virtuosos hidden behind tacky uniforms!

- You sing very, very good!- Maria smiled.

Stu shook the ash from his ciggie. -Where did you learn to sing like that?

- Learn?- I laughed. -No, no, mate, I only sing when I’m the bath and... well, no, that hasn’t happened in ages...

- What?- Maria turned to me, her smile showing true interest.

- Well, ages ago, we ‘ad these neighbours and we all used to sing songs and stuff... but I was a kid, is all. Been years. Just sing in the bath now.

- Well, you’re a natural. - John strummed a couple of chords. -Sing sum more, then.

- Errr...- I put my hair behind my ear. -What should I sing?

- Try Amazing grace. -Stu joked. -Bet you know tha’ one...

- No. -John pursed his lips and closed his eyes, thinking. -Ok...- he reopened his eyes and placed his fingers on the neck of the guitar. - Do you know Vera Lyn? “We’ll meet again”?

- I froze, gasped and felt my whole skin rise in goose bumps. I knew the song, probably better than anyone.

- Yeh...

- Ok, go on...

John began to play, and as I sang, a small crowd gathered around to hear me sing.

We’ll meet again.... Don’t know where, don’t know when... But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day... I’ll wait for you, Just like you always do, Till the blue skies drive the darkness far away. And will you please say hello To the hopes that I know And say it won’t be long. They’ll be happy to know That the tears only go As I’m singing this song. We’ll meet again... Don’t know where, don’t know when, But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day...

This time the applause came from all around. But I wasn’t there for the first few seconds. It took me a few seconds for me to restart the engines of my brain and detach myself from the memories. Up until then, I was still listening to the little melody from my music box, every night before bed time. And it seemed like the song said everything I knew would happen so deep in my heart. I knew I’d see him again. I just didn’t count on it being so soon.

- Christ, yer good!- John laughed. - If only you’d change yer style a bit.

- What’s wrong with my style? -I shrugged.

- Ah, mia cara...- Said Maria. -The problem is you have no style...

- Don’t worry... Maria ‘ere will see to it tha’ you look like a real star. - Stuart smiled.

After a brief silence, I sighed and looked around. -It’s so gear here. I wish I’d known this place sooner.

- Never too late, my pet. - John said as he removed his thick seeing glasses and stuffed them into his pocket before turning a cheeky grin to me.- You college puddings can still see salvation.

- John saved one late last year.- Stuart added. -Dead proper ‘e was. Or rather, ‘e saved John, I think...- he laughed.

- Shut up, Stu. -John grabbed a handful of grass and threw it at his friend.

- It’s true!- Stu giggled. -John could barely play this bloody thing till ‘e met Mr. Doodah. Young kid, but God, he can play a bloody guitar... and sing! ‘E taught John how to tune his guitar! The useless get couldn’t even do that before ‘e met dear little P...

- ‘E knows the lyrics, is all. -John interrupted as he shook his head. -I can sing and play way better.

Stuart laughed aloud. - Rubbish. ‘E knows it’s a load of tosh...

- Ah, si!! Il bello ragazzo! - Maria nodded. -He play very good, too! And he is very, very good in the face...

- Wha’ the bloody ‘ell does tha’ mean, good in the face???- John laughed. - Maybe you mean good in the sack!!

Stuart laughed, I blushed and Maria looked confused. -The sack? What means, the sack?

- The bed...- I whispered into her ear. - Ah, mascalzone!! - Maria leaned over and whacked him on the arm. -No, I not do nothing with him!

- Do you mean to say he’s good looking? Handsome?- I asked.

- Yes, yes, handsome!

- Educated at the top of his class, but a total little Ted underneath. - Stu nodded.

I smiled. - Is he here, then?

- He not come today?- Maria asked.

- No, not till the bell rings. -John tuned his guitar. -Got a Latin and Math test today. You know ‘im, ‘e won’t ever get a low grade...

- He’s in the Inny?- I sneered.

John nodded. -We’ll just wait fer ‘im ‘ere.- He turned to look at us. -Hey, we’ll be off to his dad’s from ‘ere after school for rehearsal. Want to come along?

- Another tea smoking session, eh?- Stu laughed. -Naa, I’ll pass, mate. Paul and I don’t get on that well after a couple of hours.

His name was Paul! Sure, there were like ten thousand Pauls in Liverpool, but hearing the name after singing THAT song made my head swirl a little bit.

- Rehearse?- I smiled. -You in a band, then?

- Yeh, a skiffle and Rock n’ Roll band!- John grinned with pride. -We’re The Quarrymen.

- Good skiffle name...

The rest of the school day was spent with me learning how to smoke, applying lipstick on for the first time in my life, laughing, singing and talking about art with Stuart. Both he and John were escapees from the Art College, but unlike John, Stuart was completely fascinated with the entire concept of becoming a professional artist and sculptor. Chagal, DeStael and Van Gogh were his favourite artists. John was in the Art College only because he had no other choice. He had been kicked out from Quarry Bank for fighting and his Auntie with whom he lived had pleaded for him to be accepted again to no avail. But the headmaster had been kind enough to recommend him to the College, seeing as to the more liberal set up of the school, much more becoming to John’s character. But HIS heroes were Elvis, Elvis and Elvis... oh, and maybe Little Richard. I knew then that John was not made to be in any school. He was his own school, his own man, his own boss and his own teacher... with the exception of this Paul character, whoever he was.

