The mist of his mind cleared with lethargic regression. He groaned, rolled and gazed at Issy. Silently watching her breath.

It was ok right now.

Right now she isn't awake, and she isn't looking at me with that look...

The look of pity.

The look of 'what did I get myself in to'...

Perhaps I will be given the pitiful look as she side eyes me as she walks her way out of my life.

***

Issy was shivering when she awoke.

Cold from the solitude; John had left the bed. Crinkled sheets held no heat as she ran a sleepy hand up and down, searching for his warmth, his body.. him.

She sleepily processed the thought of a new day with eyes closed and anticipated the worry that he would hold within...the worry of how he would think she would react.

She looked for solutions as she lay bound in the bed-sheets, still meandering toward wakefulness. Half thoughts dashed about her head in no particular order; seeking solutions to his night, to help him, to shield him from his pain.

Maybe she should tell him to move. Leave his beautiful home, find a sanctuary somewhere else. But is it her right to say 'John you need to sell this place and leave'?

It was no more her right than it was her right to shop for new cutlery or tableware for this apartment, his home. She was little more than a moment, perhaps a few more, but not his life.

Issy frowned, eyes still closed, still cold.

"You awake?" John hovered over her; having decided to do rather than don't. He had filled his morning in the kitchen working industriously on eggs, tomatoe and toast. He'd have to buy more baked beans, the shopping list on the fridge now had his all time favourite hot breakfast food scrawled over it in his indecipherable scribble.

Setting the lukewarm, hopefully palatable food, on the tray John contemplated what her face would tell when she awoke and laid fully open eyes upon him. Her recalling the pitiful person that she found pained and lain stricken, fully f'ing clothed in tuxedo, in the tub last night.

He shook the thought away. Why worry over it. She either was ok with it or not. The scales would tip and he would obey. Maybe not like it but he would let her run or let her stay, whatever she wanted to do..

Him or freedom.

Because, not only was he a caged circus act...

He was also a pained mental patient.

Who wouldn't want to run from that.

It looked ok..........the Scrambled eggs

'All my troubles seem so far away'.

That's the exact words Macca had inked in black pen all over the back of his most recent electricity bills' envelope. Unopened thus unpaid. It only felt like yesterday all those fab Beatley moments and days...

Did he go off the power? Cause sure as those scrambled eggs that envelope never made it out of the studio ever again.

They had all watched the emotions of plagiaristic worry run gauntlet over Paul's face that day.

Macca had rushed in, full of his semi annoying, and seemingly endless, vim.

After playing the tune, he was nibbling at his thumb, as was his nasty habit, and pacing the studio floor in a fluster of trepidation.

He played the piece with fluidity, without hesitation. Not a flubbed note in sight. The piano broadcasting what they all knew, Paul was a bloody genius. Wouldn't actually tell him that though.

Paul then sat there, tapping his cigarette, staring George Martin and myself down. Begging us to pick apart the tune and find the true owner.

'Have you heard this before?'

'........I dreamt it'

I dreamt about nothing.

My brain shutdown like a disused warehouse nightly.

Empty, gathering cobwebs and vermin. A big fat void. And Paul... good ole Paul knocks out a hit in his subconscious dreams. That hit, within months of its release, had Sinatra and Presley practicing to sing it live on stage.

Bloody crazy, bloody genius, bloody annoying but loveable git.

"Mmmmm, what smells so good?"

"Breakfast is served.. madam" John flourished a hand over the tray of goodies now sat on the bedside table and Issy grinned and stretched, and he didn't think he saw any of the things he thought he would see "Shift over luv"

"I'm being spoilt" Isabelle preened and stretched with cat-like demure.

The super strong coffee was blown over, sending the bitter aroma swirling in its steam.

She looked a bloody mess, tired as crap and eyes red; bloodshot they were, with dark circles beneath.

But she would survive, especially now. Now I had succumbed to making her favourite~ coffee.......

She'll have me eating those bloody bagels next and those 'biscuits' and gravy. Nah, can't stomach that....

Now, Yorkshire pud's and gravy, I love. Bloody yum that.

John picked up a piece of toast, bit it and offered Issy a bite.

"Ta"

"I'm sorry I kept you up. I shouldn't have done that"

Issy gazed at the scrambled eggs with the hunk of toast half bitten in her mouth, like the penny had just dropped.

And so, according to the book of pathetic John, the shoving of John away, would be coming up momentarily.

She was just so quiet....

