ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶰᵗʳʸ

‘He doesn’t hate you, Paul. You’re aware of this, aren’t you?’, her tone became serious as she spoke between the sips of her tea. In spite of all the conflicts between them - and the fact that she inevitably sided with George - it saddened her to see old friendships being ruined over so many misunderstandings. Besides, regardless of how much he’d probably dread it, Pattie couldn’t help but feel bad for Paul. It was clear, through his words, that he felt somewhat rejected—disliked, even, by those who had been his closest friends. It reminded Pattie of how she used to feel when she joined boarding school, shortly after her family had moved back from Kenya. It had been so horrible feeling unloved like that, first when her mother sent her away, next when the girls wouldn’t talk to her because she had seemed to come from a completely different world, one that was made of divorced parents and wild animals around her home, while all the other girls seemed to talk about novels and TV, things she had been thus far quite unfamiliar with.

‘To be quite honest’, she hesitated a moment, wondering whether or not should she share some personal information with him, ‘he hasn’t been the same since that trip to India. He doesn’t identify with this life anymore, and in the process it feels like…’, she came to an abrupt pause suddenly. Her eyes drifted away, as if absorbed in deep thought, her eyebrows spontaneously approaching each other in an expression of distress. ‘It feels like he’s become so focused on being detached from everything around him, that he’s leaving even me behind’, she admitted, with some reluctance and a definite sorrow in her voice. ‘Things have been a bit difficult around here, too. But I suppose it only feels this bad for us because it matters. Do you understand? He wouldn’t have been so angry at you if he didn’t care for your opinion. It was just that, everything was so overwhelming, it’s hard to stay calm and express your feelings in a proper manner while the four of you were at each other’s throats.’

 ‘I get how you feel, Paul. I understand your frustration, because I gave up on a promising career to dedicate seven years of my life for a man only to have him come home late at night smelling like perfume that I don’t wear’, she chewed her lip nervously as she spoke, uncomfortable at the admissal. though aware that Paul probably knew much more about what George did when she wasn’t around than Pattie ever could. ‘But he’ll listen to you, if you try to talk to him. You have been his friend since he was practically a child–he’s not going to cut you out of his life forever.’

The Beatles had trucked into India as a unit, united in grief, and united in belief, but something had faded when they trickled out, one by one. Paul didn’t know what had went so wrong, he couldn’t pin the exact moment that it’d all changed. He’d left earlier than the others, before the disillusionment had settled in for John and his mate decided he’d had his fair share of that week’s guru, but it wasn’t possible for something so tight to fall so apart so quickly, was it?

Maybe it hadn’t been so quick. Maybe India was the stepping stone to larger problems, each gone unaddressed because no one wanted to be the bore, no one wanted to be unhip and say, ‘hey, this is wrong--this isn’t right.’ The drugs were fine, the bills were getting paid, and the music was being made, albeit the mistakes they made. Apple was a large one, one that still lingered over Paul heavily, despite his desire for it to disappear into the darkness it’d arisen from. It was a pipe dream executed poorly on the account that, again, no one had enough gall to stand up and say, fuck off, alright? You’re no good for this company and we want you out. Paul had tried that once, with Derek Taylor’s swarm of secretaries. He’d told Derek he needed to fire one, the pretty bird who was no good, and George told Paul no, that they’d reinstate her as soon as Paul sent her away because they didn’t do that. No, no, no--he had said that a lot didn’t he? That’s why he had to fucking sue them, because George had said no to him leaving the company, and that’s all he had wanted--away from it all, as far as he could be to his little respite in the country. 

❛ I’ve no room t’talk, ❜ Paul shoved his hands in the warmth of his coat pockets, staring ahead at the blonde. Paul wouldn’t have retraced his steps and done it over with Jane, being proper to her and not cheating, because he was quite open with her about what he did. He was only sorry he’d hurt her so badly there at the end, the way he hadn’t meant to. Paul had been engaged to her, and he was sorry he’d done that and screwed around on her then. That was were he and George differed; marriage meant much more to Paul than it ever did George, apparently. Not even in all of his sorrow did Paul think of stepping out on Linda. Still, he remained mute about the subject of such matters; it was better to keep your nose out of that pot, and George was already pissed at him enough as it was without him having to meddle his marriage. 

