The afternoon and evening Connie spent at John and Cynthia's was exactly what she needed after her talk with George. After a long catch up with both of them it was rather late when Connie decided to leave, and as she hugged them both goodbye she realised just how much she'd missed them. John was family, so he'd always been part of Connie's mental wallpaper, and he'd been dating Cynthia for so long that she'd already considered her family too long before John told them they'd gotten married.

It was nice to see the two of them, and their little boy, but when it came time to leave, she realised just how lonely she was in London. In London she didn't have the option of just nipping around the corner to see the two of them, and she missed that. Plus, seeing them be affectionate towards each other acted as a reminder to Connie to her last conversation with George and how she may never have a relationship like that, where she was utterly dedicated to someone and vice versa. She tried not to let that show though, not until she was home where she put on one of her mother's old, sad-sounding records and made herself a drink of straight whisky.

She went to bed late, though she hardly slept. Her mind was too full of everything that had happened throughout the day, everything that George had said. Once she managed to pull her mind from the thought of George's rejection, it settled on her memories of him. All the times they'd spent together growing up around Liverpool, all the nights he'd spent at her house listening to records and chatting, all the afternoons she'd gone over to his for tea straight from school, the nights they would spend wandering round the docks after he would meet her in town once she'd finished work. They were such happy memories, and the thought of not having him in her life made her feel sick. When she saw the sun coming up through her thin curtains she was almost glad, as the sooner she could get out of bed the sooner she could get away from the flood of thoughts that was plaguing her.

The next day was the day of the Empire concert, and since it wasn't starting until the early evening she'd spent that morning sat at the kitchen table with her typewriter, writing up her articles she'd planned out. It was probably a waste of time doing work whilst at home, but she didn't really have anything else to do since most of her friends were busy preparing for the concert. Her dad was home, but he'd only just gotten in from work and Connie was far too used to feeling alone to want to bother him. So there she sat at the in her kitchen, once a room full of laughter where she'd hang out with her friends, completely alone, only taking breaks from writing to get up and change the records on her player.

"God it's been years since I've woke up to the sound of Chuck Berry," her father's voice came from the doorway.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?" Connie immediately began apologising, though her father shook his head with a small laugh. "You should go back to bed, you've been working since ten last night,"

"Yeah, be reyt," he shrugged, using the old Yorkshire slang that always amused her. "What you doing here, anyway? I thought you'd be with the lads?"

"Nah," she sighed, turning back to her typewriter as she attempted to continue writing, even though that task was suddenly much harder now her mind had turned to her friends, especially George. "Concert isn't for another two hours so I'm just gonna head down there in a bit. Florence is taking the plus one ticket so I'm meeting her there,"

"Oh, right then," he nodded, suddenly seeming rather awkward, which was when she noticed he was holding something. He must have realised she was trying to figure out what he was trying to hide behind his back, because he held his hand out, offering her a bright pink envelope. "Here,"

"What is it?" Connie frowned, taking the envelope from her father's shaking hand and noticing the handwriting on the front spelling out her name, making her run cold. "Mum?"

"You know how you used to complain about John being existential a lot when you were teenagers? Well, it must be a Lennon thing because your Mum used to get like it a lot too," her father began to explain, his voice thick as he stared down at the table. "She'd never let you see, but sometimes she'd get really worked up over dying, especially if she'd been working long shifts at the hospital, and as much as I used to tell her she was being daft she used to worry about dying prematurely and missing out on you,"

"She wasn't being daft though, was she?" Connie bit her lip, noticing how red her Fathers eyes had gone, as if he was holding back tears.

"Well, she used to get morbid around special occasions, especially your birthdays, so she wrote this letter for you back in fifty one and told me that if the worst ever did happen I should give it to you on your twenty first birthday. You were in London then, and I didn't want to post it, so let's class this as an early twenty second birthday present, and hope to god that your mother isn't going to give me a bollocking one day for giving it to you late,"

Slowly, Connie's fingernails undid the envelope and took out the letter enclosed within. The paper hadn't aged at all, as if it had only been written the day before, her mind wondering what it would have been like if her mum had actually lived to tell her what was written in person. The handwriting seemed so familiar too, as if she'd seen it only yesterday, and not over twelve years previous. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the paper.

