1963 | J.Lennon

Chapter One: Mornin' Mersey

Evelyn's morning had started out horribly. The smell of fish invaded the air, and the hum of the Liverpool morning rush carried through it as she walked miserably down the street to the small building she found true joy in calling work. She was thirty minutes late, and although she knew her bosses wouldn't hold it against her, she felt a heavy weight of disappointment form in her stomach. Rain ruined her curled hair, and had damped the horrible choice of a white shirt she had chose to wear this morning. Thank God for jackets, she said to herself, frowning. 

She prided herself on professionalism. Though she was fairly new to the journalism trade, she wasn't any less dedicated or determined than the rest of the people who worked inside of it. She knew the ins and the outs, what to do and what not to do, and she took her job at one of the more recent newspapers in Liverpool seriously. The job at Mersey Beat was something she considered not only a good opportunity for branching out into new areas, but somewhat of a life saver, too; it had came at just the right time.

Unlike the suitable and often times enjoyable desk job at Mersey Beat, Evelyn's friend, Lanny wasn't perfectly timed. In fact, she was the opposite, leaving her high in dry, with only so much as a quick, "Can't make it today, Ev, y'understand, dont'cha? Real sorry." 

She didn't even have the audacity to say goodbye before she hung up and left Evelyn standing in the middle of her flat, mouth agape wondering how in the hell she was going to make it to work on time. She'd come to found out the answer was she couldn't, not at all. Today, although barely off the ground and going, had already left a foul taste in her mouth. She wanted to curl up and pretend it hadn't happened.

When she opened the glass door to the office, the sound of fingers tapping against typewriter keys and the normal sound of a 45 record spinning on low escaped into the typically cold air. She smiled gently at Bill who was sat on the desk that Virginia was typing effectively and without distraction at, and he gave returned it. "Alright?" he asked, nodding towards her. 

"I'm good," Evelyn responded. She wrapped her long, cream trench-coat around herself tighter, trying to conceal the white material that had gone see-through. She stepped over bits of papers, books, and records in order to settle beside Bill in a chair. "Bit a rough morn. I'm sorry for my tardiness--"

"It's alright," he cut her off. Evelyn let out a soft sigh and Bill laughed undeniably at her expense. "Everyone has a bit of a rough morn, don't they? Jus' as long as you have yer article finished, we've nothing t'worry about."

Evelyn relaxed in the presence of her employer. His cool demeanor ultimately provided her nerves time to calm down. Reaching down into the brown leather suitcase, she composed her article; a full page paper telling anyone who was willing to listen about the new, groundbreaking music creeping it's way into the life of Liverpool. First discussed, as they had seemed to be for a while now, were The Beatles. Everyone seemed to fancy them a bit, so she found herself placing them in the beginning of the article to pull in the readers. "Here you are." She handed it to Bill. "Ta'," he responded, putting it with the rest of their work in the mental basket placed by his knee. 

In all honesty, Evelyn wasn't the most music savvy person to walk the face of the earth. Bill had been wary at first of hiring her, but she had left him checking every box but a good musical understanding, and what's more, she was eager. He had met her during a lunch session at The Cavern Club. She was merged into the cluster of curious and wild teens who shuffled in to listen to the latest beat in 1962. That afternoon Rory and his gang had provided the backing music for a conversation that had set both of them up for a wonderful work relationship that had lasted this far. She spoke of the sound that they were hearing, and he told her, sometimes resulting to shouting in order to be heard, that he had a newspaper about music. His intentions had probably been different than what had spiraled out of it--he had probably just hoped she would spread the word around the school yard or summat--but as it were, it had lead him to get another member of the team.