Chapter Three
It seemed to me a strange thing, the need for us to be enrolled in school, if the length of our stay was supposed to be temporary. Already a week had passed, leaving less than three before we’d be getting a phone call from New York to tell us Father was all right, and we were free to come home.
And perhaps it was that sense of transience that made the first day at the Academy not as nerve-racking as it no doubt would have been if we walked in through its gothic arches thinking we’d be spending the next two years there— like a prison sentence.
Around us were hordes of pale faced girls indistinguishable from the other— as was the wraithlike manner of their monotony. It was disconcerting, such a strange new world, and Annie and I held close to each other. But even so, deep inside, there was a strange jealousy for them… they belonged here, after all. We did not.
I was similarly apprehensive of the teachers (or 'masters' as was their proper title) and our headmistress scared me more than all of them combined. Tall, lanky, with piercing gray eyes that seemed to eat away at your sanity. Mrs. Twinning, as was her name, had a sister who happened to favor her in several ways: including manner and temper. She also happened to be our mathematics teacher.
"Wrong, wrong, wrong!" Mrs. Twinning shouted, slamming her yardstick on the table with each 'wrong' to demonstrate her dissatisfaction. A young girl stood at the green board, completely terrified of her teachers' anger, and quickly hurried back to her seat.
I leaned over to the girl who sat in the desk next to me, "Is she always this way?"
The girl, a sweet young thing with eager brown eyes grinned and dimpled, "Actually, today she isn't so bad. You should've seen her earlier this week."
" Thank you for volunteering, Miss Pickles!”
The girl snapped to attention, "Me, mum?"
"Yes, Miss Pickles. Would you care to show us the answer to this problem?"
She grimaced, and my stomach sank. I didn't want her to have gotten in trouble for my sake. But then she winked at me and confidently stood up and walked challengingly towards the board.
She studied the algebraic equation for a moment before picking up a piece of chalk and starting to write. A chorus of very surprised "ooohhs” broke out around me, followed by a couple shrieks. I turned my head to see what was going on and noticed that the other girls in the class were all smiling, some terrified, some shocked, some just pain amused and then at once they all just burst into uproarious laughter.
My eyes fell upon the words that the now smiling girl had written on the board in bold, proud letters: TWINNING IS A TWAT!
My mouth fell: I didn’t know the definition, but it surely meant exactly what it sounded like! Annie erupted into laughter, and we joined the rest of the girls in hysterics. Mrs. Twinning, was struggling not to internally combust from her unfathomable anger. Needless to say, our little friend didn't spend too much more time in that class.
At lunchtime, I discovered that the girl's name was Thelma Pickles. We only chatted briefly, but enough for me to know everything about her. I loved people like that! She seemed absolutely delighted with us being Americans and joked lightheartedly about our accents, asking us to repeat certain words. (Like 'all' and 'thought.')
I would have loved to have talked more with her- maybe even have lunch with her and her friends- but I was soon intercepted by a blonde named Janet.
She was bubbling with energy, but I saw her as irreparably stuck up. "You're from America, did I hear you say?" She asked Annie and myself, grabbing our arms.
"Yes...New York."
“ New York! How brilliant! I envy you, you know that don't you? It must be absolutely wonderful there. What I wouldn't give to live in a place like ‘at..." Her words simply filled space in the air. Partly because I couldn't understand what she was saying (the accent was so thick, you see) and also because I noticed that Thelma had simply vanished once this chick invited herself into the conversation.
My thoughts were interrupted, however, by this new girls' flurry of words. "The name is Janet. Janet Ryan," she said, as if her last name was supposed to mean something to me. "And you are?"
"Uh... I’m Claire. And this is my sister Annie."
"How do you do," said Janet, smiling and shaking our hands, "How do you do? Oh, you simply must tell me everything about New York!"
`She put her arm in mine and began to pull me along with her as we made our way towards the schools' cafeteria. As she babbled on mindlessly, I had to smile: she'd claimed us as her own.
Now, this Janet girl had a really sweet heart, her nose was little too high in the air for my taste. But one thing was for sure: she'd overtaken us both and I certainly wasn't going to break away from her grasp, for fear she would see to the destruction of my entire social future. In other words: she was very, very popular.
