It had been a few weeks since Connie had last seen the boys, and she missed them more than she ever realised was possible. Maybe that was because she had finally opened up to George about the way she'd felt, finally telling him everything whilst they were sober, only for them to end on a sour note by her refusing to join them in America and running out on him. Even with that bitter ending to the short reunion, for them to then leave for America felt as if she had a massive, gapping hole in her life.

She'd tried to create distractions by burying herself in her work, and she'd managed that quite well. The article she'd written reviewing the Beatles' concert had been a smash hit according to Mr Hill, who told her that because of that article that issue was the highest selling so far that year. She was thrilled, of course, but was also completely aware that people only bought the magazine because the Beatles were on the cover and she could have written anything, but whatever she'd wrote must have been good, considering Brian Epstein rang the office up to tell her it was his favourite piece of press coverage that had been written about the boys since they'd made it big. Ever since then Connie had been given more and more 'high profile' jobs to do, and she finally felt like she was being respected in the office the way the others were.

Even if she had thrown herself into work, the Beatles seemed to follow her everywhere. It was strange, as usually whenever she saw them on newspapers or heard them on the radio she was thrilled, but even looking at the framed pictures of them on her mantelpiece at home was too much for her. It was as if she'd finally woken up to the fact that 'her boys' weren't hers anymore, especially George. Though the news was constantly portraying them as up-and-coming legends, she'd managed to keep thinking of them all as the lads she grew up with in Liverpool, and it didn't really matter if they were or not, not anymore. Hearing them on the radio felt like listening to celebrities, not like hearing her best friends, but like hearing strangers.

One morning, about two weeks after she'd last seen the boys, she headed into work early, sitting down at her desk before anyone else. It was as if she'd been in a trance that morning, a trance she'd been caught in for the last few weeks, not really knowing what she was doing until she was at her desk typing an article about the new show, Top of the Pops. She was so engrossed in her work she'd not even noticed Ruby sit down next to her until the other woman spoke up.

"I like that cardigan," Ruby said in place of a greeting, eying up the cream cardigan Connie was wearing.

In fact, before Ruby brought it up, Connie hadn't realised she'd put the cardigan on that morning. It was the same one she'd had as a teenager in Liverpool, and she'd rarely worn it since moving to London, only wearing it whenever she felt homesick. Even the sight of it reminded her of being at home on Forthlin Road with her parents, or round at John's playing monopoly, or round at George's playing a drinking game with him and Paul. It wasn't something she'd expect Ruby to compliment.

"Thanks... it was my mums," Connie told her, not looking up from her typewriter.

"Are you alright?" Ruby asked suddenly, making Connie look up with a slight frown, knowing that it was a question Ruby rarely ever asked her.

"Yeah, I'm just feeling a 'lil naff, like," Connie shrugged, not realising how Liverpudlian she sounded until she saw Ruby's eyebrows knit together confusedly. "I'm fine, thank you, I just feel a bit out of it,"

"Sometimes I forget you're Northern and then you come out with phrases like that," Ruby said with a small laugh, not realising what she'd said felt like a dagger being stabbed through her heart. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing... Literally nothing," Connie sighed, not meeting Ruby's eye as she considered how nothing was happening to her whilst everything was happening to her best friends.

"Hows... How's the band?" Ruby asked hesitantly and for once she didn't sound bitter as she brought them up; maybe she'd finally gotten over Connie not telling her about her previous friendship with one of the most famous bands of their time.

"Dunno, not seen 'em for a while," Connie admitted with a shrug, and it was almost as if Ruby sensed her aversion to that conversation as she let out a long sigh, especially as Connie changed the topic entirely. "Don't we have a round table meeting today?"

