Emma James is a young girl who moves to Liverpool with her mum to start a new life. She enrolls at the Liverpool College of Art and befriends five people who will play pivotal rolls in her life.

She closed her eyes, her head pounding. She knew she shouldn’t have come here, but she couldn’t spend one more second in her apartment. So she came to her favorite coffee shop. The one that served tea and English muffins. The one that reminded her of Liverpool.

The waitress came back with her order and she managed a smile and a polite ‘thank you.’ The waitress smiled back and then left to take care of her other customers.

She picked up the cream, her hands shaking too badly to hold it steady.

She ran a hand through her long strawberry blond hair and pushed up her dark sunglasses that hid her sleep-deprived violet eyes. She’d been up all night trying to finish a painting. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, she had given up and retreated to the coffee shop.

It had been three weeks since she’d last completed a painting. Her creativity and inspiration seemed to have vanished. Things just couldn’t get any worse.

“Emma?”

A male voice interrupted her thoughts. A British male voice.

She looked up and her mouth dropped open. “Paul?”

The sky, which had started out so blue, was now boiling with clouds. The wind had picked up too, and it took her ten minutes to set up her easel at the right angle so that it wouldn’t blow over.

Oh well, she thought. Nothing’s going right today anyway. She taped a piece of textured paper to the board on the easel, and then, sitting on the low folding stool a few feet from the walking path, she started experimenting with the pastels she had bought earlier that morning.

Right away she wished someone was there to give her pointers. Not knowing what to do, she made many different marks, using the end of a pastel stick and then its side. Next she tried rubbing the marks with a piece of paper towel. Then she layered one color over another. It started to look like mud.

Frustrated, she sighed heavily, ripping the paper from her easel and starting over with a new sheet. How can people do this so easily? she wondered, biting her lip in concentration as she drew in the outlines of a landscape: water, a couple of people on the beach, some seagulls.

She drew fast because the cloud patterns were changing minute by minute. The colors were difficult to capture, and she used every pastel in the box, layering and blending them to try to get just the right effect. At one point she stopped to stare at a small boat zipping at the horizon. It made her think about the times she went sailing with her father. Annoyance rising, she narrowed her eyes, then marked the boat on her drawing with a slash of black.

“Yuck,” she said out loud.

“Actually,” a voice behind her said, “I think it’s pretty good.”

She turned around to see who’d spoken and smiled.

There was a guy probably a couple years older than her standing behind her. He was dressed in black drain pipes and a black turtleneck sweater. A thin black scarf was draped around his shoulders and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. He reminded her of James Dean. A sketchpad was tucked under her left arm. He walked over to her with one hand extended. “Stuart Sutcliffe,” he said.

She stood up to shake his hand, feeling kind of awkward, as she always did around guys. But when he smiled at her, his blue-grey eyes twinkling, she felt at ease.

Stuart was only an inch or two taller than her, his brown hair styled like Elvis.

“Emma James,” she said.

Stuart waved at her easel. “Hope I didn’t wreck your concentration.”

Emma glanced at her drawing, a new wave of frustration washing over her. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t getting anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Stuart studied Emma’s work. “Maybe you haven’t used pastels before, but you know how to draw.”

Emma raised her eyebrows.

“You’re great with line and color.” Stuart went on. “You usually paint with oils or water colors, right?”

Emma nodded.

“Well I should get out of here so you can get back to work,” he said.

“That’s all right,” Emma told him. She held up a pastel stick. “I was just messing around, trying to figure out how to use these things. I’m ready to quit.”

“No way. You should finish this. It’s cool - it expresses a lot of emotion, you know?” Stuart looked at the easel to Emma, his eyes contemplative. “Anger, maybe? Loneliness?”

Emma stared at her picture. Was there something lurking there, in the wild clouds and dark slash of a sailboat?

