Febuary 1961

"So how did an eighteen year old Liverpudlian girl end up as an apprentice for one of the biggest magazine companies in London?" Henry asked as he lent on her kitchen counter, watching as Connie poured them both a glass of wine.

This was Connie's first attempt at being social with a work friend, even if she'd been in London for nearly a year. It had been hard at first, especially with the other apprentices. The majority of them were all native Londoners who went to private schools, some of them even being university graduates, not to mention they all spoke perfect Queen's English. Imposter syndrome had never affected Connie that badly before coming to London and she'd always thought she was confident, but she felt like such an outsider. She wished she'd had the money to go to University, but as a working class girl that hadn't been possible, even if she had gotten into the best local grammar school. That wasn't the only difference either, her strong accent being like a language barrier between her and her colleagues, and her go-to outfits of smart shirts and trousers suddenly not acceptable. No one complained in Liverpool about how she dressed, but in London it seemed that only men wore things like that, the women always seeming to fit in with the latest fashions in their dresses.

Connie had to update her wardrobe, and she had to review her accent too. Not wanting to spend too much money doing either, she'd spent hours teaching herself how to sew dresses with the radio on, trying to imitate the newscaster's Queen's English. It felt odd trying to pronounce all of her words perfectly, trying to at least minimise her strong scouse accent when she was usually so proud of it. She didn't know why it alienated her so much, considering her dad had moved to Liverpool from Sheffield, and his Yorkshire accent had been embraced by his new Mersey friends until it developed into a blend of Yorkshire and Scouser. Maybe that was just because he was moving from one working class city to another, whereas Connie was attempting to blend in with a whole different crowd of people, people who usually classed her as inferior.

After a few months of just trying to blend in, she'd still made no friends. It had been so hard for her, especially with the people she used to call best friends being away in another country. Paul, John and George were off working in clubs in Hamburg, and whilst she was so proud of them, she despaired over the fact that it meant all the visits they'd promised were now impossible, and even letters and phone calls were tricky considering the time difference and expenses. She felt utterly stranded, and part of her at times wanted to just give up and go home with the hopes of getting her old job back, and if she couldn't work at the Cavern surely she could get work in an office like Cilla. That never happened though, and so she persisted, even if she felt utterly low by doing so.

Her lack of a social life had been good for her finances though since she never went out, having no one to go with. She soon managed to save up her wages to buy a proper sewing machine and nicer fabrics to make dresses, still not wanting to conform entirely and go shopping in the posh department stores that intimidated the life out of her, and even better, she managed to save enough for a deposit on a flat. It was small with a kitchen and living room conjoined, a bathroom and two bedrooms, though the second was practically a box room, and the rent was expensive to the extent most of her wages went on it, but it was still much bigger than the bedsit The New Times had been putting her up in and it made her so much happier. She was so proud of her flat, located in central London near the theatres but close enough to the tube stations for her to be able to travel to work easily, and she'd taken real pride in decorating it. It felt like she finally had a home, unlike the bedsit, as even though she'd gotten used to it over time, she could still remember the first night she slept there after John had gone home to Liverpool and she rang George up crying because she thought she'd seen a mouse under the bed.

As soon as she'd moved into the flat, it was like she was her old self again. She felt renewed, and with a new sense of confidence and a new wardrobe, she went into work with her best smile and neatest accent and tried to fit in. It was as if she was starting fresh, and something must have worked because there she was, in her kitchen just after a date to the pictures with fellow apprentice Henry. He'd asked her out, told her he'd show her around the town that 'must still be quite new and terrifying for you', as he'd said. Connie was unsure if it was a proper date, but since it was nearly a year after her only date with Rory Storm and since George was so far away for her to be bothered by her crush, she'd decided to class it as a date.

"Probably the same way you did, I applied for the job and got given a chance," she shrugged, sliding the wine glass over to Henry from across the counter, staring down at her own, wishing it was a whisky and ginger ale, or a beer, or anything but red wine.

