The Certainty Of Chance (Beatles Fan Fiction)

6

A large white house stood on the very outskirts of the town. Tall trees and bushes shrouded it, so that you might pass by it and never even see it. The house was three floors but had lain empty for quite a few months. Someone’s holiday home, May had assumed when she had first noticed it. It was also the only place she could think of to go for the night. She didn’t really have any friends, and besides, she didn’t want anyone to see the black eye Jack had given her.

May packed a bag half in a daze, taking only what first came to hand, shoving in random clothes. She carefully stuck the picture of George back together with sellotape. He was creased and had a very visible tear line straight between his eyes, but he still looked beautiful, and gazing at those deep brown eyes, she felt better, comforted, as if he was an old, trusted friend gazing back at her.

“Thought I’d lost you for a moment there, George,” she told him.

The remains of the records were still on the floor. May looked at them sadly. Smashed and broken, like me and Jack, she thought, and she closed the door behind her.

Standing in front of the shut up house she began to have second thoughts. What if there was someone in there? They’d probably call the police. It didn’t exactly look occupied though. I would still be breaking in, she reasoned. But then, what else could I do? Where am I going to go now? Crawling back to Jack? He wouldn’t have me now, even if I begged. One night, she eventually decided. One night, then I’ll go back to Manchester. She didn’t believe her parents would turn her away if she arrived in this state. But tonight she just wasn’t up to the journey, so here would do. Any port in a storm.

She walked round the house, looking for a possible way in. At the back was a small window over the kitchen sink. The wood had warped and as a result it refused to close properly. Climbing up on the windowsill she managed to squeeze through it and came down head first into the sink on the other side.

The house smelt musty and was covered in dust. There was definitely no one around; nobody had been in here for quite a while by the looks of it. Some of the furniture was under sheets and parts of the house were entirely bare. Most of the carpet had been pulled up too, revealing the floorboards. May had a quick glance around the house, but the horrible feeling she was intruding made her retreat to one of the bedrooms. If I just stay in this one room and don’t leave any mess or anything maybe no one will ever know I’ve been in here, she thought, After all, I’ve come this far now.

The beds weren’t made up so she took some of the dustsheets from the furniture for makeshift bedding. The sun was already going down by the time she had finished. There was no electricity or gas, but luckily May had remembered to bring some food with her. She sat on the bed eating ham she had bought for Jack’s tea on dry white bread, watching the long shadows reaching across the wall. It would be dark soon, then she would be alone with her thoughts. Her mind buzzed with the events of the day. She played them over and over again, trying to understand, but only succeeded in confusing herself more. She put the sandwich down on the bedside table hardly touched. She had no appetite.

A terrible notion occurred to her. What if her father turned her away?

“You’ve made your bed,” were his last words to her and she had walked away without even a look back.

“I’m completely alone now,” she said aloud and her voice echoed around the room. Then feeling in her pocket for the folded up piece of paper, she amended, “Well, nearly.” She unfolded the picture of George and smiled at him. He looked back at her, slightly moody, as always.