And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 86: Michael, Janus, and I, Alice

 I didn't dare touch it.

John lay beside me, sleeping, his head nestled in the crook of his arm, his body turned toward mine. He was lying there in a black rumpled t-shirt, his eyes closed, hair messy.

I smiled at him, then turned toward my satchel and frowned. The morning light illuminated my little purse sitting on the desk of the motel room. John stirred beside me and I turned toward him. "Morning."

"Mmmmm." He stretched and reached for me; I leaned up to kiss him. "Dear Cora, good morning, good morning."

"Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in..." I murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing. Good morning." I turned away from the book and buried myself in his chest.

"What are we going to do about that there book over yonder?" John asked as if reading my mind. I would have laughed, but now my heart felt lodged in my throat. Something was searing two paths in my mind. Two options. I knew that if I opened the book I could get home.

John gently pushed me off of him and stood. I faced the headboard of the bed and stretched, feeling my long hair brush against my naked back, until I saw him thumbing through the pages of the book. "John!"

"What?"

He was still there. He was still there. "Don't touch that!" I said, panicked. "You could've gone back."

"But that's the thing, love. I can't go back. Look." I saw him poke and prod his fingers through the pages. "Everything is blank. I'm not moving, I'm not gone, I'm here with you."

I half expected him to disappear into thin air, or hear a bang and him be gone, or see a mist fade from where he was standing amongst Michael's boomy laugh, but I didn't. John stood in his boxers, his laugh growing as he prodded the book and then half threw it back onto the table. I felt something rise inside me: relief, but I couldn't help but feel it wasn't over. I focused on something else instead. His smile. Blimey, I loved his smile, his laugh, his loving arms around me in all parts of Liverpool.

"Let's have breakfast, love. And then let's take a walk by the river. I've got an idea."

***

Two plates of potatoes, steak, and eggs later and we were walking by the river Mersey. John held my hand in his coat pocket as I walked along in my tennis shoes, a scarf wrapped tightly around my neck.

"Cold, innit?" he asked.

I squeezed his fingers. "Bit. Not cold with ye though."

He chuckled and I felt something in the pocket of Uncle George's jacket. "What's this then?"

"Oh, nearly forgot to tell ye. It's a gift from one of my aunts for my birthday. 100 quid. I'm not sure what to do with it."

"One hundred quid!" It didn't seem like a lot, but in those days and after being in the sixties for a whole year now, I gaped at its value. "John!"

"As I said, I'm not sure what to do with it."

"I—at least don't keep it in yer coat pocket where ye could easily get pickpocketed," I huffed at him. "John."

"Should I give it to ye? Buy ye a nice mink coat."

"Mimi would have a fit. Do ye want her to have aneurysms?"

John laughed. We paused by the railing, looking out into the river. "This is nice," I commented. "Even though it's so dreary.

"Home is like that. Wouldn't you agree?"