7. The microphone.

The boys were in London recording a single, their very first under their new EMI contract. The effect of that morning with Paul was still dizzying and I was happy to see that the day after they left for their studio appointment I started my period. I didn’t know much, but I did know that no period after sex was bad news. And the bad news did come, only not the way one would have expected it.

I woke up late one morning, feeling lazy and all around mellow. Mum had (as always) left to be with Walter in his barber shop on Penny Lane. Brenda and Glenn had now gone back home to Blackpool and I found myself lying around the house with little else to do but sleep in. After lazing around in bed for a few extra hours, I finally decided to get out of bed, wash and put curlers on. I made the bed and opened the window, a general feeling of well being floating in the air. Just as I left my room and headed to fix myself a jam butty for a snack, someone tapped rabidly at my door. Wondering who it could be, I peeked out the window facing the street and found Cynthia Powell, wearing a beret and a long jacket. Her eyes were covered with sunglasses and her hands were tucked deep in her coat pockets. It wasn’t even a cold morning, so I wondered what was going on with her general attire. And her demeanour wasn’t too good either. She tapped again and I turned to open the door. Not a second had passed when she suddenly threw her arms around me, crying like some wounded animal.

I knew what the boys were capable of; hell, I knew first-hand that John had cheated on her. For a few minutes while she cried I seriously felt a heavy conscience. I believed she had found out about Hamburg; I had known all this time and had never told her. That was not what friends were supposed to do at all. But there she stood, clung around my neck and her tears messing up my white blouse with runny mascara.

- All right, luv…- I hugged her back, seriously believing this had a lot to do with John’s philandering. –It’s ok…

- What will I do? - She sobbed.

- Just… get on with it, I suppose…

- Get on with it??- She pulled away and removed her sunglasses. She was a proper mess. I could tell she had been crying for at least a whole day and night, her eyes red and swollen. –I can’t just get on with it!!

- Sure you can, luv! - I stepped in with her and sat her down on the couch, to sit beside her and hold her hands.

She looked at me with disbelief. –Do you even know what I’m on about?

- Well, it’s about John, isn’t it? - I shrugged.

- Yes, it’s about him…- She moaned.

- You’ll find someone else, Cyn; I just know you will… That seemed to worsen things a little. She looked at me, her mouth open and her eyes with a fresh batch of tears. – Oh, my god!! ‘E’s going to leave me!! I’ll be al alone! Oh, God!!- She hid her face between her hands and cried insanely.

I no longer knew what to say or do. All I could think of at that moment was to stand up and rub her back. –You’ll do fine, darling… Someone else will come along, you’ll see, you'll do great.

- Will I?? - She looked up at me, her face contorted and wet. – And what will I do till then? What will I tell my mother??

Mother? I had always known Cyn’s mum was not especially happy with her daughter’s choice for a boyfriend, so I was a little startled to hear that. My mind started to reel in a different direction. Maybe this wasn’t about John’s cheating habits at all, but something far worse.

- What exactly is going on Cyn? - I finally asked.

- There, I thought you’d never ask…- She chuckled sadly and snivelled down a little. After some seconds of silence and fidgeting with her sunglasses, she looked up at me. –Went to see the doctor yesterday, Val…- Her jaw once again began to convulse. –I’m… pregnant…

Oh, boy. Indeed, this was worse than being cheated on. For a high class Liverpool bird like Cyn getting preggers out of wedlock was at the top of the no-no list. And with the boys’ career about to take off, this could prove as potential disaster. If John decided to do the right thing and marry the poor girl it could mean the end of The Beatles and Paul, George and that new drummer Ringo would be left to twist in the wind of what could have been. If, on the other hand, John turned out to be a self-centred arsehole and just got on with his life, poor Cyn would be left with a bastard child to look after and raise all alone. Being a single mother in those days was seen with equal disfavour to prostitution. And I could not see such a sweet girl as Cyn standing around on her own, under the Liverpool drizzle, waiting for the bus to Hoylake with her huge bulging tummy and no ring on her finger. She was much too good for that. I knew now first hand that leading a sexually intimate relationship with someone you love was not bad or sinful at all… But we were young and too naïve to give second thought to the possible consequences of it. And this was the ultimate one. I thanked my lucky stars for my menstrual cycle and sat in front of Cyn once again.

- Ok, luv, first of all, you ‘ave to calm down…. - I spoke as I brushed the bleach blonde tresses out of her messy face. –‘Ow long?

- A month and a half… to date...- She sniffled.

- John ‘as no clue, right?

She shook her head.

- Right, here’s what we do. - I grabbed her hands. – We wait till the day after tomorrow when the lads cum back. John will look fer ya. Take ‘im somewhere to talk in private and tell ‘im. There’s no other way round it, Cyn. Before you tell anyone, you ‘ave to know where John stands… You won’t ‘ave all the cards in yer ‘and till you do, you realise...

- And what if ‘e wants out??- She began to shudder again and I was quick to calm her down.

- Yer jumping way ahead of yourself and it’s not ‘elping at all. - I shook her gently by the shoulders. – Just two days is all, luv.

- The thing is…- she cleaned her nose with the tip of her finger. –I’m afraid tha’ if ‘e makes a decision ‘e’ll ‘ave to leave the band… that would be the same as killing ‘im. I don’t want to be responsible fer ‘im giving up ‘is dream, not when ‘e’s this close to making it!!

- Oh…- I motioned over and sat by her side, putting my arm around her. – I’m sure we’ll all work a way around it. Brian could arrange something fer the two of you… You never know, but you can’t sit there making it all worse for yerself like this! Go on, luv, where there’s will there is a way. Something will turn up, you’ll see…

That seemed to work for a while. She grinned and nodded and simply sat in silence. I offered her some tea and she accepted gladly. I could see the state she was in from the way her pulse shook as she held the tiny cup to her mouth. She warned me and advised me over and over to be careful if I didn’t want to suffer the same fate, and for once in my life the advice was taken in. From now on, no intercourse without some relative measure of protection.