"Yeah at twelve, any ideas?" Ruby nodded enthusiastically, because of course she would be excited, she always had the best ideas when it came to planning out the next month's worth of magazines. "I know Henry's got some suggestions, but I think Mr Hill is actually really eager to hear your suggestions for once. I heard him talking to his assistant yesterday and I overheard he's been really impressed lately,"

"Ruby..." Connie sighed, looking up from her typewriter as her eyebrows knotted together, unsure as to how she was going to tell Ruby she hated gossip, even if it was meant to be a compliment. Instead, when she couldn't find the words, she shrugged again, looking back down to her work. "I guess we'll just have to see,"

***

Connie hated round table meetings. She hated the build up to them where she had to brainstorm ideas, she hated having to sit around a long table with the other writers, editors and Mr Hill sat at the top, and she hated when it came to her to pitch her ideas. Usually when the latter happened someone else managed to take credit, that someone usually being Henry, who was actually the next to talk as he sat in between a rather smug-looking Ruby - who's pitch of an article on the latest fashion trends had just been approved - and Connie, who was absentmindedly doodling the Liverbird on her notepaper.

"Well, Rich," Henry addressed, keeping perfect eye contact with Mr Hill as he offered him his typical smile, and Connie couldn't quite believe he had the confidence to refer to their boss by his first name. "I've been doing some thinking about what was successful this month and it seems that Contance's little piece on that band did moderately well,"

"It was the best selling issue all year," Ruby muttered almost inaudibly, and Connie looked up with a frown, unsure as to whether Ruby was really defending her against Henry's snide comments.

"I've decided that the best bet for me this month would be to write a follow up from that piece," Henry spoke over Ruby's comment, shooting her a slight glare before looking back to Mr Hill with a beaming grin. "I think we've found from past experience my work gets more attention so if I write an article on the Beatles the magazine will get more success from it," 

Connie scoffed quietly, snorting out a laugh of disbelief. Not only was Henry insulting her success but he was also being completely hypocritical considering only two weeks ago he'd been insulting the band. Not long ago he'd been bullying her and her friends, and not long ago her cousin John had been on the verge of hitting him for it. Where was the Henry who hated the Beatles? It seemed as though he was willing to forget his own morals and ride off the Beatles and her success for his own gain. Under the table, she was clenching her fists, trying to forget what John had told her, focusing on keeping hold of her tongue and her temper.

It seemed as though Mr Hill wasn't impressed with Henry's suggestion either, as he glanced over his thin glasses exasperatedly, letting out a long sigh. Connie couldn't tell if he was frustrated, disappointed or just tired, but those three emotions had been a state Connie had lived in for a long time when it came to Henry and round table meetings, so it was a nice change to see the boss feeling the same way.

"I don't think that one will work," Mr Hill told him eventually, and  as soon as he spoke up they all sensed his irritation, though whether it was at Henry or just at the situation in general was unclear. "Not that it's a terrible idea, I had a similar thought myself, though my idea was for Constance to write a follow up, but I've already spoken to Mr Epstein about the possibility. Right now, the Beatles are off the table. They come back from America tomorrow but then they will be spending the next two weeks up North with their families,"

Connie froze, feeling her insides turn. Mr Hill had mentioned her, he'd thought of her for a specific job, and that rarely ever happened. It was rare she was ever considered for anything, so she was in such a state of shock she barely registered him saying that the job was off the table. Before she could stop herself, she raised her hand, feeling everyone's gaze fall to her.

"I could go to Liverpool and write something," she suggested, and she was pretty sure some around the table thought she was joking considering the stifled laughs she heard, especially from Henry, though she ignored them. "They're not just seeing their families. The Beatles are doing a big concert at the Empire theatre, they've got Gerry and the Pacemakers and Cilla White, I mean, Black, doing support. It'd make a good article reporting on the concert since it's not just the Beatles who've found fame after growing up in Liverpool,"

"Don't flatter yourself, Constance," Henry hissed to her, unnoticed by the rest of the table.

"Brian's signed loads of Liverpudlians," Connie continued firmly, her nails digging into the palm of her hand as she attempted to keep calm despite Henry's insults. "If I wrote up about this gig it'd be a really good opportunity to clear some new ground. The magazine's never written about anything outside of London. In fact, going to Liverpool, we could make it a feature of every issue this month, it'd give us the opportunity to write about this gig, and then other parts of the youth and music culture there,"

"What are you suggesting?" Mr Hill asked, and she once again couldn't figure out what he was thinking, and in that moment whether he agreed with her idea was impossible to say.

