The first thing Connie thought when she woke up the next morning was how uncomfortable she felt, her back all twisted and her arms throbbing from pins and needles. The next thing, was that she was going to be sick. Still feeling half asleep, she got up, ignoring the aches from sleeping so uncomfortably as she stumbled into the bathroom, practically falling to her knees as she went to throw up into the toilet.

She finished up, sitting back and running her hands through her hair as she took a few deep breaths. Every morning since they got to India she felt sick, knowing it was probably something to do with the food. It was so bland, but she was suspicious of how it was cooked. Connie had grown up cooking for herself and was always wary of anyone else's cooking, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it, just getting on with it and hoping that it wouldn't cause her any problems. It had though, and so all she could do was hope she hadn't caught full-on food poisoning and that it was just a one-off.

She stayed sat on the bathroom floor for a while, just in case she needed to throw up again, and after she felt the sickness subside, she got up, stretching. After washing her hands and rinsing her mouth out, she splashed some cold water onto her face only to look up in the mirror and see dark ink stains on her cheek. At first she was confused, until the events of the night before came back to her. The conversation with the girls, shouting at the lads, the beginning of a discussion with George, all of it. Then she remembered her writing, and decided to think about that rather than dwell on all the other bits, scrubbing the pen off her face before she headed back into the living room to read through what she'd written the night before.

She clearly been in a mad state as she'd written, that was a given based on her handwriting. Connie usually had smudged handwriting, that was expected of someone who wrote with their left hand, but it was more smudged than usual, looking untidy and a bit all over the place. The last time she'd seen her handwriting that messy had been her English Literature O-Level exam, when she'd written at such a speed it was barely readable. Not to mention she'd fallen asleep on the book so she'd smudged the writing even more. With a frown, she smoothed out the pages that had gotten crumpled and tore them out of the book. She considered tossing them away, knowing whatever had been written was probably nonsense written out of frustration or sadness, but she changed her mind at the last minute. If there was one thing Connie could remember about writing it all, it was how relieved she'd felt putting pen to paper. It had felt freeing, more liberating than writing an article, and so instead she set the pages and the book aside and went off to go get changed, deciding that once she was sorted for the day, she would take the book outside and try and rewrite what had been writen to be more eligible.

It was only when she got to the bedroom to change that Connie realised George wasn't there. The bed was unmade, his clothes strewn on the floor, and she knew that he had probably gone out to meditate or see the others. The thought of the others filled her with embarassment, knowing she'd have to explain herself or apologise for her outburst even though she didn't want to do either. Sure the way she'd gone about talking to them wasn't fair, but she'd meant it all, and she wasn't one to go back on her word. The girls, however, she felt bad for, and though she made a mental promise to apologise to them all for running out on them, she wouldn't until she'd spoken to George.

He clearly wasn't ready to talk about what had happened. If he was holding back the conversation to protect her, she appreciated it, because she really hadn't been in the headspace to have the discussion last night, not when she had flinched at him mentioning them trying again. She appreciated him skirting around the issue to protect her, but she just wanted to put it behind them. As she changed into a white shirt and a long grey skirt, she realised she actually felt quite separated from everything that happened, a result of not talking about it for so long. She wasn't necesarily over it, knowing that the kind of disapointment she felt was the sort of thing you never really got over, but she was ready to move on. She just needed to talk to George first.

After getting ready and braiding her hair back, Connie headed out, notebook under her arm with the pen and papers folded inside. She could hear the group over by the clearing where they always gathered for breakfast, but she wasn't hungry, not after throwing up, not to mention she didn't really feel like being around anyone at that point. Instead she sat out on the grass behind her bungalow, setting out the papers from the night before in front of her, weighing them down with a couple of stones she found nearby. It was a nice little writing spot, one that was sheltered from the breeze but offered plenty of sunlight, making it feel quite warm, and after settling down, she began to read what she had written the night before.

It was good, though it made very little sense. Reading it back felt like reading a stream of consciousness, just one long thought. Connie remembered feeling like what she was writing was amazing, but re-reading it made her want to laugh. Still though, she picked out phrases that made sense and copied them down, trying to make her writing neat. It felt as though she was trying to write a dialogue piece, something she was very out of practice for given all she wrote at work were articles. It was like the night before she was trying to write something she would never usually get to work on, a piece of fiction, except it wasn't really fiction as she blended her own thoughts into it. Some parts stood out to her though, and she decided that she would try and make something out of it, polish it up into a coherent piece of fiction.

