Nowhere Girl ~ John Lennon/The Beatles

Chapter Twenty Two: Angel Albert

"Fucking hell," Robin cursed for at least the hundredth time that day, cringing at the memory of her Uncle walking in on them. John, yet again, laughed. "This isn't fucking funny, Lennon!"

"It is a bit," he commented, not bothering to hide his smirk, clearly far more amused at the situation than Robin was, as all she could think of was the worst case scenario.

Albert hadn't loitered in her room long. In fact as soon as Robin tried to explain he swiftly left, far too embarrassed on all of their behalves to wait around, and his quick arrival and departure left both John and Robin stunned to silence until John started laughing and Robin started crying. It had taken her a good half hour before John managed to get her to stop panicking about what had happened, though the thought of it still made her chest tighten. She knew it was inevitable that she'd have to talk to her Uncle, impossible to ignore the situation, and as she feared the worst, John decided that to distract her the two of them would go out for the day.

That was how the two of them ended up sat by the docks, the winter wind cutting into the two of them as they sat on a bench sharing a punnet of chips, Robin carrying her camera with her on a strap around her neck. John had gone back to his house to freshen up and change, giving Robin chance to sort herself out. Her hair had been in tangles from the rain the night before, but she'd managed to make herself look somewhat presentable, tying her hair back and applying the faintest bit of makeup so she at least didn't look as rough as she felt, and as she left the house wrapped up in a thick winter coat and long scarf, she felt a pang of guilt as she realised Albert was in the kitchen and had heard her leaving yet hadn't called to speak to her.

She couldn't help but think that his silence wasn't just out of embarrassment but anger. Regardless of the changing times, even if their generation was more liberated than societies before, the shame was still there. She remembered when her mother enrolled her in Sunday school just so she could get rid of her for a few hours on the weekend, and the only real thing she learnt, other than Nuns being rather terrifying when they wanted to be, was that sex and love was sacred and to disregard those rules was immoral. Robin thought that was all old-fashioned and was far more concerned with looking after herself than thinking about some age-old rules of society, but the rest of the world, even if it was slowly changing, wouldn't see it that way.

What if Albert saw things like that conservatively? Her mother's parents had caught her in a relationship and kicked her out, what if her Uncle would do the same? Or worse, what if he told her mother? Her Uncle had previously been so understanding, so kind to her, but what if his sympathies to her ended the moment he walked in on her and John? What if he fired her from the restaurant in retribution for having John stay the night? Where would she go, what would she do?

Robin felt herself panicking again, so she distracted herself by looking out over the docks, watching the ships sail along the Mersey. She liked the docks, it was calming, and given that it was New Years Day it was practically deserted, just the way she liked things. With hardly anyone else around, it could just be her and John, and when she was with him alone she could just pretend that they were a proper couple, and not two friends casually sleeping with each other. Of course, the pretending wasn't too easy given that her mind kept cutting the the moment her bedroom door had opened and they were both exposed.

"After everything he's done for me, he's an actual angel on Earth, and this is how I repay him?" she muttered, picking at the chips on John's lap with the small wooden fork. "We should have gotten gravy with these,"

"Weird Yorkshire woman," John rolled his eyes in amusement before he thought about what she'd originally said. "Should I be offended? Y'know it's not a crime what we were doing,"

"No, don't be offended, it's just different for you," she tried to explain, sighing as she realised he didn't experience the same societal constraints that she'd unknowingly internalised. "It's different for girls and lads with this sort of thing. When people find out about what we've been doing you'll be hailed a hero, Mister Stud the Top Shagger. Meanwhile I'll just be called a slag and told I've got no morals and that I'm a sinful little wench,"