August 1958

The rainy day Connie had spent with the boys in July  ended up being one of the best through bittersweet hindsight. The rest of the summer holidays ended up being rather dreadful, especially after the news of John's mother's death hit them all. Connie hadn't known her Aunt Julia very well since John had lived with his Aunt Mimi for as long as she could remember, but she knew Julia had been a close friend of her own mother, and it was utterly heart-breaking for her to see her cousin in such a wreck. She'd never, ever seen John so broken. She'd only ever seen him cry once before, and that was at her own mother's funeral, and nothing could have prepared her for his reaction to the news.

It was a tragic time, so Connie wouldn't have been surprised if John had ditched her in place for reckless self-destruction. She'd planned to let him know she'd be there for him if he needed her, but also give him as much space as he needed, which was why it was quite unexpected that he'd spent pretty much every day since the funeral over at her house.

That afternoon was no different, as the two of them had spent all day sat in her living room leaning over a board game whilst the radio blared out the latest hits, and as much as Connie wanted to be nice to John considering everything that was going on, it was hard to stay sympathetic when he was such a good Monopoly player.

"I hate you," Connie grumbled at him as she threw the paper money at his face, though it didn't stop his smug grin.

"Lover's tiff?" her father's voice called from the hall as the front door slammed shut.

The living room door opened and there he stood, exhaustion evident on his face and no wonder, considering he'd been working for over twelve hours. Connie had once asked her father why he seemed to work constantly, most of his shifts being at night, and though he'd never really told her the answer she was knew him well enough to know he worked night shift to avoid being at home for too long, the place full of bittersweet memories of her mother. She'd guessed it was also to avoid having to sleep, and she didn't blame him; If she'd been through the war the way he did, she'd not want to sleep for fear of nightmares either.

The two of them didn't talk about those things, however. They rarely spoke of Connie's mother, and they never talked about the war. They rarely talked about his work as a fireman either, except for when he'd tell her to stop smoking in the house and how he'd refuse to smoke a cigarette because 'I get enough bloody smoke at work, Con'. The two were like ships in the night and it was rare they ever spent more than a few hours together, but they were closer than ever with an unspoken bond.

"Serves her right for not buying Mayfair when she had the chance," John glanced up from the game board looking rather pleased with himself, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. "Alright, Uncle Arthur?"

"Don't listen to him, Dad, I couldn't afford Mayfair even if I tried," Connie argued back, flicking one of John's houses off the board in retaliation, though he responded by taking her only house off its spot.

"Welcome to the working class, love," her father muttered, his accent a perfect mix of Yorkshire and Liverpudlian as he huffed out a sarcastic laugh.

As her father kicked his boots off, throwing his coat down onto the arm chair next to him, Connie got to her feet, stretching for a moment before moving over to where he'd just left his coat and boots. Without complaint, she placed the boots on the rack in the hall, hanging his coat up on it's peg by the stairs, and by the time she'd come back into the living room he'd gone through the living room and into the kitchen.

"How was work, dad?" Connie asked as she stood by the sofa, glaring down John who was still counting the monopoly money.

"Same shit, different day," her father called from the kitchen, and John let out a short laugh; he'd always been quite amused by his Uncle Arthur's bluntness.

The two of them could hear the fridge door slam shut and he emerged with a plate full of the leftover turkey sandwiches that Connie had made for herself and John before  flopping down onto the sofa. As he was eating, Connie sat back down on the floor next to John and the two went back to their game, silently arguing through glares and smug smirks, only for Connie to throw her remaining money at his face, sighing frustratedly. Without hesitation, John immediately took the houses off the board and began counting out the money for them to start playing again.

"Not again, that'll be four games since ten this morning!" Connie told him but he ignored her, sliding the silver dog figurine over to her, knowing it was her favourite piece.

"So, Johnny, when did you move in?" her father interrupted them, and out of the corner of her eye Connie saw John ruffle his hand through his curling hair. "You've been here all week, should I be putting you down for rent?"

"Dad you don't even make me pay rent," Connie pointed out as she shot him a look. Her father was sarcastic and teasing by nature, but she knew how John was lately and she didn't want anything upsetting him. 

