The morning after the boys had arrived back in Liverpool, Connie got up early, taking care of her appearance. She dressed in a red and white striped jumper, pairing it with high-waisted black jeans and a pair of black heels before throwing on her leather jacket, pulling her hair back into a bun before applying the slightest bit of makeup. It was a look she felt more comfortable wearing in London, but still, at least it wasn't a dress which made her feel as if she stuck out like a sore-thumb in her hometown where she was so used to wearing trousers and shirts, usually shirts she'd 'borrowed' from one of the boys. Once she was dressed she ran downstairs, running into the kitchen to make herself a coffee. Her father was sat at the table, reading the newspaper, the radio on, playing Please Please Me rather loudly.

"This is the third time this week they've played this song, I'm going to be writing a complaint in," her father said in place of a greeting. "It's even worse than hearing them practice through the walls,"

"Don't be a kill-joy, Dad, they're good," she laughed, pouring herself a mug of coffee as she checked the time.

"Yeah, they're alright," he observed with a small shrug. "They definitely did the right thing switching drummers, even with the grief they got,"

"What, like the last time I visited home and some wanker punched George in the face?" Connie remembered with a small gasp, wondering how she could have forgotten the time George got a black eye in Ringo's honour, and how she punched the person right back on his behalf. "I broke their nose for that,"

"Why do you sound proud of that?" he laughed before setting his paper down. "Speaking of George... are you seeing him today?"

Connie groaned, throwing her head back in irritation. She already had faced a lecture from Florence, and Paul the day before, why was her father suddenly so concerned with her and George? In fairness, George had spent a lot of time over at their house before she moved to London, so maybe her father was only worried about her maintaining her friendships, but still Connie couldn't help but feel like she was unable to go ten minutes without someone mentioning George to her.

"Don't you start too!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "And yeah I am, but it's for work,"

The plan for that day was that she was going to watch the rehearsals for the concert at the Empire theatre, since the show was meant to be the day after. A car was picking Paul up so she was going to hitch a lift with him. It was for work, so she was meant to be strictly professional, but it was also a good opportunity for her to talk to George, hence her taking such care of her looks that morning. She'd decided that as soon as the chance arose, she would pull George aside, apologise profusely for running out on him before, and then explain to him that he was still her best friend in the whole world and she wanted nothing more than for things to go back to normal. She hoped he'd agree and then they could just go back to being Connie and George, best friends, and not Connie and George, awkward friends-with-benefits upon them getting drunk.

"I'm not starting anything, I'm just asking! But seriously, Con, go easy on the kid, alright?" her father laughed at first before becoming serious again, his words confusing her; he never acted like this. "I'm not bloody blind, I know he's madly in love with you, so don't, y'know, be mean,"

"Fuck sake, Dad!" Connie exclaimed, laughing in disbelief, not quite able to comprehend that she was having this conversation with her father.

She wanted to reassure her dad that what he thought was wrong, that they were just friends, but she couldn't because it wasn't true. She didn't want to tell him that they were more than friends because that would suggest them being in a relationship whilst the actual truth of them was something she really didn't want to discuss with her father. Her relationship with George had escalated to something she didn't really understand, so how could she even tell her dad? It was all so confusing. They had been drunk, and then George told her that he loved her, but then she ran out on him so surely he'd changed his mind again. Did that put them back to being just friends?

That was exactly why she needed to clear the air with George. He was still mad at her the last time she'd seen him, at the train station and in the car, but maybe that morning he would have cooled off and would be more willing to talk. She hoped so, given how confused she was with it all.

That was when the back door opened, and Paul popped his head around the door. He was grinning, as usual, and his smile made Connie wonder if he'd heard their conversation through the open window, even if it was only open just a crack. As he stepped into the kitchen, John followed him, wearing a matching grin, especially as he made to ruffle Connie's hair.

"Bugger off," she ducked out of John's reach, making all three men laugh; it was just like old times.

"'Ey, this song's not half bad," Paul nodded with a wink upon realising the radio was playing their music.

"Bass is a bit dodgy," Connie glared at him jokingly, once again ducking away from John as he went to hit her arm, a look of fake-shock on his face.

