“Alrigh’,” Liam said, almost flippantly. He stood up and walked over to the bar.  

Noel blinked in shock. He felt as if he had been slapped. What? No arguing? No threats? No swearing?  

Liam was being served at the bar, leaning, rolling a cigarette. Noel stood up, taking his empty glass with him.  

“Alrigh’?” he asked, joining Liam and signalling to the barmaid to refill his glass.  

“Yeah,” Liam replied, delicately touching the cigarette paper to his tongue and sealing it, “Gotta light?”  

Noel handed him his lighter from his back pocket. “Tha’s it then?”  

“What is?” Liam asked facetiously, flicking the lighter. “Oh right, yeah. Well, y’know, man. Whatever. I’ll get someone else.”  

“Who?” Noel said, realising he was playing into his trap, but doing it anyway.  

Liam shrugged, taking a long drag on his cigarette as if he was deep in thought, “Dunno, there’s a fella down the Black Lion who can play a bit. Don’t really matter none, anyway.” He took a large mouthful of his drink as Guigsy, the ill destined guitarist ambled up to him with his guitar case and an armful of cables.  

“I’m off then, mate,” he said to Liam, standing next to Noel. Noel looked up at him, realising he was almost a foot taller than him.  

“Yer not stoppin’ for a pint, Gig?” Liam asked.  

“Nah,” Guigsy shook his head, “Missus’d do her nut, y’know. Christmas Eve and tha’.” He leaned his guitar case against his body and handed his cables to Noel, “Hold these will yer, mate?” he said, not waiting for an answer. Noel took them as Guigsy zipped up his coat, “Good gig, eh?”  

“Yeah, yeah, top,” Liam agreed.  

“Yeah, we’re really comin’ together now, eh? Starting to sound more like a band, y’know?”  

“Fuckin’ right,” Liam smiled.  

Noel opened his mouth to give his opinion but thought better of it.  

Guigsy took his cables back. “Right, see yer next Thursday, then mate. Merry Christmas and that,” he added, nodding at both of them.  

“Merry Christmas,” Noel mumbled back.  

“Yeah, see yer mate,” Liam said as Guigsy picked up his guitar and headed for the door. Liam turned back to the bar, “Or not,” he said, tipping a wink at Noel.  

“It doesn’t matter?” Noel asked.  

“Eh?”  

“Who you’re gettin’? Lead guitar’s pretty fuckin’ important, y’know.”  

“Oh righ’, yeah,” Liam took a drink again, knowing full well how much he was winding Noel up, “I mean, it don’t matter if we just get someone a bit crap to fill in for a while, pretty soon they’ll be quein’ round the fuckin’ corner to get in Rain.”  

“And that name’s shite too,” Noel said sulkily, “You want somat that means somat. Not just after some old Beatles song.”  

“It does mean somat,” Liam said.  

“Yer might as well call yerself Sergeant fucking Pepper’s.”  

“Yeah? Well, seeming as you’re not in the band, you don’t really get a fuckin’ say.”  

“You really believe all this crap, don’t yer?”  

Liam straightened up, “I don’t believe it, I know it,” he said, then lowering his voice, “It’s why he came to me, innit?”  

“Who?” Noel asked naively.  

Liam shook his head and smiled at his brother’s stupidity, “Lennon.”  

Noel looked away in frustration. Liam hadn’t mentioned his deranged ‘story’ in a couple of months. Noel had thought he’d given it up. “Yer bloody delusional…” he said not looking back at him.  

“I’m tellin’ yer, man, no word of a lie. We’re gonna make it, and make it big. And you’ll be fuckin’ kickin’ yerself, cos you had in at the start and yer gave it up.”  

Noel turned back to him, “Do you realise how fuckin’ mental you sound?” he asked.  

Liam grinned, showing all his teeth, “Yeah, mad fer it,” he said.  

