Lovely Rita
Chapter 1
Sunday morning. I thought it was bliss as I lay between my thin white sheets soaking in the
slowly rising winter sun streaming through the window. I smiled to myself,
stretching out all of those rested limbs in my otherwise empty bed. 'Beatles club
day' I reminded myself - as if I could possibly forget - smiling even more,
before opening my eyes widely to a more or less empty bedroom.
I had never liked owning too many things. I was a hippie at heart, brought up
by parents who were sixties bohemians. Plus, I was only using up the last few
days I had left in my student-shared house, so thought there wasn't much point
in lugging all of my material goods over from the orphanage I was staying at in
London, just for three years.
Sitting up in my bed, I pushed my long, blonde strands out of my face (I’d had
it cut in the style I'd wanted after reading about John and Paul's infatuation
with Brigitte Bardot). I stretched my arms up far, as if I was pushing up some
air that weighed a ton.
Looking around my room, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. I'd be leaving
in a few days. I'd grown fond of living in Liverpool while I was at the
Liverpool College of Art - the very art school John Lennon had graced - and had
made such good friends here. I didn't want to go...
I shuffled my way out of the door in my white dressing gown into the kitchen. I
dragged a comb across my head and threw it on the kitchen side, switching up
the kettle as I did so. I pulled myself up onto the side. All of my friends
were still in bed, I presumed. They never did put as much emphasis into
extra-curricular opportunities as I did.
I smiled to myself, thinking how proud I was of my achievements. In my life so
far, I'd graduated to a high degree in my drama and music course and also found
time to become vice president of the local Beatles fan club - vice president of
the fan club for a band I wasn't even alive to appreciate, in the town they
were born. This was my way of appreciating them now.
Lost in my thoughts - and smiling to myself like an idiot - I didn't hear the
kettle finish at first. A hand slammed down on my shoulder, making me jump out
of my skin.
"You know your tea-water is going to get cold, Rita?" Martin said.
Martin was the typical university jock; handsome, tall and athletic. He was
studying graphic design at the same College as me, aspiring to be a special
effects manager in the movies with a sideline of football. He had perfectly
tanned skin, thick arms and tousled hair in that modern boy band style (not a
shine on my four lads, of course). He could have been an actor in all honesty.
He went out partying most nights a week, and was rarely up before 12pm on
weekends. I was a bit more dedicated to my work, however.
"I know," I said in a rising, sarcastic tone, slipping myself off the
marble-patterned worktop. "Did you think I sat to daydream on the kitchen
counter by accident, Marty?" I joked, flashing my purposely over-acted smile.
Marty made eye contact with me briefly, and smiled as he began making two cups
of tea. I was quite glad; however little he did it, he made a bloody good brew.
"Now Rita, there's no need for that tone of voice." He said cheekily,
in his gravelly Scouse accent. I had gotten used to being surrounded by it;
being from the south, moving to Liverpool was quite a shock to the system, but
I was determined to follow in my heroes' footsteps.
“Martin, I'm messing. What are you doing up at this late hour? Usually you're
up SO much earlier." I said teasingly. Marty chuckled as he stirred a
generous two sugars into my mug.
"Oh, I'm off to see Cyndie early today. Said she wanted to take me out
somewhere. You know, all you girls are the same." Marty said, nudging me
with the non-utensil end of the teaspoon. Cyndie was his girlfriend, had been
for about two months now. I was never sure if he was fond of a girl or not; he
always seemed so indifferent.
"Mmm, how so?" I mused, leaning on my hand to look up at him as he
stirred slowly.
"Well, you always want to drag us out of bed at stupid hours in the
morning and take us out. In daylight. On Sunday. Ever heard of the day of
rest?" He laughed; his raspy giggle that could capture any girl's heart, except
mine. He was like a brother to me.
"Ooh, that's very, very sexist of you, you over-generalising pig," I
joked. Marty laughed. "Anyway, I shall take my tea from thou, thank you. I
need to get ready." I said, stealing my tea from him as I walked away.
"You off to your old women's club?" Martin yelled as I walked down
the narrow hallway back to my bedroom.
