“Doesn’t matter. It had to be done” said George
“Yeah” the older man agreed “Every man for himself. Are you off then?”
George shrugged “I guess. Ta for saving me and all Mr. Gallagher. I’ll see you around”
“Bye George” Mr. Gallagher called to George’s retreating back.
George let himself in through the backdoor. The phone was ringing and no body could be bothered to get it it seemed. He sighed, and tossed his key on the kitchen counter before answering
“Hullo”
“George. Pub. Now”
He rolled his eyes. John and Paul. What twits. For some reason lately they’d stopped using full sentences when they rung. Bloody stupid. The odd thing was George actually *understood*. As the word “Right” rolled off his tongue and he set the phone down he realized he knew they meant the Green Leprechaun Pub. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe you can read someone’s mind after you spend months in what is basically a shit hole with them. He hoped not. He didn’t *want* to be able to read John’s mind. God knows what was in there. Or Paul for that matter.
George ran upstairs to change clothes, and then he started down the street wondering to what extent of drunkenness this would entail.
**
“What took you so bloody long?” asked John as George entered the pub.
Paul slid around on his bar stool a half empty pint in his hand “What’re you talking about, the lad must have flown here, we only rang ‘im a bit ago”
John and George looked at each other and snickered. Paul had no sense of time. Or direction for that matter. He may have been the best guitar player, musician, whatever, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, follow directions.
“Sure, mate” said George, shaking his head and crawling onto the stool next to Paul. “So I spose I was the last one as usual to hear about the New York thing”
John set his beer down and squinted at George “What New York thing”
“Oh, well” George shrugged “Gab’s going to school there”
After a beat of silence John laughed “Hey! Yeah, good for her. Find out if she can take me in her suitcase, Yeah?”
George laughed, Paul was looking down at his drink. Quite solemnly. “I er… how long?”
“Four years” George said, waving at the bartended “Ta” he muttered as a pint was slid his way. He took a few gulps of it.
John whistled “Four years?” he asked “Bloody Christ.”
“Is she coming back at the end of terms and things?” asked Paul
George looked over at him in surprise “I dunno. She said she would. But you know, who has that kind of money to fly transatlantic twice a year”
“Not me” Paul muttered
“I will” John said “When I’m all rich an famous Elvis style”
“Oh god” George and Paul groaned. They were both a little tired of the rich and famous spiel. Coming back to England with a record of their own had been mega. And then the warm reception at the Cavern was gear too. But they’d been together *three years*. IT seemed like an eternity, especially after the two Hamburg stints. But they didn’t have a manger anymore. And even though they were promised a lunch time spot at the Cavern, the three Beatles couldn’t help but wonder if fame wasn’t coming as fast hey had originally hoped.
“Don’t gimme that” Lennon scolded “Where’re we going boys?”
Paul and George looked at each other Paul made a pathetic face that looked on the verge of tears, even though it was just his eyes constantly looking sad.
“I said” continued John prodding Paul on the arm “Where’re we going boys?” he asked it in an overly fake American accent
“To the top, Lennon” sighed George
“Where!”
“To the top Johnny, to the top” George and Paul echoed, laughing the last word.
“And *where’s* that?”
“The topper most of the popper most!”
“That’s right!” John said exuberantly
They all laughed, Paul held his glass out to George who clicked his against his “Cheers, mate”
“I’m going to miss that girl” Paul sighed nonchalantly,
“You’re gonna miss her?” George laughed incredulously “What about me? I’m stuck with you two now”
“Well” John batted his eyelashes at George “If yer gonna be like that son, we’ll leave you to Pete”
“God” George sighed “I fucking hate him”
“Oh” Paul shook his head “No you don’t. He’s not that bad”
“Oh, yes he is” John laughed
“I do hate him” said George stiffly “I’ve hated him since he threw his cymbal at me ’ead in Hamburg”
“I say,” said John “We go three piece, and Paul plays drums”
“No!” Paul whined “God, you learn to play the fucking drums John”
“Paul” said John “This is my group, I’m not playing drums” John stuck his hand in his drink and flicked beer at Paul as of this solidified his point to a certain extent.
“Hey John” Paul grinned “Don’t you have a date with Cyn tonight”
John opened his mouth and then closed it again “Eh” he said at last, George and Paul giggled “Oh well, fuck it. I’ll tell her sommat”
“Why does she love you, I can’t figure it out” Paul sighed “Yer such a bastard”
“Hey!” said John “Dot left you! I must be doing something right”
“You’re a very good liar” George nodded
Paul snorted “I like being single”
“Me too” added George, they clinked glasses again.
“Here’s to not fucking one bird exclusively”” Paul laughed.
The other two Beatles laughed and nodded “Cheers to that, Paulie”