We could tell by the sudden affluence of “college puddings” that the school bell at the Inny had finally rung. Tons of kids with ties and blazers with the school emblem embroidered on it.

- ‘E won’t be long, now. - John said as he stood up and put his guitar back in it’s case. - ‘E’ll probably bring ‘is little mate, George, too...

- Another Ted?- I shrugged.

- Ah, George, he look so.. clumsy? Is that the word?- Maria giggled. - He is a little guy, but a good guy.

- ‘E can play too...- John added. - Got in the band through Paul and all. Wouldn’t ‘ave given it the thought of day if Paul hadn’t insisted so much... But ‘e was right. He can play.

Some three minutes later, John suddenly looked up. -George?- He sneered.

In came a tiny, skinny, pimply youngster, with another guitar slung over his shoulder and his schoolbag in one hand, his uniform trousers sewn tight into drain pipe trousers and his head sporting a nasty crew cut.

- Hey, Johnny...- He greeted john with a handshake, his voice still a tad squeaky. -Paul sez to meet ‘im at ‘ome, ‘e’s not done with ‘is tests yet.

- Like it was so bloody necessary to speak Latin in our day and time, eh? - John shook his head as he stood and slung his guitar over his shoulder. - Silly little bugger...

- Ok, then, I’ll be off...- Stu stood up and dusted the grass from his lap. - Val, it was great to meet you. Hope you can come back more often.

- I’ll try...- I grinned.

- Val?- George smiled a huge, toothy smile at me. - Is tha’ yer name, then? I’m George Harrison.

I greeted him with a grin and eyed him from head to toes. He was so scruffy and so visibly middle class (like myself) he was hilarious to behold. His drainpipe trousers were so tight one could nearly see his pulse. His jacket was a lime green smartly hidden underneath the classy school blazer and pastel pink socks folded over a pair of black, visibly over-repaired loafers. He had a huge smile, big, brown, lashy eyes under bushy brows, monkey-shaped ears and a decidedly strong Scouse accent. He was also visibly younger than all of us, but that didn’t seem to deter him from hanging out with the older bunch. Self confident, yet somewhat shy.

As Stu walked back in the direction of the Art College, John, Maria, George and I set out by foot to the bus stop a block away.

- Just exactly... where are we going?- I shrugged.

- You ‘eard, we’re going to Paul’s place. -John grinned a terribly sarcastic grin and turned to Maria with an obviously loud whisper. - The girl’s a little deaf...

- No, I am NOT deaf...- I spoke harshly. -I just... I live in Speke, and... Well, I just don’t want to take too big a detour from ‘ome, is all.

- Aw, don’t worry.- George spoke with his squeaky voice. - I’m also from Speke!! Whereabouts are ya?

- Western Avenue...

- Oh, just a block or two from us at Admiral Grove!- He nudged me as if he had known me his entire life. - Tell you wha’, after rehearsal, I’ll ride the bus with ya, eh? Just so yer safe...

- You mean, just so YOU are safe, don’t ya, George?- John joked, obviously picking on George because of his young age.

- I smiled and shrugged. - Nonetheless, I’ll ‘ave to call ‘ome to tell me mum where I’m at...

- Oh? And what exactly will you tell, eh?- John laughed a loud laugh. - ‘Ello, mum, guess wha’? I’m at a stranger’s house with some Teds who play in a Skiffle band whom, by the way, I met in the cathedral graveyard while saggin’ off from school? Remind me to be around, I wanna see what ‘appens!!

- Why not you say, you are in my house?- Maria smiled. - If problem, John can say he is my father!

- Like John could speak Italian...- George huffed.

- John was quick to reply. -Like George could speak at all... Hey, George, how’s the potty training going, eh?

Everyone laughed, including George himself, who didn’t seem to take any of John’s barbs to heart. He apparently knew pretty well that John had plans to make it big, and if he was to be in that ride at all, he had to prove his own worth. And it was obvious that despite his cold shoulder, John was perfectly able to acknowledge when someone deserved to be in his band. Whoever this Paul boy was, he had obviously won his spot in the band after proving he could not only tune a guitar, but play it like a pro AND sing as well. Not to mention he knew all the lyrics. George HAD to be at least talented enough, even if he was visibly a kid.

I was so entertained during the bus ride (they pulled out their guitars and began to play... and I began to sing), that I soon forgot I was going somewhere else other than my house. And I didn’t seem to even notice until we got off the bus three stops before mine. The area looked ten times nicer than my native Speke. Here, one could see trees and grass growing on traffic islands and street divisions, not to mention the still terraced but much more recently built homes. These places had front lawns with roses, cherry trees, tulips, pansies, sweet pea and peach blossoms on them. Not too far from there was a huge golf course that was a trademark of the Woolton district. If that was Woolton, and this area was right across from the course... this had to be Allerton. My heart skipped a beat, but settled back down with two thoughts. One, how many people named Paul lived in Allerton? And two, MY Paul and his family had a knack for moving around to better themselves. Odds were that the McCartneys were now living a posh life over on the other side of the golf course, in a large semi in Woolton itself. Besides, if this particular Paul went to the Inny, how come I had never seen him on the bus? George Harrison, I had probably seen but never quite noticed. James Paul McCartney was easy to make out, especially for me. Or maybe he had changed so much in the past four years that I hadn’t.... Naa, silly thoughts. Not after all this time and especially NOT with this kind of folk. Mary McCartney would NEVER allow either one of her boys to associate with Teds, let alone join a skiffle band! That settled it. It wasn’t the same Paul at all. Couldn’t be.