"Well, yes, of course I applied and got given a chance but you, they really did throw out an olive branch, I mean, you're from Liverpool!" he exclaimed with a small laugh, as if the very concept of someone living from anywhere but London and being successful was absurd. "I bet you're glad to be away from there now though,"

"Well..." she hesitated, her eyes glancing over to the living room area that was connected to the kitchen, in particular the fireplace where on top of the mantel there were several picture frames from her childhood and teenage years. "It's certainly different,"

Henry followed her gaze and upon noticing the pictures he wandered over to the fireplace. Connie followed him, feeling her face flush slightly red. The photographs weren't the best quality since she was too poor to afford a good camera, but she was grateful for them all the same. The one in the middle was a family photo of her and her parents stood by the docks, the Liver building in the background, taken on her ninth birthday, the last birthday her mother was alive for. Either side of it was one of her, her father and John down the pub, her father and John playing pool whilst she stood and watched, wearing a glare directed at John, and one of her, Rory and Ringo, taken at one of the last Rory Storm and the Hurricanes gigs she went to before moving. There were others surrounding them, one of her parents on their wedding day, one of her, Paul and John's girlfriend Cynthia sat together at John's nineteenth birthday party, one of her, Florence and Cilla on their last day of school, one of her working behind the bar at the Cavern where in the background you could see John, Paul and George playing one of their first gigs. Her favourite, however, had to be the one of her and George, taken in Rory's Morgue club. The boys had just played a gig and the pair of them looked so drunk and exhausted but the moment they saw the camera they both grinned, wrapping their arms around each other excitedly.

That also happened to be the picture that Henry noticed first, a jealous smile appearing on his face as he pointed to it.

"I didn't know you had a boyfriend," he mused, sounding almost bitter though he managed to maintain his flirty tone.

"He's not my boyfriend," Connie said, far too quickly. "He's just a mate. All of them in the pictures are just mates, I never had a boyfriend or anything back home,"

"Is that so?" he cocked his eyebrow up at her with a smirk, before he turned his attention to the other photographs, mostly the central one, pointing to it. "Are these your parents?"

"Yeah, Arthur and Jolene Jones-Lennon, except my mum never used to go by her married name because she used to say Jolene Jones sounded ridiculous," Connie told him, a smile appearing as she remembered.

"Used to?" Henry raised his eyebrow again, but this time it was serious, and Connie's stomach twisted into a tight knot as she realised he was asking about her mother; a tricky subject.

"Yeah, she... She, erm, died just before I turned ten," Connie said quietly but quickly, getting the words out before she could regret them, staring down at the floor as she took a swig of her wine.

"Oh, my condolences, what happened?" Henry asked, and she ignored how he sounded more curious than upset.

"I don't normally talk about it but..." Connie said, turning and sitting down on the sofa, Henry following her and sitting down closely next to her.

Part of her really didn't want to talk about her mother's death. It was such a heartbreaking thing for her to talk about, one that ruined her teen years as she was unable to cope with the grief of it and the main reason behind her awful temper. At the same time, however, she really just wanted to get it off her chest. She'd not talked her mother's death through for a long time, the last time being with George, and then she'd been too drunk to deal with the emotions of it all properly. Maybe it would be good to tell Henry? Maybe it would make her seem more human and less like the outsider from work?

"She was a nurse at the hospital in Liverpool, and there had been this drunk they'd brought in," she began after taking a large swig of wine, avoiding meeting his eye as she stared down at the rug on the floor. "Police had found him in the streets and apparently he'd split his head open so they thought it was best to take him there, but when my mum went to treat him, he got really violent. The police who came to my house said he'd been spooked by her but that was just an excuse. He pulled a knife on her and stabbed her twice in the stomach.

"You'd think her working in a hospital would mean they'd be able to help but everyone was too panicked. She was war trained, see, she was used to being able to react quickly to things to save someone's life. If it would have happened to someone else near her, she could have saved them, but the people she was working with were too slow. She died of blood loss but Mum being mum though managed to get a punch in at the guy before she collapsed. She knocked him out, everyone used to say she had the second best punch on our side of the Mersey, but it didn't do no good.

"Dad and I were at home with my cousin when the police came round to tell us, and I just remember him sobbing and my cousin John hugging me. John never used to hug me, we weren't sentimental kids like that, but he didn't let me go all night, and when he did when he had to go home that was when I started crying for her. I remember I cried so much the day of the funeral I was sick and had to go home before the wake, but John stayed with me, and he's been my closest mate ever since. Dad, though, he took on more night shifts at work to just cope with not having her in the house, and when he was in the house he tended to drink a lot of whisky to calm his nerves. He was probably a bit of an alcoholic, but I never saw it that way as a teenager, he was just me dad, and he'd been through so much shit in the war, to lose his wife like that..."