'Darling Stan,'

"I forgot mum used to call me 'Stan'," Connie mumbled rather sadly, her shaking fingers stroking across her mother's handwriting, wondering how she could have forgotten such a significant detail of her relationship with her long-gone mother.

'As I write this you are nine years old today. You have just had, as you told me, your best birthday ever, though considering it was just fish and chips and a walk down the docks I hope next years birthday will be even more exciting.

I write this just in case. Life is uncertain and whilst I plan to be with you for every single one of your birthdays, we never know what life has in store for us, so this is just in case something has happened to me and I can't see you become an adult.

Now you are twenty one. I hope you've had many, many wonderful birthdays, and many happy days in between. I hope I was there for every single one, but if I am not, if I am gone, I want you to know how much I love you. You were a unforeseen joy in the midst of the horrors of the war. When I first met your father at the hospital in France I never knew how lucky the pair of us would grow to be, and we both adore you immensely. Please never forget how eternally loved you are, by both of us. You are the perfect combination of both of us, though sometimes I wish you'd inherited less of my stubbornness and nerves and more of your dad's carefree nature.

You have his fearlessness though, and for that I'm glad. Never, ever lose that spirit that makes you so special. Just this week your teacher called me in to discuss why you hit a boy in your class after he called you a mean name, and I hope that you'll never hit someone for the fun of it, but to always stand up for yourself and your friends. Friends are so important, and I hope they you'll always have the courage to stand with them through thick and thin, and that they will do the same for you.

If I am gone, please look after those I leave behind, especially your father and John. I'm sorry you never had a brother or sister to grow up with, but John is the closest to that. Please stay close, and treat him as if he's your brother. He's very dear to me, and I want you to always look out for him. Have each other's backs always, and make many wonderful memories with him.

As for your future, never give up in whatever you want to do. At the moment you're an excellent storyteller and it wouldn't surprise me if you became a writer of some sort. Keep your creativity and an open mind, dedicate your whole self to whatever you do and you'll never fail. Not that it really matters, you'll never be a failure to me as long as you've worked hard, regardless of what you want to do. I'm always going to be proud of you.

I hope you live a long and happy life full of wonderful, happy times. You can't do that alone, though, so never feel as if you have to be on your own. I did that for a long time, thinking that I could live my life solo, until I met your father, and then I realised there was nothing more I wanted in life than to be with him. Live and love with your whole heart, our lives are too short to waste with being unsure or hiding feelings. If you love someone, tell them. If you don't like something, change it. Don't surround yourself with people who don't understand you or try to change you into something you're not and never will be. Love is all you need for a happy life, and I hope you will remember that.

I don't want to ramble on. I'm probably alive and kicking to see your 21st and I'm just being morbid by writing this, but if I'm not, I hope you'll have remembered me and not let me haunt over your life. Tell your father I love him and I will for as long as time exists.

Happy birthday, Connie Lennon-Jones, all my love,

Jolene Lennon-Jones, your mother x.'

"Oh my god," she whispered breathlessly, dropping the letter onto the table, running her hands through her hair.

She imagined her mother sat at that very same kitchen table, panicking over a future she wouldn't live to see and would be deprived from experiencing, writing something she thought Connie would receive a year before. The letter held so much love and the instructions her mother thought would lead her to a happy life.

So many of those instructions she'd already broken, the letter given to her too late. She'd changed her accent, let people walk over her at work, forgotten her passion as she fell into a rut of articles she didn't really care about. Not anymore though, but she couldn't help but think her mother would be disappointed in her for those things. The letter had come too late with those things, London had changed her, but it wasn't too late for the other stuff.

John, Connie thought of first. He was like a brother to her and she knew he felt similarly towards her, even if that was an unspoken part of their relationship. He'd spent far more time with her growing up than he did with his own half-sisters, and she was pretty sure she'd spent more time with him than her father, especially after he took on endless night shifts. The emotions her mother had written with about John seemed to mimic Connie's own thoughts about her cousin, even if the two of them never talked like that.