It wasn't like she was short on time, either. Connie knew all the others would probably be meditating, but that didn't bring her much peace or serinity like it was meant to. Meditation was meant to calm the mind, but for Connie she needed to be working to feel at least semi-calm. She felt her best when she was setting her mind to something, not trying to clear it, and so she sat there and edited through her work, deciding to make a narrative of it. She took her experience from working on the Mystery Tour film and worked her writing into a script, taking time over the dialogue and carefully forming the characters who would say them. This was the sort of writing she had always wanted to do, the creative sort, the sort that people would see and make them feel something. She loved the New Times, but when she applied for the internship she thought it would be a stepping stone to her future, rather than her entire career. This was the writing she felt like she was meant to do.

As she got more into it, her writing became messier, crossing things out and putting stars around the important parts. She was so engrossed in her work she barely noticed the ink smudges along the side of her left hand, nothing mattering to her other than the writing. In fact, she didn't even notice the footsteps behind her, not until she heard someone clear their throat.

"Can I come and sit with you?" a voice asked, making Connie jump and snap her head around, only to see Ringo stood behind her, almost cautiously.

"Shitting hell, Rings! You made me jump!" she exclaimed, but after a small sigh, she gestured to the grass at her side. "Course you can, you don't need to ask,"

"Well, I didn't know if you'd want to speak to me," he said with a small shrug as he sat down next to her. "I'm sorry we all upset you,"

"I don't know why I was so angry last night," she sighed, looking off at the line of trees in front of them in the near distance. "I wasn't really upset with you though, I was just upset in general,"

"No, but still, I'm sorry," he continued, and she shut her notebook, puting it aside as she turned to face him properly. "You're one of my best mates, Con, ever since you served me that first pint in the Cavern, and I hate to think you're annoyed with us all. None of us meant to make you feel pushed out, though I know that probably doesn't help,"

"It's alright," she told him with a small smile, but he didn't really seem to believe her.

"Is it though, Con? Cause you were really upset last night and you've been off for a while," he asked, and knowing someone had noticed something wrong with her made her feel a little better, knowing someone had been silently looking out for her. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing really, just marriage stuff," she said quietly with a shrug, only to notice the mildly alarmed look on Ringo's face. "Nothing's wrong, we're both fine, I promise! Me and George are fine, it's just been a lot of little stuff building up over a long period of time with one big mess piled on top that's been shoved away for a long time to fester. It was inevitable that I'd snap eventually, but I didn't mean for me to snap at you,"

"Y'know we're all here for you, anytime, Con," Ringo told her reassuringly, hitting her arm gently the way she usually did in an act of solidarity.

His words hit something inside of her, and yet again she didn't know what was wrong with her emotions as she struggled to fight off tears. She let a few slip before she quickly wiped them away, laughing quietly at her own stupid emotions, looking away as if trying to hide her feelings again. It was no use though, as Ringo let out his own laugh of confusion, knowing Connie wasn't one to cry as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Ignore me, I'm being daft," she said quickly with another small laugh as she wipes her cheeks.

"I think ignoring you was part of the original problem, Con," he tried to joke, and the two of them looked at each other before Connie let out a snort of a laugh. "Sorry,"

"No, no it's fine, please make fun of me so things feel normal and I know you don't feel sorry for me!" she said with a small smile tht quickly grew as she realised how nice it felt to just be sat with him like things were semi-normal. "What happened after I stormed off?"

"Oh, not much, Paul was pretty crushed at the thought he'd not been there for you, John made some bad joke and went back to his guitar," Ringo told her, and she instantly felt a mixture of annoyance at John and disapointment for Paul.

"Look, I didn't mean to go off, but just because I'm married to George I don't want that to mean that I can't hang out with you guys," she sighed before explaining. "It's different with you, I mean we used to live together and even in Liverpool we'd just hang out on our own, but Johns's my cousin and Paul's my old neighbour and I grew up with them both. I know we're not those kids in Liverpool anymore but you guys still get to hang out all the time, even if it is for work,"

"Con, are you actually jealous that we all get to see each other on a daily basis?" Ringo asked, raising his eyebrow, and when Connie didn't answer he let out another laugh. "Well, trust me, if you got to spend an hour with us in the studios you'd want to murder us all, George included. Don't get me wrong, they're like my brothers, but Jesus Christ,"

"I know things aren't what they used to be, and trust me I know what a nightmare the other three can be when they want to be, but I think I just miss the old days," she said, her voice light at the start until it turned sad. "I just feel like all of a sudden we all grew up, y'know?"

