Let It Be (A Beatles Story)

Chapter Six

I woke up to the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. I hurried off the couch to help whoever it was. And it was Paul. 

I kneeled down next to him in the bathroom. He didn't notice I was there until I tapped his shoulder. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Elle."

"You're sick." I said, helping him up. I realized, for some reason, my voice was hoarse. Maybe it was too much singing last night. "Here, let's get you to the couch. I'll get some ice for your head. I really should have been watching your alcohol intake last night."

I set him down on the couch, and hurried out to the ice machine. I wrapped some in a towel and handed it to Paul. 

"Thanks, Elle." All of his words came out as a groan. "You'd make a fair nurse."

All of the boys had gotten up, and were lounging around with ice packs on their heads. 

Brian walked in on our room-coverted-hospital, and said, "I told you not to go out last night."

"They didn't." I said, rising to their defense. "They just drank here last night." That really wasn't defending them, but I didn't want to lie more than I had to.

Brian's expression grew frustrated. "This is even worse. I already have bad news. Our train was cancelled. We're going to have to stay in London two more days." He turned to me. "I told you to tell me if they were doing anything irresponsible."

"I'm sorry, Brian. But I couldn't leave. They held me captive. They made me dance on the table."

"What? Really?"

"No."

He sighed. "As soon as you lot sober up, I suggest you pack in case another train arrives unexpectedly. I'll be in the room across the hall if you need me." He left. I thought I heard him mutter: "Why am I even surprised?"

I offered to order the lads some tea, and they accepted. 

I handed out some to the lads, and Paul said I needed some too, because of my voice. 

"Paul?"

"Yes?"

"I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Do you really raise your pinky when you drink tea?"

He laughed. "Only if you're going to talk formally, hold your nose in the air, and look scandalized." We tried it together. 

"So, Miss Sullivan, is how you believe the posh British act?" He said, in a high, mocking tone.

We both laughed. 

"Mr. McCartney, I'll drink to our friendship."

"Cheers, Miss Sullivan."

"Cheers."

As a drank my tea, Ringo decided to make another silly face at me. I almost ended up spitting my tea all over Paul. We laughed as soon as I stopped coughing. 

I was reading the newspaper again when I saw a flash in the corner of my eye. I put the newspaper down at looking at George, who was holding a camera. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. A few of the lads were up and moving now, slowly, because they still were aching everywhere. George and I were the only awake ones on the couch. Ringo was sleeping soundly.

"Taking pictures." He said. 

"Please don't take anymore of me."

"Are you camera shy?"