October 1964

After the most wonderful summer Connie could remember since the fifties, it felt almost surreal to be sat back at her desk in the New Times office, dusting off her typewriter as she looked at the list of articles for that week's issue.

"So, if I'm reviewing A Fistful of Dollars, do you want to write on how fashion has changed over the turn of the season?" Connie asked Ruby without looking up from the content list whilst her workmate perched on the end of her desk.

"Of course, but I thought you'd want to write about the boys or something," Ruby suggested, seeming almost disappointed at Connie not mentioning the Beatles.

"What is there to write about? That Ringo's just passed his driver's test?" she joked as she rolled her eyes ever so slightly. "I don't wanna settle myself in a Beatles rut,"

"No of course you don't, but you've just been on tour with them!" Ruby exclaimed excitedly, reminding her of the last few weeks.

Ruby did have a point. The whole of August and the first few weeks of September Connie had spent with the Beatles on their second American trip, and though initially she was terrified to leave Britian for the first time ever, it had been such an amazing trip. It was hard work for all of them, for the lads especially as they had to play night after night, but the whole experience of constantly running away from press and fans was terrifying at times. Beatlemania was worldwide, and it was insane seeing the mass hysteria the four lads from Liverpool caused. Connie went to lots of their gigs, never getting bored of their music since it was all so exciting and surreal that her best friends were actually rock stars, but on the days she couldn't join them she spent her time exploring the states with Cynthia, the only other Beatle girl who joined them on tour.

It was a life changing trip, and getting to experience all the madness first hand really made her appreciate the demands of their job. Their lives had changed irreversibly, and so once they were home all Connie wanted to do for both herself and George was try and act like things were normal. She just wanted to feel as though they were a normal couple, escaping from their stardom whenever they could, but George's job as a musician and her job as a journalist for a pop culture magazine made that increasingly difficult.

"Fine, Brian did mention me doing a write up about the American trip," she shrugged. "But I'm keeping it just to the tour stuff, I'm not writing about our days off or owt. People are starting to associate me with George a lot more as his bird and I don't want anyone thinking I'm just with him because of the money or the work opportunities."

"Anyone who thinks that clearly hasn't been in a room with the two of you," Ruby said as she rolled her eyes, heading back over to her own desk, setting up her typewriter. "Or even just seen the way you look at each other. As someone who's single, it's sickening,"

Connie laughed, glancing at the end of her desk where she had a small picture frame up, the photograph featured being one of her and the lads, sat on the sofa of her flat she shared with George and Ringo. All of them looked rather serious and were looking at the camera, except for herself and George who were looking at each other with grins. The picture made her smile, and she lent over, touching the glass over George's face for a second, thinking about how much she couldn't wait to get home in a few hours and kiss him. With that, she let out a small sigh, turning her attention away from her boyfriend as she faced her typewriter, beginning to write.

Both she and Ruby wrote silently for a while, the only noise between them being the clicks of their typewriters and the distant sound of the radio from the other side of the office. Connie felt a little out of practice after so long off from the magazine, but it was nice to focus on writing something. Her focus, however, was soon disrupted as she heard footsteps approaching her's and Ruby's desks.

"Have you seen the paper?" Ross called as he put a mug of coffee down on Connie's desk.

Initially after Henry was fired Mr Hill had wanted to hire another writer to cover the articles Henry used to write, but after the first few weeks the whole office seemed to functioned perfectly without him, except for the fact they needed someone to make drinks, since that was usually the job Henry bullied Connie into doing. Without him in the office she refused to do it, stating she was never anyone's tea girl, and so the office hired Ross to act as an admin assistant and PA to the writers. He was nice enough, aged in his twenties, born and bred in London with a mop-top hairstyle that was obviously influenced by the Beatles. He was a good fit to the office, except for the fact he seemed to be easily intimidated by the high profile guests that sometimes came into the office.

The first day Connie met Ross she knew just by his hairstyle that it'd be a bad idea to tell him her surname, not to mention who she was dating and living with. Her secret didn't last long though, not after John rang the office and asked to speak to, as he called her, 'my swine of a cousin Constance Emilia the pretentious bint', and it didn't help when Paul came by the office spontaneously a few days after to see Connie just to say hello. Ever since then, Ross regarded her as if she was royalty, especially after the premier of A Hard Day's Night when the day after she was on every front page with George. It was a little bizarre for Connie at first, feeling like she was being treated as if she was famous when everyone else she knew just treated her relationship like it was normal. Ross kept his distance from her, except for when it was absolutely necessary, knowing that anytime something had to be written about the Beatles it would be Connie writing it. So even with his anxious tendencies, he was always the first one to bring her any other sort of newspaper or magazine that had reported on them.