“Fuck Rain, Fool on the Hill more like!” Noel took his fresh pint up and drank it down in one. He slammed the glass down on the bar and grabbing his coat, headed for the exit.  

Liam watched him, trying not to laugh.  

John and George walked side by side, hugging their coats around themselves, their heads down against the wind and snow, which seemed be getting heavier with each step. George looked back over his shoulder, “Can’t even see where we’ve been now,” he said. John just nodded a reply. They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes and John had been regretting coming as soon as his anger with Paul had subsided, which felt a long time ago now.  

“Thank God,” George said and John looked up. A few yards in front of them stood the red phone box, lit by a solitary light bulb. The door banged in the wind and most of the glass panes were broken, but right at that moment, to John, it could have been Nirvana.  

They hurried up to it and both of them crammed inside, John holding the door closed against the elements as George lifted the receiver.  

“Yer got sixpence?” George asked, patting his pockets.  

John’s eyes widened, “No,” he replied, “You’re kiddin’, right?”  

George shook his head, “S’alright, I’ll reverse the charges,” he said, dialling the operator.  

George gave the operator the number and waited. “It’s ringing,” he told John.  

John nodded, “Tell them to bring somat to eat with them, and a thermos or somat.”  

George nodded. The operator said something and George replied, “Can you try again please?” He looked at John, “There’s no answer,” he explained.  

John sighed and shuffled his feet.  

“Could you just let it ring a little long- oh,” George covered the mouthpiece, “They won’t be home. I forgot. They’ve gone to a Christmas party at a neighbour’s house.”  

“Well, call them.”  

“That’s alright, thanks,” George said back into the phone and hung up. “I don’t know the number,” he said.  

“Then ring someone else,” John said, getting annoyed again.  

“Who?”  

“Anyone.”  

George thought for a moment. He shook his head, “We’ll have to go back to the car and tell Paul to ring his dad.”  

“There must be someone!”  

George shook his head again.  

“It’s twenty minutes back to the car, then twenty minutes back here!” John checked his watch. It was nearly half past nine. “Its gonna be Christmas Day before we get to Liverpool.”  

“S’alright, we’ll get there in time for the Queen’s speech,” George said, trying to cheer John up a little. Unfortunately John was not in the mood for jokes.  

“This is fucking ridiculous.”  

“Well, what can we do?”  

“We could have left yesterday, we could have stayed in London, we could have not taken some shit bucket of a car.”  

George sighed, getting annoyed. “Come on,” he said, pushing John gently towards the outside.  

John shoved him back, “Call someone.”  

“Who? Your Aunt Mimi?”  

John looked at him, but for once he didn’t have an answer. He stepped out into the snow. “This is fuckin’ pointless!” he shouted into the darkness, “I wish I’d never fuckin’ come!”  

George pursed his lips and stepped out of the phone box behind him. “We’ll get Paul to ring his dad, he’ll come out and get us. We can even leave the car here overnight and get it after Christmas.”  

“And how long will that take? We’re gonna be sat out here freezing our fuckin’ bollocks off for at least another couple of hours!”  

“Yeah, well, I’ve had better nights too,” George said, beginning to lose his patience. He started off down the road back towards the car, stopping after a few paces when he realised John wasn’t following. “Well? Come on, you’re the one whining about standing around in the cold.”  

“I’m not waiting another two hours for Paul’s dad,” John said.  

“What else are you gonna do? You haven’t got much choice.”  

“Yeah, I have, I’m going.”  

“What? Going where?”  

“Anywhere that’s warmer than here. There’s got to be something around here.” With that John shoved his hands into his pocket and turned on his heel, walking away in the opposite direction of the car.  

“John!” George shouted, “John! Where are you going? At least wait for us and we’ll come with you!”  

John didn’t reply or so much as look back, walking briskly into the night. George watched him go, “John!” he tried again but John was too far down the road to hear him against the wind.  