Connie didn't realise she'd started crying until Henry had lent over and was rubbing under her eye with his thumb. She pulled away from him quickly, wiping her own eyes as she set down her wine glass, realising it was probably the alcohol they'd been drinking that had made her so emotional.

"That sounds so awful, I'm so sorry you had to go through all that, Constance," he said softly.

"It was a long time ago, and I try not to think about it too much," she shrugged, glancing over to the coffee table where her packet of cigarettes was, feeling as if she needed one to calm her nerves before she decided against it. "Mum wouldn't want me to be miserable for the rest of my life just because she isn't here. I just try to get on with it and be happy, and I really did have some happy times back home. Don't get me wrong I had my moments, if Mum was called the second best punch in the Mersey I was definitely the first, but I had some really good mates and I know she'd have loved them, and she'd be so proud of me for the life and the career I'm starting here,"

As she was speaking, she realised Henry had placed his hand on her leg at her knee and was slowly moving it upwards. She looked down at it confusedly, and as she turned to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing he lent over and kissed her. It wasn't a particularly nice kiss, though that was possibly because she didn't expect it or want it. Her body reacting quicker than her mind, she jerked back, pushing her hands against his chest, her eyebrows creasing together in shock.

"What the fuck was that for?" she asked, jumping up from the sofa.

"Oh, come on, Constance, I know what you're doing," he said with a small laugh, setting aside his own wine glass as he too got up. He reached out for her hand but she moved further away. "Making me feel sorry for you to win my favour,"

Did he think she was playing some sort of game? Connie was nothing but honest, and she couldn't imagine ever trying to manipulate someone through her past tragedies. Sure she thought he might consider her more human after telling him, but to decide that she was only telling him all that for gain made her feel furious. She'd gotten into fights for less back home, and part of her just wanted to lash out and let him know how she felt about his false assumption, but instead she took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes as her forehead creased together in confused anger, not even getting the chance to correct him before he began talking once more.

Don't worry, it would make perfect sense," he said with a small laugh, as if he was trying to reassure her, but if anything it just made her angrier and she hand to dig her hands into the pockets of her skirt to stop herself from punching him. "You know I could really help you build your career with the magazine, and what with you being... well, of your background... you'll need all the help you can get,"

"How are you going to help me with my career? You're a bloody apprentice as well!" she exclaimed, making him scowl angrily. "And I'm pretty sure me growing up a poor northerner isn't that bad considering I got the job in the first place!"

"You'd be surprised," he shrugged casually, the same snide smirk on his face, the one she'd previously thought as teasing and friendly. "Things here aren't like things in Liverpool. You're not just the token northerner anymore and if you want to last at the company you'll need all the help you can get, and I can give you a hand with that,"

Connie instantly knew what he was insinuating and she felt disgust run throug her entire body, especially when she thought about how he'd played up to her emotions and her vulnerability of talking about her mother. She wanted to hit him, but she also wanted to be an adult about it. She couldn't just lash out at him, because part of her sadly knew he was right. If she acted on her temper like she used to, he'd report her to the company and she'd be fired, regardless to what he'd done and suggested doing to her. He was right too about things not being like the were in Liverpool. She wasn't a teenager anymore where the worst thing to happen would be getting excluded and splitting her knuckles, her entire future and career was resting on her staying calm and collected about the situation.

"I think you should leave," she said firmly, picking up his coat from the armchair and throwing it at him, putting as much force into tossing the coat as possible, watching as his face flushed red in irritation.

"You're really going to regret this, Constance, I can make things quite difficult for you," he told her angrily, but he turned to the front door anyway. "I'll see you at work Monday morning, just make sure you're on time,"

It was an ironic final comment, considering she was always early, unlike him who'd sauntered in twenty minutes late every morning since their first day at the magazine, and she wanted to tell him that but he'd already gone, slamming the door behind him as he went. To slam the door irritated her too, since she'd been telling him merely hours before how hard she worked to afford her flat. It was rude and disrespectful, but it was also ridiculous for her to be focusing on that after everything else he'd done. Maybe she was just so upset about it all she needed one final thing to break off any ideas in her mind about Henry being her friend.

