Yeah Yeah Yeah (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

38. Waterloo Sunset

August 1967
Bangor, Wales / London / The Pit of Despair

Paul

When I think back to the two days we spent in Bangor, it's like watching a film about four blokes who fucked off to the middle of nowhere in a quest for inner peace. George and Pattie were totally committed, with John not too far behind. (He was always looking for something or someone to believe in, that one). I never quite figured out how the others felt about it all, but I was at least half-committed to the concept. It can never hurt to clear one's mind through meditation, certainly--but I've always been shit at clearing my mind, and, besides, I was so annoyed about Alice's absence that it was difficult to think of anything else.

And then Eppy died.

They'd cleared out the student canteen for an hour so we could have lunch in peace. A phone rang in the distance, which we ignored because we were used to constantly ringing phones. Finally, Cynthia said we needed to get off our lazy arses and went to answer it. We were still chattering away when she came back.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Cyn," Ringo said with a slight frown. I looked up to see her staring at us blankly. A prickly sensation spread throughout my body like all my limbs had fallen asleep. After a moment, she looked at me and spoke, her voice sounding slightly hoarse.

"It's Pete Brown for you, Paul."

I stood and placed my napkin on the table, glancing at the others' bewildered faces before I followed Cyn back into the dormitory. An ancient-looking black pay phone was affixed to the wall, the receiver dangling from the cord just above the linoleum-tiled floor. Cynthia's expression of raw pity caused a pit of dread to form in my stomach as I stooped to grab the receiver.

All I remember is her hand pressed firmly on my shoulder as I spoke to Pete. Tears streamed down her face, and I struggled not to stumble as we walked down the corridor to where the others were waiting. John stood up halfway when he saw us, blinking too quickly as he braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

There was a moment of stunned silence after I repeated what I'd been told, and then everyone started to speak at once.

"What're you on about? He's not even 34."

"He'd done so well at the clinic, I thought--"

"That's bloody ridiculous."

"That can't be right."

Then, as the reality sunk in: "We're fucked."

I turned away from the others, focusing on the mint green tiles adorning the canteen wall. I felt the overwhelming need to scream or kick something or curl up in a ball. All I could think was that I had no idea what to fucking do, and if Alice had been there, she could have sorted it all out. She always knew what to do.

John steered us back to the dormitory with one hand on Cynthia's back and one on mine. I lay on the lumpy cot and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time I'd seen Eppy. He'd popped into Chappell Recording Studios when we recorded the 7th and 8th takes of "Your Mother Should Know." It was well past midnight when he'd showed up, quite jolly from a round of drinks at a nearby club. I couldn't remember what we'd discussed because I'd been too focused on getting a good take. He'd only stayed for a few minutes, and then we'd plowed on.

Ringo knocked softly on the door and suggested I come by George's room. Maureen and Cynthia were huddled together on a bed, crying, while Pattie was frantically throwing clothes in a suitcase. George sat in a corner, mindlessly plucking his sitar.

John glanced at me with unfocused eyes as I entered the room, and I had the inexplicable urge to burst out laughing.

None of it felt real.