The next to come to mind was George. 'Love is all you need', her mother had written, and she had spent half of her life loving George without the courage to tell him. Except suddenly that fear became totally irrelevant. Why would she hide something that important? She trusted George more than anybody, maybe even more than John, and to not trust him with the secret of her affection seemed utterly stupid. Why didn't she just tell him? Well, not anymore.

Now she'd read the letter, the letter telling her to live without regrets, Connie's mind was set. Any hesitation she had was gone, certainty filling her. She loved George, she'd spent far too long without him and hiding her truth from him, so long she didn't know if she could cope without him for much longer. She would have to tell him, and soon.

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd folded the letter back up, kissing the paper before slipping it back into the envelope. Her father was waiting hesitantly behind her, hovering as if he didn't know what to do, and as she handed the envelope back to him and pulled him into a tight hug, his confusion seemed to heighten.

"What-" he began, but was cut off as Connie squeezed him tightly, as if she was making up for all the years the two of them had gone without talking properly. "Jesus, Kid..."

"I love ya', Dad," Connie grinned as she pulled out of their embrace, her softened accent gone and replaced with her old scouse dialect, something that made her father smile too.

Connie quickly packed up the rest of her stuff, messily organising her papers in a way that wasn't really coherent but she didn't care. She grabbed her jacket, throwing it on and shoving her notebook into the pocket before running her hands through her hair. She'd wanted to get changed before the concert, she'd had a dress already laid out on her bed upstairs, but once again she didn't care. She needed to get to the theatre, so her white shirt and blue jeans would have to do.

"Connie..." her dad called as she went to the back door. She turned to face him, her hand still on the door handle as she remembered the pessimism regarding love he'd instilled in her years ago. "Just... good luck, lass,"

***

Stage door was surrounded.

A huge crowd of teenage girls had swarmed around the back door of the theatre, making it practically impossible for Connie to have easy access into the building. After shoving through them all she got to the security guards, her heart still pounding in her chest fuelled by the adrenaline of her realisation. In fact, she was so buzzing she barely noticed the security guards stopping her, putting their hands on her shoulders to keep her from entering the building.

"What are you doing? I'm press, let me in!" She exclaimed frustratedly but they both laughed.

"Yeah they all say that, go on, off you go," they dismissed her rather patronisingly, gesturing for her to join the rest of the crowd.

"No I bloody won't go, I'm press!" She repeated. "I'm Connie-bloody-Lennon of the New Times, I'm John's cousin and Paul's neighbour, just ask 'em,"

"Your story just keeps getting better, love, but bugger off," one of them laughed, making her glare at him angrily. "Besides, New Times is too southern to have a scouse bird like you work for 'em,"

"Yeah and The Beatles are too big to be playing the Empire now, we all start from somewhere!" she snapped, suddenly defensive. It made sense for the southerners to mock her for her roots, but fellow scousers?

"Don't get aggressive with me love," one of them warned, not that she paid him any mind.

"You need to let me in, alright? I've got to get to work!" she tried to argue, but it was clearly no use.

"'Ey, what're you doin' not lettin' her in here?" another strong scouse voice called from the other side of the door. It was Bobby, Cilla's 'road manager', looking considerably smaller than the two bouncers, though he seemed to hold some sense of power over them as they both turned to listen. "She's a bloody Lennon, and she's reporting on this whole thing. You just ask Brian Epstein,"

The two guards seemed sold on her as soon as Bobby had vouched for her, or maybe it was the mention of Brian Epstein that had them both scared. Either way they both quickly moved out of the way to let her in, though they soon moved back into place to stop anyone else attempting to barge through. The guards made no attempt of an apology, but Connie didn't care, she was just relieved to be in, so relieved she hugged Bobby in thanks.

"I owe you one big time, cheers Bobby," she sighed happily, letting out a small laugh as the two headed round down the corridor.

"'S Alright, Cill would've had me if I'd not've helped you," he replied with a shrug and a grin. "What you doing round this side anyway? I thought you were meant to be out front?"