Henry wasn't her friend. The closest thing to a friend Connie had in London was Ruby, the pretty girl who'd gone to Cambridge to study English Literature, enjoyed reading the classics and liked to try and decode Connie's Scouse sociolect. She was polite enough, but the cultural difference between their youthood and upbringings meant that the two of them never really bonded, despte being the only two female apprentices. Connie liked Ruby's company at work, but she knew the two of them would never be as close as she was to Cilla or Florence, or even as close as she was to John and Paul's girlfriends.

In truth, she'd left all of her real friends behind in Liverpool, and that night had just proved it. Looking over photographs that struck pangs of painful nostalgia through her only to be brutally reminded that she was an outsider and struggled socially left her feeling utterly alone, and Connie really just wanted to break down and cry before heading off to the station and getting the next train home. Except instead of any of that, she took a few deep breaths, downed the rest of the wine in her glass, finishing off the bottle left on the kitchen counter, and she was just about to raid her cupboards for the rum her dad had posted to her at Christmas when the phone rang, disturbing her alcoholic treasure hunt.

"Hello?" she asked, not expecting a caller so late, though she also found herself marvelling over the fact she had a phone in her home and didn't need to walk down to the phone box on the street corner.

"Con?" a croaky voice asked, clearly speaking through tears, and she could instantly tell it was George, her downtrodden mood peaking slightly despite the obvious emotions he was going through.

"Georgie!" she cheered, sighing with relief to be speaking to someone from home, someone who cared about her. "Georgie, what's wrong?"

"I'm at the airport in Germany... I'm being deported," he told her, sniffing, and she felt guilty for feeling so glad to hear him when he was clearly so upset. "German coppers found out I was working in clubs underage, and they're shipping me back off home,"

"Shit, George, were you arrested? Didn't Paul or John do anything?" she questioned, feeling all of her previous emotions slip away, practically forgetting about Henry as she instead focused on George.

"No, they let me off with a caution but I'm still getting sent home, and neither of them would dare say owt," George explained, sounding more annoyed then upset now.

"Those bastards," she sighed, unsure whether or not she was talking about the police or John and Paul. "Oh, George, I really sorry,"

"'S alright," he muttered, and she knew he was putting on a brave face, her heart aching with how badly she wanted to hug him. "I'm alright, I jus' wanted to give you a ring since I'm stuck at the airport alone,"

"Do you want me to fly out to keep you company?" she joked, but they both knew she meant it: she'd fly anywhere if he asked.

"Nah, you don't need to worry, I just miss you, 's all," he told her, not realising how much she needed to hear that, but also how much it hurt. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, never better," she lied smoothly, deciding that even with everything that had happened that night she wasn't going to burden him with it all, instead focusing on him. "I miss you too though, George, not seeing you everyday is like, I dunno, walking around without shoes on,"

"I get you," he sad with a small laugh. "I feel the same, but as soon as I get home I'm gonna get a job and save up and come visit you, promise. Or you could come home, we all miss you, even John does though he's too stubborn to say so, and even Paul gets emotional about it,"

At his words Connie screwed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry, trying her best to not break down into tears once again. She wanted so badly to go home and see all of her friends and her father but she knew, especially after the events of that evening, that if she went to visit Liverpool, she'd never return to London. Her homesickness would get too much for her if she went home, even if it would just be for a weekend, and she couldn't risk her career, plus after the latter encounter with Henry, she'd feel like a coward running home, as if she was trying to escape him and all the social difficulties she had faced since moving.

"I wish I could visit, Georgie," she sighed, deciding to spare George of her troubles, knowing enough would be on his mind. "Work is manic at the minute and I'm finally getting trusted with more jobs, but you know you're always welcome to come stay with me anytime you want. Maybe I'll come back Merseyside when work calms down,"

It took Connie another year and a half to build up the courage to go home, and George never visited her in London, but there had been some truths spoken that night. For one, Henry really did make work more difficult, but Connie never let him get to her, remaining the bigger person through it all as she just pushed on with her work, the only thing keeping her in London. Secondly, and more importantly, she did miss George desperately, more than she'd realised before that night, and her crush on him was still alive and thriving after nearly a year apart.

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Word count: 4025

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