"Come on, Constance, the car's gonna be here any minute," John told her, linking his arm through hers, Paul doing the same at her other side. Connie shot her father a look, as if she was asking for help. "Don't worry, Uncle, we'll take good care of the southerner,"

With that, Paul and John had pulled her from the kitchen and out of the back door, running down the alley with her to get into the chauffeured car before the fans outside Paul's house could spot them. They'd taken her so quick she barely had chance to say goodbye to her father or even begin explaining to him the mess of her and George.

***

It was whilst the Beatles were practicing on the main stage of the Empire theatre that Connie sat down in the auditorium with her borrowed camera, snapping pictures of them, only to realise George must've still been mad at her. He always looked moody on stage, even when he occasionally cracked a smile in the adrenaline of it all, but whenever his eyes drifted over to her they went straight back down to his guitar, a mixture of annoyance and sadness playing across his face.

The others, however, were on top form, so she tried to focus more on them, especially as John pulled faces in her direction. He could probably sense her anxiety over the whole George situation given he was usually so good at understanding how she was feeling even if she tried her best to hide. Ringo and Paul were also displaying high levels of enthusiasm, as if they were playing to a full crowd and not just rehearsing. Connie took out her notebook, noting down a few points that she wanted to write up for her article on them, and she was so focused on her work she hardly noticed someone sit down next to her.

"Got a light?" Cilla asked her, glancing over at her notebook as she sat down in the seat next to Connie, holding out a packet of cigarettes.

"I thought you were meant to be backstage since you're on to practice after the lads are done," Connie sighed, fishing around her inside pocket as she pulled out her lighter. "Y'know, I'd nearly bloody quit before Christmas, it was my new years resolution to give up for good,"

"How's that going for you?" her friend teased, lighting up a cigarette as she handed one to Connie, who took it with a sigh.

Both of them smoked in silence for a moment, with Connie just savouring being in the presence of her childhood friend once more for the first time in years. The two of them watched the Beatles practice and as they came to the end of All My Loving, they could hear John make some witty remark to Paul who cackled out a laugh before repeating the joke to Ringo and George. For a moment, George cracked a smile, wide enough for Connie to make out his pointed canine teeth, and her mind briefly darted to the memory of him kissing her neck, leaving behind red love-bites.

She looked down at her notebook instantly, trying to turn her thoughts onto anything but that. It wasn't something people who were just friends thought about, and she couldn't bare torturing her mind anymore over what she and George were. She felt George's gaze on her at that point too, so she avoided eye contact and surely the moment had passed because he had begun to play the intro of Do You Want To Know A Secret. Still, she'd not dared to glance back up at him.

"Even when they used to work in small clubs George'd always look at you when they were playing the love songs," Cilla remarked, nudging Connie so she would dare to look up at the stage and see it was true.

"Don't be daft, Cill," Connie muttered, but she knew she wasn't being daft, and she knew because she'd noticed it too, and when she dared to look up at him she felt a blush rise up in her face as the two locked gaze with each other for the first time all day.

They finished up the song and after their usual banter the boys filed off stage. Connie watched them, noticing the way John looked out towards her, offering her a wink and a stupid grin. She rolled her eyes before her gaze went to George, watching as he wandered off stage. With a small sigh she put out her cigarette and Cilla did the same as she got up, shooting a knowing look at Connie.

"You have to talk to him," she told her, and Connie let out a dramatic groan.

"Fuck's sake, why's everyone so desperate for me to sort my life out?" Connie groaned, standing up with a stretch.

"Don't be dramatic, Con, it doesn't suit ya'," Cilla laughed, taking hold of Connie's arm and pulling her in the direction of the door by the stage that led to the backstage area, dragging her through the door and into the backstage corridor lined with the dressing rooms. "And it's hardly you sorting your life out is it? Just your love life,"

"Drama does suit her, she's a Lennon," the two heard someone speak from behind them and Connie didn't even need to turn around to see it was Paul, the slightly younger man throwing his arm around her shoulder. "Runs in the family,"

"Pipe down, Macca," John spoke up, appearing from behind Paul. "What's this about Con's love life? She been shagging another one of my bandmates?"

