July 1958

Liverpool, like the rest of England, was known for its poor weather, especially in the summer. Whilst the first week of the summer holidays had been glorious sunshine, the rain had caught up to them making the first week in July rather dreary, leaving Connie with nothing to do but sit inside the house. She'd planned on doing that alone - since her father was working shifts at the fire station - until Paul invited himself round, shortly followed by John, and then George.

So far the day hadn't been too bad. They'd started out with music, the three lads bringing their guitars round, playing in Connie's back room where the piano was until they all got bored of that, which was when they moved onto going through Connie's record collection, until they got bored of that too. That was when the four of them all moved into the living room, arguing over what to watch, though there was nothing on the television since it was the middle of the day. They eventually settled on re-runs of Come Dancing, but that was only because John got fed up of flicking through channels.

If it wasn't raining, she knew the four of them would be out wandering the streets, but the poor weather had them trapped inside. She wasn't sure about the lads, but for Connie, cabin fever had set in for sure.

"Don't you all have better things to do?" She asked with fake annoyance in her tone as she came in from the kitchen, pulling her cardigan around her tighter.

"What's better than hanging out with my darling cousin?" John teased, making her merely glare over at him from where he was laid out across the floor on his side in front of the TV set. As he grinned, he pushed his rather large glasses back up his nose, reminding Connie how glad she was he was wearing the frames for once.

"Well who else is gonna keep you company?" Paul shrugged with a grin from where he was laid on the rug in front of the fire on his stomach, flicking through the newspaper.

"You saying she's got no other friends?" John raised an eyebrow, nudging Paul with his foot as he gasped dramatically. Connie threw a pillow at him, making him glare jokingly at her. "How cruel,"

"Oi, I'm tryin' to watch this," George called to the other three from the sofa, gesturing over to the television set.

He was lying, of course, since none of them really cared about what was on. Connie let out a small, frustrated laugh, moving towards the sofa before she flopped down into the seat next to George. Sensing her annoyance, he immediately prodded her side, making her shriek as he tickled her, her laughter making both Paul and John glance over at the two of them with weirded out expressions on their faces. Noticing John's look of apprehension towards her, Connie smirked slightly, though she sighed, rolling her eyes as she scooted further away from George.

"Seriously though, do none of you have anything else to be doing today?" she asked, looking at John in particular. "No wild college parties to be going to?"

"Not today, anyway, I heard that the buses are on strike today so..." John shrugged. "Look's like George and I are stranded 'ere,"

"What a shame," Paul rolled his eyes jokingly, though John kicked him gently again.

"Watch it Macca, rain's not that heavy that I can't send you back next door," Connie muttered, considering the idea of them all stuck in the house all day.

It was an idea that she already found infuriating.

***

"You gonna eat that?" George asked, gesturing over to the last piece of eggy bread on Connie's plate. She shook her head, gesturing for him to help himself, which he did with a grateful grin.

The four of them had moved into the kitchen when Connie suggested making them all some food, which sounded like a good idea until she remembered that neither herself or her dad had gone out to do the food shop for that week, so she had to resort to making something out of whatever was in the cuboards. That included half a loaf of bread and three eggs, which left her with no other choice but to make acbatch of eggy bread, not that any of them complained.

"Y'know, the southerners call it french toast," Connie told them, gesturing over to the empty plate in front of her.

"Yeah well, you're not a southerner," John cut in rather firmly from where he was sat on the kitchen counter, lifting a coffee mug up to his mouth only for his glasses to steam up. Paul let out a chuckle, wiping his finger across John's glasses lens's, though John glared, swatting his hand away. "Bugger off, Macca,"

Rolling his eyes, Paul sighed before ducking down onto the floor, opening up the bottom cupboards and rooting through the contents inside. Connie glared over at him, wondering what he could possibly be looking for, and part of her wanted to give him a clip for acting as if he owned the place, except she couldn't really be bothered, instead deciding to just leave him to it. After all, while ever he was occupied he wasn't bothering them.

"French toast sounds too posh," she agreed, nodding, glancing over to George as he bit into the last slice. "That one might be a little cold,"

"Nah, it's still good," George said though his mouth was full. As he swallowed the food, he grinned at her. "You got anything else to eat?"