❛ Pattie, it doesn’t really much matter if he ever chooses t’forgive me later, it’s now that matters. ❜ He didn’t know how to make her understand the pain he felt, being isolated from the three men he’d grown with, the three men who he’d trusted so dearly. Those three had become so much apart of himself that he felt psychically ill and broken up without their presence. 

Paul had always been the most distant one. He’d been the one in the city while the others fled to the suburbs of London. He’d been the club going, house hopping, art-buying, avant-garde one before John ever claimed the title, and perhaps that been his downfall. He’d not wanted to buy that stupid fucking island Magic Alex told them they needed and John so enthusiastically promoted to him, and he was paying for it now, wasn’t he? He’d give it all just to be there, just to be alright, just for a moment.

❛  It might be alright if it was just George, yanno. ❜ Paul rose an arch eyebrow in thought, reflecting,  ❛ S’not jus’ George who’s peeved with me now though, is it? I’ve lost John too. Fuck,  Pattie he’s doin’ heroin now, you know? That’s why he’s so...I don’t fuggin’ know. Against me? An’ he’s always shouted the loudest, had the biggest fuggin’ gob out of us all, an’ George always follows him, the prat. An’ where George goes Ringo follows, so you know where that leaves me. ❜ 

“do you really think this could be the real reason?”, pattie inquired, pretending to believe his words were true, faking shock and sadness in her face before she started to laugh. “jesus crist, paul. i truly feel bad for your girlfriend if you think that bedroom antics is a way to make a woman silent. it tends to work the other way around when a man is qualified for the job.”

It wasn’t very polite to keep anyone waiting, but ‘get my coat’ for Pattie was really euphemism for ‘dress up’. She wasn’t about to leave her house as she was, without any make up and so casually dressed. Pattie took a few minutes to put on a more fashionable outfit, even if it was only a cup of tea. It was alright to look normal while they were at her home, but no one never knows when there would be photographers outside and she hated it when they took lousy pictures of her. Of course she didn’t take too long nor exaggerate it, after all they were going nowhere special. Once in Paul’s car, however, Pattie decided to pick the conversation where they had last left off, not wanting to let the subject die just quickly. “Pray tell me-does my husband dislike me keeping any company without supervision or is it just yours?”

When Pattie appeared to be ready, Paul peeked out the window, looking on into the yard. He knew, just as he knew at his own flat, that there were suspecting fans waiting for a peek of a Beatle, waiting just to talk to him. He’d spoken to them before entering the home George shared with Pattie, charming them up; it was half to fulfill his own desire to flirt, and half to satisfy their desire to speak to him, hoping to quell it. It was fruitless of course, as they still waited.

“George isn’t home…” she said in a reticent tone once he mentioned that he just wanted to check on him. It made her feel guilty for having started an argument with Paul. He always seemed so overly confident and sure of himself that his showing up at Friar Park so suddenly, while still not having made peace with George made her assume that he had been there for reasons that would not please her husband at all, such as changes in the contract they’d signed in parting ways or whatever. It was then that the blonde realized that she had always seen George as the victim and Paul a sort of villain for not giving him enough space, because she had always been there to witness George’s insecurity. She had never considered that behind his superstar persona, Paul was insecure as well. They all were. It didn’t change the fact that she still thought he had done  George wrong, though, but he wasn’t really as bad as she had previously believed.

“Paul…” hesitantly, Pattie reached for his hand and took it. Aside from George, she was always afraid to approach a man when he seemed too over the edge, unconsciously fearful that they would lash out and hurt her, because of her upbringing, but she took the chance anyway.  “Come to the kitchen, dear, I’ll make you some tea”. Before he could say anything, she guided him there and pointed a chair for him to sit as she heated the water. “You don’t need to worry about me telling anyone, although George would probably like it if you opened yourself up to him about how you felt, too. He may be harsh sometimes, but he is the most understanding person I know”, Pattie spoke while she prepared the tea, keeping her voice casual as if making small chat but truly hoping to share a good piece of advice. Men often needed it more.

Bringing now the kettle and two cups, Pattie served her guest first before pouring the tea to herself. “I apologize for having brought up the topic when you arrived”, she said, in all honesty, “I guess for all these years there wasn’t one time I met you that you didn’t seem to be wearing a stage persona, you know? Even in private, you always seemed like Beatle Paul, so I never really thought much on how it all felt for you, and I always witnessed George’s insecurities when he would come home from work. This is probably the first time I talk to you and it’s like I’m talking to any regular person, you know?”