I asked Cyn if she wanted to stay with me until the fatidic date when John would be told, but she opted for her own flat instead. Dot had long ago moved out and she could use the space and quiet to think about things by herself. I warned her not to even consider abortion, since it was both dangerous as well as illegal, not to mention probably ten times as much as she could afford. She left that day a little bit reassured but not all around happy. As soon as I closed the door, the mellowness of the morning had been replaced with the tension of possibilities. What would I do if I had suddenly discovered I was carrying Paul’s child? What would HE do? The image of a black haired, big eyed baby flooded me together with pictures of Paul and I in a big house in Woolton, firing up the barbecue grill and a bunch of schoolchildren gathering around for our young boy’s birthday party and I couldn’t help grinning. It was a blissful, domestic thought and quite possible… in maybe seven years! Our very young age suddenly shattered the image like broken crystal and I was suddenly faced with reality. Paul would quite likely swallow his own tongue and although he’d probably do the “proper” thing, he’d regret having lost his shot at fame and fortune and I’d have to carry the blame for the duration of our lives. I shook my head, felt dreadful for Cyn and headed off to remove the curlers from my hair.

I didn’t discuss Cyn’s situation with anybody. Talking to mum about it would probably give her (good) reason to suspect her daughter might also be sexually active and therefore in danger of facing the same situation. Brenda would quite probably lecture on me on how bad an influence these guys were, even if she had also known Paul since the day he had been born. Maria would quite likely rush to her with a long list of clandestine abortionists. Telling Paul would be akin to a certified disaster. And in general, I simply didn’t want to break her trust.

The day finally arrived. Both Cyn and I rushed to the airport to collect our men. Cyn looked composed but definitely uneasy as she welcomed Johnny with open arms. John, on his part, seemed delighted to be home and smiled broadly as he greeted her. It seemed every time they came back from London they were older and wiser for the better, looking more and more like stars every passing second. One look at Paul and as always my world came alight. We smiled and broke the airport kiss record as he held me with his carry-on still in his hand. That was the first time I ever saw Ringo as well. He looked disappointed but happy to be home. It seemed that upon their arrival Mr. Martin had informed them that Ringo would not be playing with them; he had hired a heavy duty all star drummer called Andy White for the session. The boys had insisted and Mr. Martin had made do with maybe using Ringo for further sessions, but not on this one. Paul introduced me to him and he struck me as a short, oddly well-mannered chap with a nasal voice, who was far from handsome but had a friendly, no barriers quality that seemed to blend into the band’s character with much more ease than Pete Best ever had to my opinion. Seeing the newly improved line-up made me realise the seriousness of Cyn’s situation; Now with Ringo, the missing piece to the puzzle had been found and they were ready to shoot off to the sky like a rocket… Unless John quit the band to marry Cynthia; then it would all go to hell, contract and all. I had noticed Cyn pulling John apart from the rest, and I paid attention from the corner of my eye. Paul was busy talking to Ringo when I turned to look at them. John stood facing her, white as a sheet and dead serious, and Cyn had (again) begun to cry.

“Oh, God, she’s told him”, I thought as I witnessed how John ran a hand down his face and placed the other on his hip. He looked around and suddenly met my stare. I could tell that he knew that I knew, and to this day I can say that that was the only time I ever saw clean through John Lennon’s hard façade; he looked helpless and an inch from tears himself. Paul was now catching on and looked at John with a serious frown on his own face, before John turned suddenly to hug Cyn, who had by now dissolved into a sopping mess of anguished tears. George and Ringo too were looking back and forth from John’s petite committee to me. Brian jumped into the scene quickly, and the three pulled off to a corner to discuss the happenings. Things worsened a little when we all took a look at Brian’s face. He could have died from the shock then and there.

Paul grabbed me from the shoulder and spoke into my ear. –I know you know… What’s all this about? - George also stared at me, waiting for an answer, and I could feel Ringo’s huge, quizzical blue stare burning my skin as well.

I knew then it was pointless not to tell. John or Brian would soon have to anyway and a group decision would have to be made. –It’s Cyn…- I said, staring at the trio on the far corner as they assessed the precarious situation. –She’s ‘aving a baby… Seems Johnny knocked ‘er up proper.

- Aw, bloody fucking ‘ell! - Came the collective growl as they turned with sneers and pouts. They knew the potential hazard of the situation better than anybody. When Paul turned back around, he had his hand over his mouth and was visibly angry. George’s eyes began to water and Ringo now had another reason for possible disappointment as he shook his head and looked down. We all looked on expectantly while John, Cyn and Brian seemed to discuss the issue. Suddenly Cyn looked down and cried again, John hugged her and Brian gave them both a reassuring hug. John and Cyn were left there holding each other while Brian turned tail and headed straight to us. He looked at me and grinned, although it was easy to tell he was having a hard time keeping it together. –Val…- He gave me a kiss on the cheek and stared at me expectantly. –Please don’t tell me you’re here to give us another little surprise…

Paul suddenly shot his face at me, his lips parted, and looked terribly relieved when I spoke again with a huff. –God, no!

- All right, then. I suppose you knew about this…

- Cyn told me two days ago. - I shrugged.

- Why didn’t you tell us over the phone? - Paul questioned me angrily.

- Tell me what good tha’ would ‘ave done anybody, Paul. - I sneered at him. He seemed to understand this, nodded and turned away with a contained expression.

- So what now, Eppy? - George chimed in.

Brian sighed and scratched his brow. –We’ll be having the very first Beatle wedding, it seems.

- John? Married??- Ringo added. –That’s a laugh!

- And wha’ about the band, eh? - Paul moaned. –We’ve worked our bloody arses off!

- It’ll be a small wedding, Paul. - Brian assured him. - It won’t affect the band. I am thinking, however, that it’ll have to be kept as secret as possible…

- Secret? - I sneered. The thought of being a secret wife or girlfriend somehow made my stomach turn.

- Val, you are looking at a group of boys that will be bigger than Elvis. –He assured us as he collected his carry-on from the floor. –Girls are their biggest fan base, growing by the hundreds every week. They’ll want their Beatles to be single and available.

I gulped as Brian turned around and headed back to John and Cyn. Cynthia had stopped crying and John seemed stoic but composed. Brian had spoken a mouthful and the idea suddenly hit me head on. Paul would soon belong to all the dollies he called fans. He’d be mine no more… even if he ever married me; he’d still be their Beatle.