"Your stomach's a bottomless pit," Connie joked, knowing how George was with food.

"Oi, leave him, he's a growing lad, aren't you Georgie?" John teased, leaning over from the counter to ruffle his hair. George scowled slightly, dodging out of his reach.

"Lennie?" Paul called, his head still inside the cupboard, and Connie, George and John all looked down at him confusedly. "You know how you and your old man are incapable of stocking the fridge?"

"'Incapable' as in Dad works full time at the fire station and I'm at school in the week and now work weekends at the Cavern so neither of us get time to 'stock the fridge'?" Connie raised an eyebrow as she fought back a sarcastic smirk.

"Yeah well, turns out Mr Jones is better at keeping the cupboards full," Paul told them, victory in his tone as he appeared again, holding up an old, half-drank bottle of whisky, though he didn't have hold of it for long before John snatched it off him.

"I knew I liked Uncle Arthur for a reason," John mused with a shrug, examining the bottle as Connie got up from her seat to stand by him, frowning. "Secret alcoholic!"

"Fuck off, my dad isn't a secret alcoholic," Connie snapped, her eyes widening as she recognised the bottle. "And anyway, we can't drink that. It's his old whisky from the army, it's sentimental for him. He has this tradition with it, that he... he takes a shot out of it every year on the anniversary of him meeting my mother,"

John frowned, watching Connie as she examined the bottle, taking it out of his hands. In fact, it wasn't just John watching her, as even Paul, still sat by the cupboard, and George turned to watch her carefully too, knowing even mentioning her mother herself could cause her emotions to turn. She stroked the label with her thumb gently, thinking over her father's tradition and how different things would be if her mother was still with them. She was so caught up in her own mind she didn't notice how John nudged Paul's shoulder with his foot sharply. Paul let out a small huff of pain, and unsure of what else to do, he ducked back down into the cupboard.

"Who's Mr Jones?" George asked quietly, breaking the silence only to have John and Connie both frown over at him.

"Are you thick? Tha's her dad, who'd you think Paul was talking about, some weird old man who stores his alcohol in their house?" John laughed, and even Connie couldn't help but smirk slightly, handing the bottle back to Paul to put back in the cupboard.

"Well, no, but..." George trailed off, his gaze flicking between John and Connie, eventually settling on the latter when she came to sit back down next to him. "I thought your surname was Lennon,"

"Yeah, it is, but my Dad's surname is Jones," Connie shrugged, her tone quiet and casual. "I'm not a bastard or whatever, it's just that my Mum's surname was Lennon, so when they got married they doubled barrelled it. Before she died I used to be Connie Jones-Lennon, but then after she... well, y'know, I chose to drop it and just be a Lennon, it just seemed like the best way to remember her,"

"Yeah that and she just wanted kids at school to know she was related to me so they'd be scared of her," John spoke up to lighten the mood, smirking as his legs swung from the counter. Connie pulled a face at him, but she let out a small, sad sounding laugh.

"I didn't know tha'," George said quietly, reaching over and taking hold of Connie's hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"'S just one of those things really," Connie forced a smile, squeezing his hand back, ignoring the weird butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "Right, I'm done being morbid. Come on, Macca, I know there's some other cheap booze in there,"

"Right you are, Lennie!" Paul called excitedly from the cupboard, emerging out holding two bottles of whisky that Connie recognised as the ones her dad had bought with his Christmas bonus; definitely not sentimental.

"Find some mixers, Paulie, Johnny, get some glasses out," Connie instructed before turning to George with a daring glint in her eye. "Come on, lads, lets get pissed!"

***
The day had taken a dramatic turn, Connie realised, as the four of them were all sprawled out on her living room floor, Elvis records blaring out with two empty bottles of whisky sat on the coffee table.

Of course they hadn't drank it straight, or at least Connie hadn't. The only mixer they'd found in the kitchen was ginger ale, and even though John and Paul detested it she actually quite liked it. The flavour of the ginger went well with the whisky, an alcohol she'd previously seen as archaic and the sort of thing only old men drank, yet none of them were old men. No, they were three young men and one teenaged girl, making the best out of a rainy day, enjoying each other's company, giggling wildly at each other to the music.

