No Place to Go
She's Leaving Home
'Now, I watch you sitting there
See the passerby’s all stare
Like you’ve got no place to go
But there’s so much they don’t know
‘Bout Apple Scruffs’
November, 1967
The clouds hung low on the London skyline. Snow dampened the ground, and the air nipped lightly at noses and exposed skin. People walked at a hurried pace, dodging the flakes that slipped from the sky above. Children laughed and skipped in the streets, basking in the rare end-of-year treat Mother Nature had granted them.
It had been a turbulent year for many in Britain, especially for those boys so affectionately called ‘The Fab Four’. A little over a year had passed since they had decided to stop touring; they had released their most ambitious record, Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in June, but their dear friend and manager Brian Epstein had passed away from an accidental overdose only a few months earlier. Still, they had not been deterred. They had already released an album to accompany the TV special that would be airing soon, and their company, Apple Corps, was well on its way to opening its headquarters and new boutique.
Fans hadn’t been deterred, either. Girls still queued up around Abbey Road Studios, their home away from home. Their numbers weren't like they had been during the height of ’Beatlemania’, but those who remained were loyal until the end.
Two such girls were currently hurrying about their house in the ‘dodgy end’ of London. The two sisters, Mable and Mae, scurried back and forth across their room, grabbing for clothes, jackets, mittens, boots: anything that would keep their young bodies warm in the intense weather. They both giggled soundlessly, so they wouldn't interrupt their parents' kip.
"Come on, Mae. Hurry up, we're gonna miss 'em!" Mabel complained, slipping on her jacket and stuffing a mitten in her pocket.
The younger sister tossed a look over her shoulder before pulling a boot over her foot.
"Y'know. They're gonna be there all day, Mabe. We all know that Paul comes last, so no need to rush," Mae murmured before standing and straightening her skirt.
Mabel rolled her eyes and mumbled 'I know', before gazing in the mirror to take a look at her reflection. Once they both were certain they were prepared, they took to the cold London streets.
“Christ! It’s fucking freezing!” Mae hissed, wrapping the jacket closer to her body.
“Quit whining, just be glad I’m actually taking you to see The Beatles. Not every sister is so loving, y’know,” Mable sniffed, hurrying her pace.
“Oh yes, you’re So loving! Especially that time you broke my Rubber Soul album on ‘accident.’” Mae made little quotation marks with her fingers, her breath sending out white puffs into the evening air.
Both girls carried on their argument as they walked further away from their house and deeper into London. Neither had brought money for a cab and were soon regretting it.
“Why didn’t you think of it?! You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Mabel spat.
Mae simply rolled her eyes, brushing past an older man who looked suspiciously at both sisters. Mabel glared back, causing the man to look away quickly.
“We’ve made it!” Mae declared after some time. She stood in front of Abbey Road Studios, a look of wonder etched across her face.
“Well don’t just stand there! Come on!” Mabel dragged her sister to the front gates as the snow turned to rain.
---
“Of course it’s raining!” Lorelai grumbled, pushing her scarf up over the tip of her nose, her right thumb near frozen solid because of November weather.
‘Not lookin’ terribly attractive today in yer thick black coat,’ she thought to herself as the cold rain poured from the sky. Lucky for her, a truck full of god-knows-what stopped for her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, looking at the fat bearded driver as she climbed into the truck, her bag thrown in front of her.
“Where ya headed?” The driver asked as he pulled back onto the road.
“London,” she said, fighting off a smile. ‘Abbey Road Studios! 3 Abbey Road, St. John’s Wood Park…‘ She’d memorized that address nearly five years.
“From Liverpool, are ya?” The driver asked with a chuckle.
“What gave it away?” Lorelai deadpanned, still looking eagerly out the dirty window, rubbing her hands together to work the feeling back into them.
“You’re accent,” he answered simply. “Waiting out there long?”
She shrugged. “Bout half an hour maybe.”
“Yeh shouldn’t be hitchhikin’ in this weather, yeh’ll get a death a’cold,” The driver stated matter-of-factly. Lorelai rolled her eyes.