We left the airport in silence. Paul looked contained, Ringo seemed expectant to a reaction, George was blatantly pissed off and John looked like he was miles away. As for Brian, I could have sworn I had noticed a rash had suddenly developed on his neck that simply hadn’t been there before at all. As we all stepped out of the airport, a small contingent of (screaming) girls waited by their van, together with the boys’ assistants, Neil and Mal. I had only recently met the pair; Neil was young and equally bubbly and charming as The Beatles themselves, while Mal was a huge guy, some years older than the boys, with the gentlest temperament for a guy his age. They both stood around chatting the girls up until they spotted the band coming out of the main gates into the parking lot. The boys were swarmed by their fans while Brian, Cyn, Neil Mal and I stood back staring in silence. It was then that we all noticed that the only one of the four putting on a brilliant performance was Paul. While the others signed the little notepads with stone-faced demeanours, Paul was all smiles, eyes twinkling, chatting up the birds and signing autograph after autograph, his McCartney charm oozing out of every pore in his body.

- Yer bloke’s a bloody natural…- Cyn giggled.

I was relieved to see Cyn was feeling a little bit better and smiled back at her. I wasn’t really smiling inside, though. One look at him, and Brian’s words turned into that nagging feeling I felt the day he left for Hamburg and it hit my stomach with a vengeance. I squirmed uncomfortably and stood there, contemplating the view of stars in the making. I began to wonder what the odds were for four people to meet and generate such an intense chemistry together, enough to charm the hell out of the world around them. And I reached the conclusion that I would NEVER reach a conclusion, so I just continued to stare and feel miserable inside instead.

After some fifteen minutes, the fans were reduced to a manageable number and we were able to approach. Paul’s face instantly went back from Price of Pop to stone-cold serious. I was about to join him in the van when Mal suddenly grabbed me by the arm. – You and Cyn go in Brian’s car, luv. Just in case we see more of this…

Paul stood straight, looked at Mal with a frown and then looked at me. I must have looked terribly helpless because his dour expression softened and he gave me a weak little smile. –Go, luv… I’ll see you later…- He said, winked at me and jumped into the van.

One would say riding on different cars was not really a big deal. But for some reason, a large part of my world came crashing down that very moment. “Oh, my God, things are really changing now…” I thought as I turned and joined Cyn and Brian in his car. And I knew that from this very moment, whenever they’d go to London, something would be different upon their return… that is, if they returned at all. Inside the car, I stared out the window and felt a tear running down my face. Brian failed to notice; But Cyn turned from the front and reached out to grab my hand. I looked at her and she produced an understanding smile. I felt like a rat; there she was, dealing with an unexpected pregnancy, knowing she’d go from Art student to housewife to mother in 0.2 seconds, her life changing dramatically… and she was holding my hand for support. I looked at her, feeling silly and terribly self conscious, when she spoke softly. –Let the sodding world change as long as they stay the same, luv…

I stared at her and nodded. She obviously knew exactly what I was going through and had simply reassured me that as long as the boys remained true to their down-to-earth nature, the world could swirl around them in a spinning dervish… but they would always be the same, working class lads we loved.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The day Cyn became Mrs. Lennon, Paul stood and signed as best man. Things had cooled down incredibly, except for John who was sad when his Auntie Mimi refused to attend the wedding. There was a terrible racket going on with public work being done on the streets outside the registry, and after the fact the couple were toasted with coke and roast chicken. It was very simple but John and Cyn seemed satisfied to be doing the right thing. Paul had indeed gone back to being Paul and I was a little relieved when one night after his gig he once again pebbled my window and beckoned me down. Those little escapades made life interesting. Jim and Mike were back from their Butlins holiday, however, so making love became rather tricky. One of the most fun-filled times was when Paul indeed climbed up my pipe at three in the morning, snuck into bed, made me feel all colours of the rainbow and left just before sunrise. Later on that day he dropped in with flowers for me. We spent the afternoon together and then went to his home, locked ourselves in the room and had another go at quiet lovemaking while Jim was downstairs watching the Grand National. We had to be quick and silent… and after seeing what happened to Cyn and John, extra careful. But every time we were together, we always ended up on a high note, happy, loving and warm.

It was during a rainy afternoon at the Cavern that the madness receded enough for me to have another spotlight spot at the Cavern Club. I wasn’t one of people’s favourite girls, especially since it was well known amongst the Cavern Dwellers that I was Paul’s steady girlfriend. It so happens that this particular night there was a massive blackout throughout the entire downtown district. The boys were halfway through “Shimmy Shimmy” when the power went and a collective moan was heard from the audience. John broke the tension when he shouted from the stage. – ‘Urry, mam! Put another shilling in the meter!!- That got the desired effect. The people laughed a little and tumbled in darkness for a few minutes.

The lights were not coming back on and the audience once again became restless. Paul suddenly hopped off the stage and reached for Priscilla White, the young coatroom girl who now stood at the front of the stage. Cilla, as she was known to everyone in there, was a friendly faced, buck-toothed skinny redhead who had supported the Beatles’ rise to local fame from the very beginning. She and I had hardly ever exchanged words, but were generally friendly to each other. And although I had never heard her at all, Paul claimed she had one of the most powerful singing voices he had ever heard on any woman. Paul rushed back to the front of the stage pulling Cilla by the wrist, and went directly to me.

- Val, you two sing something, quick…

- What??- Cilla and I turned to him simultaneously.

- You ‘eard ‘im! - John hopped off and joined us. –The multitude demand their ticket’s worth of fun ‘ere…- He looked at Cilla and gave her a playful shove. –Just show ‘em yer legs and we’ll all make do…

- Get on…- Paul turned a serious face to John and then back to us. –I mean it, girls, sing sumthing!!

Just as I was about to protest, Cilla nodded confidently and hopped on the stage. She seemed natural in her way of handling the crowds as she introduced herself. Paul and John pushed me up on the stage and once again I felt my knees weaken as every “Paul fan” stared daggers at me. Before I knew it, Cilla had the crowd on the palm of her hand and I was amazed that no one had ever thought of taking her into account for a possible career in show business. Once the crowd was a little quieter, she turned to me with a whisper. –Ever sang something? Something these people will know?