Then she felt her cheeks flame up. The drawing was supposed to be an innocent landscape. It wasn’t supposed to say anything about herself. With a quick motion, she ripped the paper off her easel. “It stinks,” she murmured.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Emma protested, but she cast her eyes down and pretended to be busy putting away pastels. “How come you know so much about art anyway?”

“I’m an artist,” Stuart explained. “I’m a student at Liverpool College of Art.”

“Really?” Emma pushed her strawberry blond hair away from her face, looking back at Stuart with increased interest. “I have an interview there this afternoon.”

Stuart smiled. “You’ll get in.”

Emma folded up her easel. “We’ll see.”

“Hey, I’m on my way over there. We can walk there together.”

Emma stood up and slipped her art supplies into her messenger bag. “Only if you show me what’s in your sketchbook.” She smiled pointing to the book under his arm.

Stuart laughed and handed Emma his sketchbook.

Emma took the book and began flipping through the pages. “These are really good,” she said looking up at him. “These are really good.”

It was Stuart’s turn to blush. He took the sketchbook and tucked back under his arm. “Come ‘ead. You don’t want to be late.”

Emma gathered the rest of her things and her and Stuart set out for Liverpool Art College.

Stuart walked Emma to the head Master’s office. “Good luck,” he told her. “Though you won’t need it.”

Emma smiled. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”

Stuart started walking away. He lifted up a hand in a small wave and then turned around and headed down the hall. Emma watched until he disappeared around a corner and then she took a seat in the waiting room. She hadn’t been waiting more than five minutes when the secretary came out and said that Mr. Harrington was ready to see her.

Emma walked out of the college, all smiles. She’d been accepted.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around here.”

Emma spun around and saw Stuart. Her smile increased. “Guess you will be.”

“Come on. I’m meeting a mate for a drink. Come with me. You need to celebrate.”

“I’m only seventeen.” Emma said, disappointed that she couldn’t hang out with Stuart.

Stuart took her hand and started to lead her away from the college. “So?” He turned back to look at her. “You’ll just have to promise not to drink anything.” There was laughter and mischief in his eyes.

Emma laughed and let Stuart lead her.

They walked for a few minutes then Stuart led them into a pub called Ye Crackle. He stood at the front and scanned the faces until he spotted his friend. He pulled Emma along behind him to the table where his friend was sitting.

“Hey, John.” Stuart said sitting down on one of the empty chairs. He motioned for Emma to sit down. She sat across from John who was dressed almost like Stuart. His auburn hair also styled the same way. “Emma this is John Lennon,” Stuart introduced. “John, this is Emma James. She just got accepted to the college.”

“Congratulations,” John said, reaching across the table to shake Emma’s hand.

Emma shook John’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” she said politely.

“Do you want a drink?” Stuart asked Emma, standing up.

She looked up at him. “Sure. Just get me whatever you’re having.”

Emma was left alone with John. She didn’t know what to say, so she started tearing a napkin to pieces.

“So where did you meet Stuart?” John spoke up.

Emma stopped ripping the napkin and looked up at John.

“I was drawing down by the river and he came up to me. We got to talking and I told him that I was on my way to the college and he said that he was heading that way so we walked together.”

John looked surprised.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Usually Stuart is shy around birds. You must be something special.”

Stuart came back then with the drinks and Emma didn’t have a chance to ask about John’s comment. They began talking. Emma told them that she and her mother had just moved to Liverpool.

“What made you come to this shite hole?” John asked.

“My grandmother lives here. My mum and I are staying with her.”

“What about your dad?” John continued with the questions.

“Back in Winnipeg. My parents got divorced…” Emma then glanced at her watch and stood up suddenly. “I have to go. I just remembered that I promised my mum I would make dinner tonight, and I still have to go to the market.” She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulders. “It was nice meeting you guys. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime.” Then she rushed out of the pub.

Emma got right into the swing of things at college. She liked her classes, she was making friends, and her teachers praised everything she did. She hadn’t run into John or Stuart until she’d been at the school for two weeks.