George led the way, taking a left turn and walking down a street called Forthlin Road. We walked and passed at least a couple dozen houses before finally reaching Number 20. It had beautifully kept lavender and rose bushes on it’s front lawn and a cherry tree blossomed over the front door. It was a tiny little terraced house, but quite lovely. White wooden window frames. Lace curtains and bows. Whoever lived here took serious pride in the little home.

- Ere, Mick should be ‘ome...- George sighed as he jumped over the gate and paced through the lateral back alley to the back of the house. - Yous lot wait ‘ere, I’ll ‘ave ‘im open the door.

- Mick? -I turned to John. -Who is Mick?

- Paul’s foot-slave. -John joked. - Sum say ‘e’s a part of the family, but is ten times as dashing as Paul, so I reckon ‘e’s not at all.

- Assurdo!- Maria smiled and gave John a gentle, playful shove.- Paul be a very handsome boy!

- If you say so, Miss Mussolini... - John huffed.

My question had not quite been answered. Who the heck was Mick? We heard George shout for him from the back garden. Next thing we know, George is coming back out with a smile on his face and a set of keys in his hand. - Funny little bugger, tossed them at me from the bathroom window... - He giggled. - Taking a shit, I reckon...

- Oi, mind the mouth! - John barked at him. - So very proper bird in the premises!

I could see John was both serious and joking at the same time. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable about bad language in front of a woman, but by now it was clear that this didn’t mean he was chaste in the mouth. He probably cussed like a pirate’s parrot when alone with his mates... male mates, that is.

- Aye, aye...- George grinned as he led the way to the front door, obviously already well-taught as to which key had to go into the keyhole. - Cyn’s got you well trained, ‘asn’t she, John?

John held his hands up and panted like a begging, well housebroken puppy.

- Ok, who’s Cyn?- I sighed as I stepped into the house behind George.

- Me bird. -John nodded with a proud grin on his face. -Dead proper Hoylake muffin. From me lettering class. Cute, smart, sophisticated...

- And currently going out with the school’s rotten apple, tha’ should spoil ‘er. -George said as he set his bag and guitar down and opened the door to the den.

I silently stepped inside and looked around. I could hear the tic-tac from a clock on the mantelpiece. A small telly sat on the corner between the door and the fireplace, and in front of it, a brown armchair with white crochet-knitted circles on the arms. A foot lamp by the front window, a two-seater couch... and a piano. A big, wall piano. I squinted my eyes and took a few steps towards the large instrument. In seconds, my mind reeled back to a fateful, ugly day ... Stephenson & Hawkins Removal Services. The ramp... and the piano, this very same piano, being shoved into the removal truck. I swallowed hard. Mick... A local, Liverpool pet name for Mike. I suddenly felt like I had found the needle in the haystack. My face flushed furiously as my fingertips touched the cedar piano, and I began to breathe faster, deeper, stronger. I was so enthralled with the sudden realisation of the moment, that I didn’t hear a second set of keys opening the front door.

- Oh... my god.... -I muttered between heavy breaths of hot air. - Paul McCartney... Paul McCartney...

- Yeh? And who are you?- Came a voice from behind. A voice with a now deeper, cooing tone, but with an intonation and friendliness that had been tattooed into my ears years ago.

I didn’t dare turn. I just raised my head and stared at nothing, my eyes probably piercing and burning the oriental style wallpaper with pagodas printed all over it. I turned my face, ever so slowly, still believing I might be mistaken in spite of the overwhelming evidence around me. Finally, my eyes reached the point where a young man stood, dressed in full Inny attire, his tie now loosened, and his hair, black as night, equally quiffed up like some sort of teen american idol. But it was his face, older but still familiar... and now ten times as gorgeous as before. As a child, I had had an infantile crush on this fella. Now a teenager with a full set of raging hormones running through every vein, follicle and nerve, I had a lot of trouble in keeping my knees from going weak as he furrowed his brow and stared at me.

- Good bloody God...- He spoke and that sweet, toothy smile I remembered so well began to emerge. -Val?? Val McNaughton???- His eyes widened and I was able to see a healthy blush in his own cheeks as he took a couple of steps towards me. -Is tha’ you??

- Paul?- I managed to smile back.

- Christ!! Haha!!- He suddenly threw his arms around me and squeezed before I got a chance to answer back with an equally effusive hug. - Can’t believe it!! What are you doing ‘ere, eh?? -He pulled apart and eyed me from head to toes. -An academy lass, are ya, then? ‘Ow long ‘as it been, eh?

- About... four years, I think. - I grinned back.

- Mike!! Mike, get down ‘ere!! Look wha’ the cat dragged in!!- He shouted up the stairs before looking back at me. -So, luv, fancy a cuppa?

