Liverpool Fantasy by Larry Kirwan

Author:Larry Kirwan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, 1960s, rock, liverpool, beatles, john lennon, mccartney
Publisher: Larry Kirwan

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Maureen had slipped into her new dress. From time to time, she observed herself in the mirror, tucking in a fold here - flesh or silk - filling out a line there, sucking in her cheeks, teasing out her hair, adding lipstick, subtracting mascara, compulsively checking the seams of her stockings.

That shade of blush makes me look every bit like an old lady. What, in God's name, ever made me put it on? The new foundation works like a charm, though, covers up those ruddy big lines, that's for sure. Still and all, will you look at the state of me? If I’d only used that spa membership the girls got me for Christmas. But where do you get the time, I ask you? It's not like I'm sitting at home on me arse, preening and pampering meself, like some I could mention. Speaking of me arse. It's not really so bad now, is it? Mister funny fingers Marsden likes it well enough. Let his Roman hands linger there that night down the pub during the slow dance, when Richard didn't show up until all hours. Out with John Lennon, I suppose. He better have been!

He'd never do anything like that to me, would he? Carry on behind me back like? The girls in the salon would surely tell me, wouldn't they? Unless it was one of them he was actin' up with. He's got far too much class, our Richard does.

Then the awful voice that kept her awake nights dryly inquired: 'our Richard with too much class?’

The toilet flushed and Ringo emerged, running his fingers through his hair, teasing his kiss curl to a precise angle - apparent only to him. He yawned, scratched his ear, and headed for the table; he also noted that his wife was surveying him suspiciously, but thought the better of inquiring what the hell she was looking at. Even with back turned, he could feel her eyes upon him. He snorted and defiantly cracked a fresh beer. He even let the cap fall to the floor and didn’t bother to pick it up. Then he swaggered over to the window, pulled back the curtain and peered out.

Maureen quickly distracted herself. "Do you think he'll have changed much?"

Father George had come across a tattered Beatles scrapbook that Cynthia had once lovingly put together. He flipped through the pages of his glory days, eyes alternately blank, then quizzical. His thin frame swayed to the beat of some song he was humming while he lingered over a picture and examined it from every which way. He suddenly snapped the book closed, and even more color drained from his already pallid face. As if by instinct, he reached out for the acoustic guitar.

“I said, ‘do you think he’ll have changed much?’” Maureen repeated, her voice now sharp as a blade.

Ringo made a point of ignoring her. The priest had his ear to the body of the guitar, listening for some sound obvious only to his ears. Lennon, who had stretched out on the couch, looked up bleary-eyed.

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