Connie spun round to face them both properly, clipping them both around the head gently as she scowled. The two darted away from her cackling out laughs and even Cilla laughed quietly at the interaction, but Connie was far too busy looking for the other two Beatles, her gaze darting around anxiously to make sure that George hadn't overheard any of it.

"Piss off, pair of you," she muttered. "Where's Ringo and George?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Ringo's voice called, appearing from behind Paul and John. "He's gone to the dressing room, it's the fifth door on the left, Con,"

"Cheers, Ringo," she nodded. "Gimme five minutes just to speak to him will ya' before you all come bursting in?"

With that, Connie turned and left them all behind, wishing Cilla luck for her run-through and flipping her middle finger at both John and Paul who pulled faces of mock-horror, but she'd already gone down the corridor, counting the doors along the left side until she got to door five. She was surprised they'd not marked the door with their names on it since there were so many identical doors, and even though she'd counted part of her worried she had gone to the wrong door, worrying up until she knocked and the door was opened by George.

At that point, her worry changed to something else entirely. No longer was she worrying about getting lost, but instead she felt herself instantly panic over the fact that a slight scowl had appeared on George's face at the sight of her, but only after a sad look flashed across his eyes. It was as if he was trying to appear angry to hide his upset with her, and that hurt. She'd never wanted to upset him, in all their years of friendship she couldn't remember them ever being annoyed or sad with each other. But even then, if what he'd said last time they'd spoken properly about him being in love with her, did they even know each other that well to suffocate their feelings for so long? Did she really know his emotions that well all those years? She didn't even know how she herself felt, so how could she pretend to understand how he felt?

"Hi, George," she forced a smile onto her face through all the nerves, though his face didn't change. "I was wondering... Can we talk?"

Part of her thought he was going to shut the door in her face, but he moved to the side, allowing her into the dressing room. It was a start at least, she thought, as she sighed in relief. She sat down on one of the sofas and he sat down next to her, her mind instantly going to what happened the last time the two of them sat on a dressing room sofa together. Though she tried to force the memory away, she couldn't help but wonder if he was remembering it too, and then she found herself hoping he was, thinking of her with as much endearment as he had done then. Maybe if he was it would make things easier.

"How was America?" Connie asked, trying to seem casual with small talk, something she usually hated. George knew that, narrowing his eyes at her slightly.

"It was different, I'd been before to see Louise, but this time it was like we were four English Elvis'... I wish you could've been with us to see it," he told her, his eyes lighting up for a moment as he spoke, until he got to the last part and the guilt of hurting him hit Connie like a punch to the stomach once more.

"I wish I could've been there, George, I swear," she sighed, looking down before attempting to meet his gaze. "I'm really sorry for the way I acted last time, I just... I didn't know what to do and I-"

"What're you doing here, Con?" he interrupted, asking the question that had clearly been bugging him for a while.

"I'm here for work," she explained. "Henry at work, y'know the arse I've told you about before? Well he'd suggested that he could take over from my coverage of you guys, asked if he could write a follow-up piece on you even though he told me he thought we were all common northerners. He got shot down because the boss had been told you were all up in Liverpool, he didn't even know about the Empire gig! So when I suggested me coming up here because I could convince Brian to let me in to do coverage, they were thrilled. Finally my northern connections pay off, ay?"

"Yeah, well done on that, Con," George said with a small smile, and Connie knew that no matter how mad he was at her, he was genuinely glad for her finally getting the recognition she deserved at work. "So you're just here for work?"

"Of course not, Georgie," she smiled, feeling as if she was working her way out of his anger. "I mean, it's convenient that it's for work, but in truth I really wanted to come home. I missed Liverpool, I missed my Dad and my house and my old mates and... you. I missed all you lads, but God, George... I just really wanted to see you,"

"I wanted to see you too," he said as if it was a confession, looking almost ashamed. "I don't think I've ever missed you more than when we were sat in an American club with all these big shots and then Chuck Berry came on the jukebox and all I wanted to do was turn to you and ask you to dance,"

Connie remembered the way the two had thrown each other around the dancefloor after their London concert to Johnny B. Goode and she found herself smirking at the memory, smiling even wider as she realised that George had been thinking of it too. He'd been hurt by her, but to think of that moment, which happened so shortly before they went back to the hotel and made love, surely he'd forgiven her for running out on him? With that thought in mind, she reached out, attempting to take hold of his hand, deciding that maybe after everything he would still trust her to do that. Clearly not, however, as he quickly pulled his hand away from hers, and she instantly felt embarrassment wash over her.