- Yeh! Sure!!

- ‘Ello??- John suddenly whined. -Did I miss sumthing, ‘ere???

Maria looked at us in turns. -You two know each other?

- Ah, we go way back!- Paul laughed healthily. - And I mean, waaaay back!

- Since we were tots...- I added.

- Yeh, our mums were mates and all, even before we were born!

George raised his eyebrows in confusion. - What are the bloody odds...

Just then, the other sibling came downstairs, holding a Beano magazine in his hand. Little Michael McCartney wasn’t so little anymore either, but roughly about George’s age and still looking nothing like his older brother, also clad in the Inny uniform.

- ‘Ere, mate, remember ‘er?- Paul tilted his head to the side, signalling in my direction as he smiled at his brother.

Mike stared at me and seemed unimpressed, before turning to Paul. -No... Not really...- He scratched his head and I shivered. -I mean, why would I ever remember Valerie McNaughton from Western Avenue and ‘er delicious chocolate birthday cake, eh?- He suddenly smiled, and I sighed with relief.

- Who would ‘ave thought it, you’d be some sort of practical joker, Mike McCartney!!

- Great to see yer!- He hugged me suddenly. - I see you ‘ave been through the school mill yerself!

- This just keeps getting weirder..- George shook his head and looked in the other direction.

I finally managed to tear my eyes from my gorgeous, re-discovered childhood sweetheart and turned to look at John. -You know I was telling you about tha’ family that...

- Let me guess...- He interrupted. - The nextdoor neighbours yer family used to sing with were the bloody McCartneys, eh?

I nodded eagerly and Paul looked surprised.

- Oh, you two ‘ave met?

- Maria ‘ere did the honours...- John lit up a cigarette he had taken from Maria earlier on and had placed atop his ear. - You should hear her sing, mate, she’s got a gear voice, this one.

- Oh?- He raised his perfectly curved brows and looked at me.

- ‘E says, anyway.- I shrugged.

- So...- He huffed as he pulled out a beautiful Zenith guitar from a fabric case. - Yer still living in Speke?

I nodded as I saw him place the guitar under his arm... his left arm. I had no recollection of Paul being left-handed, but then again, there were probably a million things that had changed in him through the years... or maybe I had just been too young to notice.

- Tell us, ‘ow’s Brenda and yer mum? - He began to tune it before my bewildered stare.

- Aw, you know...- I sighed, my eyes fixed on the instrument in his hands. - Mum’s still the same old person and Brenda’s saving up ‘er bob to open a beauty salon...

- Oh?- came again the polite, eyebrow raising expression of surprise. - She’s a stylist, then? Think I could go to ‘er fer clandestine ‘aircuts? Dad’s always getting on me nerves about cutting it short and I think ‘e may be teaming up with the barber at Penny Lane... I’ve sensed ‘es been trimming more than I ask for, lately...

- Aw, yeh!- John turned and flapped his semi-slanted eyes at me. - Maybe I could boycott Mimi! Can I cum along to yer sister’s, once she’s open?

- Mimi?- I shrugged.

- La sua Zia...- Maria offered with a slightly despective shrug.

- Eh?

- ‘Is auntie...- Paul nodded. - Nice enough person, but dead stroppy... ‘Is mum, ‘owever...

- Yeh, me mum’s a riot!-

I turned to Paul and Mike. -Speaking of mums, where are Jim and Mary, then? There was an odd silence followed by loud coughs and faces turning away, except Mike’s and Paul’s. Mike remained very quiet and I could see Paul was looking for words.

- Well, - He began with his diplomatic little grin. - Dad’s working now, still out with the cotton trade, gets home at around seven or eight. And mum... well, mum’s over at Yew Tree...

- Oh, at the Yew Tree Clinic?- I asked with naivete which I would very, very soon regret.

- No, Yew Tree Cemetery. -Mike added, pressing his lips together.

I temporarily swallowed my tongue and turned my eyes to Paul. He looked saddened but very contained as he took a deep breath and confirmed my fears. -Mum’s dead, luv. Breast cancer did ‘er in, been almost two years now. Well, it will be, in October. So...- He looked down before looking back up at me with a smile that seemed designed to perfectly fit an awkward situation. -Get on! You’d think mum would allow this lot into ‘er house, then?

I was shock silent. Memories of Mary McCartney’s warm, wide smile and soft spoken voice began to ache in my memory.

- Oh, god! I’m... so sorry!!- I took my hands to my mouth. - We never knew...

- I’m not surprised.- Mike huffed. -Dad shut the world out fer ages, called only close relatives and threw out many of mum’s old things... Probably her phonebooks along with it all.

I knew I had a bunch of things to tell that would leave mum and Brenda gobsmacked when I got home. But I really didn’t want to tell her that her close friend from work and former home had died in 1956. That would hurt. I would have to , though. I was never any good at hiding my emotions... Unlike Paul. Mum could very easily tell when I was feeling what with uncanny accuracy. Paul, as far as I could remember, could easily have fooled his own mother, god bless her dear soul.

- Ah, well, - He sighed again and smiled another fabricated smile. - Let’s not ruin the moment, eh? The criminal apple knocking duo is back together again! Tell us, is Mr. Conkers still around?