"I thought some of you Northerner’s were a’posed to be nice.”
“We’re not all Paul McCartney, alright?” Lorelai remarked. Sighing, she put her hair up, waiting for the next stop.
Somewhere along the same dark stretch of road, a lone bus trudged along toward London. Among its few passengers was a solitary Mersey girl, her thoughts thrumming like a hummingbird.
She was scared. She didn’t know why, but a terrible fear permeated through her body.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ she thought to herself as she leaned against the window of the bus, her dirty blond hair sticking to the condensation that rolled down the glass. As the English countryside whisked by unseen, she thought of what had transpired earlier that night.
“Isabelle!” She heard her mother call though the tiny flat. “Isabelle, where the ‘ell are you!?”
“In the kitchen!” She replied, checking over a tiny bit of luggage that sat by the back door.
Within a few moments, the sound of angry footsteps came closer and closer, until the image of her livid mother in her nightshirt stood in the door frame. “Where on earth do you think you’re going, Isabelle?” She thundered, her hands on her hips.
“London,” she snapped as she threw her bags over her shoulders. “And for the last time, my name is Izzy.”
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with, young lady.” Izzy ignored her and crossed the kitchen, making her way out the door. “We‘ve gone over this. You‘re not going to London so you can sit ‘round like a bum with your little friends”
Her mother grabbed Izzy’s wrist in a futile attempt to keep her still. Izzy immediately wrenched free, shooting her mother a fierce look.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” She blurted out. “I’m not your little girl anymore.” With that, she slammed the door behind her and ran as fast as she could through the cold November air.
She could still feel her lungs burning from the ten-block sprint between her mother’s flat in Rock Ferry and the bus station. But despite the pain and the fear, she slowly found herself lulled to sleep by the constant chugging of the bus, her mind filled with images of her hopes and expectations for the coming weeks.
See the passerby’s all stare
Like you’ve got no place to go
But there’s so much they don’t know
‘Bout Apple Scruffs’
November, 1967
The clouds hung low on the London skyline. Snow dampened the ground, and the air nipped lightly at noses and exposed skin. People walked at a hurried pace, dodging the flakes that slipped from the sky above. Children laughed and skipped in the streets, basking in the rare end-of-year treat Mother Nature had granted them.
It had been a turbulent year for many in Britain, especially for those boys so affectionately called ‘The Fab Four’. A little over a year had passed since they had decided to stop touring; they had released their most ambitious record, Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in June, but their dear friend and manager Brian Epstein had passed away from an accidental overdose only a few months earlier. Still, they had not been deterred. They had already released an album to accompany the TV special that would be airing soon, and their company, Apple Corps, was well on its way to opening its headquarters and new boutique.
Fans hadn’t been deterred, either. Girls still queued up around Abbey Road Studios, their home away from home. Their numbers weren't like they had been during the height of ’Beatlemania’, but those who remained were loyal until the end.
Two such girls were currently hurrying about their house in the ‘dodgy end’ of London. The two sisters, Mable and Mae, scurried back and forth across their room, grabbing for clothes, jackets, mittens, boots: anything that would keep their young bodies warm in the intense weather. They both giggled soundlessly, so they wouldn't interrupt their parents' kip.
"Come on, Mae. Hurry up, we're gonna miss 'em!" Mabel complained, slipping on her jacket and stuffing a mitten in her pocket.
The younger sister tossed a look over her shoulder before pulling a boot over her foot.
"Y'know. They're gonna be there all day, Mabe. We all know that Paul comes last, so no need to rush," Mae murmured before standing and straightening her skirt.
Mabel rolled her eyes and mumbled 'I know', before gazing in the mirror to take a look at her reflection. Once they both were certain they were prepared, they took to the cold London streets.
“Christ! It’s fucking freezing!” Mae hissed, wrapping the jacket closer to her body.
“Quit whining, just be glad I’m actually taking you to see The Beatles. Not every sister is so loving, y’know,” Mable sniffed, hurrying her pace.