George stood in the road for a moment indecisively, then swearing at John under his breath, turned and headed back towards the car and Paul and Ringo.  

“Fuck them!” John said into the darkness, when he was further down the road. He stopped and looked back. He could just about see the phone box at the other end of the road, but George had disappeared. “Well, he obviously doesn’t give a toss,” John said aloud again and started off, marching through the snow, “Stupid fuckin’ twats!” The bottom of his jeans was soakedand the water was seeping through to his toes, tingling painfully from the cold.  

Sod them. Sod them for dragging him up here and getting him stranded in the cold. Sod Ringo for his useless bloody car, sod Paul for getting out and for being so bloody happy, sod George for forgetting his family were out, sod George for… John stopped again and looked back down the road. “Fuck,” he said. There was nothing down here. Not a house or a single car. He was just blindly stumbling around in the cold like an idiot. And now he had the added humiliation of having to go back to them and admit defeat.  

“Why should I?” He started off again, his ears stinging from the frost. They obviously didn’t care enough about him to come and look for him.  I’ll just stay out here a while, he thought craftily, just get them a bit worried, then it won’t be so bad when I…  

John stopped. There was a house. A small white, house with light spilling from every window. A smile crossed John’s lips for the first time all evening.  

As he neared the building he half expected it to evaporate like a mirage, but it stood firm. At the end of the pathway to it he realised it was a pub and wondered why they hadn’t noticed it when they passed earlier.  

John half walked, half trudged through the deep snow up to the front door and pulled it open. On the other side he suddenly came face to face with a short, scruffy looking young man. His face was red and his eyes full of aggravation. “Fuck off!” he yelled loudly in John’s face.  

“Noel!” Liam shouted across the room, “You can’t go out in this weather! Come and have a pint, mate.”  

Noel ignored him, struggling with the zip on his coat as he stood half way between Liam and the door.  

“Come on, yer sulky sod,” Liam continued, “You’re only pissed off cos yer jealous.”  

“Jealous?” Noel shouted, shooting his head back to look at Liam.  

Liam smiled thinly and raised an eyebrow at him.  

“Of what?” Noel demanded.  

Liam leant back on the bar, and swept his hand in a flourish to the room.  

Noel snorted and turned to leave again.  

“Noel! Me and Bonehead are gonna go down, try an’ get in the Hac. Fancy it?”  

Noel reached the door, mumbling under his breath.  

“Ah, bugger off then, yer self righteous prick,” Liam said, more like his surely self.  

Noel pause to look back at him but stopped himself. He turned his back to Liam.  

“You’ll be sorry. You just remember, mate. Lennon said.”  

Noel pulled the door open, “Fuck off!” he finally exploded back at Liam, without turning around.  

A man, bundled in a navy blue thick overcoat stood in front of Noel, looking surprised. The two stood staring at each other for a moment. The other man was taller than Noel, bigger too. He looked cold and annoyed and for a moment Noel thought he might hit him, or at least head butt him in the Mancunian tradition, but instead he remained in the doorway, looking strangely at Noel.  

“Uh, sorry, not you,” Noel said finally, “My er, brother.” He pointed over his shoulder at Liam who was doubled over with laughter.  

“Fuckin’ spark him out!” Liam shouted to the man. Noel shot him a look.  

“It’s uh, okay,” the man said.  

“Ah, its alright Noel,” Liam said, coming up behind him, “Its only some Scouse tosser, you can tell him t’fuck off again.”  

“Will you pack it in?” Noel said to Liam, through gritted teeth.  

“I bloody will then if you haven’t the balls. Fuck off back to Scouse land, yer twat! Haven’t you got a car t’put on bricks or somat?!”  

“Liam!” Noel said, suddenly very aware he was standing in between Liam and the man he was insulting.  

Instead the man’s face cracked into a wide smile and he laughed. “That’s just it,” he said, “I was tryin’ t’fuck off back to Scouse land but the car’s broken down. I was wondering if you had any bricks I could put it on?”  