It wasn’t in any way liberating to show this side of himself to Pattie, because even though she might’ve thought it to be the natural side of himself, he didn’t. The Pattie Paul had spoken with before was sure of himself, confident and certain of his future. He always appeared overly prepared because in many ways, he was, and preferred that. It had stemmed from his childhood, and his father and mother, who had reared him and Michael into being respectable young men. He was fighting an identity crisis now, thinking to himself every day he woke, what’s next without the other three?

Even now, as he sat at her table and drank the pity tea she’d placed in front of him, he was filled with worry. It had taken a large shot to his ego to get out of bed and make his way to Friar Park, but he did it because he felt he had to. There wasn’t any certain kind of plan he’d form, but he’d created many scenes in his head on the way over. In one, he’d yelled at George, told him off for not letting him off the label. Yelled at him for acting like he’d been getting the shite end of the stick, because he hadn’t lost shite. George still had his bleedin’ songs they’d rejected, and John liked him just as much as he had before everything went poorly. But what did Paul have? A farm and Linda, and all the worry in the world because he’d been the one to break them up. His name on that paper had set him up for certain doom, and he lived in it, drowning each day he didn’t do anything. His grip on the steering wheel had tightened, and for a moment he feared he’d probably would’ve gotten himself killed if he blanked out like that again. When he arrived it all of course had went the other direction, because George hadn’t been around anyways. Paul was just the poor bloke in the kitchen who Pattie felt bad for now.

❛ I was jus’ me the whole time Pat, ❜ he told her honestly, looking her in the eyes. Why didn’t they understand he wasn’t trying to be anything other than himself then?   ❛ I wasn’t puttin’ on, except maybe when I was talkin’ t’the press ‘er the gerls, ‘cause that’s what ye’ve got to do. But I was always real, around you and the others, and I think you all took me as a fraud. ❜ Paul looked down at the liquid in his cup. His reflection was a blur, thankfully.  ❛ Me da’ taught us t’be kind, an’ I got a lot of that from him. I’m not ‘Beatle Paul’ an’ I never was, I was jus’ Paul, and I suppose not a lot of you liked that very much. Least of all George, yanno, I suppose I was a bit of an arse t’him, but Christ Pattie, you would’ve been too. No person can go through that shite without bein’ one. ❜

❛ George and I ‘ad rows because I was tryin’ t’get my way, because no one else knew what they wanted. We did his tracks. We did tha’ one... ❜ he thought for a moment, looking for the name in his head,  ❛ Not guilty! We did about a hundred or so takes of that, an’ we tried others, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t our sound the way it was ‘is. ‘e didn’t like my crap, either yanno, and he bleedin’ showed it, Pattie. I didn’t mean t’hurt George, but Pat, I wanted fer this t’all work out. Imagine it, Pat, losin’ all you’d know fer ages; that’s a bit ‘ard to swallow. I was in denial because I still liked being the Beatle--and still do. ❜

“funny you should call them that, since you’re usually all over my no-good model friends when jane’s not around. i think she’ll be relieved if i tell her you act like this only to insult them behind their back afterwards—–” the threat was made in a silly tone though. of course pattie wasn’t going to say such things to jane, but at least she hoped that it would put paul in his place to tell him that. “not really, if you’re curious, they don’t ask much about you all. i know this may come as a shock, you might want to sit down for this, but not everything in the world is about you, paul, dearie”

‘that was one song, paul. chill’.

It offended him slightly the way she took to his concern, but he thought it only fair. Paul was as aware as the next person what a right shite he could be sometimes, but when push came to shove, he had a soft heart--especially for one of there own, like Pat. She and him might not have been close, or even on good terms half the time, but she was still George’s wife, and because of that, important to himself.

       ❛ Ye’r sure you’ve not come down with the same thing George ‘as?  ❜ Paul asked, half-serious. George had collapsed in much of the same manner the previous day, so Paul was on guard, waiting for the next victim. It’d only seem right, as they’d all been jam packed onto the plan with him, not knowing his situation. 

     ❝ i can’t seem t’ tell if you’re bein’ sarcastic with me or not. all i know is that m’ten times better than your li’tl drummer boy – ringo. ❞

◤ meme ⊿ – accepting

     ❝ m’always here to make your days brighter and your nights more pleasant, mccartney.❞

◤ meme ⊿ – accepting