I went on to tell Paul all about the neighbourhood gossip as he and Mike listened intently. For some reason, the others seemed keen on learning about our history together. I spoke before five pairs of ears about how Mr. Conkers had quite sadly passed over one night, and how the new neighbours now loved and cherished the apple tree enough to build a taller fence to stop little vandals like ourselves from stealing the apples. We laughed with the renewal of a bunch of memories, smacked bottoms, stolen chocolates, broken flowerpots, mud pies thrown at passing cars and little torn lace curtains.

- ‘E always said something like, “Say you didn’t do it and it’ll be ok”, always got off the hook that way. -I spoke to John, Maria and George. - With them puppy eyes, ‘e could get away with murder. I saw it.

- Oh, I stick to me word, too...- he smiled.

Mike whacked him on the back of the head. -Yeah. Guess who gets the wrap eighty percent of the times, then...

- So...- Paul sneered at him. -Say you didn’t do it!!

We all laughed and I shook my head. -Boys will be boys, eh?

- Sure, -He winked at me. That same old wink hadn’t changed a bit. - Still chasing after pretty girls fer kisses and all...

I gulped and blushed, praying he wouldn’t...

- She’s the first girl I ever kissed, you know. - He did.

- Aw!- Came a mockery from John. - No wonder she was all flushed when she saw yer...

Paul looked at me with a flirty grin. -Well, glad I wasn’t the only one, then...

I couldn’t look. He was way too cute. I smiled and turned to John Lennon, being too obvious at trying to hide the fact that I was about to start shaking and stuttering like an idiot. - Aw, will yous lot just get on with it and rehearse? I want to hear ya before Jim gets in!

- So yer staying fer dinner, then?- Mike smiled.

- Dinner! God, I forgot to call me mum!! She’s probably going barmy!

- Go on, the phone is just on top of the stairs. You say ‘ello to ‘er for us, eh? -Paul pointed at the stairs.

I nodded and got out fast, ran up the stairs and sat at the top, gasping for air. I had to get a grip. Too many emotions for just one day; New friend, skipping class, meeting teddy boys, smoking cigarettes, wearing lipstick, seeing Paul again , Mary McCartney dying and crush on handsome childhood love firmly reinstated. I knew that if I didn’t take a break and a deep breath I was going to faint pretty soon.

After dialling my number, I seriously pondered what I would tell mum. I didn’t want to tell her dead away that I was in Paul McCartney’s home, otherwise I’d have to answer a bunch of questions that I still wasn’t quite sure how I could tackle. No, I would have to ease my way into this one. I just told her I was still in school facing detention. After a mild scolding for not having called earlier, I was asked when I’d get home, and soon it was all over. Now I had a good, couple hours to plan how I’d break this bitter-sweet news to mum and Brenda. After the call, I was a lot calmer and definitely ready to face the teds below. Paul was a teddy boy! Who would have thought! As I walked downstairs, I could hear a flash of music coming from two or three guitars and two voices perfectly harmonising. “I’ll will be rich, you mind and see”, came the memory of his words. And just then, that very moment, as I heard the two voices entwined in perfect unison, I knew he had spoken a mouthful back then. He was good! But then, it wasn’t surprising, especially when the memory of Jim playing the piano and all those late night music and tea sessions flooded my brain. Paul, however, had not only picked up the talent, but had perfectioned it and was obviously getting better at it. By the time the rehearsal ended, I learned that he could not only play guitar, but was also quite good at the piano, the drums and the trumpet. He told me how the latter had been his very first musical pick, but how he had given it up when he learned he had a good singing voice and would not be able to use it with the brass thing stuck in his mouth. John had a mouth organ and was also quite good at it. But what shocked me the most was when I asked whose songs were those that they were playing and was informed that they had written them. Pianist, guitarist, trumpeter, singer and songwriter! Jim had to be proud of his son! Mike was also keen on music, but wasn’t quite as gifted. His biggest talent, it seemed, was at taking photographs. He had an old camera his dad had bought second hand in The Wirral and seemed to empty entire film rolls on the rehearsing trio.

- I plan to cash in on these if our kid becomes famous...- He jokingly whispered in my ear. - The Mirror will pay a few nice bob fer these...

I was told that later on during the week, there would be a rehearsal at John’s mum’s place, and that I was cordially invited, “as long as I tried my best to look more hip”. I suppose that meant to look a little more like Maria. Paul tried to dismiss that, saying I would be welcome anyways, but John was adamant. Mum would probably have a heart attack, but I knew that as long as I did my homeworks and respected my curfew hours, I wouldn’t be stopped, so I promised I’d stitch up my skirt, buy a lipstick, use mum’s curlers and unbutton the top of my school shirt to look like one of Marlon Brando’s Beetles from his hit film called “The Wild Ones”.

Not long after, John, George and Maria said their goodbyes. I naturally stayed to catch on. Paul said that he and his dad would personally see to it that I got home safely if I stayed for dinner. I wasn’t about to say no to that!

- Gear! - He smiled. -Mike, heat up the tatters, will ya?

- Eh?- Mike sneered. -It’s your bloody turn! You heat them up!

- Go on!- He begged with his eyes. -I’ll give yer a bob!

