January 1964.

That morning, Connie went in to work not expecting her entire life to change.

In her mind, her life had irreparably changed already, that change occurring the moment she stepped foot on the train to London, leaving behind her beautiful home town of Liverpool as well as everything that seemed to define her as a person. Leaving Liverpool, leaving her friends and her family, getting a job at a esteemed magazine company and having to lose her accent had completely redefined her to the extent that if she ever paused to think about the person she had once been, the person she used to be at home, it would make her sad. Life had changed, and it had changed her along with it, and Connie couldn't imagine any more change whatsoever, or maybe she didn't want to.

Either way, it didn't matter, because as she walked into the office block for New Times Magazine, her mind was filled with the serious thoughts of articles she was going to pitch, or characters for the books she wanted to write, fate was about to serve her with a heavy bout of nostalgia that would make all of the aforementioned responsibilities impossible to compare to.

"Connie Lennon?" She heard a voice ask as she walked through the reception area, the ever so slight accent pulling her focus right out of work.

The accent might had been slight, but it was still there and it caught her attention, as well as the fact that the person had called her 'Connie Lennon'. No one in London called her that, not after her boss had said it was more professional to call her Constance, and she rarely used her surname anymore, preferring to use her middle name in certain situations. It caught her attention, making her freeze in place for a moment before she turned around, only to see a tall, well-suited, dark haired man sat in the waiting area, looking at her with a look of surprise recognition, a look she mirrored on her own face as she realised who it was.

"Brian bloody Epstein!" Connie exclaimed in disbelief as she practically ran over to him, her heels clicking against the flooring. In those three short words her faux-London accent slipped significantly, leaving any of her colleagues in the surrounding area rather confused, knowing her to speak like a native to the capital and not like a Liverpudlian.

"Connie, how have you been?" Brian greeted her, shaking her hand with a small grin, his professionalism not quite hiding his joy of seeing her. "I knew you moved to London but I didn't know you worked here,"

It had been many years since she'd last met Brian Epstein, and though she had changed, he clearly hadn't, still holding the same charisma that made her feel completely at ease and trusting to him. Once upon a time him and his father had sold her parents a piano, and she knew he'd sold a piano to the McCartney's too, the same piano Connie and Paul used to sit around for hours as teenagers, messing around and writing their own songs. Except Brian had moved out of that business and into music management. So far he'd pretty much signed every artist the who'd graced the Cavern Club stage, from Gerry and the Pacemakers to her old school friend Cilla, not to mention he was very nearly her manager if she'd not decided to persue writing rather than music. Despite all of that though, he was having the most success with the Beatles, the band that contained her cousin and best friends. They were on the rise, and so was 'Beatlemania', and Connie couldn't have been more proud.

"They offered me and internship here years ago, that's why I moved," she explained, and she knew that Brian knew her well enough to guess that if the internship hadn't been offered to her she'd have never dreamed of leaving Liverpool. "What are you doing here? And how are the boys? I haven't seen them since Love Me Do first came out,"

It was true, Connie had moved to London in 1960, just before the band first went to Hamburg, and the only time she had returned was two years later, after John had rang her up practically yelling at her for staying away so long. Connie loved her home and she loved her friends to the point where she knew that if she thought about them often enough, or if she visited more than she had done, her homesickness would get so bad she'd not want to go back to London, and she couldn't ruin the opportunity she had been given, not if she really truly wanted to be a successful writer. So she visited that once, and vowed not to go back unless she really had to, a promise that made her heart ache slightly.

When she had visited for a week in 1962 though, it had been a good laugh. It had been nice to see the boys again, especially since they'd replaced their last drummer with Ringo Starr, someone Connie couldn't help but love after meeting him in the late fifties whilst working at the Cavern, and he was a perfect fit to the group. Hanging around with the boys, watching them perform at the Cavern, and then being with them when they found out their single Love Me Do had gotten into the charts at number seventeen was the biggest trip down memory lane whilst simultaneously proving to her how much things had changed. Her friends she'd grown up with were deservedly on their way to fame and success, whilst she too was on her own path to becoming a writer, even if she was earning her success much slower than theirs.

Even so, it had been nice to see them. It had been nice to see Ringo fitting so well into the group, nice to see John hadn't changed and was still her annoying older cousin, nice to see Paul was still the lad who'd moved in next door back in 1955, nice to see she was still just as close to George as she had been before she'd moved. If anything, she'd gotten closer to George, especially after the party they'd had at Paul's the night before Connie went back to London.