She’d just come out of Art History. She rounded a corner and slammed right into someone coming the other way. The force sent Emma falling to the ground, her books spilling across the hallway.

The guy she had run into quickly got down and started picking up her books. “I’m really sorry!” he apologized.

“It’s okay,” Emma replied, standing up. “It just as much my fault!” The she looked up at him. “Stuart!”

“Emma!” he smiled, handing her the books he had picked up. “I thought I might not see you again.”

Emma took her books from Stuart. “I’ve been really busy catching up in my classes. I was just on my way home. Did you want to go and grab a coffee or something?”

“Yeah, that would be great. I have to just drop off some stuff at my place first. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” They started walking then Emma spoke up. “I’m sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have left so abruptly. It’s just that my family is kind of a sore topic at the moment and I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.”

Stuart nodded. “Yeah, that’s what John and I figured. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here to listen.”

Emma looked at Stuart, who was looking at her, and she knew that he would be.

Emma soon became friends with Stuart, and also with John. Though they all were different in their own ways, they still became best friends. Just what Emma needed at the moment.

Emma climbed the steps to Stuart’s Gambier Terrace apartment. She could hear the music before she even reached the door so she just let herself in. Whenever music was playing, Stuart was painting so she didn’t want to interrupt him. She shut the door behind her and made her way to the couch.

Sitting down, she watched Stuart. He glanced up and nodded his head in recognition that she was there and went right back to painting.

John came about 15 minutes later, guitar slung over his shoulders, and slid in next to Emma on the couch.

“How long ‘as he been going at that?” John whispered to Emma.

Emma shrugged. “He was like this when I got here. Knowing Stuart, he’s been at this for hours.”

“Hey, Stuart!” John called.

Stuart’s eyes appeared over the canvas.

“Emmie and I are starving over here. Think you could take a break?”

Stuart made a few more brush strokes, then put his paint brush down. “Finished,” he announced, wiping his hands on a cloth.

John leaped up from the couch, grabbing Emma and pulling her up with him.

“Where shall we go?” he asked.

“Mum and grandma went to Blackpool for the weekend,” Emma started. “We can go there. I’m sure we have something to eat . . . ”

John was already out the door.

Emma laughed and waited as Stuart grabbed his coat. He followed her out the door and down the steps to meet up with John.

“Jesus, Lennon!” she cried, running to catch up with him. “What’s your hurry? Surly you’re not that hungry!”

John stopped and waited for Emma and Stuart to catch up. “I want to check out your posh flat, Miss James,” was John’s answer when the two had caught up.

“John,” Emma cried throwing up her hands. “Stop saying that! It’s just like your house. Hardly posh.”

“Whatever.” John swung his guitar around and began strumming. The three walked in silence for a bit.

“I entered a painting in the John Moore’s show today.” Stuart said suddenly.

John and Emma stopped walking and looked at Stuart. “That’s fucking brilliant mate!” John cried.

Emma was nodding her head, enthusiastically. “Yeah, Stuart. That’s really great! I wish I had the talent and courage to do that.”

“Oh, don’t start that again Emmie.”

“Start what?” she asked.

“The ‘I’m not good enough’ bit,” Stuart explained. “Why can’t we get it into your head that you’re an amazing painter?”

Emma ignored Stuart and opened the gate that led to her front door. She walked up the steps and unlocked the door, moving out of the way so John and Stuart could come in.

“Make yourself at home,” she voiced, throwing her keys down on a table that sat next to the door, then walked to the living room where the two boys had made themselves at home.

Emma flopped down on the couch next to John and leant her head on his shoulder.

“Tired, luv?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yes. I need a holiday.”

“Aw, poor Miss James,” Stuart laughed. Emma threw a pillow at him.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, getting up from the couch.

“Got any Scotch?” John asked.

“Three scotch and cokes coming up.” Emma smiled, walking out of the room.

