1963 | J.Lennon

Chapter Nine: What It Is

She wasn't 'bevied up,' contrary to what he thought. She had gotten sick, but she wasn't drunk. It was the alcohol, the Scotch and the Coke, that hadn't settled well in her stomach. She was only embarrassed.

"Get Nell," she heard John mumble to Paul, who sat on the other side of him. John keep looking at her, worried, as if she'd do it again. She was miserable. It was nearing 2am and she wanted to go home; it radiated off her. "Are you alright then?" he nodded towards her. His own drink had disappeared seemingly after she'd come back in from puking, and he hadn't asked for another.

"Fine." She nodded. Her coat was still around her, and she wrapped it tighter, feeling uncomfortable. She had begun to smell the stink of the Cavern on her and the others. It doubled the distaste that already existed in her mouth.

"Nell's comin'," Paul told him. "I wouldn't 'ave made you drink those if I knew..." He looked at Evelyn and she smiled. They tasted good going down, and she was persuaded by their encouragement that she have them. One became two, but she'd stopped there. After thirty minutes, it all went south, but she didn't blame them. She'd said yes.

"Oh it's my fault, I'm careless." She gave him a weak wink and John smiled beside her.

"A fuggin' heavy weight, is she."

"Hardly." She leaned her head against the back of the booth. Briefly her eyes closed and she soaked into the surrounding. John's arm grazed hers, then remained, warmth touching warmth. He'd been like that all night, keeping her close, introducing her to bands she only knew briefly. The geniality had been appreciated up until she'd puked. She'd rather have walked home, not face any of them again until Monday morning, and be done with it. But he'd insisted on her coming back, on sitting it out and sobering up until Nell would take them home. She wasn't drunk, she'd told him that, but he insisted.

When she opened her eyes, the curly brown-hair man she knew as Neil or Nell, as they all had an odd way of pronouncing it, was standing in front of the table. He waited patiently. "Come 'ed," John tapped her shoulder. She slid out of the red-cushioned booth and collected herself. "Are you comin'?" he asked Paul, but Paul shook his head.

"I'll ride with George if that's alright."

"I can take 'er 'ome, John, if you want t'stay." Neil offered. He hadn't even looked at her.

"No, s'alright. I need t'pack it in anyways. It'll keep Brian sane." John said putting on his grey tweed jacket. "'e's always on me 'bout public image."

"Yeah, I 'ear it."

They begun walking to the entrance. It was more arduous making her way out the second time round, now that John was with her. Everyone wanted to say their goodbyes it seemed, and her and Neil escaped quicker than he did.

The van was parked on the curb by the Grapes. Before getting in, Neil opened the passenger door for her. She gave him a quiet thank you and climbed in, starting a silence as they awaited their Beatle.

The vehicle was still full of equipment, which struck her as odd. Liverpool wasn't the safest place, and she knew musicians, particularly the working-class ones that peppered the music scene, cared about them. To leave it in the car like that was risky, but they were still there, so it mustn't have been too bad—or they'd gotten lucky and Neil truly had been taking a chance.

Soon, a breeze of cold air exploded onto her in a huge whiff, and John appeared to be the reason. He climbed into the van and buckled in the middle, shoving aside a guitar. "Sorry," he told them. "Bleedin' can't get outta nowhere anymore, ya know."

"It's because you're a laugh," Neil told him as he started the engine. He peered at John through the rear-view mirror. "Stop makin' jokes an' they'll let you through."