Liam paused a moment. Noel looked at him, getting ready to move out of the way. However, Liam just smiled back and stepped aside. “Well don’t just stand there,” he said, “Noel, I think you owe the gent a pint after you just spat all over him.”  

Noel frowned. Liam’s mood swings were often as violent and unpredictable as the weather. He turned back to the man, “You look frozen, mate,” he said, standing back so he could come in the room, “You want a whisky or somat?”  

“That would be fantastic,” the man said stepping inside, “Oh, ah, but I appear to be a bit… light,” he added, tapping his pockets apologetically.  

“What a surprise, a Scouser without any money,” Liam said, but smiled to show he was joking.  

Noel nudged him away, “S’alright, I’ll get it,” he said and moved towards the bar.  

“Bloody hell, it’s a Christmas miracle! Noel’s buying!” Liam said and followed him.  

George opened the door and got into the front seat, slamming it behind him. Paul and Ringo, still sitting in the back, waited expectantly.  

“You’ve finally done it then?” Paul said, when George failed to respond.  

“What?” George replied gruffly.  

“You’ve finally finished him off. Done him in. Sent him off to the great rock and roll joint in the sky.”  

George remained staring out of the front of the car in silence.  

Paul gripped Ringo’s arm, “Bloody hell, Ring! He really has! Either one of us could be next!”  

Ringo smiled, “Where is he then?” he asked George.  

“He left,” George said unhelpfully.  

“Left? Left what? Where?” Ringo said.  

George sighed, “He got all pissed off when I couldn’t get through to my folks and wandered, well, marched, off.”  

“And that’s the last we’ll hear of John Lennon,” Paul said solemnly.  

Ringo gave him a withering look, “We’ll have to go and look for him.”  

“Sod that. If he’s stupid enough to go wandering off that’s his problem,” George said sulkily.  

“He’ll come back when he gets cold enough,” Paul agreed.  

Ringo shook his head, “He’s probably lost. We’ll have to go and find him.”  

“All of us?” George asked.  

“It’d be quicker if we all go.”  

Wearily, George opened his door.  

John hung back for a moment, still slightly dazed by what had just happened. For some reason the two men seemed quite familiar, although he was certain they had never met before. They also appeared to not have quite placed Beatle John, which made a change. He decided the longer he could keep it that way the better and stepped after the brothers as they lined up three glasses of whisky.  

“Ta,” John said as he picked up his glass. He swallowed it in one, pulling his face slightly at the burning sensation as it slipped down his throat. “That’s what I needed,” he said, setting the glass down again, trying to shake off the bitter aftertaste.  

The shorter man nodded, “You looked like it, how long have you been out there?”  

“About half an hour.”  

“Shite,” he replied sympathetically, “What a night to break down on, eh? Noel, by the way. This is…”  

“I am the Walrus,” the taller one said seriously.  

“…Liam. Our kid, unfortunately.”  

“John,” John replied carefully, but they didn’t react. “You were born at Christmas then? Noel?”  

“May actually,” Noel said quickly, “You’re a bit out of the way for Liverpool, aren’t you?”  

“Yeah, well, before we broke down we also got lost,” John smiled, the whole event seemed quite amusing now he was standing in the warm, “I’m not really even sure where I am.”  

“Burnage,” Noel said, and John nodded although he was none the wiser. “I’m uh, sorry about, all that, before,” Noel continued sheepishly.  

John nodded again, “S’alright.”  

“It’s this prick,” Noel said, “He’s always being a twat, tryna wind me up.”  

“Don’t really have to try,” Liam said, sipping his whisky and sticking his tongue out at the sourness.  

“You’re not havin’ any more of that. Y’know what it does to yer,” Noel said to him, nodding towards the glass.  

“Oh right, sorry Mam,” Liam replied sarcastically.  

