And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 68: Burgers, With A Side Of Argument

    Wise men say, only fools rush in...

    I glanced over the steaming kettle and the melody of Elvis's croons lingering in the air to see Harry Harrison locate his briefcase and nod a thank you to me, heading out the door in his bus driver uniform, a piece of toast in his mouth. Now George and Danny were the only ones still at the breakfast table. A neat stack of notes sat next to Danny, his rent money he was going to give to Harry but didn't get to due to the morning rush. The notes sat on the table. I wondered why he didn't put them back in his pocket.

    "Come eat, love," George called into the kitchen.

    I reached over and turned off the radio, then turned to grab a piece of toast and started to spread jam on it. "Coming, Geo." John's face from last night floated before my view amongst the jam on my toast. I gave a silent thanks to the darkening sky; the darkness had helped him to speak.

    "Good gig last night?" Danny asked.

    "Not bad," I responded, walking out of the kitchen towards the dining table. "They're really starting to like us more and more." Danny's right eye bulged. "Ye all right, mate?" George asked. He thought Danny was a bit of a shady character, slightly potty. "As long as yer fine with him, love," he told me in private after a few days of Danny staying. "The extra rent money is nice. He's only staying for a few days, he said, he's leaving after he gets something done. Although I really don't want to know where he gets the rent quid."

    I knew George was waiting for an explanation of my talk with John in the garden. George silently prompted me, his spoon resting on the edge of his place still full of eggs.

    "Last night John and I just made up is all," I said, staring at the Harrison's small dining table. "I..." I trailed off, thinking about what John had been through. I had know before, but now I felt like I really knew. Unconventional familiar relations resulted in a skewed sense of what love was. Who was his mother—Mimi, or Julia? Two women playing the same role. And if he was raised on that notion...

    Danny coughed. I met his eyes. "How do you feel about him now?" Danny asked carefully, sipping from a mug of coffee. He seemed jumpy when I had gotten home that night, late late late from the show at St. John's. I remembered exchanging sentences with John in the garden, chewing at my lip and soaking in his unspoken words. John hated—loathed—anyone seeing him in a vulnerable state, and it made me aware I was walking on eggshells. Talking with John made me feel stripped and when I got home to see Danny sitting in the living room (waiting up for me?) I had run in and given him a bear hug, mumbling apologies for the past few months. Maybe that was why Danny was shaken.

    I was torn between several responses, given who I was talking to. "I need time," I ended up telling him.

    He leaned across the table. "Cora, can we meet for lunch today? After band practice? There's a cafe by The Cabin Club."

    George got up to refill his orange juice. I felt his annoyance at the exclusion but I concentrated on Danny's request. We hadn't eaten together in so long... the last time was over six, eight months ago. I looked at his earnest face across from me and nodded.

***

    John was late. The rest of us were sitting in Paul's dining room amongst windows with the start of pattering rain instead of sunshine—Liverpool showers were more common than you'd expect. "Who's that lad that was with ye at Rings'?" Pete asked, referring to Danny.

    I shot George a look. "Oh, that's just Danny. He's an old friend."

    "Does that mean he's from the future?" asked Pete, excited or mocking I couldn't tell but at that moment John walked inside, looking like a wet hen, carrying his guitar case, which was also wet. "Bloody cats and dogs. I see ye all barely missed the rain."