"Well there's plenty of options," Connie explained, trying to stay confident even though she felt a if everyone in the room was starting to laugh at her. "An article on the Clubs like the Cavern or the Morgue, or a article on the cultures that come into the city through the docks. Since the last piece I wrote on the Beatles did 'moderately well', maybe I could write the follow up based around them as people, the way they grew up, their musical influences, life for them coming from the North to the world's stage,"

"With all respect, Rich, I don't think that idea would work, I doubt our audience would be interested in reading about some small-time Northern town," Henry spoke up again, and though he was trying to seem competent, looking around the table with a smile as he rallied support for himself, Connie could see a flicker in his eye that showed he was overwhelmed, as if he couldn't believe that what she was saying was being listened to.

"With all respect, I think you'll find our audience extends far beyond middle class London teenagers," Connie shot back at him, glaring ever so slightly, before she turned to the rest of the table. "I know we have a few of readers in Liverpool itself, and all they see in the media is Southern culture. We could change that if we did a feature each week this month about that sort of culture, we'd secure a whole new audience,"

Connie swallowed nervously as she finished speaking, glancing around the table as she tried to figure out what everyone was thinking. The only person she could read clearly was Ruby, who was beaming at her proudly, which was a bit of a surprise. She'd expected Ruby to take Henry's side like she usually did, but for once she seemed rather enthusiastic over her suggestions, nodding over at Mr Hill as if her approval would sell the ideas to him even more.

Mr Hill as ever was difficult to read, his face remaining stoic, until he offered her a small nod, one that made her sigh with relief whilst the rest of the room seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Very good," He confirmed, and Connie struggled to hold back a triumphant grin, especially as she saw Henry's face out of the corner of her eye. "We can arrange for a photographer to accompany you, and I'll phone ahead to Mr Epstein's office to confirm the details,"

"No, it's alright, I can take any pictures if you just give me a camera I could borrow, and I can phone Brian myself, one Scouse to another," Connie shook her head though her grin remained.

"You don't know how to work a camera," Henry pointed out stubbornly, as if he was trying to find any excuse to put a stop to the whole thing.

"I've got a mate who can show me how it works," Connie shrugged, remembering Ringo telling her the last time she saw him that he's taught himself photography. "In fact maybe he could take some pictures too, having a photograph taken by an actual beatle in our magazine might give us another selling point,"

"Yes, well, whatever you think is best," Mr Hill nodded, obviously bored of the round table setting. "You'll go to Liverpool at the start of next week, we'll sort out the finer details later. You're all dismissed, get back to your work,"

Connie couldn't quite believe what had happened, sitting there stunned as the rest of the writers got up from the table and headed back to the main office. She followed them, sitting back down at her own desk and looking over what she'd typed before, yet suddenly she wasn't interested in that article and her mind was fixed on nothing but the fact that she was going home. It had all happened so quickly and so suddenly that she'd hardly had chance to wrap her mind around the idea. All she knew was that she was desperate to finish her article and get home so she could ring her dad and tell him the news.

The fact that she'd actually have to talk to the lads hadn't come to mind in the moment of her pitch, and she refused to let the panic of that set in. She couldn't avoid George forever and she certainly couldn't pretend that nothing had happened. She wasn't going to apologise for what happened, but things had to be right, not just for the sake of her work, but for the sake of the other boys. Maybe working with the lads back in Liverpool would be what she needed to reignite her friendship with George, make them both forget about their ridiculous flings and remind them both about how good they were as friends.

Sure she loved him, but she was his friend first and and foremost. A few drunken mistakes had led for them to believe in the possibility of them ever being together, and now he was on his way to fame it couldn't be possible. Maybe being back in Liverpool would help them realise that, but also remind them that they were great friends. As long as George was in Connie's life as a friend, as he always had been, she was certain she wouldn't care about the rest.