She sat us down at one of the tables in the middle of the school's great, gothic dining hall.
"Scoot ladies," she ordered to the table of monochromatic blondes already seated, munching on their lunches. "We've some new additions to our table!"
The girls seemed skeptical, or otherwise completely uninterested to say the lease. Noses all somewhat upward. They paid us no mind until Janet mentioned that we were New Yorkers and suddenly we were these instant celebrities. Their demeanor completely changed, and I had to stop myself from calling them 'fake.' I felt increasingly uncomfortable and not at all interested with my company. I was polite, but I kept glancing at the table where Thelma and her friends sat, wishing I was with them.
My resolve had been to start over. And that was what I was going to do. I wasn't going to turn into the person that I was before. Self-loathing and utterly co-dependent. I was going to be confident and very independent! And in the faces of these girls, I thought that I saw the faces of my friends from back home. And I didn't like the look of it.
"You are coming with us to Aubermine's after class lets out, aren't you?" I looked over at Janet who's big blues were waiting anxiously.
I sighed, "Oh, I don't know, Janet. Out Aunt will be worried about..."
"You must come! It's a tradition of ours and I shan't take no for an answer! Think of it as... a sort of initiation into our group!"
Annie glanced at me thoughtfully for a moment, both of us contemplating the idea. I really wasn't so sure if I wanted to be a part of Janet Ryan's so-called 'group.'
But Annie answered for the both of us, obligingly of course, "Well...I suppose we can come. As long as we don't stay too long."
"Yeah," I shrugged, "Count us in."
"Brilliant! And the drinks are on me!"
Aubermine's was an ancient pub, as was everything in that city. Although this one probably dated back to creation itself. The smells of Guinness and cigar smoke was forever imbedded into the walls and upholstery, creating both a curiously appealing and appalling odor. But it happened to be on the way home, which made me feel a little better about my ill decision. It was owned by the same man (so I was informed) who dressed up as St. Nick each Christmas and delighted the children out front of places like Marks & Spencer and Woolworths.
It was there within those great walls of wood, with the happy sound of chattering townsfolk laughing (somewhat tipsy) in the background, that myself, my sister, and our new 'friends' assembled after school. Still dressed in school attire, I felt horribly out of place amongst the somewhat ill-clad pub goers. Like a major, major preppy. Not only amongst them, but also with our new company. They talked rapidly (their accents often so incomprehensible that it sounded like another language) and they talked a lot. . . but somehow they managed to talk about absolutely nothing. At least, nothing important.
The similarity between them and my other friends was uncanny. Different clothes, different era, different accent- but still very much the same. The same as those people that I hadn't really understood. The same as those people who were the ticket as far as popularity was concerned, but who really didn't have much else to offer besides their big bucks.
The girls, all looking identical in dress and figure, looked on eagerly as my sister and I surveyed the menu. Hmm… what's all this? Bangers and mash? Sabeloy? Shepherd's Pie?
I looked up at our waiter and smiled, "Water."
"I'll have the same," Annie said, pushing the unappetizing menu away from her.
The girls laughed at us, "That's okay," said Janet, "none of us come here for the food either!"
"Then why do you come here?" was Annie's honest reply.
"The scenery, ladies," she said deviously, "the scenery."
She gestured to her surroundings when she said that. I took another look at the place and noticed that customers were mostly made up of mostly twenty-something guys. I should have been impressed, being the hormonal driven teenager I was, but...they looked so very different than the fellas back home in New York that it took several moments of very real deliberation to decide if guys with side parted hair, horn-rimmed glasses and navy blue school uniforms with red striped ties appealed to me or not.
“Well?” asked Janet. “Nice, eh?”
I was still undecided, although I had to give a smile. Girls were the same no matter where in the world you were. I gave Janet a knowing wink.
"And it looks like someone is already showing you some attention."
"What?" I asked, turning my head with interest to see whom she could possibly be talking about.
"He's been staring ever since we walked in."
"Who? Where?" I asked, suddenly eager.
The very back of the pub was swallowed in shadow. I couldn't see their faces, but I could tell by the outline that four people sat in the deepest corner of the room. All that could be seen was the red glow of their cigarette butts and then the white smoke filtering up into the air.