"Its just what happens, Con, doesn't mean we all still can't be friends," Ringo said, squeezing her shoulder in place of a hug. "How about tonight you come sit on the roof with us? We'll make it like old times to make up for everything?"

Whilst that sounded exactly like what she wanted, Connie also knew how awkward that would be. She'd hardly had chance to speak to George, let alone Paul and John who'd probably also want an explanation for how she'd acted, and she knew that those two would be far more difficult to make up with than Ringo had been. John was her family, practically her older brother, but that just seemed to make things trickier though, because even if she knew he'd always have her back that just seemed to make the way he'd treated her the night before even more painful. And Paul, he was like her little brother, annoying and teasing, but her brother all the same. She found the idea of her rant the night before upsetting Paul hard, even if she'd meant everything she'd said.

How could she go back to the group that night and act like everything was normal, especially if she hadn't sorted things properly with George? She'd spent plenty of time with John and Paul as teenagers, hiding her crush on George even if he was in the same room. She'd grown up living with secrets from him, always hiding something, and it wasn't a particularly enjoyable time thinking back. Even if she wanted to, Connie couldn't really go on the roof that night and act like things were right, not until she'd cleared the air with everyone.

"I'll think about it," she said with a small smile. "Thank you for coming to talk, Rich, you're a good mate,"

The two of them sat there on the grass for a while, Connie setting aside her notebook as she laughed at Ringo's bad jokes, the two of them talking as if everything was normal. It made her feel like they were still teenagers in the Cavern, him about to go up to play and her waiting for her shift to end so she could go and watch him properly. It made her feel like they were still in their early twenties, hanging out in their flat. hatever it felt like, it didn't really matter, because more importantly, Connie felt like herself for the first time in a long time.

***

Even when Ringo had gone off to find the others, Connie remained out the back of her bungalow, turning her attention back to writing, only looking up from the notebook occasionally to look into the trees in an attempt to spot wildlife. It was a surreal place to write, a place much different to where she was used to writing, that being either her kitchen or the office. Outside amongst nature, surrounded by birdsong and in the sunlight, she could focus properly, and so after a couple more hours, she'd practically filled her notebook.

The last time she'd been so sure of writing something it was the first Beatles article she'd written for the New Times. That first article was something special for her, because it was the first time she knew what she was writing was good, and she knew she was the best person in the office for the job. That article had been the first time in her professional career that she felt confident after so many years of put-downs and snide remarks. This time though, it felt like an expression of creativity that had been held within her for so many years. Even if what she'd worked on was just a first draft, Connie was proud of it, and she was proud of herself.

The entire time she'd been focusing on her work, she'd not once thought of John and Paul. She'd not thought about the awkward way she'd ran out on the girls, or how she'd shouted at the lads. She'd not even thought about George or their fertility problems. It was like none of those problems existed, at least not while she was writing. As she finished up, letting out a long sigh of relief as she wrote the final piece of dialogue, she let out a laugh of victory, laying back on the grass, closing her eyes as she hugged the book to her chest.

Connie had always thought the first piece of fiction she would properly attempt would be a book. She was known in school for her stories, and they were the things her mother used to praise her on as a kid, but she'd not written prose. No, she'd written a play. She wasn't even sure where the idea had come from, just coming to her as she wrote, but she was proud of it all the same. Plays weren't the sort of things she grew up seeing, barely able to afford cinema trips most of the time, but she'd studied them in school, and since moving to London she'd seen a few with Ruby. Ruby was always recomending shows for her to see, always lending her copies of scriptbooks that she just had to read, and as soon as her red-haired best friend came to mind, Connie instantly wanted to show her own script to her. Ruby was always so supportive, or at least she was ever since Henry had left the office, freeing her up to not be scared to be associated with the northerner. Connie knew Ruby could be critical of plays, remembering all the times she'd reviewed shows harshly, but she also knew that was the sort of criticism she needed, her relationship with her fellow writer being one she valued.

In fact, Connie never realised just how much she valued Ruby's friendship until she realised she was thousands of miles away just at the moment she needed her. She wished she'd brought her to Rishikesh, until she remembered the last time she found a spider in the office and realised she'd probably hate it, not to mention her fair skin would surely burn under the Indian sun even though it wasn't that hot most days. No, showing Ruby her work would have to wait, but Connie had to show it to someone.