Noel glowered. John smiled, “Yeah, I know how it is,” he said, “My, uh, mates are the same. A right pain in the arse sometimes. I left them at the car.” He grinned and Liam laughed although inside John started to feel guilty at abandoning them to the weather.  

“Maybe I could help you with that?” Noel offered, “I know a bit about cars.”  

“Or just knock it on the head and come The Hac with us?” Liam said.  

“The Hac?” John asked.  

“The Hacienda, y’know.” John looked blank. “Y’musta heard of it? The Mondays?”  

“Uh, no,” John said unsure.  

“Not into your music, eh?”  

“I er…” John stopped himself from telling him it was exactly the opposite, “This and that, y’know,” he said instead, then quickly added, “I can’t anyway. I’ve gotta get home to my wife.”  

“Ah, that’s a tragedy” Liam said with a hint of an Irish accent, “Young fella like you.”  

“Shut up, Liam,” Noel said, “Where are you parked, mate?” he asked John.  

“Just down the road a bit, not that far, but it feels it in the snow.”  

“Hmm,” Noel looked at the snow still falling outside the window, building up on the ledge, “Perhaps we could have another drink til it lets up a bit?” he suggested.  

As Liam appeared to also be ‘a bit light’, Noel bought a round of beers for the three of them and they retired to a table. John took his wet coat off and hung it on the back of a chair, trying to dry it out a bit. He sat down opposite the two Mancunians, looking up at them and only then acknowledging their odd expressions.  

“What?” John asked warily.  

Noel indicated to his clothes, “That’s a pretty funky suit, man,” he said.  

John looked down at himself. They had been recording at the TV studios right up to the last minute and there hadn’t been any time to change before the plane. The cancelled plane, it turned out but it had still meant they had all been sent home in their full Beatle collarless suits. “Oh, er, I came straight from… work,” John attempted to explain.  

“S’cool,” Liam said, “Proper. Makes you look like John Lennon, in his early days, y’know.”  

That was a new one on John, “Um, yeah,” he agreed, wondering when he had left his ‘early days.’  

“What fuckin’ job do you do dressed like that?” Liam laughed.  

John thought quickly, knowing they would see right through him if he strayed too far from the truth, “Well, bits n bobs, y’know,” he tried, but seeing this wasn’t an adequate answer he added, “I, er, play guitar and… er, stuff.”  

“Like sessions?” Noel asked, and John nodded.  

“Cool,” Liam repeated.  

“What do you do?” John asked, eager to take the focus off of himself.  

“Noel’s a gas man moonlighting as a brickie,” Liam answered for him.  

“And Liam’s a dosser,” Noel replied with a cruel smile.  

“I am not a fuckin’ dosser,” Liam said.  

“What would you call two years on the dole then?”  

“I’m…” he leaned closer to John, “I am a rock and roll star.”  

John laughed but then abruptly stopped when he saw Liam was deadly serious.  

Noel rolled his eyes, “One gig and you think you’re Mick Jagger.”  

Liam leaned back in his chair, “Oh, I don’t think I’m Jagger,” he said, in a warning tone,  looking at Noel. Noel shook his head. Liam looked back to John, “Me band played in here tonight. You would have seen us if you’d come in half an hour earlier.”  

“A reprieve,” Noel said and Liam shot him another warning look.  

“What are you called?” John asked, smiling, remembering the early days of the Beatles.  

“Rain,” Liam replied.  

“After the song,” Noel added spitefully.  

“The song?” John said brightly.  

“Not just the song,” Liam said, “cos of Manchester, y’know, too. Fuckin’ rainy city isn’t it?”  

“Still a shite name,” Noel said.  

“Yeah, well, til the man on the fuckin’ flaming pie tells us different, its that.”  

“Shit name, shit band,” Noel sat back and folded his arms as if it was the last word on the subject.  

“Oasis,” John said suddenly. They both looked at him. “We, uh, I played a gig here last year, it was at the Swindon Oasis club, I’ve been trying to remember the name all night.”  

