Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

86. Hari's On Tour

I look at George twice, wondering if I heard him rightly. He looks at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes.

'What did you just say?' I ask him, quietly.

George glances at me, but turns his head and goes back to his friend. A relatively new friend, I think. I've heard him mention him in passing. George was trying to arrange for Apple to release his album earlier in the year but it fell through. Other than that, and when we were making plans to come to this, I don't think he's ever talked about him. I wouldn't have thought he'd be so close to George that he would consider doing something like this.

'I mean, only if you have room, man,' George says, casually, sipping from his wine glass. 'Would there be too many guitars?'

He looks at him, hopefully. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was shy, asking him this. That seems absurd. George is a Beatle, and this guy - I don't even know his career history. I'd never heard of them before. I liked their show, but I didn't think it was anything that mind blowing.

It was supposed to be George's friend, Eric that we'd really come to see play. His band has just fallen apart and George said he was a bit down about it, why don't we come and support him playing with Delaney and Bonnie at the Albert Hall. I don't know if George has just thought of this or whether he was planning it all along. He's been behaving oddly tonight. Drinking quite a lot, which isn't like George, and ignoring me or snapping when he does talk to me. I get the feeling I'm cramping his style and embarrassing him. I think he might wish he'd come on his own.

Everyone else at this aftershow party is casual; jeans and check shirts and denim jackets. I'm in a black cocktail dress. I do feel a bit overdressed, but it's the Albert Hall. You're supposed to make the effort, aren't you? Then, as I glance around the other women backstage, in their black velvet flared trousers and smock tunic tops, I think maybe not.

George's friend, an American musician called Delaney, laughs. 'Can't have too many guitars, can you?'

George smiles thinly. 'Oh, yeah, you can,' he says, sardonically. 'But, what do you think? Would it be okay?' 

'I can't say no to a Beatle!' Delaney continues, grinning widely. 'But y'know, the tour's only a quick one. When do you think you'd be available?'

'Right now,' George says. 'I'm not busy. I'm not doing anything. Where are you tomorrow?'

'Bristol.'

'Bristol it is then.'

'Oh, that's just... brilliant,' Delaney says, enthusiastically. 'Just give Sam your address. He's the tour bus driver. We'll pick you up in the morning. I'll go and find Bonnie and tell her the good news! Do you want another drink?'

George looks down at his glass, empty already. I've barely had a sip of mine.

'Sure, thanks, man. These itsy bitsy glasses are useless. Inhale and it's gone. When we get up north, I'll introduce you to a proper drink!'

Delaney laughs and turns to me. 'Would you like another one, uh... um...' He can't remember my name, but that's not surprising because George didn't introduce us.

'No, I still have one, thank you,' I reply, primly, and Delaney smiles and leaves us.

Delaney. I don't even know if that's his first name or last.

George watches Delaney travel across the small private barroom, towards some of the other band members and I get the feeling again that he'd prefer it if I hadn't come tonight.

'What are you doing?' I whisper, as soon as we're alone.

He turns his head round and gives me a lopsided smile. Lopsided, and drunk, eyes glazed.