The party, where Connie and George got far too drunk, where she woke up the morning after with George in her bed, the two of them with very little recollection as to how they ended up like that, both of them swearing never to say anything to the others. And although she'd written and phoned him a few times after that, it had been the last time she'd seen George, and part of her was glad that was her lasting memory of him; hair ruffled, dark eyes looking at her with ever so slight devotion, looking more handsome than she'd ever seen him.

"They're very well, dealing with all of this rather well actually, though it's much worse back home than it is here in London," Brian explained, and he didn't need to say it for Connie to know he was talking about the Beatlemania. "And I'm here for an appointment regarding having some reporters come to a press evening after the boys London show,"

"Constance, do you fancy doing any work today or are you just going to stand around talking?" a sharp voice called from the other side of the room, and she didn't even need to look to know it was from Henry.

Henry Atweed had started working at the New Times the exact same day as Connie, and whilst their relationship had begun rather amicably, the two even going out for drinks after work sometimes, he'd soon turned on her as soon as the Magazine took them both on permanently. They were rivals, and whilst Connie was a far better journalist than him, his middle class background and perfect reputation as a well educated London boy often meant he was favoured in the office over Connie, the northern, working class girl who'd had to fight for everything she had in life, that job being a prime example. Henry's status as their boss' favourite meant he was often rather patronising to her, and that occasion was clearly no exception.

"Right, I'm coming now," she called back over to him, holding her tongue slightly as she made sure to pronounce every word properly, or at least how he would class as proper. Brian noticed, and knowing her firey reputation from her teens was rather surprised, though he managed to hide it as she turned back to him. "I'm sorry, I should proably get to work. It's been so great to see you, nice to see someone from home for once,"

"No, I'm sorry to keep you," Brian smiled, ever the gentleman, making Connie flash her usual, one sided smirk. "I'll be sure to tell the boys I saw you, dear, they'll be thrilled, especially John,"

"That swine," Connie couldn't help but grin at the mention of her cousin, but before she could get too caught up, she sighed slightly, shaking hands with Brian once more. "Catch you later, Mr Epstein,"

With that, she turned her back on the man, heading over to her desk, ignoring the way Henry was staring at her as she crossed the room. As soon as she was at her desk, she put her satchel down under the table, sitting down in front of her typewriter, looking at the notes she'd made the night before about the article she was meant to be writing, except after seeing Brian and having the reminder of home practically shoved in her face, she could hardly focus on the statistics regarding train cancellations. With a small sigh, she glanced up to look at the other woman she shared a desk with, fellow reporter, Ruby Davis, another native Londoner except not quite as mean as the others.

That morning in particular she'd tied her ginger hair back into a high ponytail with her fringe gripped back into a slight quiff, dressed in a brown collared dress with sheer tights and heels, typical fashion of the young women in London that year, and though Connie was dressed similarly in a blue dress with her once frizzy hair straightened out neatly, she couldn't help but feel as if she looked out of place. She felt more comfortable in shirts and trousers, and she definitely preferred her hair in curls, but she wanted to look professional, and she wanted to look as if she fitted in, except the reminder of her home that particular morning seemed to just add to her doubts of never truly fitting in in London.

"Isn't that the manager for the Beatles?" Ruby asked curiously, cocking her head to the side slightly as she attempted to make eye contact with the man on the other side of the office, even though he was being greeted by their boss that very moment.

"He has other clients too," Connie muttered, looking back down at her typewriter to at least make it look like she was working, not to mention it helped distract her from the fact that Brian was still there.

"Of course, but none of them are like the Beatles," Ruby mused, biting her lip slightly at the thought of the band. Connie knew Ruby was rather infatuated with several members of the group, a thought that made her a little amused considering she grew up with them all, a fact that no one at her work knew.

"Tell that to Cilla Black's number one," Connie said, remembering her old school friend's success. "John and Paul wrote her first single anyway, there's a solidarity between Brian's acts,"

"You're referring to them all as if you know them on a first name basis," Ruby laughed, rolling her eyes slightly, and Connie had to hold back a laugh, considering she knew them well enough to have been there whilst John and Paul were writing the aforementioned song.

"Is that solidarity why he was talking to you? Two scouser's, far from home, sticking together?" Henry's voice spoke up, and Connie had to fight off a grimace as he came over to their desk, looking rather smug in his attempt to mock her.