“Oh yes, you’re So loving! Especially that time you broke my Rubber Soul album on ‘accident.’” Mae made little quotation marks with her fingers, her breath sending out white puffs into the evening air.
Both girls carried on their argument as they walked further away from their house and deeper into London. Neither had brought money for a cab and were soon regretting it.
“Why didn’t you think of it?! You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Mabel spat.
Mae simply rolled her eyes, brushing past an older man who looked suspiciously at both sisters. Mabel glared back, causing the man to look away quickly.
“We’ve made it!” Mae declared after some time. She stood in front of Abbey Road Studios, a look of wonder etched across her face.
“Well don’t just stand there! Come on!” Mabel dragged her sister to the front gates as the snow turned to rain.
---
“Of course it’s raining!” Lorelai grumbled, pushing her scarf up over the tip of her nose, her right thumb near frozen solid because of November weather.
‘Not lookin’ terribly attractive today in yer thick black coat,’ she thought to herself as the cold rain poured from the sky. Lucky for her, a truck full of god-knows-what stopped for her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, looking at the fat bearded driver as she climbed into the truck, her bag thrown in front of her.
“Where ya headed?” The driver asked as he pulled back onto the road.
“London,” she said, fighting off a smile. ‘Abbey Road Studios! 3 Abbey Road, St. John’s Wood Park…‘ She’d memorized that address nearly five years.
“From Liverpool, are ya?” The driver asked with a chuckle.
“What gave it away?” Lorelai deadpanned, still looking eagerly out the dirty window, rubbing her hands together to work the feeling back into them.
“You’re accent,” he answered simply. “Waiting out there long?”
She shrugged. “Bout half an hour maybe.”
“Yeh shouldn’t be hitchhikin’ in this weather, yeh’ll get a death a’cold,” The driver stated matter-of-factly. Lorelai rolled her eyes.
"I thought some of you Northerner’s were a’posed to be nice.”
“We’re not all Paul McCartney, alright?” Lorelai remarked. Sighing, she put her hair up, waiting for the next stop.
Somewhere along the same dark stretch of road, a lone bus trudged along toward London. Among its few passengers was a solitary Mersey girl, her thoughts thrumming like a hummingbird.
She was scared. She didn’t know why, but a terrible fear permeated through her body.
‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ she thought to herself as she leaned against the window of the bus, her dirty blond hair sticking to the condensation that rolled down the glass. As the English countryside whisked by unseen, she thought of what had transpired earlier that night.
“Isabelle!” She heard her mother call though the tiny flat. “Isabelle, where the ‘ell are you!?”
“In the kitchen!” She replied, checking over a tiny bit of luggage that sat by the back door.
Within a few moments, the sound of angry footsteps came closer and closer, until the image of her livid mother in her nightshirt stood in the door frame. “Where on earth do you think you’re going, Isabelle?” She thundered, her hands on her hips.
“London,” she snapped as she threw her bags over her shoulders. “And for the last time, my name is Izzy.”
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with, young lady.” Izzy ignored her and crossed the kitchen, making her way out the door. “We‘ve gone over this. You‘re not going to London so you can sit ‘round like a bum with your little friends”
Her mother grabbed Izzy’s wrist in a futile attempt to keep her still. Izzy immediately wrenched free, shooting her mother a fierce look.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” She blurted out. “I’m not your little girl anymore.” With that, she slammed the door behind her and ran as fast as she could through the cold November air.
She could still feel her lungs burning from the ten-block sprint between her mother’s flat in Rock Ferry and the bus station. But despite the pain and the fear, she slowly found herself lulled to sleep by the constant chugging of the bus, her mind filled with images of her hopes and expectations for the coming weeks.
♠ ♠ ♠
This crazy idea of mine could have never seen the light of day without the help of some of the best Beatles fans ever. Macca, Karma, and Moppy; we're going to have one hell of a time with this, aren't we?And stringing our radically different styles would've been hell on earth if it weren't for our amazing beta, Chibi. Girl, you have no idea what you've spared the world from.