TW: internalised homophobia
A/N: A quick chapter
December 6th, 1970
"Good morning, princess," John murmured, kissing Christine's cheek, "How's my special girl doing?"
She yawned, opening her eyes and smiling. Was John there? Was he out of the studio for once?
"Really good," she smiled innocently.
"Congratulations on the album," he said, "I just bought myself a copy, it's nearly sold out in our local."
"Really?"
"Yeah, people love it."
"Thank you."
"I can't be here all day, but I want to listen to it with you," he smiled, "And I made breakfast."
She smiled, but it hurt still. He had to go back to the studio. At least she could spend the day with Jenny. Maybe she'd understand how much it hurt that her own husband couldn't be with her to celebrate. Afterall, Mick did miss her last birthday, leaving her to spend it with Christine, as they drank wine and ended up cuddling on the couch. She didn't think anything of it, but afterwards realised just how much better it felt to be in a woman's arms than John's. They'd broken off quickly when they heard a car in the driveway, not wanting to be found like that.
December 7th, 1970
Indigo had moved onto a nicer street, into a flat closer to work, and spent her days when she wasn't at work painting and hanging around the gallery, hoping she'd meet someone who wanted her work. The record store was a constant temptation ever since reading in a paper left at a bar that "Christine Perfect joins Fleetwood Mac".
She wondered if it could be the same Christine.
"Perfect" wasn't a common name by any means, but maybe someone used it as a stage name. But when she flicked to the page and saw her college girlfriend's smiling face looking up at her, she felt a pang of hurt in her heart. Why couldn't she move on? Maybe she needed closure. She wished this could be it.
Despite trying to rush home before it started raining bitterly again, something caught Indigo's eye as she walked home from her new job at the newly opened department store. She stopped dead in front of the record store and suddenly wished her paycheck came sooner.
Sitting right in the window display was a record called "Christine Perfect".
And the price tag was just out of her reach.
December 14th, 1970
When Indigo returned to the shop, the display was gone but she held hope, quickly finding it in a bargain bin. Whilst she was glad she could put some money into her savings, instead of towards a record this month, she felt bad. It had barely been a week.
But when she got home, and wrapped herself up in a blanket, sitting on her bed and putting the needle on the record, she felt instantly less so. It was better than anything she had heard in years. It had been years since she'd heard that sweet, low voice too. And she'd do anything to hear it again. Especially in bed, when she'd wrap her arms around Indigo and whisper sweet nothings in her ear until the sun went down.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she listened. Every song felt so intimate and loving. She missed that.
She wished she could move on again.
But it wasn't like she'd be finding any other women who loved other women anytime soon.
She missed it dearly. Her tears started flowing freely down her face in two streams, and she held in her sobbing. If only she could see her again.
She had to get to work on her moving fund. Even if it took up every one of the shiny new decimalised coins of her savings.