"Yeah, I am, but there's something..." she began to explain though she drifted off as she looked down the corridor, trying to remember which dressing room belonged to the Beatles, cursing herself for not paying more attention the day before.

That was when one of the doors flew open and Cilla popped her head out. Upon seeing Connie she looked confused, and was about to ask the exact same question her boyfriend had asked only moments before until she noticed the look of determination on Connie's face and instantly guessed what she was there for. She smirked, raising one of her eyebrows at Connie, and the two seemed to communicate wordlessly as she nodded back at her friend. Understanding, Cilla reached out and grabbed Bobby's arm, pulling him into her dressing room and out of Connie's way.

"Come on, Bobby, Connie's got something important to tell someone," Cilla said, her tone a mixture of teasing and encouraging, and though Connie rolled her eyes she couldn't help but feel grateful that her friend was rooting for her. "Good luck, Con!"

Before Connie had the chance to ask Cilla if she knew where the Beatles' dressing room was she'd shut the door and she was alone once more. She considered for a brief moment turning away and just going to find her seat in the auditorium, putting off talking to George once again, but she couldn't, not this time. And so she ran down the corridor, looking either side of it urgently, determined to find the boy's dressing room. Except she wasn't looking entirely where she was going, and ran straight into someone. With a grunt, she stepped back, realising she'd ran into Ringo. She'd never been more glad to see Ringo, even happier than she was when she saw him after the London concert, but she was too concerned with finding George to celebrate. Ringo clearly noticed the expression on her face, and was glancing at her worriedly.

"Y'alright, Con?" he asked with a frown. 

"Shit, Rich, where's George? I need to talk to him," she asked hurriedly, and he read her face, knowing exactly what she was insinuating.

"Last I saw him he was in the dressing room, John and Paul've just gone to tune their guitars backstage but he stayed back to have a smoke," Ringo told her, grabbing hold of her arm and leading her towards the room. "Come on,"

Surely Ringo must have figured out what she was about to do, given the smile he seemed to be fighting as he took her down the corridor. He didn't say anything though, and she was glad. The last thing Connie's nerves needed was a witty comment from George's best friend. Maybe Ringo knew that too, he knew her well enough to have figured out how terrified she must be for what she wanted to do.

They stopped outside a door, and he dropped her arm, nodding his head over at the door. He seemed to be wordlessly encouraging her, until he saw the hesitation and fear settle in her eyes as she realised there was no escaping it now. He sighed, opening the dressing room door wide enough to just shove her in, and as soon as she was, he shut the door, shutting her in alone with George.

George, who was sat by the mirrors, looking down at a newspaper as a cigarette sat in between his teeth. At the noise, he looked up with a frown, and his expression soon turned to nervous surprise as he realised it was Connie who'd intruded on him. He set his newspaper aside, stubbing out his cigarette into the ashtray as he rose from his seat. He took his time doing those things, all the while Connie's heart was pounding away in her chest, feeling so nervous she could throw up. Not now, she told herself. Now wasn't the time to be scared.

"George," she breathed out, suddenly lost for words. "George, I..."

"I didn't think you were coming back stage until the show finished," he said simply with a small frown.

"This couldn't wait, it's waited long enough," she told him, crossing the room determinedly before she could lose her courage. Before she could stop herself, she'd taken hold of his hands and was surprised when he didn't pull away but instead squeezed hers, as if in encouragement.

"What is it?" He asked, almost bluntly.

"I've been a bloody idiot, both of us have been but me especially," she began, shaking ever so slightly from the nerves. "Saying we were just friends, running away from you, insisting that everything was fine between us, but in reality, I love you, George Harrison, and I have no idea if I'll be able to survive without you. These last few weeks have been utterly shit not having you as my best friend and I want you back, but not just as my friend, because we were never meant to be just friends,"

"Connie..." he sighed, and part of her suddenly felt seized by the fear that he was going to turn her away. "Connie you're always my best friend. I'm never not your best friend, alright?"