“The Oasis club?” Noel said thoughtfully, “The Beatles played there in ’64.”  

What did I just say? John thought but smiled, “Really?”  

“Yeah?” Liam said, “Then Rain will too one day. And The Cavern and that.”  

“I don’t think its there anymore,” Noel said, “Actually, I thought it was long gone.”  

“Oasis,” Liam repeated as if he was trying the word out in his mouth. “That’s not a bad name for a band.”  

Noel nodded, “You’ll still have no talent though. A rose by any other name still can’t sing.”  

“You’re so jealous,” Liam said dismissively.  

Noel drew himself up, ready to give Liam what for. John started laughing, “Oh sorry,” he said, trying to stop as the two brothers stared at him, “I don’t know why I’m laughing, you remind me of something…” They looked at each other and then back at John. “What’s this band then?” John asked, getting his giggles under control.  

“Well,” Liam said, “Without givin’ too much away, y’know, we’re destined for big fuckin’ things.”  

“You’re dreaming,” Noel said, shaking his head, “If you think you’ll ever get out of this godforsaken city, by ponsing about in yer leather jacket and yer Lennon shades, then you’ll get a fuckin’ rude awakenin’, mate.”  

“Mark my words,” Liam replied arrogantly.  

Noel looked at John, “You’ll have to excuse my brother, he’s fuckin’ delusional.”  

John laughed again, “You gotta dream, man,” he said.  

“See? Thank you. You’re problem, Noel, is you’ve got small town syndrome. John, here, thinks we’ll make it, doncha, John?”  

“Definitely,” John said with conviction, then looking at Noel added diplomatically, “Uh, maybe.”  

Noel snorted, “Can we change the subject?”  

“Yeah,” Liam nodded, “Join the band and we’ll say no more about it.”  

“If I replace… whosit?”  

“Guigsy.”  

“Yeah, him, you’d still need another guitar.”  

“Nah, you’d be the lead. Maybe we could keep Guigsy as rhythm.”  

“Lead?”  

Liam nodded again.  

“I’m not good enough to…” Noel said reluctantly.  

“Yeah, yer are, I’ve heard yer,” Liam said.  

Noel opened his mouth to argue, then realised what Liam had said.  

John smiled to himself, “You’ll get better,” he said, feeling prophetic, “I started out on a banjo!”  

Noel twisted his mouth, “Well… who writes yer songs?”  

“Me and Bonehead at the moment, but,” Liam paused dramatically to drink his beer, “I’ve heard yours and they’re better.”  

“I dunno…” Noel rubbed his forehead with one finger.  

John shrugged, “What have you got to loose? Its mighty cold to be working on a building site.”  

Noel nodded, “True.”  

“Besides, it’s a done deal. We’ll sign to Factory or somat and this time next year, my son!” Liam clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully, “Y’know what Lennon said…”  

“Yeah, I do,” Noel said, cutting him off.  

“Lenin?” John asked, enjoying himself.  

“Lennon,” Liam corrected, “John Lennon said…”  

“Liam,” Noel warned, “Don’t start…”  

“Lennon said,” Liam continued.  

“John Paul William Gallagher…”  

Liam shut his mouth, “John Paul George Ringo,” he said to Noel then leaning and whispering to John, “I was only gonna say….”  

Noel kicked him, a little too roughly for it to be jokingly.  

“What?” John said, overcome with curiosity, “Lennon said..?”  

Liam moved out of the way of Noel’s boot, “Lennon said, ‘Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans,” he said, making eyes at Noel.  

Noel shook his head at him and finished his drink.  

John frowned, “I never… He never said that…”  

“You really need to brush up on your music trivia, mate. Believe me, I know my Lennon!” Liam swallowed the remainder of his glass too. “Right,” he said, “Lets have a look at that motor of yours then, John.”