You've Got To Hide Your Love Away - A Beatles Fanfic

Chapter 14 - CHAINS

••••
Chains, well I can't break away from these chains.
Can't run around, cause I'm not free.
Whoa, oh, these chains of love won't let me be.
••••

"I just hate that you're missing out on all these milestones," Cynthia sighed. "You already missed his first word. And now you've missed his first steps, too."

"Ah, come off it, Cyn," John said exasperatedly as he sat on the couch. He had just woken up and was in no mood to be chastised. "It's not as if it was the only steps he'll ever take."

"He's just growing so much everyday and you're missing it all."

"Maybe I should just quit the band then?" John barked. "Quit the Beatles and sit 'round here all day so I can catch every bloody sneeze and shit that comes out of him?"

"Of course not. It's just that you know what it's like, not having a dad around with Alfred and all -"

"Don't you dare mention him!" John bellowed. "I'm not anything like that bastard!"

"That's not what I meant -"

"Then what did you bloody mean, Cyn?" John stood up from the couch. "You want to eat, right? You want a roof over your head? Or would you rather us be piss poor living on the street but oh I saw the damn baby's first fuckin' steps!?"

Cynthia gave a small sigh and switched Julian from one hip to the other. "Of course not, John. I'm sorry," she said meekly, trying to avoid more yelling.

The Beatles were two weeks into their filming and had earned a well-deserved weekend off. The fact that they had been in the same city, working on the same thing for days on end was waring on John. Being 'Beatle John' in public for the press and fans had always been something of a strain, but having to play a caricature of himself on film was even worse. Add a nagging wife to the mix, and John was chomping at the bit for a change of scenery.

He stomped from the living room, down the hall, and into the bedroom. Quickly throwing some clothes on, John headed to the bathroom and ran a comb through his hair. It was 10:30 in the morning, and even though it was his first day off in weeks he had no intention of sitting around the flat being compared to his arsehole of a father.

"Fuckin' compare me to Alfred," John muttered as he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Where are you going?" Cynthia asked quietly as John walked back in the living room and grabbed a guitar, putting it inside a case.

"Out."

"Out where?"

John didn't respond.

"Well will you be home for tea, at least?" Cynthia frowned. "I was going to cook a roast, knowing you'd be here."

"If I'm home, then I'm home," John grumbled. "Make the damn roast and if I'm here, I'll eat it."

John walked into the kitchen, made a quick call to Bill Corbett, and then grabbed his guitar case and walked out of the flat to go stand in the small lobby and wait to get picked up.

John had Bill drop him off at Paul's place and told him to come back in an hour. Jane answered the door and led John to the kitchen where she and Paul were having lunch with Jane's brother, Peter.

"Alright?" Paul nodded as John walked in.

"Had to get out of that damn flat," John replied. "Cyn's being a right gobshite."

"Fancy a bite?" Jane asked, offering John some of the leftover lunch preparations.

John grabbed a sandwich from the serving platter. "Ta."