Suddenly, one of the figures stood up and stepped from the shadows and directly into the blinding sunlight from the window. His eyes squinted somewhat as the light blasted onto his face, making it glow with white. Sharp features. Thin mouth. And eyes that sent shivers up my spine with their intensity and depth. And he began to walk towards our table with a startling air of confidence.
The red striped tie, loosed as it was, identified him as a schoolboy. But as for the rest of him was decidedly unlike the academic masses: his black slacks were tapered and didn't look like uniform slacks. His shirt wasn't white, but blue. And his hair wasn't like a lot of the other boys that I'd seen around town. His was styled in a slightly Elvis-like cut, with a floppy front. Not drop dead gorgeous...or was he?
I was so engaged by his arresting form that I even began to believe that I'd seen it before. And as he stepped closer and closer towards me, I realized that I had seen him before. The other day. In the yard. And in the afternoon light that now shone on his face, the bruise was just as noticeable beneath his eye.
Janet’s demeanor changed entirely the closer he came, and gave a very audible groan. "Oh no," she said, "Not him."
"Why?" I asked absently, a smile forming on my face at the realization of who it was.
"He is nothing but a great big pain in the arse, that's what he is. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact, Maybe he'll go away."
"Afternoon, Janet. Ladies," said John politely, suddenly standing directly above us, "I trust everyone is well?"
"We were well until you came slithering up," Janet said tartly, turning away from him.
"Still as charming as ever, aren't you Janet?"
"You just bring out the best in me, John."
He then looked directly and me and grinned this smile that I'd never seen on anyone's face, ever. Insinuating, confident, mischievous all in one.
"Now this is a surprise," he said to my sister any me, "Never expected to see you hanging around with Miss Janet and her aphides."
" Aphides ," said Janet.
"Yes," said John happily, "aphides. You know, those plant sucking insects? Just like your little followers here," He turned back to me, "I must say, I'm a bit disappointed to find you here with them."
"Well, it's our first day and Janet offered to take us out. It was actually really nice of her," I said.
"Um hm. Absolutely charming of her. And I bet the drinks were on her too, am I right?"
"Er-- yes, how..."
"Claire, when you've known her as...er...intimately as I have, you learn a few things about the way this bird operates. Smooth, she is. Like a snake. Never does nothin' without an incentive."
" Incentive, " Janet said, "how dare you! Just who do you think you are anyway, barging in on a conversation that you weren't a part of, trying to start fights with people. Why can't you just stay out of my life, John! If you had any sense, it should've told you that I never want to see you again!"
"Don't flatter yourself, Janet. I didn't follow you here. Believe it or not, but you aren't the only person who eats at this place." He smiled at me, "I just wanted to visit with your friends here."
"Well they don't have anything to say to you, John. They're from New York, you know.
Sophisticates, they are. And I won't have you spreading your limey scouser germs all over them, d'ya hear?"
"’Limey scouser germs.' Do you hear how she treats me? Never would have guessed that we went steady for three months!"
He turned back to Janet (and by then, Pete was standing alongside him) "Actually, I know they're from New York. We met this weekend, you see. It seems as though this time, my dear Janet, you were not the first."
Janet scowled, "John Lennon, I am giving you three seconds to get from this table back to that hole from which you crawled out under. If not, then I'm marching right on up to the manager and calling the police…”
She was droning on, John’s face remaining perfectly pleasant, nodding patronizingly at her threats, and I was unable to tear my gaze from his strong profile.
". . .and another thing," she went on (much to the dismay of the pub-goers) "I'll have you know, that you did not break up with me John Lennon, you know very well that I broke up with you!"
"For the love of God, Janet, that was three months ago! Don't you ever bury a grudge?"
"Not when I'm right!"
"Oh that's right, I forgot. You're always right aren't you! Never been wrong yet, have you!"
And, in a move I hadn’t expected, John pulled up a chair and sat directly next to me, getting right up into my face. I smelled him for the first time: tobacco and alcohol.
"What do you say, eh? Let's ditch this joint? I want to take you home to meet me mum."
Speechless for a moment, I was fairly quick about regaining my vocal capabilities, "Awww, John...I mean we'd love to meet your mom, but Eleanor is gonna be absolutely sick! We've been gone so long already."