When Stuart was sure she was out of listening range, he leaned toward John. “I think something is bothering Em.”

“You noticed that too?” John whispered.

“Something’s not right.” Stuart replied, then sat up when Emma came back into the room.

“Come see my room,” she said, handing out the drinks.

They all trudged up the stairs to her room. It was the top floor of the house and had been converted into a studio/bedroom. It was literally like her own apartment. Most of the walls had been torn down to give her the space she needed to paint. To the left when you walked in was where she painted. To the right was her bed and dressers. She had books and records and notebooks stacked everywhere. Art supplies littered the floor.

“Nice to know you cleaned the place up for us,” John joked as he walked into the room.

Emma punched him on the arm and then flopped down on the bed. She watched as Stuart walked over to her easel and stared at her latest painting. She knew he was going to comment on it.

He looked up and their eye’s met. “It’s quite dark, Emmie.”

She leaded back on her elbows. “Aren’t all artists supposed to have a dark period?” Reaching over to her nightstand, she retrieved her drink, taking a sip from the glass.

Stuart walked over to her. “It’s not just the painting. These last few days you have been acting different.” He looked over at John. “John’s noticed it too. What’s going on Emma?”

Emma looked back and forth between John and Stuart. Both were staring at her with worried looks on their faces. She hated when they did that. Swinging her legs around, she sat up and put her drink back down on the table. She’d never really gone into why she and her mum had come to Liverpool and they had never asked questions. They knew she would tell them about it when she was ready.

“I’ve just been thinking about my dad lately. I miss him.” She didn’t want to look at John or Stuart. She knew they were looking at her with pity and sympathy in their eyes. “That’s all.”

“No, it’s not,” John prompted.

Emma swung her head in his direction and glared at him. “Yes it is.” She insisted.

John got up from the floor where he was sitting. “No, it’s not all that is bothering you.”

A tear slid down Emma’s cheek and she quickly wiped it away with back of her hand. “I’m just . . . I . . .” She couldn’t find the words to describe what she was feeling inside.

“When you’re ready to tell us,” Stuart spoke, “we’re here to listen.”

That brought a few more tears to her eyes and also a smile. “Want some more to drink?” Reaching into a basket, Emma pulled out four bottles of rum. “The drink of a sailor,” she laughed, handing a bottle to each of them.

John took his. “I’m the son of a sailor’s son, you know.”

The three of them finished their bottles of rum and were spread across Emma’s floor.

“You know what’s been bothering me,” Emma began. She didn’t wait for then to answer. She sat up. “I’m scared that I will never go anywhere in life. It is so stupid, but it has been really bothering me.”

“What do you mean?” Stuart asked.

“What am I supposed to do after I graduate? This is a fucking man’s world. I’m not going to do anything in the art world. And besides, I’m a crappy painter as it is.”

John laughed. “If you are a bad painter, than Elvis is a horrible singer! Jesus, Emmie! Stop saying you’re a bad painter. You are an amazing painter.You’ll be the one to break the barriers for women.”

“Well, I don’t think I am. Stuart,” She turned her head so that she was looking at him. “You are amazing painter. You will have an incredible career. And John, you are going to the top with your music. I can just feel it. It may take a few years but you will reach the top with a bang.”

“And you, Emma James, will be right there at the top with the both of us.” Stuart stated. Emma started to say something, but Stuart held up his hand. “We’re making a pact right now. We stick together no matter what. We need each other. Nothing can stand in the way of our friendship.”

“What about death?” John asked.

Emma added, “We’ll make a pact for that too. If one of us happens to die, we’ll send them a sing from heaven. Like a message to say that we are still here and we’ll be watching out for you.”

“You mean like me coming back as a bird or something?” John asked.

Emma smiled. “Yeah. I’ll come back as a white butterfly.”

“I’ll be a pigeon with a red head.” Stuart laughed.