"Well maybe you should move out and John should move in, he'd probably be nicer to live with," her father said bluntly though she saw a faint smile on his face. "He'd probably not smoke in the house all the time,"

"No promises, Uncle," John grinned as he rolled the dice and moved the small silver cannon onto the board. "Plus imagine how bad it'd be if I had me band round here all the time,"

"I don't think much'd change, son," her father said with a small laugh, nudging Connie with his foot slightly.

Conveniently, that was when the back door slammed shut, making Connie's father shoot a look at the two of them that said 'I told you so'. As if on cue Paul's face appeared in the kitchen doorway shortly followed by George's, making Connie's father let out a loud laugh.

"And here's my other rent free housemates," he called, making Paul wink over at him as he came into the room, sitting cross legged next to John, who lent over and ruffled his hair. "No, it's fine just invite yourselves in!"

Connie rolled her eyes at the two newcomers. True, they spent majority of their time over at her house, but it was normally when her father was out at work. As glad as she was to see her two best friends, she could help but wish it was still just her father and John, since their little family group was rarely ever in one room, not like before Connie's mother died when they always seemed to be spending time together. Another part of her, however, loved it, and couldn't help but enjoy the fact that the house seemed to be full, reminding her of better times, times when her mother was still alive and they always seemed to be having parties and gatherings.

It was obvious that Paul and George spent a lot of time at Connie's, given her father's remarks, but it was also shown by how at home they seemed to be. Paul immediately settled himself into the room's company, leaning over to the game box and beginning to count out the spare money to deal himself and George into the game without asking. Connie scowled at him, though went unnoticed, and all that she could hope was that he was still terrible at monopoly so the game would end sooner.

"Hiya, Mr Jones," Paul greeted with a grin, picking out the silver counter in the shape of the car.

"Hi," George echoed, though as he sat down next to Connie he seemed less focused on their game and more on the last remaining sandwich on her father's plate. He noticed, and without saying anything, tossed it over to the younger boy, his face seemingly the same as Connie's when she pulled an expression of fake-annoyance. "Thanks,"

"No problem, just steal food from a war hero," her father shrugged, his dry joke making John and Paul laugh, especially as George flushed bright red.

"Don't be mean," Connie told her father, nudging George reassuringly, grinning at him, though she soon found herself wondering just why George looked so thrilled to have her defend him.

***

They sat around like that in the living room for hours, though they gave up on Monopoly rather quickly. Connie's hopes at a short game hadn't been in vain, as Paul was still shocking but that didn't stop George beating her, leading to her knocking the board over in frustration, much to John's amusement. They stayed watching television for a while, but with nothing except for the news on the boys soon got bored.

John suggested they all took a walk down to the pub, despite them all being underage except for him, and whilst Paul and George were up for the outing, Connie passed on it. For once, she couldn't be bothered to sit around the pub waiting for Elvis to be played on the jukebox sharing a half of larger with George because he was too scared to order his own and they were both too poor to afford one each. She just wasn't in the mood for it that evening, not after a lazy day at home, and she couldn't help but think that time alone with the lads might help John more than it would if she followed them.

On top of all that, Connie decided that she could see the lads anytime, but it was rare for her to have a night in with her dad. She was desperate to spend some time with him, even if it was just the two of them sat in front of the television. She'd hardly seen him all week, and the times she had were just been passing exchanges, but now he was home and wasn't rushing off to bed or back to work and part of her just really wanted to sit with him and just pretend that it was like old times. Pretend that it was the two of them watching the news, listening to records, waiting for her Mum to come home from work.

As soon as the boys had gone, Connie headed into the kitchen and poured both herself and her dad a drink, fishing out his second best whisky from the spirits cupboard. Carefully carrying both glasses back into the living room, she handed her dad his before sitting down next to him on the sofa, only to notice he was staring at hers with narrowed eyes.

