And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 55: The North Sea And Our Bathtub, Same Thing, Really

Thanks for waiting for this chapter—and sorry for not uploading in a while! It's been a really busy time at uni!

We walked.

    Outside the Top Ten, down the winding cobblestone streets, towards who knew where, although John seemed to know where he was going. He strode in front of me, or maybe I lagged behind, afraid and not knowing what was going to happen next. I stumbled over a stone in the road and had to jog a few paces to keep up with his large steps. He looked back at me, his jaw set, and I averted my gaze to the floor.

    "I'm sorry," a quiet cry burst out of me.

    He didn't stop but ignored me and I kept up my walk. I could smell the sea, the docks. A crazy idea popped into my head: is he going to kill me? Dump me into the water? I gazed at the back to his auburn head. Will he go back and tell the tale to the other Beatles and they can all write a song about it? Cora was quizzical, studied bass material music in Germany...

    What the hell am I thinking? I shook my head a little, noticing we had arrived at the docks, among merchants selling everything from food to clothing. John strode to the edge of the docks and leaned his against a large wooden pole, looking into the horizon, into the sea. Sunrise, a beautiful orangey tone.

    "I'm sorry," I said again, tentatively walking up to him, wondering if he'd reach out or not. The area was windy. You could hear the squawk of seagulls and the sound of clothes against skin as the wind toyed with the loose, baggy garments of some nearby sailors.

    "This is when we first came to Hamburg," John said instead after a pause. "Do you remember?"

    "You kissed me," I said. "Back in my room."

    He suddenly turned around and sat against the wooden pole, part of a large fence which stretched parallel to the dock, blocking us from the expanse of water, leaving enough space for me, and I sat close to him. "You don't trust my fidelity." He said it like it was hard to get out.

    "I—I'm sorry. I do, it's just that..." I thought frantically, attempting to explain away an entire history of cheating. "I—erm—" It was a paradox; I was going to either pretend that the cheating wasn't a thing and live with it or call them out on it and risk changing history.

    "You doubt me," he confirmed bitterly, the words seeming to wrestle their way from a choky sounding sentence.

    Millions of answers caught in my throat, but one wrestled its way from my lips. "No, I don't. I trust you. John, I trust you with my life." His fingers were catching hold of mine; his brown eyes looking straight at me. "The only reason I felt threatened was because Paul was dating Dot and then Emilia happened, and then I remembered all the strippers here, and I'm so sorry, I didn't mean a word, it's the experience and I know I sound like I'm making excuses but I swear—"

    I was suddenly unable to speak for shock; he had leaned forwards and hugged me. I was caught inside a large expanse of John, feeling a full on hug. "John—"

    "Don't speak. I just want to hold you."

    And so I didn't. I closed my eyes and held him and let him hold me and breathed him in. "I—love—you... so much," I heard, a voice muffled in the sleeve of a black leather jacket, guilt washing over me for my rashly spoken sentence. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," I told him, my voice breaking a little. That moment—that pivotal moment—made me feel as if we were whole, or maybe it was the prellies wearing off or tiredness wearing in or the silent expanse of the ocean right next to us.

    Something suddenly slipped—the shift of the solid material against my back, and I saw the whole thing like slow motion and the thought ran through my head like a dripping tap: this kind of thing only happens in the cinema, but we were falling through the air and my heart was left up at the spot where we were hugging but I wasn't; I felt John's scrabbling fingers and then a sheer drop and then cold, cold, cold water. All I could see was a murky gray, and panic rose because I couldn't see anything. Splashing. I heard bubbles, a struggle under the water. John. John. "John!" I cried out, my head rising above the water, someone calling out in German, "Da drüben! Schnell!" and an arm grabbing at mine, John's worried but commanding voice telling me to keep afloat, his attempt to keep us both afloat, his scrabbling hands trying to lift me, the heaviness of the shoes on my feet. The world shifted into focus. The dock where we were sitting on was a good two feet above our heads, a boat was coming, and we were lifted into it amidst several curses in German.