That day seemed to be no different as he held out the rolled up newspaper for her, and she turned away from her typewriter to look at the paper he held in his shaking hands. With a small thanks, she took it from him, unfolded it and let out a quiet curse as she saw what was on the front page.

"Bollocks," she muttered, loud enough for Ruby to hear as she got up from her desk, walking round to stand behind Connie's seat, looking at the paper over her shoulder.

"'Meet the Beatles' Girls: a look into the lives of the women behind the rock and roll phenomenon'," Ruby read the headline out loud as she glanced at the rest of the paper, the front cover displaying photographs of all four Beatle girls. "At least they used a nice picture of you,"

"Are you kidding? I was fucking drunk there, John was having to hold me up but they've cropped him out," Connie groaned in irritation, seeing out of the corner of her eye Ross flinch as she mentioned John. "Brian's gonna be fuming, he didn't want any focus on us in case it hurt their image for God's sake!"

"Why would it hurt their image?" Ross asked curiously, and Connie sighed as she began to flick through the paper to find the featured article.

"Because they're meant to be the good, young boys from next door who play by the rules and don't shack up with birds before marriage," Connie told him bluntly, opening the double page spread out, letting out another groan as she saw her picture again in the top left corner of the page, along with her name typed out in big font. "Jesus, I can't be arsed reading this,"

"Fine, I'll read it then," Ruby spoke, leaning over and taking the paper off Connie, who didn't protest. She opened it up further with a flourish before beginning to read aloud. "'You might think by Connie Lennon's surname that she is John's wife, but in fact she is John's sister, and childhood sweetheart to the lovely George Harrison',"

"Oi! He's for me to call lovely, not some bloody journalist," Connie muttered in frustration. "And honestly, I'm starting to actually think I am John's sister the amount of times I've been called that,"

"'The pair met at school in Liverpool and have been courting ever since,' God I bet you wish that was true, sounds a lot simpler than the truth!" Ruby joked, but held back a laugh when she saw the scowl that had rested on Connie's face. "'Like the band Connie comes from humble, working class beginnings with her mother working as a nurse until her death, and her father still serving in the Liverpool Fire Service to this day. As next-door-neighbour to Paul and sister to John, Connie grew up with all of the Beatles and so seems to share their sense of humour, as she has been known on occasions to show a similar wit in interviews as her partner does. Maybe this is what makes the two of them such a good pair as George seems to be captivated by his fellow Liverpudlian, but who knows if this couple will last as they still remain unmarried, and though she recently accompanied the group on their American tour...'"

"What?" Connie frowned, looking up at Ruby to see she was also grimacing at the paper. "Carry on,"

"Are you sure? They're a bit... Brutal," Ruby spoke, looking worried as she watched Connie's expression before sighing. "'And though she recently accompanied the group on their American tour she doesn't seem to have the same appeal as the other Beatle girls, or as much dedication as them. Whilst John and Ringo's partner's stand in the background as silent support, Connie remains a writer for the prolific New Times magazine even with her high-profile relationship, a selfish decision given her partner's success. She also remains the least fashionable of the Beatle girls, her fashion style grounding her back in the teddy boy era. It's as if  she is holding onto the past like she wishes it was still the fifties back in a time when her relationship was secure and there weren't millions of other girls wishing they were with her boyfriend.' Oh, Connie, this is awful! Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she spoke through her teeth, clenching her jaw and her fists angrily, trying to keep calm as she took in a few deep breaths. "Keep going. Please."

"'Unlike the other Beatle girls who seem to have moved with the times, Connie Lennon seems to be a reminder of the past, something that the Beatles may eventually want to forget'," Ruby continued, her voice shaking ever so slightly in anger. "'Who knows how long the relationship between Connie Lennon and George Harrison will last, whether they will end up married and break the hearts of millions of fans, or if they will go there separate ways. One thing is clear though, the pair, as mismatched as they are, seem to be rather happy, but whether that happiness will last is another question,'"

"Right, okay," Connie nodded, getting up from her seat as she took in another deep breath, feeling as though a rock had settled at the bottom of her stomach, fury building within her as well as embarassment and shame.

It was that exact moment that the front desk phone rang, and Ross, who'd previously looked conflicted in upset and anxiety, ran off to answer it, leaving behind both Connie and Ruby. The latter was watching the former carefully, not sure how Connie was reacting as she clenched and unclenched her fists, pacing round in a circle as if she was a wild animal, trying to figure out if she should attack or not. After a moment, she stopped, her hands going up to her hair, her fingers running through her blonde curls furiously.