- Yeh, like you bloody well ‘ad a bob!

- Look, I’ll take me bike to school fer a week and I’ll give yer me bus money, eh? Go on! Heat up the tatters!!! And I think there may be some sausage rolls in the fridge, as well. Oh, and pour us a glass of cowjuice, please...

- You’re a soddin’ pain in the arse, you know tha’?- Mike huffed as he turned to the kitchen. -But don’t you think I won’t remember it, eh? A bob!! By friday!!!

- Scout’s honour...

- Yeh, last time you swore scout’s honour I broke me bloody arm!

- I’ll break mine if I don’t keep me word! Honest!

Huffing, puffing and grumbling, Mike got started with dinner. It was easy to see they had had to learn how to cook since Mary had died, and I was a bit saddened when I saw Paul lighting up the fireplace. -You cold?

- A bit...- I answered.

- Dad will be ‘ome soon. -He said as he put some logs and coal in the chimney. - Man, ‘e’s gonna be real please to see ya!

- I dunno, Paul, maybe he won’t be so.-I shrugged.

- Don’t you start!- He smiled, as he reached out for the poke iron. - We’ve often spoken of you lot. Nice memories of the past.

I sighed and sank into the couch. -I just... don’t understand why yer dad didn’t look for us, is all.

Paul looked at me somewhat oddly before turning back around with a lighter in his hand and lit up a piece of old newspaper and shoved it into the fireplace. - Well, welcome to the club.

- Eh?

- After mum died, dad shipped Mike and I with me auntie Gin’s fer a couple of weeks. I didn’t even get to go to me mum’s wake. -He fanned the fire with his left hand. - God only knows why. I mean, I would ‘ave liked to say goodbye to mum...

- You never got a chance?- I frowned, knowing I was probably pushing the subject but well aware that Paul would stop me the moment he felt like it.

- No... well, yeh, sort of, but not quite. - He stood up dusting his hands and scratched the back of his head with both hands. - Mike and I were allowed to visit mum in the hozzy but we was never told she was dying. So you could say she got a chance to say goodbye to us, but I had no clue that we were saying our last goodbye too. - He sat down next to me. -Two days later, in comes me auntie Gin and tells us something like, “Lads, I ‘ave bad news, yer mum is dead”. We didn’t get it. We had seen ‘er only two or three days before, how could she be dead? - He chuckled and rubbed his face with his hand. - Worst thing was, I was so stunned, I didn’t quite say what I should ‘ave said... Really cocked up, there...

- And what did you say, then?

Paul looked at me sadly for a few seconds, and out of nowhere shone a smile. - You know what would be good?? To ‘ave supper outside, in the garden. It’s a bit chilly but it was quite clear today, so we should be able to see the stars and all. Ere, I’ll go set up a blanket.

He stood up and left the room. I could hear him going up the stairs and into a room, and the sound of someone rummaging through a closet was audible as he searched for a suitable blanket. Mike stood by the door, looking adorable with a kitchen apron and heat mitts. - ‘E’s a bit uptight about it all, our kid...- He sighed and spoke softly at me, hoping Paul would not hear him. - He thinks that if he can avoid it, it’ll go away... but it never will you know...- He looked down, saddened, and when he looked back up at me I was able to see tears in his eyes. - Cried ‘imself to sleep fer weeks. Still does, every now and then. I still do, as well, except I don’t care if anyone sees me.

- Mike, - I spoke as quietly as I could. -What DID he say that day? Is it that awful?

- Well, -He shrugged and looked at a random point beyond my shoulder. -Depends on yer point of view. I know our kid. He never meant it the way it sounded. But me auntie ‘ad him pinned fer a materialistic little bastard fer ages.

- What was it?

Mike pressed his lips together. - Don’t ever tell ‘im I told you, eh?- He huffed and looked at me. - He said, “Oh, God... what are we going to do without her money??”. First words that came out of his mouth. Paul’s usually careful with words, so it was easy to see he was too distressed to edit what he was thinking...- He smiled his big toothy smile at me. -He was just worried. Mum’s income was a great aid and sure thing, we’d be in trouble. He just expressed it openly... and his timing could not ‘ave been worse. But he’s felt terrible fer it ever since.

I didn’t even give it a second thought. I nodded as he suddenly stormed back into the kitchen, having heard Paul’s footsteps as he came back down. He appeared at the doorway of the den, holding two or three thick blankets and a big smile plastered on his face, but his eyes telling the real story. For the sake of his privacy, I dropped the subject, smiled back and went to help him with the blankets. He showed me the way to his garden, a small little patch of grass framed by lavenders which released their scent under the clear dark sky. We set them down on the grass and sat ourselves down on top.

- Mike will wait on us...- He giggled with a shiver. -You cold?

- Yeh. -I shivered

He took another blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. -Bloody brass monkey weather, this... Better?

- Mh-hm...- I nodded. - God, it’s dead posh over ‘ere, isn’t it?

- Naa..- He sat down in front of me. -You should see John’s place, luv. He’s rich.

- Get on.

- No, straight up!- He laughed. - Big semi-detached house, great, big garden back and front, four or five rooms, a kitchen about the size of this garden... Mimi tried ‘er best to spoil the lad but ‘e wound up spending more time with his mum in the end.