Chewing, contemplating, chewing again, then swallowing half-heartedly in silence.

John thought it was his turn to speak... she was waiting for him to......to... he didn't know.

To apologise again... make a joke maybe... "I-"

Issy dropped the toast then with fingers soft she cupped his face, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. She kissed him gently on the lips then her fingers fled back to her knife and fork, randomly poking her breakfast around.

Like her fingers had never been touching his cheeks or salving his skin or even her lips touching his, in the first place. Like all she just did, was a dream.

"I-" He gave up and lay down in the blankets, all a jumbled mess from their nocturnal sleep. He stared at Issy for a while, then the ceiling, then the door.

It didn't add up, Isabelle was here but she wasnt talking. Well not really talking. Not like when a woman talks when she wants to fix every god damn thing in a man. Maybe she doesn't care, maybe she's had enough. Maybe she's-

"My hairs a mess, I bet" Issy moved the tray back to the table beside her and snuggled back down the bed, back into Johns side, close and warm. An arm curled around his torso, fingers stroking the edge of his back.

"Hmmm"

Issy enjoyed his skin, feeling him so warm and safe.

To her, he was safe.

Not the boring kind of safe because nothing about Mister John Lennon was ever boring but the kind of safe that was kind, protective, strong and knowing. Yes, he was very, very knowing. Having seen so much in his life, his head overflowed with ideas and thoughts and stories and knowledge.

She grinned onto his chest, lips wishing to press all over him, wake him, possess him completely. But that's naughty isn't it, he needs space and peace and relaxation and not me taking him like I've been sex deprived for a decade.. "Would you like to go back to the lake soon?"

John sat bolt upright.

When sadness doesn't work or pitiful looks aren't garnered, perhaps anger is the key.

"OH, so you have had enough of me then"

John glared at her as she stared up at the stark raving mad lunatic with his mouth rattling off rubbish without thought.

His eyes were searching for something inside her, searching for that pitiful look somewhere behind her eyes, the 'this is all too much' roll of her orbs that he would do if it were he in her place.

"This is my home" John pressed the words out in statement, making the weight of them linger over the both of them, a stalemate in a way.

"I'm not running away John. I have animals- pets, remember. You knew I was going back soon, I just thought you might like to come. I asked you to come..."

"To escape"

"Yes... I suppose. You do like it up there don't you? I hazard a guess it's largely boring though....... for someone like you"

"And who am I 'like' Isabelle?" John did that thing, where he stares you down and makes you want to cowr. Not from fear, but from the intensity. The intensity of making a false move under his watch.

Issy shrugged and stated facts "You're industrious, I've seen the lyrics, you have been writing a lot of stuff haven't you. You must want to get it out... in the studio.. I.... I don't know the process... write lyrics, go to the studio?"

"Write lyrics, tinker with chords and melody, sing into a tape recorder, throw it all out, start again, repeat times thirty"

"Thirty?"

"Alright you got me, twenty-nine and a half" He sat up higher, making Issy scurry back to the side of the bed, he was still doing that glaring thing he does.

The look showing his terse emotions which plague his attitude when he's immensely worried or deeply buried in his darkened thoughts. Thinking too hard, over thinking, over critical and making himself angrier because of it.

Then it disappeared.

Like a light had switched on and his mind could see again.

He grinned sheepishly to try and relieve the worried eyes she watched him with.

And she caught it.

Caught the winds of change in him instantly.

"Are you alright, a bit better today? This morning, I mean" Issy shimmied up a little, crossing her legs and rubbed her eyes, it was much too early for in-depth conversations but it had to be discussed. It was better to clear everything up and not let it all stew and flare with mistaken thoughts.

John looked a mess, bloodshot eyes and black circles of tiredness, don't forget the worry lines etched everywhere- that was probably me... He doesn't want me to think less of him, does he... and of course I don't. "I hope I helped you last night.... And, and... wasn't in the way... I was so worried for you John.."

"Worried?" John leaned over and grabbed his tea, half cold and yet still sweet. The usual way he ended up drinking it, he always forgot the mug in the morning. The newspapers' silly blather about inconsequential people and events, more interesting as the day broke.

He was being rather flippant now.

The single word spoken light in elocution and said as if he hadn't been curled up in a bathtub half the night wrapped in an expensive tuxedo and Hoover Dam flooding over him.

"Yes, you did." Issy retorted with a tiny bit of annoyance now lacing her words.