- I sang “To Know Him is to Love Him” once…- I spoke, my voice quavering.

- No, no, we need something the crowd can sing along to…

- I dunno then…

- I got it!!- She turned to the crowd and told them to sing along if they knew the lyrics or at least the chorus. She turned to me with a smile and a wink. –You’ll know this one. Do the other key, let’s see who else joins in…

Without warning she launched into “Lollipop”. I had always hated that son on principle alone but like everyone else at the time, I knew every word to it. She sang the first and principal key and I immediately joined in with the higher pitch. I was shocked to realise I didn’t falter and my voice sounded just as strong as hers. Soon enough, the band began to pitch in with the lower harmonies, John tooting out the low key “Badoom boom booms”, Ringo and George clapping to the beat and Paul singing the background “Ahhhs”.

To say the audience was amused was an understatement. They all began to clap to the impromptu Capella song and a few were singing along. “Lollipop, lollipop, oh, lolly lolly lolly, lollipop…” I slowly felt more at ease and shocked myself when I suddenly began to move along to the song, looking like one of The Ronettes in my moves. Cilla soon began to copy me and we all sang a longer version of the song until the lights came back on. The people cheered happily and the band hopped back on the stage. Paul smiled and turned to the microphone. –Aren’t they just great people? Our very own Liverpool Supremes! Big ‘and for Cilla and Val!! Let’s ‘ear it now!!

The crowd indeed cheered and I was suddenly dizzy with my very own little fifteen minutes of fame. As I took a smiling bow, George approached me and whispered into my ear. –Don’t forget about us if you become famous! - I turned and smiled at him and hopped off. But it wasn’t all that night. Later on, Paul once again invited us back on the stage with a couple more songs. Cilla sang “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes”, a song recently made famous by Bobby Vee from America. When I took to the microphone again, I shocked the life out of the people when Paul and I agreed on our very own theme song, “We’ll Meet Again”. It was an old song, but being a bunch of baby boomers resulting from the scars of war, everyone knew it off by heart, and some of the girls at the front of the stage even cried a little as they sang along. When Cilla and I stayed onstage and improvised some background vocals for “September in the Rain”, the crowd just about lost it. People stood and cheered and for a minute I felt a little subdued, but somehow the rush of being cheered on and applauded got to my head like I had been drinking wine at high speed.

Later that night, we were all on high spirits and took the celebration to the flat Brian was lending to John and Cyn. We stayed there until two in the morning and we each took off in different directions. As Paul drove me home, he told me he was impressed with just how good we had all sounded and told me he’d tell Brian to keep an eye on both Cilla and I for any possible future in the singing business. –Imagine wha’ a pair we’d make!! Some couple, eh? Paul of the Beatles and Val from the... the…

- The Poolettes! - I giggled.

- That’s as good a name as any! - He smiled.

- We might need a third voice…

- May I join in? - He joked batting his eyelashes. –I make a fab soprano… just ask John, ‘ell tell you!

- I’m afraid yer knockers are too small for our standards, luv…

That got the desired laugh and there was a sudden silence after that. I noticed he took a turn in the opposite direction and before we knew it we were headed to the sand dunes of The Wirral, across the Mersey.

- Paul what the hell are we doing ‘ere?- I grinned as he pulled over.

- Old Jim and Mick are at ‘ome and yer mum is probably waiting up fer you. - He said as he turned the car engine off. – I’m not sure we’d be able to do it anywhere else…

- Do it? - I smiled and saw how he turned and produced a thick blanket from the back seat. –In yer car??

- Not quite what I ‘ad in mind…- He said as he stepped out and set the blanket down on the sand.

Now I knew I had seen it all. End the night making love in the open air?

- Paul!!- I looked at him, jawslacked, as I followed him to the spot he had picked. – Are you serious? What if someone walks by??

- Just…- He shrugged. -…pretend we’re ‘aving a picnic…

- Oh, sure…- I nodded, putting a strand of hair behind my ear. –In the buff and in the middle of the night…

He raised his hands and eyebrows. –Can’t blame us, we just felt too hot and we love to get up real early!

That last statement made me laugh so hard, I simply settled on top of the blanket and stared in disbelief as Paul shed off his clothes, garment by garment. I followed suit and we soon found ourselves making love in a public Conveyance, except this time it was only us and the stars. By the time climax arrived and we were over and done with, it was closing in on five a.m. and from the other side of the Mersey, factory pipes began to toot their early morning alarm. Paul held me from behind, rocking me in his arms as we stared at the reflection of the moon on the Mersey. It was a blissfully silent moment of closeness. The image of a McCartney family crept back into my head, only this time we were all sitting on the same picnic blanket in the middle of the breezy day, eating butties and drinking tea while the little ones played with the sand. All thoughts of being separated by his career and fans seemed to drown under the shiny waters of the river as we just melted into each other’s embrace. He broke the silence after a while when he spoke into my ear with a husky voice. –We’d best get going…

- I don’t want to move…- I mumbled back.

- Get on. Yer mum will kill us…

- I don’t care…

- But I do! - He chuckled. There was a truth behind that as well; Paul McCartney would never want to leave any burning bridges behind.

- You should ‘ave thought of that before you brought me ‘ere, then! - I smiled as I turned around and pushed him back to pin him on the floor.

- I tried, I tried! - He laughed with me. –But this is all your fault!!

- Eh??

- That’s right! - He struggled with me playfully and spoke between gritted teeth. –Dressed like tha’, getting a poor defenceless lad all alone in a car, what is a normal, hot-blooded male to do, then, eh? It’s like promising some poor starved geezer porridge and then telling ‘im ‘e can ‘ave none!

- Oh, so that’s what I am, eh? Porridge for the hungry!!

- Oh, aye…- he pulled me to him and kissed my neck. –Delicious, hot sweet porridge…

- What does that make you? - I closed my eyes and began to feel the tingles again.