At some point Paul and John had started bickering about something. It wasn't serious, even if the two of them seemed rather passionate about whatever it was, not that Connie cared since she could barely focus on their conversation. What she could focus on, however, was George, who was staring intently at his empty glass, as if he was willing it to be full again. She realised that maybe George was a little young to have drank so much in such a short space of time after eating nothing but toast but it was too late, and the drink had clearly taken its toll on him. He was slumped over with his back leaning against the sofa, playing air guitar along with the record, his eyelids seeming rather heavy. It was a pretty sight, actually, and there was something about the way he looked in that moment that made Connie regret every decision she'd ever made to ignore her crush on him.

George looked up at her, and instantly a drunken grin appeared on his face. She couldn't help but grin back at him, and it was the smile that he loved, the one she did where her eyebrows seemed to grow closer and her eyes crinkled at the sides. In his eyes, she seemed so relaxed, so carefree, which was quite a contrast to how she was before. Even before her mother was mentioned she was acting uptight from staying in all day, but it was as if the whisky had made her forget all that and she had become content once more. It was a state he loved to see her in, and if he had anymore alcohol he might just have had the courage to tell her just that, or maybe even kiss her, but he remained sober enough to keep his desires in check, as much as it was driving him crazy, especially as she moved to sit next to him.

"Hey, Con," George spoke up quietly, loud enough so John and Paul wouldn't be able to hear him over their own conversation. He wasn't entirely sure if what he was about to say was a good idea, but with the alcohol as inspiration, he continued, "Cheers for telling me all that, y'know, about your parents. I know you hate talking about all that stuff, but you know you can any time, right? You don't need to keep it all to yourself,"

"It's just one of those things that I feel like if I talk about it, it'll feel more real," Connie shrugged with a sad smile. "Sounds stupid really, but the more I talk about Mum the sadder I get that it's just me and me Dad, like I love him to bits, the old fella, but I just hate that we're on our own now,"

"'Ey, don't talk like that, you're never on your own, you've always got us lot," George gave her a small smile, nudging his arm against hers supportively. "Promise,"

Maybe it was the alcohol messing with her head, or maybe it was because George was being so sweet to her about something he knew hurt her a lot, but Connie was really tempted to lean closer to him and kiss him. Not like a kiss on the cheek, she did that occasionally to him anyway, but properly kiss him, the way people who were in love kissed each other. Maybe that was the truth, that her minor crush based solely on his attractive appearance was something much deeper, or maybe she was a drunk sixteen year old who just wanted to feel loved because she missed her mother more than she could ever let herself realise. George was the her best friend, and no matter how drunk she felt she wasn't going to let herself act on a whim and kiss him.

"Oi," John's voice broke her from her thoughts, soon enough for Connie not to notice George had been staring at her lips. "Rain's stopped,"

All of their heads snapped to the window where they saw he was right. They'd not even realised, considering the record player was blocking out the noise of the rain on the window panes, but once her attention had been turned to the rain, Connie jumped up, moved to the front room window, her eyes wide in amazement as if she'd never seen such weather, and before she could stop herself she'd gone to the front door, throwing it open and running outside into the street.

"What's up with her?" Connie heard John's laughter, watching her skip around the front of the house on the path around the puddles, defeating her cabin fever. "Fuckin' mad woman,"

"Come on, Johnny, don't be boring!" she yelled excitedly, beckoning him out, though as he shook his head at her, sticking up his two middle fingers up at her.

"'Ey, Lennie, wait for me!" Paul practically screamed, shoving past John as he bounded out of the house as if he was an excited Labrador.

Paul ran out into the streets after her, his arms extended wide so that when he got to Connie he pulled her into a tight embrace. Connie shrieked out a laugh, and upon noticing she could still hear the record blaring out from the open front door, she took hold of Paul's hands, spinning him round as a form of drunken dancing. The two were in hysterics and so were John and George watching from the doorway, John shaking his head in mock embarrassment at the two whilst George watched with a smirk. His smirk faded, however, the moment Connie met his eye, and with a toothy grin, winked over at him.

It was with that wink that George realised he was utterly head over heels in love with her.

***
Word count: 2765

***