Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

15. The Last Single Beatle

February 1966
London
Paul

"You're late."

John motioned me into his foyer, shutting the door firmly behind me. It was baltic outside, and the forecast was for snow.

"Well, I arrived in the general vicinity on time," I replied, shrugging off my coat. "But there were so many girls, it took me bloody ages to sign for them all. Since when do so many of them come all the way out to the sticks?"

"Half of 'em are looking for you," he replied. "All they do is pepper me with questions, 'John, where's Paul? He's the dreamiest! Cynthia, where's Paul living now? I want him to father my babies!' It's fucking ridiculous, man."

I walked past him to put my overcoat on an empty hook in the hallway. The aroma coming out of the kitchen made my mouth water, and I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"What's for dinner? Smells scrummy," I said as we walked through the long corridor leading to the expansive living room.

"Sparrow on toast,' John deadpanned.

"Moose souffle!" George called across the room as we entered. He was cozied up on the sofa with Pattie, both of them looking quite tan from their honeymoon in Barbados. I leaned over to kiss her cheek, murmuring congratulations, and slapped George on the back.

"Alright, Paul?" he asked. "Haven't seen you since your run-in with the long arm of the law."

"I think your holiday may have been better than mine," I replied with a thin smile. Cynthia bustled into the room, carrying a bottle of white wine and looking flustered.

I walked over to kiss her cheek. "Whatever you're cooking smells divine, Cyn."

"Squirrel stew, if you must know," John said, taking the bottle of wine from his wife's hands and reaching for the corkscrew.

"Toad in the hole," Cynthia corrected him, and my eyes widened. Cyn grinned as if she'd known all along that it was my favorite.

We chatted for a few minutes before Ringo and Mo showed up, and we sat down for dinner. It had been six weeks since we'd all been in the same place, probably the longest time apart we'd spent in years.

"This is fantastic, Cyn," I said as I shoved another bite into my mouth. My plate was nearly empty, whereas the others had barely begun to eat.

"Is yer bird not feeding you, then?" George asked from the other end of the table, and Pattie elbowed him in the ribs. "What!? He's living with her, isn't he?"

"So pedestrian of you, assuming that it's the woman who does all the cooking," I scoffed.

"Oh, we have a regular Julia Childs here," John said, taking a swig of wine. "Tell me, Paul, what delicacies have you been cooking for yourself? Macarons? Vol-au-vents?"

I paused. "Well, there's a great chip shop down the way from her flat."

We bantered, and we argued, and the girls rolled their eyes good-naturedly. It wasn't until I heard a familiar voice in the other room that I paused. Was that... Jane... on the telly?

I stood up and placed my napkin on the table before wandering into the living room. Sure enough, Jane was on the television screen, sitting across from Simon Dee. Curious, I walked closer and turned up the volume.

"What're you doing, Paul?" John called out from the other room. I hushed him loudly, bending closer to hear.

"Tell me," the host said in his patrician voice, "You're together with Paul McCartney of the Beatles, is that right?"