They looked at John then, waiting for his answer. Finally he looked at them. “I’ll come back as a feather. That is what me mum always told me she would come back as. And she did. A week after she died, I found a white feather on my pillow.”

Emma hadn’t been in Liverpool yet, when John’s mum was run down by an off duty police officer.

“Fuck I miss her…” John whispered.

Emma crawled on her knees over to John and wrapped her arms around him. “I bet you do. And I wish I had known her. Because if she was anything like you, then she was an amazing person.” She held him as he cried.

Emma was in Life class when the door burst open. She looked up from her painting and saw Stuart standing in the doorway scanning the room. When his eyes fell on her, a smile spread across his face and he quickly made his way to her. She stood up from her stool when he got to her.

“I’ve done it, Em!” he cried. “I’ve done it!”

“Done what, Stuart?” she laughed.

“I sold my painting! Sold it for sixty fucking pounds!”

Emma’s eyes lit up. “The painting from the John Moore’s show?”

Stuart nodded his head enthusiastically. “For sixty pounds Emmie!!!” He flung his arms around her and lifted her up from the ground which made Emma giggle because to look at him, Stuart doesn’t appear to be strong, but you’d be surprised.

When he finally put her down, she looked into his eyes and saw the joy and pure excitement that lingered. Then she realized that everyone in the class was staring at the two of them. Emma grabbed her things and then grabbed Stuart’s hand and led him out of the classroom. Once outside, Emma threw her arms around Stuart and gave him a big hug. “I am so proud of you!” she cried. Letting go, she asked, “So what are you planning on spending all this money on?”

“Well . . .” Stuart began.

“What?”

“John’s asked me to be in his band, so I’m going to buy a bass guitar and be the bass player.”

Emma stopped dead in her tracks. “What!?” she cried.

Stuart had walked a little ways up and turned around. “You heard me,” and then turned back around and continued walking.

Emma jogged to catch up with him. “Stuart, you don’t know how to play bass.”

“I can learn, Emmie.”

They walked in silence for a moment. Emma didn’t know what to say. How could Stuart just give up his art like that? They turned onto Lime Street.

“You’re going to give up your art, just like that?” she finally asked.

Stuart stopped walking and turned to face Emma. “I’m not giving it up. Just putting it aside for a while. This is just something I want to do. Something I need to do. I won’t do it forever, just for the time being.” He searched her face for acceptance.

“Well, let’s go pick out a bass then!” she smiled.

“Come see us play, Emmie. You’ve never seen us play. Please. Emmie, come see us play.”

“All right, John!” Emmie cried, throwing her hands up in the air. She and John were at a coffee shop, and John had just spent the last five minutes begging Emma to come to one of their gigs.

John smiled a triumphant grin. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to one of my gigs. You’ve never even met George or Paul. Cyn will be there. You can talk with her.”

“I’m glad you have Cyn. She tames you down.” Cynthia Powell was John’s new girlfriend, and Emma and Cyn had hit it off from the moment they first met.

“No one can tame me! So you will come tonight?”

“Yes, I will come. How is Stuart doing?”

“Good. He’s learning. Paul is pissed off but it’s me fucking band. I put it together. I can say who is in it and who isn’t. So Paul can like it or he can hate it. It doesn’t matter what he wants anyway.”

“You talked him into buying that bass, didn’t you?” Emma suddenly accused John.

“I didn’t talk him into it,” John defended himself. “I just gave him the idea.”

“John, what about his art?”

“What about it, Emma? He can go back to it. He wants to be in my band. He can leave at any time. I’m not holding him there with a knife to his throat.”

Emma sipped her tea. “I know. It’s just hard to see Stuart as something besides an artist.”

“Playing music is just another form of art. Are you ready to go? I need to get home to get ready.”

“Okay. I have something perfect to wear tonight too,” Emma smiled. John just rolled his eyes.

“You women and your clothes!”