"She'll understand," he said, placing his warm hand on mine. A tingle shot up my back and I grinned, trying hard not to blush. "Come 'ead. I already told her about you. She's dyin' to meet you already!"
Janet shot me a look of ice. "You're not serious, are you Claire? You're gonna be making a big mistake if you do that! I mean it! You don't know what he's like!"
"Oh spare us the melodrama, Janet, your acting is bollocks.” John tuned sourly her out again, "So! What's your answer, eh? Is that a 'yes'?"
"Why do you English have to be so bossy," said Annie trying to be lighthearted, her voice cracking as she said it. And I knew why. I reached under the table and squeezed her hand which was clammy as well.
John let out a smile, "That's a riot, comin' from a New Yorker. So what is it, eh?"
This was just too much for me. I was doing my damndest not to just explode from excitement. And now he wanted to take us over to his house. Ellie would be worried, but. . .I really didn't want to give up this opportunity.
"Well?" John asked again, holding out his hand for me to accept.
I could feel Janet's eyes burning through me. I probably would never be allowed to cross her path anymore, but I couldn't resist. I smiled at him and with a slightly trembling hand, accepted it and he pulled me up. Suddenly not caring what Janet or her friends thought of me.
I smiled at them. "We'll see you at school tomorrow, okay?"
In all likelihood, the girls would never talk to us again.
John's mom lived in Spring Wood, which was about a fifteen minute walk from Aubermine's. We had left the girls still sitting there, and I openly voiced my relief to John and Pete, who seemed pleased.
"I'm just glad you had sense enough to know better than to hang around with that lot," said John, "three months of me life down the toilet with that one," he said bitterly, "and nothing to show for it except a major headache. She was an edge of the bed-er, you see."
Not familiar with that term, I asked him, in all my innocence and ignorance, what 'edge of the bed-er' meant. He smiled peculiarly at me for a moment. "Well, that's what I call it when a girl makes out like she wants to go all the way, if you know what I mean, and then changes her mind at the last second. Annoys the buggin' hell out of me." (note to self: never get on John's bad side ).
“You’ll come in useful,” said Annie, “with all your English slang. By the way, what does “Twat” mean?”
Pete let go of a great howl of laughter, in which John joined in riotously, leaving my sister and I stationary and staring up at them with blank faces.
“Aye, well, it’s something that nice young girls like you two shouldn’t go around repeating to just anyone. It’s just a rude way of calling someone an idiot— where’d you hear it?”
“At school today, a girl wrote our teacher’s name on the blackboard and it said “Twinning is a Twat.”
“ Bloody fantastic ,” said John. “Who did that?”
“Her name is Thelma. Thelma Pickles.”
“Hmm…I’d remember a name like that,” said John. “But anyway, whoever she is, that was brilliant . Bet she got her arse in trouble for that one.”
“Not that we’re not used to that sort of thing ourselves,” said Pete.
The four of us talked freely and openly as we scuffled along the dirt path in the late afternoon sun which beat down upon us, kicking rocks out of the way. Annie in myself walking in a sort of trance, not able to pry our eyes from our...friend.
"So, you're sure that Ellie's not gonna mind?" I said, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible under the circumstances, "We're probably gonna get chewed out by her..."
"Call her from me mum's place. She'll understand. Julia, that's me mum, is like an adoptive daughter to that Aunt of yours. She was her midwife-- delivered her. Knew me grandmum and me grandad. Known me since I was a wee thing, and best friends with me Aunt Mimi. You've nothing to worry about."
We turned a corner in the road. "Seriously?" I asked, " She delivered your mom?"
"Yep."
"So..." said Pete, "What, doesn't that make you lot all cousins or something like that?"
John rolled his eyes, "Pete?"
"Aye?"
"Piss off."
We arrived in Spring Wood and knocked on the door to her quaint English home, a much smaller tract house as opposed to the custom homes on our street and on Menlove. When she opened the door, she was wearing her hair pulled back in a disheveled ponytail, a stained apron and no make-up. But despite her less than glamorous appearance, she struck me as a very beautiful lady. Her hair was dark but had tints of auburn to it, and her eyes were brown and smiling. She hurried us inside and we found a slightly unkempt living room, which she was obviously in the midst of cleaning, and we were treated to the most heavenly of smells seeping from the kitchen.