He seemed to be goading her to continue but the look he blessed her with was making her hesitant.

She shuffled to turn and gaze into him fully, her coffee mug grasped tight. She was worried and wasn't sure if he wanted her to shut up or wrap him to her bosom.

She wanted to say it straight, no pandering, no baby talk- straight.

So she did, rushing the words out and gazing into him, watching and awaiting his reaction.

"Now... I'm not going to pity you or babble on at you or psychoanalyse you.... I'm here, I will listen, I will hold you...." Issy touched his face running her fingers down his neck letting them drift to his shoulder "If you want me to...."

She shrugged and she let her eyes drift about the room. It was all timber and white linen, a grey shaggy rug lay between the dresser and the bed. A double timber shutter was affixed on one wall like it was a proper functioning cover of a window.... as if she could open it and gaze out over fields ...

"If you don't want me to, just say so John. Just say shut up. Or go home Issy or even mind yer own Isabelle" John smirked a tad as she badly mimicked his old scouse accent he sometimes brought forth when he was grumpy or excited "Just say what you want me to do and I'll do it" Plucking at the doona was a nice thing to do right about now... but she chanced a quick glance as she felt his fingers lightly brush her bare knee.

"Anything......" John smiled his naughty boy smile at her, melting her heart. He'd flipped his previous self-criticism and tumbled back into, them. Into the 'us' . Into the two of them- together. Their chemistry and easy camaraderie. She was quite possibly made for him, for easing his pain and hassles; and just embracing him letting him just, be.

Being good, whole.... right.

"Your hair is a right mess, now you mention it"

"John....."

"Iss, listen luv.... I don't know how to be straight and open up my feelings to someone. I tease and distract and create illusions to cover all that" He looked down at his hands and brought his gaze back to hers, running lazy fingers over her cheek, down her neck copying her pwn movements from minutes before "I know you helped me and I do appreciate your staying... Anything I want.....?"

"I wouldn't walk away from you if you wanted me to stay John....Yes! Anything!"

"Alrigh, I do want to go to the lake"

"Alright then..." Issy pursed her lips, she'd promised but still she worried, she should say something.

John caught the look, rolled his eyes, making her grin ruefully "Spit it out Isabelle"

Issy caught a load of bedsheets in her hand wondering if she should speak and possibly get in trouble, or hold her tongue, which was not really a forte of hers at the best of times.

"You just............. Just...you.... Oh, I really don't know.. I'm no expert but.." Issy floundered and John gave her a weighty look.

"Spit it out Isabelle then we get packing"

She grinned then, happy he was thinking ahead. She missed the dogs and they would have a right cow when she stepped from the car. They'd likely go crazy over her til she gave them a really good solid patting down all over, then they would calm a little... hopefully.

"You really need that concrete kerb turned into an entrance to the forecourt or a parking garage or I don't know, adjust arrival times... perhaps stay over at a hotel somewhere else or, or,...."

"You're babbling luv... It's ok, we'll figure something out and I do like the idea of a night in a sleazy hotel ... with you"

"I was thinking the bloody Hilton or the Ritz" Issy moaned then grinned happily as John smiled back at her, confidence back on his face.

"Oh, here it comes, show the girl a tux and she wants the fucking luxury suite at the swankiest hotel in town"

"You did look awfully handsome in that tux"

"Don't change the subject. We'll stay somewhere nice like Days 'yippee it's free to take the Bible from the nightstand' Inn or that bed lice infested one near the airport- Red Roof Inn, I think's the name."

"Wow... I'm truly honoured"

"And I'm kidding.... A guy like me can't be seen in a dive like that"

"A guy like you"

"Yep"

"I thought you were still the working-class hero"

I still am but I am also John Lennon and nice hotels that are a little larger than the shit holes we frequented in the sixties is what I go for now"

I've come to learn something big this past year.  I cannot let the Top Ten dominate my art. If my worth is only to be judged by whether I'm in the Top Ten or not, then I'd better give up.  Because if I let the Top Ten dominate my art, then the art will die. And then whether I'm in the Top Ten is a moot point. I do think now in terms of long term. I'm an artist. I have to express myself. I can't be dominated by gold records. As I said, I'm thirty-four going on sixty. The art is more important than the thing and sometimes I have to remind meself of it. Because there's a danger there, for all of us, for everyone who's involved in whatever art they're in, of needing that love so badly that... In my business, that's manifested in the Top Ten." (John 1975)