"You bet. There are old men there too, Marty. Stop being so sexist all of
the time!" I yelled back, closing the door behind me.
slowly rising winter sun streaming through the window. I smiled to myself,
stretching out all of those rested limbs in my otherwise empty bed. 'Beatles club
day' I reminded myself - as if I could possibly forget - smiling even more,
before opening my eyes widely to a more or less empty bedroom.
I had never liked owning too many things. I was a hippie at heart, brought up
by parents who were sixties bohemians. Plus, I was only using up the last few
days I had left in my student-shared house, so thought there wasn't much point
in lugging all of my material goods over from the orphanage I was staying at in
London, just for three years.
Sitting up in my bed, I pushed my long, blonde strands out of my face (I’d had
it cut in the style I'd wanted after reading about John and Paul's infatuation
with Brigitte Bardot). I stretched my arms up far, as if I was pushing up some
air that weighed a ton.
Looking around my room, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me. I'd be leaving
in a few days. I'd grown fond of living in Liverpool while I was at the
Liverpool College of Art - the very art school John Lennon had graced - and had
made such good friends here. I didn't want to go...
I shuffled my way out of the door in my white dressing gown into the kitchen. I
dragged a comb across my head and threw it on the kitchen side, switching up
the kettle as I did so. I pulled myself up onto the side. All of my friends
were still in bed, I presumed. They never did put as much emphasis into
extra-curricular opportunities as I did.
I smiled to myself, thinking how proud I was of my achievements. In my life so
far, I'd graduated to a high degree in my drama and music course and also found
time to become vice president of the local Beatles fan club - vice president of
the fan club for a band I wasn't even alive to appreciate, in the town they
were born. This was my way of appreciating them now.
Lost in my thoughts - and smiling to myself like an idiot - I didn't hear the
kettle finish at first. A hand slammed down on my shoulder, making me jump out
of my skin.
"You know your tea-water is going to get cold, Rita?" Martin said.
Martin was the typical university jock; handsome, tall and athletic. He was
studying graphic design at the same College as me, aspiring to be a special
effects manager in the movies with a sideline of football. He had perfectly
tanned skin, thick arms and tousled hair in that modern boy band style (not a
shine on my four lads, of course). He could have been an actor in all honesty.
He went out partying most nights a week, and was rarely up before 12pm on
weekends. I was a bit more dedicated to my work, however.
"I know," I said in a rising, sarcastic tone, slipping myself off the
marble-patterned worktop. "Did you think I sat to daydream on the kitchen
counter by accident, Marty?" I joked, flashing my purposely over-acted smile.
Marty made eye contact with me briefly, and smiled as he began making two cups
of tea. I was quite glad; however little he did it, he made a bloody good brew.
"Now Rita, there's no need for that tone of voice." He said cheekily,
in his gravelly Scouse accent. I had gotten used to being surrounded by it;
being from the south, moving to Liverpool was quite a shock to the system, but
I was determined to follow in my heroes' footsteps.
“Martin, I'm messing. What are you doing up at this late hour? Usually you're
up SO much earlier." I said teasingly. Marty chuckled as he stirred a
generous two sugars into my mug.
"Oh, I'm off to see Cyndie early today. Said she wanted to take me out
somewhere. You know, all you girls are the same." Marty said, nudging me
with the non-utensil end of the teaspoon. Cyndie was his girlfriend, had been
for about two months now. I was never sure if he was fond of a girl or not; he
always seemed so indifferent.
"Mmm, how so?" I mused, leaning on my hand to look up at him as he
stirred slowly.
"Well, you always want to drag us out of bed at stupid hours in the
morning and take us out. In daylight. On Sunday. Ever heard of the day of
rest?" He laughed; his raspy giggle that could capture any girl's heart, except
mine. He was like a brother to me.
"Ooh, that's very, very sexist of you, you over-generalising pig," I
joked. Marty laughed. "Anyway, I shall take my tea from thou, thank you. I
need to get ready." I said, stealing my tea from him as I walked away.
"You off to your old women's club?" Martin yelled as I walked down
the narrow hallway back to my bedroom.
"You bet. There are old men there too, Marty. Stop being so sexist all of
the time!" I yelled back, closing the door behind me.