Being back in Liverpool might bring her passion back for writing too. She'd never lost the love for it, but it had gotten dull writing about things she didn't care too much about. She cared about her home, though. She cared about Liverpool's culture, the music, the clubs, the people. Writing in her home might be what she needed to finally stand out from the crowd to Mr Hill, step out from the shadow Henry seemed to constantly be imposing.

Before she knew it, Connie had finished her article and after quickly dropping it off on the editors desk, she began to pack up her stuff to head home. Over her cardigan, she pulled on her leather jacket and her eyes caught sight of the small pin in the shape of a scarab beetle. It had been a gift from John after he spotted it in a second hand shop in Hamburg, and the sight of it made her smirk slightly, realising that it had been like a good luck charm to her, which was when she remembered the other lucky piece of jewellery she was wearing; George's locket. Her hand darted up to feel it under her shirt, and upon feeling it she began to feel guilty about how she'd reacted to his offer. She'd need to make things right, but it could wait until they were both home.

Connie signed out and headed out of the office and into the streets. Just as she made the decision to walk rather than get the bus, she realised Henry was leaning against the building, glaring down at the paving, a cigarette between his teeth, a sight which made Connie raise her eyebrows. She didn't know he smoked, and in fact remembered a time where, despite no rules against it, she had lit a cigarette up in the office only for him to insult her so heavily that she immediately stubbed it out. He continued to mock her for the incident for weeks, that being one of the motivating factors behind her attempting to quit smoking. Once again, he seemed to be proving himself as a hypocrite.

He seemed to spot her at the same time, and he soon turned his glare up from the path to her, throwing his cigarette down and screwing it out with the tip of his newly shined shoes.

"I bet you're loving this," he muttered bitterly. "You don't deserve it,"

"Don't deserve what?" She asked, fiddling with the strap of her bag to distract her hands from forming fists, taking a few deep breaths.

"Any opportunity you get here," he told her, standing up straight and storming over to her, acting as if he was a big pitbull standing up to a chihuahua, though he didn't realise it was more likely to be the other way round. "You're just going to let the company pay to send you off to your beaten down town that was so clearly a wreck otherwise you wouldn't have come here. Well, here's an idea, why don't you stay up there, where you belong? Don't bother coming back to London, in fact, don't even bother writing those articles. No one will give a second thought if the magazine doesn't publish some tripe about Liverpool, and no one will care if you don't come back, so stay up there with your sub-par band, your alcoholic father and your dead mother-"

Connie had liked to believe her temper had mellowed significantly from her teen years, but it turns out that someone using her mother's death to insult her was like pulling a trigger. Before she could stop herself, she'd seen red and had flung herself at him, throwing her left fist at his face. In the back of her head she could hear John cheering the way he used to do after watching her punch someone, but for once she wasn't thinking of John. Instead, she was too busy grabbing Henry by the collar of his shirt, pushing him up against the wall of the building.

"Say what you fucking want about me," she hissed angrily at him, trying not to smirk when she saw the flicker of fear in his eye, realising that it was good to finally stand up to him properly. "Insult me all you want, God knows you do it everyday. But if you dare speak a bad word about my friends, if you even think of insulting my Mum and Dad, I swear to god I'll make you regret it. I might not have grown up with a silver spoon shoved up my arse but at least I'm a good writer, good enough to earn Mr Hill's trust, and if you can't deal with me finally getting some credit then you need to take a long hard look in the mirror and sort yourself out, alright?"

"L-let me go!" he stammered nervously. "I'm sorry,"

"No you're not," she glared at him, before letting go of his shirt collar, pushing him back against the wall one final time as she admired the black eye that had already started forming. "Remember what I said, years ago when we first met, about me having the best punch on my side of the Mersey, and you laughed?"

Henry certainly didn't look as if he was laughing now, Connie mused with a satisfied smirk despite her aching knuckles as she turned her back and walked off down the street, feeling rather proud of herself.

***
Word count: 3614
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