- Just plain ‘ungry for you… all the time…

Just as we were about to succumb to a second lovemaking session, we overheard the sound of a passing car. That just about caught our attention and put an end to the moment. The night was slowly turning from black to pink and to pale yellow and Liverpool was slowly stirring to life. Sighing, we shrugged it off and simply got up, got dressed, dusted the sand from the blanket and after throwing it back into the car Paul took me home. For the duration of the ride, the thought of Paul’s probable reaction to fatherhood kept nagging at me. On one hand he could be this wonderful man that could love you close to an inch of death; then there was The Beatle. He’d never give up his career. Not for anything. Not even me. Or would he? What if I had been the one knocking on Cyn’s door that day, crying my eyes out and with a serious pregnancy issue? I wouldn’t have been too worried about my mum’s and Brenda’s reaction. I knew what to expect from Brenda. She’d probably blow off and tell me that that Paul McCartney was a good for nothing lout who had a way with people and that he would never respond to any of my needs. Mum would quite likely cry for a couple of days but would easily be won over with a few minutes of Paul’s “superb bullshitting”, as Mike liked to call it. And I also knew Paul well enough to know he’d ask me to marry him on the spot. But what worried me was what his mental state would have been. Would he be happy about it at all, or would he just have to accept it as an inevitable consequence of his acts, like John had? I must have been thinking very loudly, because Paul turned around and grimaced. –You ok there?

- I feel fab. - I lied with the best smile I could produce and decided to drop my musings then and there.

I had thought mum would have been up all night and would be there expecting me with a rolling pin in her hand, but when I opened the front door I was shocked to notice she wasn’t there. I looked for a note all around the house but found none. My original thought was that maybe she had spent the night with Walter. If not too surprising I still found it odd, since mum wasn’t the sort to let her “business” out in the open like that. She (like Paul and I) would have looked for the right time and place without disturbing her everyday routine. Paul sat on the living room couch and by the time I went back downstairs, he had lay down and nodded off. I grinned and went for a blanket to cover him. I sat beside him and watched him sleep and noticed with amusement how after a little while his eyes would open just a little but would not wake up at all. I had heard Mike tell me how his brother often slept with his eyes open, Mike’s version being that “he had reason to fear” his younger sibling’s midnight attacks. But there was no younger sibling here and it was not the middle of the night any more.

I must have been staring at him for over twenty minutes when the phone rang. These were the old phones, and they had bells that were close to alarm clocks. The sound made me jump and startled Paul awake. I huffed and stood to pick up the phone while Paul rubbed his eyes. –Hello?

- Where the bloody hell have you been, then??- Blared my mum. But the sound of her voice was not an angry one; rather it was desperately worried and teary. I feared I had really done it this time.

- I was… out with the boys at John and Cynthia’s…- I half lied. -Paul just brought me ‘ome…

- I’ve been trying and trying to call you all night…- She wept.

- Mum…- I spoke, already feeling a little scared. –What’s going on? Where ‘ave you been “All night”?

She sobbed a little and finally found the courage to speak. – At the hospital…

As soon as I heard that I must have paled because Paul looked at me, frowned and stood up by my side with a concerned expression on his face.

- Wh… are you all right, mum? What ‘appened??

- It’s Walter…- She moaned. –‘E ‘ad a heart attack…

- Oh, God…- I took a hand to my mouth and turned helplessly towards Paul. –And?

- The doctors say it was massive…- She moaned. –They’re fighting, but it doesn’t look like ‘e’ll make it, luv.

- Oh, Mum…

- I’m going to spend the day ‘ere, darling. Please stay put so you can call your sister when I call you. Don’t tell anyone yet.

“Anyone” in my brain did not include Paul. When I saw him there, biting his thumbnail and staring at me nervously, I figured I’d have to share it with him or we’d both go mental.

- Mum, Paul is ‘ere…

- Well, I suppose that’s all right. If you two want tea you’ll ‘ave to go to the shops luv, because there isn’t any.

- We’ll be ok…

There was a brief silence before I heard my mum break down a little.

- What will I do, Val?? What will become of me if ‘e passes over?

I remained silent. My only answer at the moment was for her to go on like she had done when our father had left for the war and hadn’t returned. But I was just unable to imagine what it would be like to lose a significant other once, let alone twice, so I figured that in view of the circumstances a less obvious but much more comforting sentence left my lips. –I don’t know mum, but we’ll be there for you.

That seemed to cut it. She told me farewell and put the phone down. I turned to Paul and told him the tidings; His only response was to stare silently, turn around and sit down on the couch, shaking his head and staring at the floor.

We both stayed at home simply holding onto each other for hours. At some point we both fell asleep on the couch for a few minutes and I knew at that moment that I had never felt so warm and secure in my entire life. When we awoke, Paul kissed the top of my head and whispered a quiet but strong “I love you” to me. I knew now that this was as good a time as any to put all my uneasy thoughts about Paul’s possible reaction to paternity to rest, so I took the plunge.

- Paul?

- Mmh...

- You know what ‘appened to John and Cyn.

- I think we all know. What about it?

I sighed. –What if it ‘ad been me? - I looked up into his bewildered scorn. – What if I ‘ad been the one knocked up and ‘aving yer baby, there?

He stared at me silently. –Are you? - He finally spoke.

- No…- I looked back down. –I would ‘ave told you if I ‘ad…

- Would you?

- And why wouldn’t I? - I chuckled. –I’d ‘ave to know if you’re in or out.

- So…- He took a deep breath. –Why are you asking now?

- God, you’re smart! - I laughed. – I asked a question, I get no answer and I’m the one who ends up sitting in the inquisitor’s chair getting hammered with questions!- I turned around and lay flat on my stomach on top of him. –Don’t avoid the issue, Mr. McCartney. Answer me… What would you ‘ave done, eh?

Paul stared into my eyes for over a minute. I knew he was thinking hard and at that moment I knew I was in trouble. He didn’t have an automatic response, which meant he really had to ponder what his options were. I waited anxiously but patiently and he finally came with an answer.

- I think…- he bit his lower lip. -…I’d make a brilliant dad. My kid would be proud to be the son of a Beatle. And as for you…- he smiled and playfully kissed the tip of my nose. –You’d be wearing furs and going out to parties in London! You will one day. Just... to early now, you know, we're too young, I think.

- What if Mr. Epstein got ‘is knickers in a twist and decided to make it a secret wedding? A crappy one at that, with chicken and coke for a wedding celebration?