"Alright," she nodded, relieved that even if he'd ignored the rest of her proclamation he'd at least told her they were still friends. As long as he was in her life she could cope, she told herself, even if it wasn't true. If she couldn't be with George romantically, if she ever saw him with another girl... The prospect of not being with him now was agony to her. "But, George..."

"Not only am I always your best friend, but there's never been a day that I haven't loved you," he told her. "I love you too, Connie Lennon-Jones,"

Connie could've cried with joy, and in fact she did, breaking down into tears of relief. George laughed quietly before pulling her into a tight embrace, kissing her forehead, stroking her frizzy curls. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, wiping her tears onto the collar of his suit jacket.

"Are you sure?" She asked quietly, pulling her face away so she could see his expression.

"Of course, Con, I'm mad for you," he told her seriously despite the small smirk playing across his face. "I love you, no doubt about it. Are you?"

"God yes, Georgie," she laughed slightly.

There had been so much hesitation between the two for such a long time that it was almost as if they were confirming it at last. Finally able to say those words after such a long time of confusion or naivety. This was it though. Connie loved George, George loved Connie, and now they'd said it there was no going back. They didn't want to go back though. For them, this was it, they wanted each other, and nothing could pull them apart now. Anything they'd thought was major in keeping them apart was forgotten, the only thing mattering to both of them being each other.

That was when he pushed his lips to hers and they began kissing each other in a burst of passion. She loved him. He loved her. It was like it was a kiss of victory after so long of wanting. Slowly George's hands found her hips and he lifted her up onto the dressing room table and as he stood over her she wrapped her legs around his, her hands holding his face, stopping him from pulling away from her, not that he'd ever want to. They were like that for a while, their tongues exploring each other's mouths, George's hands stroking her curves whilst her own hands knitted themselves through his hair. They were only interrupted when the door slammed open and the noise of the other three boys cheering made George dart away from her quickly, Connie flushing bright red in embarrassment.

"Fucking finally!" John cheered, running over to George and hitting him hard on the back. George flinched slightly, which made John cackle out a laugh. "No need to be scared Georgie, I'm just bloody glad you weren't shagging her,"

"Bugger off, John," Connie rolled her eyes, hopping off the table, though as soon as she was stood up Ringo and Paul had hold of her, shaking her in their eager excitement. "And same to you two,"

They didn't let up though, as John moved on from George to Connie, pouncing on his cousin as he made to ruffle her hair. She jumped away, though there was no escape from the three other Beatles as John, Paul and Ringo all surrounded her. She understood that they were all excited, but it was almost overwhelming, and as she shot a glance over to George who was holding off a smirk, she realised he felt similar.

"Oi, come on, leave off her," George called after a moment, though none of them backed away. Instead, he shoved past Paul, taking hold of Connie's hand and pulling her gently towards him, away from his bandmates.

"We're just excited, it means we don't have to listen to either of you complaining anymore," Ringo shrugged, making both Connie and George roll their eyes.

"And as much as we hate to break up the lovebirds, the show's about to start, so you should probably go out front, Con," Paul told them, elbowing John as he saw both Connie and George flush bright red at being called 'lovebirds'.

"Right, of course, break a leg the lot of you," she said, remembering why she was there, becoming serious once more before shooting a joking glare at Paul. "I mean that for you,"

With that, Connie turned and left the dressing room, still blushing at the boy's excitement, still feeling as though fireworks were exploding inside of her, still immensely proud of herself for finally facing up to her feelings after so long. Except she didn't manage to get far, barely going two steps down the corridor before she felt someone grab hold of her hand, pulling her back. She spun around, coming face-to-face with George, who swiftly grabbed hold of her waist, dragging her close to him as he pushed his lips against hers once more, just as passionate and just as loving. This kiss had been a surprise, but a welcome one, and Connie couldn't help but smile against him, hugging his body tightly against hers, her arms wrapped around his neck as though she never wanted to let go.

"For luck," George explained sheepishly upon separating his lips from hers, still holding her close, his hands stroking her waist, grinning as she met his gaze with her eyes narrowed in endearment. "I love you,"

"I know," she grinned, kissing his cheek before laughing. "And I love you, too,"

***
Word count: 4676

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