I went on to ask about John, how they had met and how long had he been learning to play the guitar. John’s story was rather painful to hear, but I remained silent and kept all opinions to myself. His mum and dad had split up when he was just a baby, and one day, when he was five, his dad had shown up and taken him to Blackpool. He then called Mimi and told her that he was taking John to live in New Zealand. John’s mother, Julia, rushed down to Blackpool, and made John choose... who would he want to stay with? John must have known that whichever his choice, he’d not see his other parent ever again. Although at first he had picked his dad, his mum had broken down so severely that he changed his mind and ran to his mum’s arms. Apparently, he hadn’t seen his father since.

Their meeting had taken place a year earlier to our reencounter, at the annual Woolton Parish Fete, where John had been playing with the Quarrymen. Paul had taken his guitar and agreed to meet a mutual acquaintance called Ivan Vaughan, and he had introduced them. A week later, another band member and a good friend of John’s called Pete Shotton met Paul as he biked across the golf course on his way home and told him that John wanted him in the Quarrymen. Paul accepted and had been a “Quarryman” ever since.

- Problem is...- he said as he reached into his trouser pocket. - The whole bloody group are a pack of divvies. Except John, of course... and George.

- Why would you say that?- I asked.

I looked at him as he looked behind him and suddenly produced a packet of cigarettes. He offered me one with an eyebrow raised and a cagey grin. - Care fer a fag?

- No, ta, I think I’ve smoked me day’s quota fer a beginner...- I shook my head with a smile.

- Oh, so today you decided to break all the rules, eh?- he took the ciggie to his mouth and lit it up.

- I was conned into it, rather...

- Oh, I believe ya. - He exhaled smoke and smiled at me. -You couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding if you were paid, luv...

- Really? If I’m such a goody-goody, how come I’m sitting here in the middle of your garden when me mum is probably wondering when I’ll be released from detention?

- Oh, is that what you told?? You liar!!- he laughed.

- Oh, this coming from the mastermind of caginess... Actually, I’m beginning to wonder how long I’ll be able to keep tha’ one up.

- Oh, making up a lie is a proper doddle, but making it believable is quite another thing.- He nodded.

I gulped. -Damn, I hadn’t thought of it.- I shook my head. - If only I hadn’t...

- If you hadn’t, you’d not be ‘ere, watching the night sky in me garden... with me. -He spoke softly.

That did me in. God, he had a way with words!!

- Like you ‘ad missed me so much, Paul McCartney...- I tried to break the mood with a wry grin.

- I did too!- He frowned. - Actually, I had always wondered where you were at...

- Aw, yimkin!!- I shook my head. -Load of rubbish, tha’...

For the first time of the day, he looked stunned and hurt. - god...- He shook his head and suddenly stood up, threw the cigarette over the fence and began to go back in. -Stay ‘ere, I’ll show you proper....

He came back out minutes later with a folder and sat back down on the blanket, already shivering a little bit. -Ere, look at this...- He produced a very well painted portrait of ... well, of me, or the way I looked when he had last seen me. - I did this just before I went into the Inny. It was fer art class. Got an A fer it, too...

It was so well done, my jaw nearly touched the floor. This, I realised in my mind, was a fully gifted artist. It really did look like me.

- This is really good...- I took it in my hands. -Did you do this from memory, or do you ‘ave a piccie of us?

- No, this one came from memory...- he took it back in his hand and then reopened the folder. -the only piccie I ‘ave of you is much older. - He produced the photo Mary had taken ages ago, of the two of us sitting in his back garden back in the Western Avenue days.

- Oh, God...- I smiled and then looked at him. -You kept this?

- Aye...- he nodded. - So, as you can see, it’s a load of bunk, all tha’ about me not remembering... of course I remembered you!

- At least you ‘ad a picture. -I shook my head. -I just have a music box....

- We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when...- he began to sing, and I turned a pair of astounded eyes to him. -What?- He smiled fully. -You’d think I’d ever forget it?

- I... I... I just never thought I’d ever... you know, see you again, at all. - I lied.

- Aw, ye of little faith. -He chuckled. - I always knew we might. Hoped, rather...

We both fell silent for a few minutes, and I directed my eyes at the sky. I felt him shiver as he move over, closer to me. I didn’t mind. Next thing I knew, I was leaning my head on his shoulder, feeling perfect and not giving a damn about the guaranteed hell I was going to face when I got home. All hell would be worth just one minute of this. Many years I had waited for it, and now it seemed to be even better than I had envisioned.

- So...- he mumbled. -How are you doing with the lads?

- Which lads?- I asked, confused.

- You know... you must ‘ave a fella, right?

- Aw, no!- I chuckled. - Why would I?

- Why not?

- Well, fer one I’m in a girl school...- I sighed and tugged the blanket tight around me. -And second... Well, I’m just a plain Jane, mate. Who would ever look at me?

He was silent before he mumbled a coy but very sure pair of words that made me quiver. -I might...- I looked up at him and he continued. -Well, I always sort of envisioned how you would look today and... well, I think you beat me expectations... I think you grew up lovely.