- Sod ‘im. - He grinned. –Just ‘ow many married people does ‘e think ‘e can keep under the lid? I’d tell ‘im to stuff it. –He hugged me. –And I think we’d ‘ave one hell of a gorgeous kid… Just not yet, luv. - He paused and held me to him before talking again. –But you WOULD tell me, wouldn’t you? I mean, if you were preggers…

- I told you, yes. - I giggled. –Why does that worry you so much?

- I dunno. –He shrugged. –I suppose I just wouldn’t want to be left out, is all. –I felt him reach down into his trouser pocket for his cigarettes. After lighting one and exhaling the smoke, he sighed and spoke. _I just ‘ave this idea that you’ll be with me in everything I do. I want to believe you’d do the same for me.

That was more than enough for me. I smiled and after stealing a drag from his fag I nodded with a grin. We remained hugging silently, waiting for more news from the front. The phone rang twice, but it wasn’t mum on either occasion. The first caller was Brenda to tell us she was deliriously happy at having discovered she was having a baby. Since mother had asked me to be mum about Walter, I simply kept the chat amiable and congratulated my sister. I was truly happy for her but I had mum in the back of my head all the time. The second call was from Brian looking for Paul. They spoke quietly for a few minutes and when he hung up the phone, Paul informed me that the single they had recorded called “Love Me Do” had reached number seventeen in the charts. While he looked pleased, the glint in his eye told me he had hoped for more and would not quit till he got exactly that. He told me Brian had also informed him that they were due back in London to record a follow-up single and that he and John had better rehearse new material. I was pleased to learn that that day Paul had his day off since their session at the Cavern was cancelled due to the fact that the club would run inventory that afternoon.

Paul went to the corner shops to buy tea while I heated up some cross-buns mum had made the day before. I was alone when the dreaded phone call finally came at 5:30 that afternoon. Paul was just coming in when I picked up the receiver.

- Hello?

- It’s me, luv. - Mum said. –Can you come over right away?

- Sure. Where are you?

- At the Royal. Near the Gallery.

- All right. What’s going on?

Mum went through a lot of trouble describing that Walter wanted to die knowing he left my mum with a good safety pension and a small inheritance of property. He had already placed them under her name without her knowing, but in the event of his death she had no claim on them unless they were already married. So they had asked the hospital vicar to perform the haphazard nuptials. In view of the circumstances, mum suddenly didn’t mind using a protestant priest instead of going for her regular catholic one. The biggest problem was that Walter’s brother had died in the war and there was no relative or friend handy to be the best man. Paul instantly volunteered and we both headed out to the hozzy, hot cross-buns in hand.

As we entered the hospital wing, some nurses gasped in recognition of their favourite Beatle. The reality of how big they were becoming, however, was not something I could dwell on for the moment and we both shot straight to cardiology. Mum sat there in a waiting hall, looking calm and contained but with an unspeakable sadness readable in her eyes. As soon as she saw me, she ran down the hall and hugged me in a mess of tears. Paul instantly began his labour as an emotional soother, his cooing voice working like a charm on her. As soon as she pulled herself together, the vicar summoned us to start the ceremony. A notary had also been called to attest the wedding and make my mother the legal beneficiary of Walter’s property.

The event reminded me in many ways of John and Cyn’s wedding, only without the promise of a baby to make it a happy occasion. I ran down to the gift shop and bought some flowers for mum to hold. Walter looked pale and within an inch of death and it made my heart sink to think of such a wonderful life gone away. Sure, he was no longer in his prime, but what he had done for my mum no man had been able to do since dad’s death.

As soon as the wedding ceremony had been performed and Paul had signed both as witness and best man, Walter’s attorney stepped in. I had never liked the look of these people and this guy was no exception. He had bad body odour and had probably not bathed in a couple of weeks from the looks of it. But he explained to mum and me what Walter was leaving for us with amazing patience and clarity. In his will he had left the barber shop in Penny Lane to a younger barber, his apprentice. His home would be sold and the proceeds of the real state sale would go to the Strawberry Field Orphanage where he and his brother had grown up. Just when mum and I began to wonder exactly what it was Walter was leaving for us, the attorney turned to page two of the will and clearing his throat, read what to mum felt like redemption and to me a first, second and third death in one go.

I anticipate that included as a part of my property and estate at the time of my death will be tangible personal property of real estate, characters and values, namely in the state of Manhattan, New York City in the United States of America, accumulated by me during my professional career. I hereby specifically instruct all concerned that my Executor (spouse), herein appointed (Mrs. Eve Coskin), shall have complete freedom and discretion as to disposal of any and all such property so long as she shall act in good faith and in the best interest of my estate and my beneficiaries, and her discretion so exercised shall not be subject to question by anyone whomsoever.

If I am the owner of any real estate at the time of my death, I instruct and empower my Executor and my Trustee (as the case may be) to hold such real estate for personal use of inhabitancy, as my Executor or my Trustee (as the case may be) shall in her sole judgment determine to be for the best interest of my estate and the beneficiaries thereof.

I didn’t require legal translation for that. Walter was leaving my mother a home in America, New York to be precise; And from the sound of it, a pretty fancy home, too. I instantly felt my knees go weak and one look at Paul told me he felt the exact same way. I wasn’t sure if mum would actually accept this and leave Liverpool, but if she did, it would be more than obvious that I’d have to go with her. That horrible reality hit me on the head and I knew at that moment Paul was cursing himself for having volunteered his signature as best man and witness. There was still the possibility that mum would choose to sell the property since the will specified that she would have complete freedom as to what to do with it. But when I saw my mum nodding in acknowledgement to the second paragraph as she held Walter’s hand, I knew that quite likely she wouldn’t. And after having lost two husbands in Liverpool, I knew her well enough to know she’d probably flee from Liverpool and from the memories it held. If Walter had provided her with a haven from the memory of death, she would sure as hell take it.