"When did you start drinking?" He asked, trying to sound strict but if anything he just sounded amused. "I thought my supply was draining quicker than usual,"

"It was John's fault," she lied, speaking far too quickly for it to be seamless. "Actually, it was Paul,"

"Thought is not raised a little liar," her dad said with a laugh, taking her glass and sniffing the liquid inside of it. "Bloody hell, Con, that's more than a double measure! Don't you work behind a bar?"

"Why do you think I always get good tips? No concept of measures," Connie shrugged with a cheeky smirk crossing her face, especially as her dad chuckled, sounding almost proud. "Last few times I've been to the pub with the lads though I was short on cash so I drank here first and then went out, surprisingly it saved me money,"

"Yeah but who do you think has to re-fill the cupboard?" he asked. "God, your mother would be fuming if she knew I was letting you down the pub and leaving you to entertain yourself in my spirits cupboard,"

Connie froze, stiffening slightly at the mention of her mother. They never spoke about her, especially not in such a joking manner, and the break from routine was quite jarring. Her father only ever spoke of his late wife on very rare occasions, and never with a smile or in a tone that suggested she'd be frustrated towards his parenting style. Maybe it was something he thought about but never voiced, maybe that was why he was hardly away from work because being at home would remind him of the mistakes he'd made since her death.

If Connie's mother was alive and if her father wasn't always working, she probably wouldn't be going on trips to the pub with boys. She probably wouldn't be working in a club whilst still underage. She wouldn't have had to fend for herself most of the time. She wouldn't have gotten as close to John in a desperate attempt to keep some sort of connection to her mother. She wouldn't have classed Paul as a little brother just to feel as though she had family. She wouldn't have become best friends with George in order to have a stable male figure in her life. She liked her life and her friendships and so she never spent too much time thinking over how different it all would be if her mother was still alive. Her father, however, clearly did.

"She'd give you a bollocking for it, but in the end I'm sure she'd forgive you," Connie shrugged, trying to seem casual despite the weight she was trying to convey in her words; that his dead wife wouldn't be disappointed in him. "She loved you too much to be angry at you,"

That was true. Connie had never known a couple like it, none of her friends' parents seemed to be as passionately obsessed with each other the way Connie's were. Her father used to bring home flowers after every night shift, which back then was rare for him to work. Her mother used to write up a list of songs she'd heard on the radio that reminded her of him. The two of them carried pictures of each other in their pockets when they were working. Her mother used to gush to her patients about her husband and how lovely he was to distract them from their ailments. Connie once walked into the living room to see both of them dancing together to the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy as it blasted out of the radio, her mother screaming with laughter whilst her father beamed at his wife. They were always so happy, so loved up that she couldn't imagine her parent's ever being angry at each other, and she certainly couldn't imagine love and marriage being anything less than that.

"Yeah, that was the bloody problem," her father sighed, taking a swig of whisky, as if he was bracing himself. "Your biggest fear when you love someone is disappointing them, and then when you lose them you're just constantly trying not to do just that. To be honest, Con, that is the worst part of it all, cause yeah it seems great when you fall in love with someone, but you never think about how it'll end, and you never think about how the ending will ruin you,"

"Dad..." Connie began, sighing quietly as she realised she had no idea how to reassure him. He never, ever said things like that, and considering he was usually so jokey made it all the more jarring.

"Fancy taking a bit of advice from an old man?" he offered her a small smirk, as if he thought a smile would make the sadness of his impending words far nicer. "Don't fall in love, Con. Yeah you might end up an old spinster, but it'd be far better than falling into that trap. No one gets out of it alive, y'know, everyone ends up alone, an no relationship lasts forever, even the really great ones,"

Perhaps if that night Connie had decided to go down the pub with the boys rather than have a heart-to-heart with her dad, she might have embraced her crush on George much sooner.

***
Word count: 2737

***

Authors note:
Hi guys! Thank you all so much for reading this story, I hope you're all enjoying it so far and I'm so grateful for all the feedback and support I've received!

There's probably less than 10 chapters left of this and I was just wondering if there was any interest for a sequel? I've got a few vague ideas but nothing entirely certain yet. If you'd be interested in seeing more of Connie and George please let me know!

~Olivia