"George, please, I'm sorry for what happened last time we saw each other," she sighed, apologising. "I just want us to be friends again, I've been lost these last few weeks without my best friend,"

George frowned, and Connie instantly felt panic sieze her, wondering what she'd said wrong. She just wanted things to go back to normal, back to the way they always had been. She just wanted her friend back, but clearly George thought otherwise.

"No, Connie, I'm bored of just being your friend, and I'm sick of pretending that I don't like you more than you think I do," he told her firmly, shifting further away from her on the sofa. "The last time we saw each other, I told you that I loved you, and you left. I wasn't just saying that because I wanted to get you to come to America with us, I was telling the truth at last, and I don't want to go back to pretending I feel any other way than I do. But clearly you don't feel the same way, or you're still too scared to admit it,"

"No, George, listen-" she began, biting her lip slightly as she attempted to think of how to explain everything running through her mind to him, wondering how after years of friendship she could finally break down the final wall dividing them.

"Figure out how you feel, and then we'll talk, alright?" he told her, interrupting her once more, and despite the fact he was being harsh, she couldn't help but admire his strength to say those words, especially when she noted how his voice shook at the end. "Make it quick though, I don't want to wait another ten years,"

Connie wanted to tell him everything, tell him exactly how she felt, but how could she do that when her head was a mess of feelings? She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but how could she when she wasn't even sure how to tell him? It was ironic that she'd grown up wanting to be a writer and she was constantly praised at work for how she articulated her reports perfectly but when it really mattered she found herself unable to organise her feelings to tell the person who meant the most to her just how she felt about him. When writing her report on the Beatles concert Mr Hill had told her she'd written with a real sense of endearment for all of the band and it came across that she really loved them, so why couldn't she do the same now, now when it mattered more than ever?

She opened her mouth in an attempt to at least try and put her feelings into words, but nothing came out, her courage gone. That was also when the door to the dressing room opened and John was stood in the doorway. Connie looked over to her cousin and instantly saw the look of regret on his face as he realised he'd interrupted something really important. John was a constant tease to Connie and she was usually quite irritated by him, but at the end of the day he cared about her, and he cared about George too, and she knew the last thing he'd wanted to do was cut them off in the middle of a heart-to-heart.

"Erm, sorry," John said, looking at everything in the room except his bandmate and cousin. "Rehearsal's over, there's a car outside waiting to take you home, George,"

Before Connie could say anything, George had gotten up and gone to the door to leave. He didn't say goodbye, but at least he offered her a sad smile in place of a farewell. It hurt, like a knife to the chest, and as soon as George had gone she felt her head fall into her hands as she sat alone on the sofa. She wondered if that was how George felt as she'd abandoned him last time. If so, she deserved to feel it. She wasn't alone for long though, as she soon felt a pair of arms wrap around her shoulder and knew that John was trying his best to comfort her.

"'S alright, Con," he sighed as she looked up at him, biting her lip to hold back tears, not wanting to cry in front of John. "If he'll walk out on a bird like you he's a fool,"

"No, I'm the fool," she told him sadly, not meeting his eye. "God, John, what's wrong with me? Why can't I tell people how much they mean to me? I mean, I bloody run away to London just to hide away from all the people I love and care about?"

"Don't be daft, Con, that in't why you moved to London," John rolled his eyes, making Connie glare at him. "And don't you dare think something's wrong with you, alright? You're just you, now cheer up a bit, will you? You're home for the first time in two years and I'm not putting up with you being miserable the whole time you're here,"

"Fine," she sighed, pulling out of John's embrace,wiping her eyes despite no tears falling from them. "I can't be arsed going home, Dad's working and I don't wanna just sit alone listening to the record player, I'll feel like I'm fourteen again,"

"Come back to mine then, Cyn's cooking dinner and you can finally meet Jules," John suggested, a smile appearing on his face. "And then we can get absolutely shitfaced after, yeah?"

Connie smiled and even though she was still feeling like a mess after her talk with George, she was glad she had John.

***

Word count:3925

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