After the attorney finished reading and painfully explaining the Will and Testament, Paul stepped outside for a smoke. I had to stay behind with mum while she held Walter’s hand. It didn’t take long after that, or at least it felt like a very short time to me; too short. Walter eased away as my mother kissed his wrinkled brow. While I had liked Walter all the time he was with my mother I was furious at him for not selling the property in New York for the Orphanage proceeds instead of his little Liverpool home. I didn’t mind going away; it was what I would be leaving behind that tore me to pieces.

I left mum alone with Walter for a while and went to look for Paul. I didn’t find him in the hallway, so I looked around a little. A nurse (probably a fan) told me he was pacing just outside the main hospital door.

I ran down and found him, staring down the street, ciggie in hand and a blank gaze in his eyes. I walked out to him and stood in front. He acknowledged my presence with a nod but didn’t even look at me. His jaw was set, his lips pressed tight and his frown strong on his brow and all around he looked ready to pick a fight with someone. For a guy who could hold back his emotions like Paul did, he was not even trying now, and if he was at all, he failed miserably. I knew that speaking was the worst thing I could do. I could not push him to speak his mind and I didn’t think I needed to; I knew exactly what was going through it. He was furious at the thought of being the one left alone in the end, especially after all those talks of him leaving me for fame and fortune. It seemed fate was having the last laugh and had twisted the story around a bit.

I didn’t want to cry even though tears hung precariously at the edge of my eyes. I simply stood silently beside him, staring down the street, the cold Liverpool air hitting our faces. That morning had given us such a huge promise of love and now it seemed life was about to shatter it all into a million pieces.

After a very long silence, Paul shoved his hands into his pockets and huffed. –It doesn’t ‘ave to be this way, you know…

- What? - I turned to him.

- It doesn’t. - He shook his head, his shoulders shrinking into his neck. – We don’t ‘ave to be apart…- He turned to me, his eyes huge and pleading. –I can cum with you to America.

- Eh? - I shivered, feeling like I was about to hit the ground.

- You ‘eard! - He took me by my shoulders and held me to him. – Let’s get married. Right now, like yer mum. Forget all the stuff I said at yer house, luv, I don’t care about the Beatles.

A part of me wanted to scream a loud and resonant YES. But I remembered Cyn sitting in tears in my living room, speaking of her fears of ruining John’s life. John hadn’t wanted to marry yet at all, but even so, his situation was still better than ours. At least Cyn was in Liverpool with him. I knew that Paul meant every word; but I also knew that he would forever regret having lost his big chance with his band. Like I had thought before, I would be the one feeling guilty for it. He had worked much too hard and I had no right to take it away from him, especially not now when he was so close to reaching his goal. One thing was to be married in Liverpool, the other was for him to leave everything and tag along to a strange country for my sake, and I could agree to neither of the above. Paul and I were both too young to marry and he had made that clear before, even if now he begged me not to think about it. And he had been right. That kind of marriage would be a joke and would not last long enough for me to feel I had tied the knot right.

- Now THAT is bloody daft! - I pushed him away. –I can’t do this! YOU can’t do this!

- What? - He pleaded.

- What about the lads? - I shook my head. –You can’t be so selfish as to just toss it all to shite when they are counting on you! You say you don’t care about the Beatles, but you do, Paul! I can’t be the one behind such a bad decision…

- Then stay! - He begged, shaking my shoulders mildly. –Don’t go to America with your mum! If John can be a Beatle and be married, then so can I! We both can!

I swallowed and shook my head. -Paul, I can’t let my mother go alone to America…

- If we’re married, she’d understand!!

- No, Paul! - I finally let a tear escape and after that one, another and another until I was sobbing. – You lost yer mum and you know what that is like. We’d be getting married for the wrong reason…

- Since when is love the wrong reason? - He turned around and paced back and forth, running his left hand through his mop of black hair. – I can offer you the world, Valerie! We’re about to…

- Exactly! - I cried. – You’re about to. I can’t be in the way of that! No one can! - I cried. –I can’t let mum go alone to a place she doesn’t know… and I can’t marry you now. You tell me to forget what you said back at my place, but it would be wrong, Paul, because you are right! We’re too young and it wouldn’t last. I love you. I love you enough to die for you, and I probably will… But I owe it to my mother… I’m sure you can understand that! Please, just… tell me you understand it.

Paul stared at me angrily. I knew he was about to cry, but he pressed his lips tight, stuck his hands back in his pockets and arrogantly raised his chin. –Let it be, then…- He said coldly, before he turned around and walked to his car to drive away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the street, crying for the love I knew I’d lose for a third time.

I walked back to the hospital and found my distraught mother filling out hospital forms. I cleaned my eyes and stood by her side, holding her hand while she turned and signed sheet after sheet. Walter had had no relatives and mum had to arrange for a state funeral with the hospital. He deserved at least a decent grave. On the way out I told mum about Brenda’s call and the good news about her pregnancy seemed to lighten her up just a little. She noticed Paul was gone and when she asked I lied and said he had to rehearse the new material for his recording session. But mum saw clean through me and hugged me tight, telling me how sorry she was for us and how she’d make it up to me one day. I had hoped to hear her say the words “It’s okay, luv, you can stay in Liverpool, I’ll go to America by myself; I’ll be fine”, but she didn’t. She obviously counted on me as a part of her life still, and obviously needed the support. As much as I wanted to run away from the whole deal, I knew I couldn’t.

Mum didn’t eat for a week… and I didn’t either. Paul didn’t call or drop over at all. The only one who came for a visit was Maria. She told me she had relatives in New York and she’d visit me whenever she could. It was though her that I heard information on Paul and the boys. She said that Paul looked only a little bit more distant, but just as friendly and professional before leaving for London to record their new single, whatever that would be. He’d find the success he had strived for from the very beginning and with it, he’d also find new and better love. I knew in my heart I had to let him go, but it was proving to be the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. This wasn’t like two kids being separated by a moving van, or a cheating mishap that found a way to mend. This was two grown ups having a fallout over a bad deal of fate, and the hurt behind it was almost too much to bear.

