Brain was saying something about her finding her own flat, because surely she didn’t want to stay with the three of them for the rest of her life.
“Whatever, Eppy,” She mumbled.
They tumbled out of the car, up to the flat and into bed.
Gabby awoke in Ringo’s bed sometime around two in the morning to the phone ringing, feeling mopy and craving ice cream. George was in his bed and Ringo was awake, smoking and watching a documentary on the Queen’s royal boat thing or whatever.
“For you,” he said gesturing to her. With the receiver.
Gabby looked down at her rumpled clothes and sighed, taking the phone from him. “Hello?”
“Howdy.” It was Eryn, and she sounded drunk.
Gabby giggled. “Howdy…Er, what are you doing up so late?”
Eryn sighed dramatically then burst out into giggled. “We’re in a telephone box outside your fla.t”
Gabby laughed. “Really?” She went to the window and sure enough just down the street she could make out Eryn and her mates crowded around a phone box. “Bloody hell!”
“What’s out there?” asked Ringo coming to stand beside her. Gabby froze and shut the blinds in a hurry. “Nothing,” she said quickly just as George padded into the room. “Looks like rain is all.”
“What’s she on about?” George mumbled falling into Ringo’s chair.
“Come ‘ead Gabby,” Eryn was saying into the phone. “Gabby, Jeremy’s out ‘ere, says there’s some new band over in Bristol we’re gonna see…what’re they called? Throwing? Spinning…Er, rocks?”
“Rolling Stones!” She heard Jeremy laughing in the background and then the unique high pitched giggling of Catherine and Eric’s imitation of her.
“Who’s ringing you at this time?” George wanted to know.
“Right, Eric’s gonna fetch you!” said Eryn. “Here he comes.” She hung up before Gabby could protest and she was left in rumpled slept in clothes with the phone hanging from her hand. She dropped it and ran for the bedroom, blindly grabbing at a mini skirt and a…oh Christ, that doesn’t match…that’s too small...fuck, fuck fuck…
George walked into the room and watched with a bewildered _expression as she put her skirt on and struggled with a pair of tights with one shoe on.
“What’s going...”
“Move.” She shoved past him into the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair, sprayed some perfume and dusted her face with powder. George appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Er…” he said.
Gabby ignored him and fought with a tube of mascara, applying it hastily and then tossing it in the sink. She ran past George, and straight out to the hallway, hopping to intercept Eric before he came into contact with her Beatle flat-mates. Eryn hadn’t said anything, bless her, and Gabby wanted to keep it that way.
Eric’s blonde head popped round a corned. “Hello, luv,” he grinned. “You look rather flushed.”
“Oh,” she nodded and took his arm, looking over her shoulder precariously to see if George or Ringo had wandered out to the hall. “You know,” she coughed. “Where might we be going?”