Without second thought she got up from where she'd been laid, stretching as she'd been sat for far too long, so long she didn't even realise it had started to get dark. In the distance she could hear the sound of guitars and laughter, and as she looked over across the compound she could see the lads all sat on John's roof again. She thought about Ringo's offer, but decided not to join them. It felt too much like crawling back to them, and she didn't think her pride would handle that, so instead she crossed the clearing and went over to John's bungalow, seeing the girls sat out on the porch steps.

As soon as Connie got close enough, Florence jumped up from where she'd been sat with Jane, running over to her and quickly pulling her friend into a hug. The other girls followed, rushing over to her in an attempt to find out where she'd been all day, and all of her insecurities from the night before went away. People did care about her, even if she did feel so alone sometimes.

"Where the bloody hell have you been all day?" Florence exclaimed as she pulled out of their hug.

"Sat behind my bungalow, you didn't look for me very far," Connie replied lightly with a shrug.

"We thought maybe you didn't want to talk to us, after how you were last night," Jane spoke up, clearly on behalf of all of the girls as Cynthia and Maureen both nodded along.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for storming out on you all, it just got a bit much," she said casually, hoping that would be the end of it, and as if to signify the end of questioning her, she tossed the notebook over to Jane, who seemed confused. "You're an actress, a pretty good one too. Will you read some of that for me?"

"What is it?" she asked with a frown, flicking through the pages of the book, stopping at one of the middle pages where there was a large chunk of monologue. "Have you written a script?"

"Jesus, Con, have you been writing all day?" Florence asked, noticing the black smudges across the side of Connie's left hand. "Look at the state of your hand!"

"I know, be reyt," she shrugged before going to Jane's side, flicking through a couple of pages until she found exactly the one she wanted. "I dunno if it's any good. I mean, I think it's good but I'm a bit biased, so will you read it out, y'know, like you're doing it on a stage or something?"

The four women seemed baffled at Connie's request, but they decided to just go with it. Cynthia, Maureen and Florence went to sit down on the steps again as Connie leant against the patio railings, watching as Jane glanced at her reproachfully before she began to read aloud, and as soon as Jane began to speak the words Connie had just written she struggled to hold back her grin. Jane was a good actress, she could make anything sound good, but Connie couldn't help but feel like, for once, her imposter syndrome didn't matter. The words sounded just as good out in the open as they had done in her head, and she felt triumphant at the fact that she'd acually written something good that wasn't an article. She almost felt emotional about it all, but she pulled herself together, focusing on listening to Jane. The others must have thought it was alright too, because Florence looked over at Connie with a proud smirk and the other two women seemmed rather enthralled too.

It was only when Jane paused and Connie heard distant clapping from above that she realised that their group of girls weren't the only ones listening. She quickly looked up to see the four Beatles on the roof, looking over the edge at them all. Her gaze instantly went to George, realising she'd not seen him since the night before, but she looked away, her attention turning to Paul as he let out a whistle of approval to his girlfriend.

"That was good love," he called approvingly to Jane, and Connie had to fight off a proud smirk. "What was that, Shakespeare?"

"Yeah, the bard of Liverpool," Florence muttered with a laugh, and the other girls laughed along with her as they all looked at Connie, who winked and did a sarcastic bow.

"Wait, Con wrote that?" John spoke up, looking nonshalant though Connie could tell he was desperately trying not to seem impressed. "Didn't think you could write anything but naff journalism,"

"Didn't think you could write anything but sappy nonsensical love songs but there we go," Connie hit back casually with a shrug, ignoring the way the men on the roof and the women around her laughed at her comment.

"Is that what you were writing earlier?" Ringo called with a grin, and Connie noticed that where George had once been at the drummer's side he had now disappeared.

She didn't get chance to answer him, not as George came round the back of the bungalow. He'd left the roof, leaving behind his bandmates, and he was heaing straight towards her. She was usually so good at understanding him, but Connie couldn't read him, or at least she couldn't until he put his hands on her waist, pulling her close as he pushed his lips to hers. She was taken completely by surprise, but that didn't stop her kissing him right back, closing her eyes as she placed her hands on his cheeks. Nothing mattered but him, not her pride for hearing what she'd written be read aloud, not their friends who were whistling and groaning in disgust at their display of affection.

