27. Speak the truth

2.9K 97 72
                                    

251 Menlove Avenue. Celia was sure this was where John lived. Last night had been such a woozy haze after the amount she'd drunk. Celia had left John's in such haste and hadn't really thought she'd need to memorise the house when she cycled away from it.

Mendips. That's what the sign on the gate said. Funny name. She felt a sense of déjà vu as she repeated the name to herself. It must be it then, mustn't it?

Celia came to return the bike. The bike John said he didn't want back. Her mother spotted it leaning against the garage wall where her father had left it, and she'd started to ask all sorts of questions about it. Of course, Celia lied and said Elizabeth leant it to her to get home last night. Her mother obviously hadn't rung up Elizabeth to see if her daughter was telling the truth. God help Celia if she did.

Celia hadn't intended on bringing the bike back but what else was she supposed to do? She couldn't ride back home with it after her mother had asked her to return it, and she couldn't just dump it on the side of some road; it wasn't her place to do that. Anyway, she felt bad enough stealing it from this Michael lad, whoever the hell he is.

Celia biked the long way to Woolton. She'd been here a few times before to go to the picture house down Mason Street, a cute little thing it was. Woolton was a reputable village, very middle class. Menlove Avenue was a large, busy road but very neat and civilised by the looks of it. She wasn't ignorant to the affluence of her own street, what with her father being a businessman, who prided his upmarket property. Mossley Hill was a nice enough area but hectic with it being so close to the high street. Woolton, on the other hand, was the complete opposite; Celia wouldn't mind living here at all.

Usually, Celia would cut straight through Calderstones Park, but this time she'd avoided it altogether deciding to take the route down Brodie Avenue— a long and winding main road, that seemed to go on forever. She hadn't minded, though, that was her intention. Anything to avoid getting home quickly where her mother would be waiting to have one of her concerned talks about Celia's "mutinous" behaviour in school. Mr Taylor had called Nora on the telephone and informed her of Celia's after-school detentions, and she was far from happy about it; the look on her face when Celia got home said it all. Celia planned on delaying her journey back as much as possible; she'd be in trouble either way, so why what would it matter?

Celia surveyed the house in front of her. No one seemed to be home; all the lights were off. That's a good sign, she supposed. It meant she could quickly put the bike by the wall before anyone could catch her doing it. She hesitantly opened the gate and wheeled the bike through, careful not to swivel it on the plants. The front garden was well-kept, even in the winter.

Reaching the side of the house, Celia started to unfasten the big empty basket she had attached to the bike. Freshly baked cakes had been in there not too long ago. You see, for the past four years, Celia's mother had been running her own little one-women cake business in the environment of her own home, alongside being a mother and a housewife. Nora Pooley had turned her life-long hobby into an enjoyable vocation. She was always getting orders and friendly demands for this and that. Great success had come of it. Not that Celia or anyone in the family was surprised; her mother always had an incredible skill for baking and cake decorating.

Delivering a few of mother's cake orders had been Celia's first chore, the chief reason as to why she was out in the first place. All she had left to do now was drop off this damned bike and not bump into John.

Celia gently rested it against the wall making sure to wipe away any sweat marks she'd left on the seat. She'd let John come up with whatever "genius" excuse he had about the bike magically reappearing.

Growing Up Beside You [John Lennon/Beatles Fanfiction]Where stories live. Discover now