"Erm, Connie?" Ross called from across the office nervously, a look of fear on his face. "Phone for you,"

"Who is it?" Ruby asked on Connie's behalf.

"Erm, I think it's... It's Paul McCartney," Ross stammered out, star-struck.

With a nod, Connie crossed the office, taking the phone from the poor shaking boy. She braced herself, letting out a sigh as she shut her eyes, trying desperately to forget all the awful things the paper had said, before lifting the reciever to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Have you seen the paper, Lennie, I'm gonna bloody kill 'em!" Paul's voice came angrily down the line. "How could they write such nice things about Jane, Cyn and Maureen but tear you to bits?"

"Well I'd not got round to reading the other girls' bits, so its nice to know it's just me that people hate," Connie let out a bitter laugh, hearing the noise of the other three Beatles in the background. "I thought you were in the studio recording?"

"We are, but George Martin brought the papers in when we were on a break and we saw the cover and had to read it and honestly I'm surprised John's not punched someone yet," Paul explained, and Connie heard John call something to Paul, anger in her cousin's voice. "John, love, I was joking we can't actually kill anyone,"

"Tell him to stop being protective and play his guitar, you should all just get back to work, everything's fine it doesn't really matter," Connie rolled her eyes.

Part of her was enjoying the support she felt through her friends' anger, but part of her just wanted to act as if everything was normal and she hadn't just been slandered in the newspaper. Except as she was speaking she heard George's voice as he snapped something inaudible at Paul, before she then heard the noise of the phone being snatched away.

"Con, you alright, love?" George's voice came down the line, the sound of it making her feel slightly calmer as her stomach fluttered. It was funny how even after dating since February he still had that affect on her.

"Yeah, Georgie, I'm alright, it doesn't matter," she sighed. "It's just a stupid bit of sensation journalism written by some wanker who's never met any of us just trying to jump on the Beatles bandwagon,"

"I know but..." George replied, drifting off just as Connie realised he sounded rather upset about it all. "It's not fair really,"

"Georgie, they could've written far worse," she attempted to reassure him, but wasn't really sure what to say because how could she tell him not to be upset about something that had hurt her too? The article still stung, and as she thought about it, she couldn't help but ask, "Do you think I have bad style?"

"Of course not, you're bloody beautiful! You know I love you though, don't you?" he spoke, sounding assertive at first before he became almost nervous, though as he said it she heard the laughs of the other Beatles from behind him. "Yeah alright, fuck off, John, I'm trying to have a serious bloody conversation! Con, I love you, I don't care what some wanker writes in a shitty newspaper. You're me girl, I love you so much, alright? Don't you dare forget it,"

"Of course I won't forget, I love you too," she couldn't help but smile as she said those words, but regardless of what he said she couldn't seem to get the article out of her head. Not that she'd let George know that. "Look, I've got to go, I've got tonnes to write and I know you're busy in the studio,"

"Yeah love, I think we're planning on staying late again though," he told her, sounding almost guilty until Connie heard John call out some teasing remark. "Oh, fuck off, John, don't say she's the boss of me!"

"But I am," Connie joked with a small smirk. "Well it doesn't matter anyway cause I said I'd meet the girls, so I'll see you when you come in. Love ya',"

"Love you too," George said, before hanging up.

As she put the receiver back, she let out another long sigh, rubbing her forehead. Hearing George tell her repeatedly that he loved her was reassuring given the article made out that their relationship was already on the rocks, but she still couldn't pull her mind away from it.  Fragments of the article seemed to swim around her mind, quotes sticking out to her. Making out that she was selfish because she hadn't instantly given up her career when she started dating George, saying that she still dressed like a teddy boy, portraying her as stuck in the fifties.

They seemed to be subtle jibes at her, at parts of herself that she usually liked. She liked that she still worked, the New Times being her dream job and her wages meaning that she had independence from George and could contribute to bills. She liked her clothes, because even though she made a load of dresses when she first moved to London, she still loved wearing her old leather jacket with a shirt and jeans since it was what she felt comfortable in. She liked her memories of the fifties, because it was in the fifties that she met Ringo, Paul and George and had some of her most treasured memories. Even so, whoever wrote that article seemed to write it in a way that turned all the parts of her she liked into insecurities.

"Ruby?" she called across the office, watching as her work-mate looked up from the newspaper she was still looking at. "Do you think I have bad style?"