There are several moments in life which I will never forget for the rest of my days. And the afternoon that I met Julia Lennon is one of them.
"Mmm. What's that you're cookin' up, Mum?" John had made himself at home by plopping down on the sofa.
"I'm baking cookies. The girls are having some sort of school fair, and I was volunteered to bake the cookies."
"Oh, are the girls here?" He asked, getting interested.
"Yes they are, but don't even think about calling Them. They're in their rooms right now, and rightly so. The little monsters. They aren't to come out until suppertime, and I'll thank you not to. . ." Her voice trailed off, as she noticed Annie and myself standing, somewhat awkwardly at the sidelines. "'Ello?" she said, pointing to us, "And who would they be?"
John opened his mouth to say something, but she interrupted, "Oh, never mind. John can be rude sometimes, can't he?" She came over to us and shook our hands with confidence, "My name is Julia. And you are?"
"My name is Claire and this is my sister Annie."
"Arright" she said, shaking our hands, "Nice to meet you girls. Sisters? Funny, you don't look a thing alike."
We smiled and said our traditional 'thank you.'
"Mum," said John, "these are those Americans that I was telling you about the other day."
Julia's face glowed with realization, "Ah! Oh, so you're the ones that are responsible for my John's bruise on his head. Good show, girls! Good show! Lord knows he needed it," she said, winking at John.
"Now we know never to call them names," said Pete, grinning.
"So do they go to the Academy, then?"
"Yeah," said Pete, "we ran into them just now at Aubermines!"
"Heavens, Aubemines ! Wretched place, can't stand the sight of it. Go on, girls, have a seat, go on! The kettle’s on so I’ll get you some tea in a minute.”
"Poor things," said John, taking his place next to us on the sofa. "I still can't believe they left New York for this place."
“It wasn’t exactly a voluntary move,” said Annie.
“Oh?” John looked all very casual, but there was little doubt it was a question he was very eager to know the answer to.
“We’re just staying with our Aunt temporarily until… some things get sorted our back home.”
“How temporary is temporary?” asked John.
“Er… about a month or so.”
John, Pete and Julia were staring at us.
“That’s… an awfully big move,” said John with obvious caution. “Just for it to be temporary, I mean.”
Our reluctance to reply was apparently enough for Julia to understand that there was a lot more to the story, and she promptly changed subjects.
"And… as I understand it, your Auntie is Eleanor Cummings, right?"
"Yeah, we hear that you know her?"
"Know her," Julia cried, "Why, she's practically me mum !
"Can you believe it?” said John happily. “I never knew that Ellie had any brothers or sisters."
"Apparently. You know that woman is simply brimming with secrets. . ." she winked at us.
"Aye," John agreed, "that's for sure. She could write a novel !"
"Well," Annie said, "We all have secrets. I'm sure that even our innocent John over there has secrets."
"Moi?" he said innocently. "I can't fathom why you should even..."
"John?" asked Pete, interrupting.
"Aye?"
"Piss off, mate."
That earned John a smack on the back of his head by Julia and a finger in his face, telling him to ‘watch his language.’
I couldn’t help but add, “ especially in the presence of Ladies!”
John laughed and, in reply, he draped his upper body over the edge of the sofa, reaching for the nearby radio. He deftly switched the dials, turning past fuzz, the news, some classical and stopped the minute his ears caught the notes of Buddy Holly coming through-- even if the reception was less than clear. It was a song all of us knew well called Every Day and John was at once transported by it into another universe.
Julia smiled lovingly upon him, "There he goes again, tuning me out. Oh— excuse me girls, the tea!”
“Is he your favorite?” I asked. “Buddy Holly?”
“At the moment,” said John. The song finished, and next started the wonderfully whining strings of Elvis’ called I Want You, I Need You, I Love You
“Now Elvis is my favorite. Just depends on who’s playin’, you see.”
“So in other words, you just like all of it. Anything rock and roll.”
“Well yeah, ‘o course, don’t you?”
“Of course. But I actually do have a favorite.”
“Elvis, of course.”
“No, actually. I think Chuck Berry is about the best out there.”
