Lovely Rita

Movies came, movies went. I won awards, I answered questions. Photographs were taken. My wedding day arrived and passed by as quickly as it had begun.
The Beatles had broken up the year I wed Duncan, and I had thought about writing or visiting in late 1970, but thought better of causing myself pain. Plus I had my beautiful daughter under my wing, too.

She was 11 years old now, and we were in December 1980. She was growing up to be a wonderful photographer and singer, and I loved hearing her singing to herself in her bedroom. I had gotten her into her Daddy’s music, though she still didn’t know of course, and she was a real tease with the boys at school already.

I was 39 years old. I looked particularly youthful, luckily, as I had assumed once I reached 35 I may be finished as an actress. The roles had continued coming though, and I had accepted them graciously without a moment’s hesitation.

The papers had been shocked that I had given birth of course, as no one knew due to my small size apart from my agency. I had a set answer when asked who the father was: ‘no comment.’

It was early Tuesday morning, 9th December, and I was preparing Mary’s lunch bag in our new, larger home in California. I almost slipped with the knife as I heard the phone ring, as the room was otherwise silent apart from the purring cat.
I wiped the tomato juice from my hands and clicked my way to the phone, my kitten heels making noise on the tiled floor.

“Hello?” I asked, curious at who was calling so early.

“Is that Julie?” A familiar voice asked.

“Speaking… George?” I asked, my voice growing ever more curious.

“Yes, um…” He started, sounding hesitant and upset. I dug about in my brain trying to think of what it could be. I still remembered I was from the future, but I couldn’t remember much of what I knew about it, which was very infuriating.

“George, what’s happened?” I whispered, starting to worry.

“It’s John… Last night… Switch on the TV.” He said. I rested the phone on the side and clicked on the news, sitting myself down to prepare for the obvious shock that I was about to receive.

‘Mark David Chapman was arrested last night for the murder of musician John Lennon. Mr. Lennon was walking back to his home at the Dakota in New York City to see his son Sean with wife, Yoko Ono, when Chapman emerged from the shadows and fired five shots into Mr. Lennon’s back. Mr. Lennon suffered traumatic, uncontrollable bleeding on his way to the hospital and was pronounced dead on arrival.’ I switched off the television and made my way back to the telephone silently.

“George… Oh my God…” I said, tears running silently down my cheeks and my hand stuck in a position covering my mouth. I heard him sniffle down the phone. I knew they hadn’t been the best of friends at the end of everything, but I could tell he had really loved him even so.

“I know. I’m devastated, everyone is. Is there any chance you can get out here to New York?” He asked through obvious tears. I sniffed away some more.

“I suppose. Are you there? Is… Anyone else?” I asked, and waited for his answer.

“No, it’s just me, Yoko and Sean. Ringo, Maureen, Linda and Paul can’t get over here for a few days.” He said, finding it difficult to hold in his emotions. I was finding it bloody hard. John had been my rock in times of trouble. He was such a beautiful, wonderful friend, and I couldn’t express how much this hurt.

“I’ll catch a flight out straight away. I can’t leave you guys alone. We all need each other right now.” I said, wiping my eyes and nose with my sleeve.

“Okay, see you soon.” I put the phone down, feeling unable to comprehend that one of my best friends had been shot dead. I had continuously bought his music and brought my daughter up on it, and now she’d never be able to meet her Uncle John. I just couldn’t think.

“Mary? Sweetheart?” I called, as Mary skipped into the room all dressed and ready.

“You okay Mummy?” She asked, a little bit of Liverpudlian still inflecting her voice. I smiled at how proud John would be of his sort-of niece.

“No school today, it’s closed. We’re going to go on an airplane and visit a few of Mummy’s friends, does that sound good?” I said, holding back tears from my daughter. She didn’t need to see me in a state.

The plane took less time than I expected, and on landing in New York I caught a taxicab to The Dakota to meet Yoko and George. Mary held onto my hand tightly, and we both donned sunglasses in an attempt at not being recognized.
The weather was frost bitten, the wind wild and reckless, cold with the constant freezing temperature of a New York December.
I had dressed in a long black coat, and dark jeans with a shirt and Mary was bundled up warmly. Today was not a day to be a fashion icon. It was about John and my dearest friends.

Of course reporters were outside, even in the freezing cold, hoping to see a Beatle or Yoko, and I tried to avoid them the best I could, rushing past to the guard calling out ‘no comment’ here, there and everywhere. It was frenzy and I just couldn’t be dealing with it. Did they have no sensitivity?
The guard opened the gate for me, and I hopped through with Mary in tow, escaping the plague of paparazzi.

Mary and I removed our glasses and knocked the door of John and Yoko’s apartment, and George let me in. I could hear sobs from a distance, and I couldn’t help but well up. George pulled me into a hug straight away, and I could hear him sniffling tears too.

“Why did it happen? Why did it have to happen to John?” I whispered into his hair, nuzzling into his neck in an attempt at comfort. I crunched my eyes shut to release the tears, which soaked George’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” George said.

“Mummy, is everything okay?” Mary asked with a cute, concerned tone to her voice.

I released George and wiped away my tears, turning to face my little girl.

“Nothing’s wrong sweetie. One of Mummy’s friends had a bit of an accident is all. Come in and meet your Auntie Yoko and Uncle George.” I said, as George lead her into the apartment rather than lingering in the doorway.

I boiled the kettle as George sat with Mary and Sean. I watched Yoko over the counter, who was sitting in silence in her arm chair. I could tell she hadn’t eaten; she just had that aura about her. The tea poured into the mugs and I distributed it around, sitting next to Yoko and rubbing her back, crying with her in silence. She hugged me and I couldn’t help bursting into tears.

“John was such a good man, such a good, good man. He was such an excellent friend to me and I can’t even begin to understand what you must be feeling.” I sniffled.

“Thank you for coming, Julie.” Yoko said croakily, returning to her sitting position.

“Um, Jules?” George asked meekly from across the room. I looked up to see what he wanted to know.

“Mary tells me she’s 11, and her birthday is in August. Now correct me if I’m wrong but –“ I waved the rest of his sentence away and looked at Yoko. She wasn’t really listening. I nodded at him, knowing full well he knew I had left around that time, and Paul had been with me those last few days. His mouth showed signs of surprise, and I looked at him with ‘not the time’ written across my forehead.

Mary played with Sean and I sat with George and Yoko, rotating tea making with George and not really knowing what to say. Everything was so confused and it was the worst atmosphere I have ever experienced, bar nothing.

I couldn’t even comprehend the fact John wasn’t there to talk to anymore, so much so that I couldn’t cry anymore. I had always called him every now and again to chat and catch up through the years, as I had with George and Ringo. I had written to Paul once in a while, but now I wasn’t particularly allowed to see him I had tried not to. Plus it was too tempting to mention Mary.

But the fact that he was gone forever seemed impossible.