Cyn came by Emma’s house at around 6:30 and her mouth almost hit the ground when Emma opened the door.

“What are you wearing?” Cyn cried.

Emma laughed. “Leather pants! I bought them in Winnipeg but have never had the nerve to wear them. I thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity.”

Accompanying her leather pants, Emma was wearing a tight white shirt with three-quarter length sleeves. Her hair was piled up on her head with a few strands falling around her face.

Cyn just laughed as Emma locked her front door. “You’re something else, Emmie.”

They walked to the club that the guys were playing at. Once they got inside, they found a table close to the front so they could get a good look at the guys in action. At 7:15, they were announced, and on stage came five guys.

Emma immediately recognized John and Stuart. Stuart looked so tiny behind the giant bass he had strapped around his shoulders. He was wearing his dark sunglasses and has his back turned slightly to the crowd. John, on the other hand, was right up front, confidence written all over his face. She could clearly tell that he loved what he was doing.

To the immediate right of John stood two guys that Emma did not recognize. Two guys that could only be Paul and George. But who was who? John had said that George was the younger one, but they both looked the same age. Then she remembered conversation where John mentioned that Paul played his guitar left-handedly, so she quickly looked at their guitars and was able to tell who was who. She couldn’t really get a good look at them though. The club was dark, and lights were shining directly in their faces, but she could hear them, and they sounded amazing.

John’s voice was just incredible. So raw and full of energy, and Paul’s voice was just the opposite. Melodic. They put on an amazing show, singing a lot of songs that Emma recognized.

“They’re fucking brilliant, Cyn!” she cried over the music.

Cyn smiled. “I know!” she shouted back.

After the show, Cyn and Emma stuck around the club and waited for the guys to come out.

“You were amazing!” Emma smiled when they came out of the dressing room. She turned to Stuart. “Very moody, Stuart. Loved the glasses.”

Stuart hugged Emma then held her out at arms’ length. “Are those leather pants I see you wearing, Miss James?” he asked.

Emma did a little twirl to show off her outfit. “That they would be, Mr. Sutcliffe. I’ve decided to change my look…for tonight, anyway.”

“Emma,” John interrupted. “I want you to meet George Harrison and Paul McCartney.”

“So this is the infamous Emma James,” Paul smiled, sticking out his hand.

Emma took it and laughed. “Just Emma is fine. You guys were really good out there!”

“Thanks. We try.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you from John and Stu,” George jumped into the conversation. “They say you’re a really talented painter. I’d love to see some of your work.”

Emma laughed. “You can’t believe everything you hear. Which reminds me…I have to finish a painting for tomorrow so I must bid you all farewell. You were amazing.”

Turning to George and Paul, she said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope we can have a longer visit in the near future.” She waved good bye and then started to walk out of the club.

“I’ll come with you,” Stuart ran after her.

They walked down the street in silence for a while. Then Stuart spoke up.

“What did you really think of the set?”

“What?” Emma laughed. “Did you think I was lying when I said it was good?” She linked her arms with Stuart. “I thought you were all fucking brilliant. I mean that. Someday you will see your name in lights.”

“No,” Stuart commented. “Not mine anyway. It’s fun now, but I don’t see myself making a career out of it. I’m a painter, not a musician. John thinks I’m in it for the long haul.”

“John just wants you to be happy. He looks up to you even though you don’t think so. We all look up to each other. He doesn’t want to leave you out of this.”

“I’m having fun,” Stuart admitted.

They had reached Emma’s house. She gave her friend a good-night hug.

“It’s Paul’s birthday tomorrow and we are throwing him a party at the Casbah Club. You’re invited. Will you go?”

Emma thought for a moment. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

“Okay. I’ll come by around eight and pick you up?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye Emma.”

Emma let herself into her house and made her way up to her room. What was she supposed to get Paul for his birthday? She didn’t even know the guy. Then an idea hit her, and a smile spread across her face.

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