John hoisted himself up and stared at me evenly. “You’re joking.”
“Why would I be joking?”
“Because…” he smiled. “Because all the girls like Elvis.”
“I love Elvis.” I sighed, listening to his effortlessly romantic vocal straining from the radio. “It’s just that I happen to think Chuck Berry is better. I like his music more than I like Elvis’ music. It’s more… I don’t know…”
“It’s more exciting to listen to,” said Annie. “It’s got that heavy beat that just refuses to let up.”
“Cor,” said Pete. “You two birds actually like the music, not just the fellas singin’ it.”
This, without a doubt, was a monumental compliment and I did not bother to hide my pleasure.
“I’ve been tryin’ to learn the chords to Roll Over Beethoven. But it’s harder than it sounds, I’ll tell you that much.”
“You play?”
“I have a band,” John corrected snobbishly.
“Aye,” said Pete. “And we try to play.”
“We’re all right,” said John. “But everyone’s learnin’. Can’t think of anyone else in school that’s got a band too much better than ours.”
Pete snickered. “I can.”
“Aye, well that’s because you and yer damn washboard is always holdin’ us up.”
“ Washboard?”
“Yeah,” said John. “We play Skiffle. You know Skiffle.”
I confessed my ignorance, which John flew into a frenzy over. How can you not know what Skiffle is, what’s wrong with you Americans, that’s blasphemy, etc., etc., ad infinitum. He was still in a heated and very lengthy explanation of the wonders of skiffle music (Which, may it please the reader, is really just folk music) when Julia popped back in the room with a tray of tea and biscuits.
Not far behind her arrival was the arrival of her husband coming in through the front door from work. He was a funny, awkward looking man named John Dykins, but whom the boys both called 'Bobby.' (When his back was turned, however, they called him 'Twitchy' because had a sort of twitch in his eye, those Sadists!)
He sat in our conversation for a while, coolly suggesting how hungry he was, which surely meant he wanted her to stop chatting and finish his supper. Julia expertly ignored his innuendos and continued her attention solely on my sister and me. I felt completely at home, welcomed and even loved by this woman I'd known not even an entire hour. She was young and energetic and pretty and it was entirely impossible that even the most abrasive of souls wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with her.
She hugged as before we left, practically ordering us to come back and visit her soon, telling us that we were always welcomed at her home.
Eleanor wasn’t upset with us when we arrived back at Providence Lane, although she did confess she had been worried.
“We were invited over for tea, and it was kind of a journey: a place called Spring Wood? Anyway, a lady named Julia wanted to meet us—“
“Oh!” Eleanor’s face lit up. “Julia Lennon! Oh but that’s right: you’ve met her son already.”
How did she know about —
“John’s Aunt Mimi is one of my closest friends, and she had a ball telling me about John coming home with a black eye. Quite a slap in the face to his manhood, getting a black eye from a girl!”
Annie and I both relaxed into the sofa, smiling broadly at the memory.
“That John,” said Eleanor, “I adore that boy. He’s a pain in the neck, I know, and that he and Mimi can get into some terrific rows, but, well…” she sighed. “I’ve known that whole family for pretty much my whole life. Growing up, my Father was a solicitor here in Liverpool and he was good friends with the Stanley family. Their father actually worked under him for a several long years, as a clerk I believe. So, since I never had any children of my own, I came to think of Mimi, and specifically Julia, as my own little girls. There is so much of John in her,” Eleanor said quietly. “So very much. You see, Julia wouldn’t be told what to do. Even when we pleaded with her not to marry that Freddy Lennon, she went ahead and did it anyway. Headstrong…” Eleanor smiled. “And now she’s got a son just like her.”
“They… they all call you ‘Ellie’,” I said.
She nodded.
“Do you think… could we do the same?”
Eleanor held her gaze on the two of us for quite a lengthy spell, before throwing her head back into a laugh. “You two… I should have been wounded to my heart if you didn’t!”
The smile on my face felt wonderful… so wonderful, in fact, that it very nearly frightened me. Because I was smiling at the mere thought of John and Pete and Julia and Eleanor… and with it came a warmth inside that was entirely foreign. And I had to wonder if that sort of warmth was something that had always been around, but I’d been missing out on my whole life.
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