And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 2: Dorothy, You're Not In Liverpool Anymore

Like a telly comedy, at this point the screen would pause, a comedian would walk on stage, and draw out a pointer like a sword, touching each character, explaining the joke.

I got none of that.

The programme just went on, and I struggled to keep up, feeling light-headed and tongue-tied, and yet there was a stream of excitement coursing through my veins. I somehow had John in my bed. John Lennon, from Hamburg, probably, his stream of wit pouring out of his mouth, light bags around his eyes from the night before, one hand reaching out to touch me, and I ducked away, nearly falling off of the bed.

"What, you're not pleased to see me?" he asked, a smirk forming on the left side of his mouth.

I got off the bed, standing over him, slightly trembling, looking at him make himself comfortable, swaddled in my blankets. He continued: "Just give me a little sleep—"

"Whoever you are, it's six in the morning, and—" I stopped myself. What was I saying?

The boy turned his head towards my digital clock. "You're wrong, love, it's seven actually."

I turned around, peeved. "You're wrong. It's 6:57."

"Probably 6:57 and a couple of seconds now. But why quibble at the time? Come lie down," the boy said. I raised my chin at him and thrust a couple of well chosen words at him. "All right, get out, get out before my mum comes, I've got to sleep."

"Why can't you sleep here, with me?" were the words that came out of his mouth next, in a suggestive sort of voice. "After all, you spent a whole night with me, did you not?" I gaped at his confidence, my hands hanging uselessly by my sides as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I—I did not!"

"Ah, look at 'er, she's as red as a tomato!"

Now fully awake, I crossed my arms. "Out. You can find somewhere to sleep but not on this bed."

"Why not?"

"I—I've got somewhere to be in the morning—work," I said, jumping and latching on to whatever came to my mind, and immediately laughed nervously. My hands reached out to catch the bubble of laughter and the boy quickly sat up and touched a finger to my lips.

"Then enjoy it with me." He suddenly wrapped his arms around my waist. My eyes widened and my mouth fell open as we both collapsed into the bed, drowning in my covers. "Come on. I know you want me." I was filled with a panic tinged with a strange want. "I—I've never seen you in my life," I stammered, and authority made its way into my voice as I said, "Out, you."

"Ar, too tired to argue with this bird, obviously my charming mannerisms aren't working on her," the boy rolled his eyes and stole one of my blankets before I could do anything about it, dragging it behind him. I leaped out of bed and watched as he made his way to the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain, threw my blanket inside it, and curled up in the bath.

Something was growing inside me, a feeling of strange curiosity as I went back to my bed and sat on it, barely feeling myself complete the actions. He looked so much like John Lennon but it couldn't possibly be real. Yet his actions were so accurate, it was as if one had only seen replicas of the Mona Lisa but when they saw the real thing—this was it. And yet it couldn't be true. I got up, halfway unaware, and padded down the hall to the bathroom where I yanked back the shower curtain and got right up in his face, looking him over, and then I reached out my hand to touch his shoulder, shaking it slightly, then made my way to his face, touching it and poking his nose.

"Bloody hell, what are ye doing?" he asked me, grabbing my arm. I supposed I really was pushing the limits of human interaction. "Feeling a little less cranky now, aren't we?"