"You're only asking because of that ridiculous article," she sighed before looking up and down at Connie's outfit; a black shirt paired with a pair of bright red trousers and black heels. "I mean, I wouldn't wear your wardrobe, but you don't have bad style. It's just... individual."

Ruby probably did have a point, which was why she'd asked in the first place. George was biased, he was her boyfriend and he'd say she looked nice regardless, but Ruby would have no benefit of glossing up the truth. Her words seemed to settle something within Connie, as she picked up the reciver once more and began to dial the number of John and Cynthia's house, deciding to propose a shopping trip.

***
There was a small knock at the changing room door.

"'Ere, I've found some more you'll like, try these on," Maureen's voice called, and as Connie quickly covered herself she opened the door to see her friend holding a massive pile of shirts, skirts, trousers and dresses.

"Jesus, I'm not planning on buying out the full shop," Connie laughed, taking the pile off her and hanging bits up, looking through and picking her favourites out.

It was ironic that she felt so oblivious to fashion when she worked for a magazine that was meant to report on trends, but Connie hadn't quite realised just how much fashion had changed since she last went shopping. When she first moved to London she made all her own clothes to save money, but even now she was on a really good wage, she still hadn't bought anything new. That was about to change though as she practically put on a fashion show for the other Beatle girls who'd acompanied her on her shopping trip, trying on nearly everything in the clothes store they'd gone to, the shop being small enough for none of them to be recognised or bothered, but trendy enough to serve Connie's purpose. Each time she came out the changing room wearing something different the three other women would give their verdict, which was usually nothing but positive, and it was a nice pick-me-up after feeling like she'd been dragged through the mud by the newspaper article.

"I like that one," Jane commented as Connie emerged from the changing room with a twirl, wearing a short denim skirt paired with a orange floral blouse with bell sleeves.

"Yeah, both can go on the buy pile," Connie confirmed with a nod, glancing over at herself in the mirror, taking note of the skirt's length with a smirk. "I want to wear this to a press thing, see how long it takes for that newspaper to change their tune and start calling me a slut instead of an old fashioned teddy boy,"

"You do know you don't have to buy a whole new wardrobe just because one journalist commented on the way you dress," Cynthia attempted to reason as she glanced at the price tag of a dress already on the aforementioned buy pile.

"Don't ruin the fun," Maureen hushed her jokingly, gesturing for Connie to go back in the changing room. "Go try that green dress on next!"

Connie obliged with a small laugh, enjoying the experience of feeling as if she had sisters for the first time. She'd always had girl friends, but shopping wasn't the sort of thing she ever did with Cilla and Florence. They were always too poor, and didn't really have the patience for window shopping, and so she'd started to look in disdain at the girls who could afford whatever they wanted on weekly trips to the clothes boutiques. Plus it didn't help she spent a lot of her time as a teenager with lads, and so even if she wanted to go shopping it wasn't really possible, not when she spent most of her time with John and Paul who'd find the very concept of going shopping with her hilarious.

Now she could afford things though. It was one of the most liberating parts of having such a good position, and it felt bittersweet to be able to buy things for herself after the newspaper had called her selfish for working. The only thing that made the experience better was that she now felt as though she had a sisterhood to face the situation with. She hadn't read what was written about the other women, not after Paul had made out that it was only her they disapproved of, but even if they had been given the seal of approval from the British press when Connie hadn't, they weren't acting like it. Instead they all seemed determined to make sure she forgot all about it, insisting she tried on practically everything in the store, much to the delight and frustration of the shop clerk.

Both the company and the activity itself was the perfect catharsis from the horrible article, and as Connie emerged yet again from the changing room, now dressed in the dark green dress with long sleeves and a V-neck, flaring out slightly at her hips, she spun around, deciding she didn't actually care what had been written about her. She was more than happy with who she was as a person, she had plenty of supportive friends, and she was with the man of her dreams. They were in the public eye and there would always be someone criticising them, but it didn't really matter as long as they stuck together.

"I love it," Connie grinned, watching as the girls nodded in approval, all of them smiling too.

"I'm sorry ladies, but I have to close the store in a few minutes," the clerk called, and by the slightly nervous look she had as she came over to their group, all four of them knew she recognised them.

The shop closing didn't really matter to Connie, not as she decided she loved everything she'd tried on, and as reckless as the working class girl within her thought it was, she decided to take everything she'd tried on. It was almost comical how big her shopping bags were as she left the store, the other girls giggling none stop at how she struggled to carry all four shopping bags. Even she was laughing, but all their laughter died the moment they saw a photographer on the other side of the street, pointing his camera at them. All four of them recognised him, and knew he was associated with the very newspaper that had run the article about them.

