Sally arrived and for the life of her Issy couldn't understand her daughter's fascination,  and downright nosy interrogation, of her own mother.

Didn't she want her mother happy.

Was it so odd that a woman wanted to have love, be loved, give love.

Issy chucked the mother of all hissy fits and locked herself in the office.

Stumbling around she tried to deal with the notion her relationship with John was now being deemed unworthy, by the one person she counted on for approval, her own daughter.

John was knocking, the timber now shaking as he kept banging on the door, the reverberation ratcheting through the walls.

Issy really wasn't the best, the pain was settling over her, layering in waves as the clock ticked past dosage time. Stress pressed upon her shoulders too. Ohhh, and the way Sally had looked down upon her made her worry that a huge chasm of a rift would settle over them all.

It was all too much.

"Please go away John. I just need to finish typing my book" Issy shot the words out in the hope he would wander off.

"Your typewriters downstairs luv" John retorted gently through the door.

Issy spun away from her blind gaze out of the window and yes, he was indeed right, there was a big hole on her desk where the bloody thing had been sat.

"I'm handwriting then. Just give me some room to, to think ..... Please John" Issy heard John slide down the door to the floor and felt so guilty. Obviously it wasn't his fault. The last few days had been so good,  wonderful in fact. It wasn't his doing that Sally upset Issy's apple cart so easily.

Creeping open the door Issy watched John act the fool and tumble into the room; arms astray, glasses askew. Issy giggled and pulled him to his feet and slammed the door, finding his fingers and treading her own with them. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten in to me"

"To be truthful it was amusing at first. Sally throwing a wobbly, throwing you through a loop, doing exactly what you had worried about. You the teen, her the mum" John grasped Issy's chin and held her, kissing her lips wrapping her up in his arms.

"Then I realised- it's me isn't it... She sees me as the bad influence on her mum. The drunk, the slob, the bloke that hasn't his shit altogether" John dropped Issy's chin, his fingers left hers and he walked with his hands deep in his pockets to the window "Especially the drunk she sees. She sees her father's faults in me Isabelle. She sees mine too"

"But you have been clean and going to AA and we have fun, don't we?" Issy tried to rationalise "Sally has to see you've improved, as must Julian" John turned around and the look on his face made her want to find the wall to brace herself for what was next.

"She wants me to leave, give you some ... space. I've agreed-"John shushed Issy, a finger across her lips "Lets give Sally what she wants and lets you and I prove we both want this- us, more"

"Of course, I want- "Issy grumbled as John hugged her, burying his face in her neck, letting the sweet fragrance of shampoo she washed her beautiful hair with, flood his senses one more time.

"I know that, I think you're the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time Isabelle, but just to be sure.. a few months-"

"Months, what the hell!" Issy pulled away and smacked at the only thing within her reach, the teen romance manuscript that lay loosely stacked on the corner of the desk. Pages of work fell around her feet, others flipping and dancing further across the room "Don't you think-"

"Let's prove it, shall we. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?" John moved towards the doorway and clutched the handle "You make sure I'm worth the hassle and I'll clean up me act completely. And Isabelle -" John paused waiting for her forlorn face to meet his "I'm going to see someone about all this guilt stuff over the shooting, make sure I don't end up stifling you with me in my virtual prison"

Then he was gone.

**

"Mum settle down" Sally told her mother off as Issy flew about the kitchen, upset. Sally had only just managed to coax her mother out of the office upstairs and for what?

This apparently...

Her mother acting like a pubescent teenager with an unhealthy fixation on the bad boy in town.

"He's going to forget me, find that beautiful model again and forget me" Issy beat the pancake batter, the liquid slurping all over the sides as if she couldn't hold the bowl and operate the whisk properly. "I'll be alone.... He'll be off there in the city living it up and I'll be the weird lake woman he thinks about once in a while when he sees you scowl and recalls, oh yea her mum, what's-her-name, had a twisted scowl like that"

"Mum gee, give me the batter before we wear the lot. He won't do that" Sally, now the John supporter, offered grimly.

"Oh, so now you think he's fab. Wasn't what you said when you made him leave was it" Issy turned the hob on full bore and watched the gas spark the flint then the bluish red flame caught her attention as she stared at the burner, staring her way through the hurt.

"Mum, a bit of space will help. Any misconceptions or ill-thought-out ideas will be crystal clear. Come on, sit down put that foot up and hold Ivy for me while I finish the pancakes. Do you want choc chip's added?" Issy's face crumpled at the mention of choc chips so, to attempt to recover some semblance of norm, Sally sped over and dropped a dribbling Ivy in Issy's lap then slunk quickly back into the kitchen to surreptitiously watch over a practical stranger that looked like her mum, cuddle and chat to her daughter.

***

Weeks went by and Issy eventually did settle down after the initial upset of Sally wielding her weight about.

She didn't know why she let her really.