The week after Walter’s passing my mother signed the deeds for the New York home and began to talk to friends and relatives into buying our furniture. Brenda came over from Blackpool as soon as she heard and seemed one hundred percent behind the thought of Mum and I moving to New York. A change of landscape would do mum a ton of good, she reasoned, and she was right. At some point during her visit, she caught me upstairs, crying softly as I packed the precious old music box into a cardboard container, and with it I also packed years of memories. In spite of her wishy-washy opinion of Paul, she knew what a broken heart could do to younger people, and she instantly understood that leaving Paul behind was probably the hardest thing I had ever had to do. She silently walked to me and hugged me, and just held me while I cried my heart out on her shoulder. I cried until I thought I would die but didn’t say a word. There comes a time when a situation is simply beyond words and this was one of them.

Maria helped me pack the rest of my things into boxes and crates. I didn’t own much but at that moment I felt I had way too many things to pack. I told her to take a pick of whatever she wanted to keep, since I’d probably be buying more and better things in America anyway. Maria reluctantly shuffled through the boxes and only kept my old school uniform, saying that it reminded her of how we met and how she had coaxed me into transforming it into a copy of her own uniform. At that moment, Maria too broke into tears and hugged me, wishing me all the best and making me swear I’d write her at least once a month. At that moment I didn’t think I’d survive that long but I promised her anyway.

Mum had all our things shipped on a boat and delivered straight to America ahead of us while she settled the sale of our old home. I felt physically ill the day the sale was made to a couple of newlyweds probably the same age as John and Cyn. I stared at the garden, thinking of all the things I had done there with Paul and once again, tears fell. Closure was not closing anything at all; rather it seemed to be gashing my soul into a million shreds.

It was finally the day to go. We would fly first to London Heathrow and then to New York International Airport, then called Idlewid Airport. (It was not named John F. Kennedy until a year later, when the American President was killed). I walked into the lounge with a small bag and my ticket in my hand. Maria stood by me all the time and saw us off at the gate. Just as I was about to walk up the steel staircase into the airplane, I heard the voice I had hoped to hear for the past three weeks of hell shout my name. –VAL!!!

I turned and saw Paul, John and Cyn standing there next to Maria. I ran back and Paul held out his arms. We collided into a frantic hug, and this time I could not only hear him cry, but I felt him convulse and quiver shamelessly as he wept. According to Paul himself, John was the only person allowed to see him in such a state aside from me, but it seemed he no longer cared about Cyn or Maria witnessing the scene as he crumbled into pieces. –Write to me…- He sobbed into my ear. –Write to me every fuckin’ day!! I’ll bloody die if you don’t!!

- Every hour…- I cried back as I kissed his ear.

- Always remember…- he stood back and looked into my eyes- … That day…. Tha’ afternoon at my place when our kid and dad were away… Never forget it.

- I won’t. –I shook my head and he once again collected me in his arms, still sobbing as he caressed the back of my head.

- I love you, Val McNaughton…. - He whispered into my ear, his voice broken. – And like I told you… if we ever become separated, we’ll always be together in the end. I know it.

I looked into his huge, teary eyes and caressed his cheek. I didn’t dare to hope for that much but felt a huge surge of love knowing that he did. In spite of it, I kept my thoughts to myself; thoughts of how he’d get over this and find someone new and probably better than me, while I probably never would. After a slow but strong kiss that tasted terribly of “goodbye”, I turned to John, who looked at me ruefully.

- Look fer us when you make it big, Johnny. - I smiled at him. He nodded silently and looked down.

- Maybe you’ll hit the big time before we do, with tha’ voice of yours…- He shrugged.

- Not likely… Dreams are just dreams for most people, John.

- There’s a thin line between dreams and reality. –He looked back up into my eyes. –Who’s to say they’re not both the same thing, then?

For a sarcastic joker like John, he could come up with remarkably deep comments from time to time, and that particular one hushed me long enough to give him a farewell hug. –Good luck, John. –I said.

Cyn immediately turned to me and I could tell that she too was about to cry. She was now a little heavier and wore a long raincoat to conceal her tummy which I felt the moment I hugged her. –Luv you, pet.- She whispered in my ear. –Best of luck and don’t forget to write…- She stood back and held my hands. –I can’t thank you enough for your support…

- Don’t mention it. - I smiled back at her.

I looked back to Paul. He had stopped sobbing but just stood there looking down at the floor miserably. I took his hand and tried my best to smile at him as I sang with a broken voice. –We’ll meet again… don’t know where… don’t know when….

It took him a while to be able to look back into my eyes, and when he did I noticed he was still crying; only now the tears ran down his face silently. He licked his lips and finished the line with an equally broken voice. -… but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day….

- Keep smiling through, just like you always do… till the sunshine drives the dark clouds far away…. - We finished together.

Paul reached into his pocket and handed me an envelope. –I want you to take this… Don’t open it till you’re up in the air…

- What is it? - I asked as I took it from his hand.

- It’s just us, luv. - He smiled as best he could before holding me to him. –Just so you’ll always know where you truly belong…

- Val!!- Mum called from the staircase.

I sighed and kissed Paul long and hard one last time before turning tail and running in the opposite direction. Without looking back I ran up the stairs and into the airplane. Once on my seat, I looked out the window. He now stood alone, his face rigid, looking at me from the gate, hands in his coat and the cold wind softly blowing the fringy hair away from his face.

At that moment, I had such little faith in life, I seriously believed that this time we’d be saying goodbye for good and that I’d never see my Paul ever again. Then I remembered the little envelope. Anxiously, I pulled it out from my pocket and opened it. Inside were two photographs. As the airplane took off, I looked at the pictures and tears continued to flow. One was the photograph of the two of us as young children, sitting on a crate back in the McCartneys’ Western Avenue garden on a hot summer day, me in a white lace dress and him in tiny black overalls with no shirt on, both of us squinting under the sun. The second was the picture Mike had taken of the two of us at the Cavern Club, with Paul wrapped around me from behind and both of us smiling, unaware that our lives would soon change forever. Behind the second photograph, Paul had written a little message. “This is where you really belong; with me. These photos will be your ticket back to our life together. Always keep them close to you, and never forget about us. Love you forever… yours always, Paul.”

When I finished reading, I had regained a little bit of hope. It seemed impossibly far, but somehow, I felt a little better. We WOULD meet again… Only I TRULY didn’t know when or where, or if the day would be sunny at all. But I knew the days in my heart would be dark and rainy until that moment… if it did come at all.

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