"Oi, sell this one to your newspaper, you bastard!" she called across the street, the other three not even bothering telling her to stop as she raised her shopping bags up on full display, holding up both of her middle fingers with a grin.

***
"Honey, I'm home!" Connie called sarcastically as she burst through the front door of Kinfauns.

They'd only just moved in, so there were still boxes in the hallway and there was still so much to do in the bungalow to make it a home, but the two of them still loved it all the same, their little safe haven away from everything else. They had, however, set up the living room, and it was Connie's current favourite room in the house. It had a vast window, providing them with a perfect view of the garden, and they'd set the room up with a sofa and a couple of arm chairs, Connie's old record player in the corner on an antique table with their vast record collection underneath the table in organised boxes. They'd hung pictures of their childhoods up on the walls, propping sentimental ornaments up on the mantel of the fireplace, like a vase that had belonged to Connie's mother and one of the Indian-styled notebooks George had given her for Christmas years back. George had also started keeping some of his guitars in the room, keeping his ukulele on the coffee table, and though he'd worried she would think they'd clutter the room, she actually loved it.

It was in the living room that Connie found George, sat on the sofa watching the news, but as soon as he saw her he jumped to his feet, practically running over to embrace her. She dropped her shopping bags to wrap her arms around him tightly, letting out a gasp of surprise as he lifted her in the air, spinning her round.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he said in place of a greeting, setting her back down on the floor as he pushed a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Hello to you too," she laughed, leaning up to ruffle his hair.

It was then that he noticed the multitude of bags at her feet, seeing them practically overflowing with a range of colours and fabrics. Seconds later he realised what she was wearing was an outfit completely different to the one she'd left the house in, the deep green dress flattering her figure perfectly, complimenting her light hair, but paired with her usual leather jacket with the silver beetle pin on the lapel and the sliver locket hanging around her neck she still looked like herself. He took in the sight of her, realising just how lucky he was and just how much he adored her, but was snapped out of his trance as she hit his arm, letting out a laugh.

"Earth to George," she joked. "I'm assuming you like it then? I know you said that it was stupid but I just felt really shit after reading that article, and I was meeting the girls anyway so I thought I'd go shopping. I'd just been paid and I really liked a lot of the stuff I found so I thought I'd treat myself. I know its daft but-"

"Love, you don't need to feel daft," he reassured her, seeing the look of doubt in her expression. "I don't care what some twat writes about you. You don't need to prove anything to anyone,"

"I know, but," she nodded before letting out a small laugh of embarrassment, deciding whether or not to say what had been in the back of her mind all day. "It said there's millions of girls out there who're jealous of me that want to be with you, and honestly it made me feel like I'm not worthy of the great George Harrison. I just wanted to feel like I look the part and I look like I at least deserve to be with you,"

"Con, there's no one I'd ever want to be with other than you, alright?" he reassured again, looking at her lovingly as he pulled her into another hug, kissing her forehead. "If anything it's the other way round and I'm not worthy of you, cause you're bloody brilliant. I love you because you're strong and independent. I love the fact you still work even now you live with me, because I know it's your dream to be a writer, and I don't expect you to put your dream on hold just because of me. I love the way you dress, because it reminds me of the girl I fell in love with all those years ago. I love that you remind me of home and of the fifties, because there's nothing wrong with where we came from and the people we were before all this Beatles madness. And I will never, ever want to forget you or leave you behind, I promise,"

"You're such a good guy," she sighed, leaning up and kissing his cheek, savouring the feeling of his hands around her. "I probably went a bit mad in the shops. Do you think I should return all this stuff?"

"God no!" George laughed, stepping away from her slightly to help her out of her leather jacket, admiring the dress once more as he put his hands on her waist. "I like this dress,"

"Good, this one was my favourite," she grinned, stepping away from him so she could do a small twirl.

"I love it," he complimented her again, but as she saw his smile she also saw the look in his eyes, the one she knew well that signalled he wanted much more than just a kiss on the cheek from her. "Maybe I'll like it more once you've taken it off though,"

Connie wanted to make a joke then to tease him about how terrible his pick up lines were, but she didn't get chance, not as he sweeped her up into his arms. She let out a gasp of a laugh, holding onto him tightly as he made his way out of the living room and down the corridor, nudging any boxes out of the way with his foot as he made his way towards their bedroom.

Neither of them thought any more of the article that night.

***

Word count: 5187

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