Issy was the parent, Sally the child ~ not the other way around.

And that just frustrated Issy more, why had she not stood her ground, insisted John stay- Sally leave.

Because.... She was afraid.

It had to be it. She was afraid.

Issy over-analysed her shortcomings, when she had nowhere to hide from the thoughts crowding her head.

She was not good enough for a megastar like John Lennon and so her self-doubt propelled her to give-up, let him go...... without a whimper.

A man like him. Important, famous, everyone bowing and scraping...

She was still plain old Issy, not a young model or beautiful socialite. She was plain old boring dull Issy the woman that sat in the house by the lake typing and swimming her nightmares away at midnight.

And she fought with herself.

This wasn't her, she was independent and forthright and solid and an award winning author for goodness sake... even if no one knew.

And as those long nights stretched, her soul searched for her true north, the truth of herself.

The truth she was someone as important and talented and strong as John.

Someone willing and able to keep up with him.

She was someone able to make him cry with laughter, she could surprise him and even, dare she allow a wry smile about it, put up with him.

Because he too was a fractured soul, someone that couldn't harness his sadness, and sometimes his ire, when things weren't going his way.

Days passed her by and somehow she got on with life. Typing, resting, recovering from her injuries and calming down and escaping from the volcanic thoughts her mind tossed her through.

Issy closed her eyes and dreamt of him, his smile, his eyes, his sharp wit and goonish humour. Those glasses, his infectious laughter and it was her stood beside him. Even her dreams had her up there with him.

He may not have visited.... but he was there.

He posted mail and small parcels to her almost daily.

Little quirky ditties and tokens of his days....

A feather he found, a new record he liked, a badge with 'I Luv John Lennon' on it, all to illicit a smile. Even though he couldn't see it when it graced her features.

He kept her informed of the therapy sessions and AA meetings and for that, she was grateful.

When he called, which he did often, (it was easier that way, she was home, he was always out and about) Issy let sunshine fill her words and smiled down the line so not make the both of them feel down.

John would lay everything out, talk to her. Grumble about the never-ending recording sessions, ask her what she thought of a lyric, play snippets of songs down the, sometimes, crackling line. Him, she imagined, sat with the telephone propped on his lap to capture the newly made masterpiece.... And all the while reassuring her that he was as lonely as she.

******************

"I'm fucking going as soon as this convoluted recording session is done and dusted, I'm driving up there..." John stated with a thump of his fist on the control panel as he stood leaning over the hundreds of tuning levers and knobs; surrounded and watched by engineers, producers, Julian and a few muso's. Ranting angrily and overly loud again. Normal days, they all thought to themselves.

The day had appeared to start well enough, call to Isabelle, egg and chip breakfast at his favourite café- no fans asking for autographs, a few tunes laid down, the drums perfect, the guitars in tune and sounding damn fine. Then the producer pressed a few buttons and all demo tracks from 3 to 9 disappeared.

Blip.

Gone.

Those tracks held the key because, after finally stopping at demo 12, John decided 9 was the smoothest. It had disappeared into the control panel never to emerge again. So Seeee, the day was turning to shit.

Then the worry dipped low on the last few words he uttered "... It's a full moon tomorrow night" He was speaking more to himself than the surrounding  group yet they all heard him. Everyone involved in the recording session looked at him like he was missing a few dozen brain cells.

Why do I keep on talking as if I need to be asking fucking permission?

I'm 44 years old and here I am trying to get permission to fuck off on a measly trip out of town.

"Dad just think, it will be midnight. Leave in the morning" Julian had all but given up talking sense into any of them. Sally was insistent on keeping his father well away from Issy, Issy was on a permanent downer and John..... Well dad was never ever this adamant about anything. It sort of made him happy in a way, that his dad was passionate about someone again, but also a little worried to the fall out if it all spun out of control.

John took off at one a.m that very night, car packed to the hilt, full of wedding supplies and a few little gifts for Isabelle. He was pleased he had the initiative to grab the items she had been nattering about the last few weeks. She hadn't set him out a shopping list only described what she was looking to do for the reception party for Julian and Sally during their long rambling telephone conversations. Even with all the disturbance and disruption Isabelle never faltered in her love of the kids and wanted the reception perfect.

Sure, they would have a knee's up in New York but the most important guests- the immediate family and the Beatle family needed seclusion and the lake house offered that in spades.

And he wanted Isabelle comfortable in her own environment. Meeting the gang was daunting, all of 'em squabbling about memories not being remembered correctly, all of 'em talking as one like quadruplets from different folks... When the lads were on a roll they were the four-headed monster. Or even a mothers worst nightmare, full of naughtiness and pranks.

John grinned, it would be a wonderful night, introducing her to the lads, showing her off, getting Macca jealous, he smacked the steering wheel happily as he ha-ha'd his own joke, then settled down to concentrate on the long hairy drive north in the dark.