"What was that for?" she asked as they parted, George resting his forehead against hers.

"Because what I heard up there was really good," he told her lowly, as if he was trying to keep their conversation private, even if all of their friends were surrounding them. "Because I'm proud that my wife is so talented, and because I've definitely not shown you how much I love you these last few weeks and it took realising just how proud I am of you to figure out how much of an idiot I've been,"

Connie couldn't help but grin, and suddenly her writing and everyone around her was forgotten. She felt like crying for some reason, happy tears though, and before she could stop herself she was kissing him again. George stopped her, pulling away from her as he nodded his head in the direction of their bungalow. Wordlessly she understood what he was suggesting, and without saying anything to their group the two of them quickly ran off together, much to everyone's amusement and disgust. Connie could barely hear the crude shouts from their friends though, she was much too focused on George, especially as they got onto their own balcony patio and he turned to her, taking hold of both of her hands in his as he kissed her cheek.

"I've been so stupid, Con," he said, almost sadly. "I'm sorry, for everything. I love you so much, and I'm sorry I haven't been there for you,"

"George, nothing is your fault," she reassured him with a small smile. "We're both so shit at talking to each other, no wonder we let things bottle up,"

"But I don't want that to happen, I don't want us to grow apart," he told her firmly. "I thought I wanted what everyone else has, y'know, traditional family, kids, a nice house, good career, but being here, getting my mind out of work and really focusing on myself, I don't really need any of it, and hearing her read your work... God, Con, you're so good at what you do, and I don't need anything else but you. I never have done, you're all I need,"

Connie struggled against her emotions, trying not to cry and instead attempting to remain completely serious. She'd not realised how badly she needed George to say those words, that those exact words were all she needed to put the past away. Like most things in their relationship, they'd gone the long way around, if they'd just spoken to each other sooner they wouldn't have wasted so much time skirting around each other's feelings. They wouldn't have spent so long dwelling on the unspoken, but that was over now, or at least it was as far as Connie was concerned.

"So we're done messing around now then? We're married, for god's sake, George, we shouldn't have to not tell each other how we feel," she spoke, and he nodded along with her in agreement. "I'm shit at understanding how I feel, even more so talking about it, but I don't want to feel like we can't talk about stuff, because everything that's gone on with us trying for a family has been so hard and there's no one I'd rather talk about it with than you but I felt like a couldn't because I didn't want to upset you or disappoint you even more,"

"Con, you never disappoint me, ever, please don't think that," he said insistently, moving his hand from hers to hold her face, making her look him in the eye to se how seriously he meant his words. "I'm so mad for you, Connie Harrison-Lennon, I love you, and you're all the family I could ever need or want. I know you really wanted kids, and so did I, so if you wanna try again in a couple of months that's okay, and if you don't that's okay too. I'm happy to go with what you want to do, love, but whatever happens we'll be okay as long as we've got each other,"

With that, Connie didn't know what to say, so she decided to kiss him instead. She wrapped her hands around his waist, pulling him close as she bit his lip, deepening their kiss as she opened her passion up to him for the first time in a long time. She wasn't sure where her sudden overwhelming need to be close to him had come from, maybe it was just the relief of it all, feeling like she wasn't really losing him, that he still loved her, that they didn't need to worry anymore. Surely now everything would be alright. Surely now they had put it all behind them and the only thing that mattered was themselves. The relief of putting the past where it belonged, like they were finally setting themselves a clean slate to just love each other the way they had done in the beginning of their relationship, had opened something up in both of them. She felt George deepening their kiss, his hands holding her face as though she was something truly precious, but soon they drifted down to her sides, and before she knew it he had lifted her in the air and she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs knotted around his hips.

"Get the door," he mumbled against her lips, barely parting their kiss as he stumbled towards the door into their bungalow, though they managed to keep their balance as Connie reached behind her and undid the door.

"George," she breathed as he carried her into their bungalow, off towards the bedroom. "Can we... I mean, I want..."

"What?" he asked, pulling away to look at her properly only to notice the look of deep longing in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I'm ready," she nodded determinedly, hoping she would prove her point by kissing him again.

That night as they made love and fell asleep in each other's arms, things felt back to how they should be, and as Connie laid fighting sleep to stare at George's peaceful face for a little while longer, she realised she felt truly content for the first time in months.

***

Word count: 5187

***