How could I tell him I thought the exact same thing when drawing breath alone was proving more difficult than ever before? And even more so when he leaned over and kissed me gently... very gently, and then more and more intensely? This was nothing like the kiss I remembered from childhood. But it was a kiss. A real one, this time. And it felt so good, I could have stayed there forever, just feeling his lips pressed against mine, outside, on the grass and under the stars. His hand gently caressing my cheek and the back of my head. I suddenly felt my own hand take life of its own and muss the black, greased up hairdo. This was my guy, the one I had picked since that very first day I wailed into this world.

. Oi, eck eck, yous two, break it up! Dad’s cuming up the front door! - We heard Mike shout from the kitchen window.

As both Paul and I pulled apart and sheepishly wiped our mouths, I shocked myself when I realised I was wishing Jim hadn’t arrived. I quickly dismissed the thoughts and followed Paul into the house. There was a delightful smell of smashed potatoes, gravy and sausage rolls coming from the kitchen as we stepped into the kitchen, through the dinning room and back into the den. There he was, looking much older and with much less hair than before, and that was an understatement, for as far as I could remember, Jim McCartney had always had a receding hairline.

- 'Ello, son, where’s yer brother?- He said to Paul as he hung his coat behind the door.

- Fixing us dinner. -Paul grinned.

- Aw, don’t tell me you offered ‘im a bob again?- Jim moaned. -You cunning little sod.

- I’ll pay ‘im! I swear...

- Yeh, I know you will... And I know who will be the one to give you the bob fer Mick, too...- Jim replied as he loosened his tie and stepped into the den. He suddenly stopped cold and stared at me.

- Dad, - Paul smiled. - You remember Val? From the McNaughtons in Western Avenue?

Jim continued to stare at me in shock before a slow smile began to appear on his face. -Well, I’ll go to the closet!!!- he suddenly reached out and hugged me in a fatherly fashion. - Look at you, luv, yer so big!

- Ello, Mr. McCartney, it’s good to see you too!- I smiled.

- I take it these two ‘ave fixed supper fer you as well, eh?

- Fer a bob!!- Mike shouted from the kitchen.

It was a memorable evening. Paul and I occasionally exchanged a knowing look. Only now, I didn’t feel like a seven, eight or nine year old girl with the cutest boy in school; I felt like a young woman fast falling in love with someone whom I had always known would be mine. Every time our eyes met, I’d shiver a little and look away so as to not give my game away.

After dinner, Paul offered to take me home on the bus. Jim hugged me and reinstated how happy he was, and to tell mum and Brenda to visit. After jotting down the McCartney family number (and hearing a laughing, solemn promise that they wouldn’t move away any time soon), I followed Paul out into the street and to the bus stop. He explained to me that the reason we had never met on the bus was because the school time at the Institute for boys started one hour earlier that the Academy. And I could understand why I had never seen him after school, since (as I have said before), the teachers at the Academy took good care of “their girls” and their virtue, so the bell went of an hour after the Inny’s. Riding on the bus, we agreed we’d meet every day after school at the graveyard.

Paul seemed to have engraved the map of his old neighbourhood in his brain well enough to perfectly know his way around to Western Avenue.

- So...- he spoke, hands stuffed in his pockets. -Yer still me bird, eh?

- Oh, yer still thinking about that night?- I laughed. -We was seven, mate.

- So?- He giggled. - You think I kissed you back home just to see what it felt like? - he looked at me and tilted his head. - I always fancied you, you know that... So, are we going out?

- I suppose...- I sighed, knowing inside that there was nothing else I could have wanted more. -Yeh...

- Gear...

- Yeah.

We stopped mid-street for another kiss and finally took the left turn to Western Avenue. I tapped on the door and waited for a red-faced, angry mother who would say something like “I called the school and they knew nothing of you all day, detention my arse!!”. Sure enough, such mother opened the door... But just then, my secret weapon (aka, New boyfriend... or same old boyfriend, rather), produced his ten million quid smile, and that instantly disarmed good old Eve McNaughton.

- Ello, Mrs. McNaughton! Remember me? I’m Paul, Paul McCartney, from next-door! ‘Ow have you been, then?

My mum’s smile melted away her anger and she immediately embraced Paul, asked him in for a cuppa and gave him a shilling to go back home by taxi. I saw him off at the door, smiled, waved and as soon as he had disappeared down the street with mum accompanying him, I sank my face into a living room cushion and screamed at the top of my lungs. Brenda, who had been upstairs in the bath, rushed downstairs and found me, a mess of tears of joy and sheer exhilaration, and simply grinned and nodded. - Let me guess... You found Paul, right?

Just as I was about to unravel my story, mum came back through the door, her face once again red and angry. -So, Valerie Anne McNaughton, don’t you think fer one minute that you’re off the bleedin’ hook!! You sagged off from school, did you not?? I called and they knew nothing of ya!!

I was looking at mum as she scolded me. Ok, so the plan hadn’t worked. But as she shouted and wailed at me, my mind was elsewhere... It was back in a garden, under the stars, wrapped around a kiss. I was happy. Truly happy. I didn’t mind going to bed without dinner (I had already had some, anyway), and I sure wouldn’t mind going through it all again... Not if it meant I’d be with Paul. And I knew then that I would do anything at all, as long as I ended up feeling that delicious kiss over and over.

All because I had remembered that piano.

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