Henry's choice of words made her flinch ever so slightly, though both Ruby and Henry didn't notice. Back in the day, she didn't mind being called a scouse by John and Paul when they were teasing her, and she often called herself that, but the difference between their use of the word and the way the Londoners Connie worked with said it was that John, Paul and herself used it out of endearment, whilst everyone else seemed to use it to remind her of the vast difference between her to the rest of them.

"He sold my dad a piano, and he sold a piano to the house next door as well," Connie told them both simply, forcing a polite smile to Henry, though she couldn't help but feel rather smug herself as she mentioned Paul, knowing Ruby would go mad if she knew.

"Leave her alone, Henry," Ruby told him, though her tone was light and jokey. Ruby knew the exact history between Henry an Connie, and though Ruby called herself Connie's friend, she was far too smitten by Henry to ever fully take the other woman's side. "By that logic she should be best friends with the whole band,"

Connie bit her lip slightly, fighting off a laugh. If only they knew the truth. Back when she first started working at the magazine, she never mentioned the band and her friendship with them because it wasn't relevant. Her move to London was for her, and besides, the Beatles were off in Hamburg and no one outside of Liverpool would know who they were. Connie stopped going by her surname, using a pen name instead, so when Love Me Do was released, followed by their debut album, no one thought to question her relation to John. In everyone's mind, she was just a northern girl who'd had the luck to come from the same city as the rising stars.

"Well you never know with these northern types," Henry raised his eyebrows slightly, glancing over at Connie with a superior look in his eye, one that made her clench her fist slightly.

If only they were back in Liverpool, back where she had the reputation of having a better punch than half the boys their side of the Mersey, or at least that's what John used to say. No one messed with her back then, but no one wanted to. In London though, in the office, she couldn't be that person who'd fight anyone for hers or her family's honour, the sort of person who'd hit you whilst making a funny remark about it. No, she had to be better, had to be bigger than those who mocked her for her roots, so she forced another smile onto her face, glaring up to Henry as he leant over her desk with a look of sarcastic admiration, instead knowing in herself that she might not have had the start in life he had, but she would fight to the last second to have more success than him.

"Constance?" Her boss' voice called up over her internal struggle not to hit Henry, and when she looked up to see him stood over by the door, she realised Brian had gone. "Could I have a word?"

Their boss, Richard Hill, had been the editor in chief of the New Times for as long as she had been alive, and she'd only spoken to him twice; once when she first started, and again when he offered her a permanent, paid position. He was known for being rather strict, and so as soon as he called for her, Connie swallowed nervously, ignoring the sympathetic look Ruby offered her and the snide glance Henry gave her as she stroked down her skirt, walking over to him.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, careful of her accent.

"I don't suppose you know who I was just talking to?" he asked, gesturing over to the door that Brian must have just left out of. Connie nodded smartly. "Of course you do, I saw you talking to him, and it would make sense concerning your... background. Well anyway he's the manager for the Beatles, and they're having a performance tomorrow night. He's asked that we'll send over a reporter to attend the show and then their press evening afterwards, and he specifically requested you for the job,"

At his final statement, her eyes lit up, excitement immediately buzzing through her as she realised what that job would mean; seeing the Beatles! Of course the show would be work, but she hadn't seen them perform live for two years, not to mention a gathering afterwards, where she would get to talk to them. She was there to work, obviously, but knowing the boys busy schedule this might be one of the only opportunity to see them whilst they're in the city.

"Well actually, he didn't request you, he requested 'Connie Lennon'," Mr Hill continued, and the mention of her surname made her bite her lip slightly. In a quieter voice, he carried on, "You always wrote under the name Constance Emilia, and I knew it was a pen name, but I never realised it was to hide-"

"It wasn't to hide my surname, sir," Connie interrupted. "I just always used my middle name when writing, and I wasn't trying to hide who I'm related to, considering no one knew who they were back when I first started,"

"Very well then, Mr Epstein said he'd be in touch with more details," He told her, clearly not too bothered as he simply huffed and shrugged. "This is a huge opportunity for your career as well as for the magazine, don't mess this up,"

"I won't, sir, thank you," she told him, nodding as she held back a grin.

What he didn't realise was how big of an opportunity it was for her personally. It was a chance for her to see her cousin John, a chance for her to see her old neighbour Paul, a chance for her to see her good mate Ringo, a chance for her to see George.

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Word count: 3075

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