Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

98. Something In The Way She Moves

7th April 1960

'Seventy-five quid he wanted for it. Wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth a bloody fiver.'

George nodded. 'Mmm...'

'Looked like it could have been two cars welded together anyway. The paint didn't match up. You know, the front of one and the back end of another.'

'Yeah...'

'I told him to stick it. The bloke looked at me like I was mad.'

Someone stood in the way, blocking his view. George moved his head but he still couldn't see.

'He said, "But you don't understand, mate. This car's a bargain. I should be charging double."'

He crossed to the left of the living room double doors. He could see again from here.

'Then he pressed a button and the damn thing sprouted wings and flew away.'

'Oh, right. That's good....' George replied.

'George.'

'Yeah?'

'George.'

George snapped alert, blinking. He turned to his friend and smiled. 'Sorry, what?'

Arthur frowned at him. 'You haven't been listening to a single word, have you?'

'I was,' George insisted. 'I-- Sorry. I was... thinking.'

Arthur furrowed his brow deeper, shaking his head at him. 'Thinking? George Harrison, a deep thinker, that'll be the bloody day!' He sidestepped to align himself with George and followed his eyeline through the glass panels of the two doors that separated the dining room from the front room. A knowing smile crossed his face. 'Ho-ho! That's it then! Thinking, indeed!'

'What?' George replied, trying to feign confusion, but feeling his cheeks colour as his friend correctly guessed exactly what he was thinking about.

'Who's the skirt?'

George glanced at her again, scrunched into the corner of a sofa, desperately trying to ignore the couple sharing it with her and who looked very much as if they were attempting to swallow each other. They leaned towards her as if she wasn't there, encroaching on her space, making her squash into the armrest until she finally gave up and went to sit on the other armchair in the far corner of the room.

'Just... Just some girl.'

'She's pretty. Do you know her?'

'Kinda,' George said, with a sniff and turned away from the door. 'I need another drink. Are you ready for one?' It wasn't true, he still had at least half a bottle of brown ale left, but it created enough of an excuse for George to step away from the door and go over to the dining table, peppered with half drunk beers, overflowing ashtrays and upset bottles.

'You don't know her,' Arthur said, following him, clearly not about to let it go.

'I do,' George said, picking up bottles and pretending to examine the labels. 'Not that well. I met her once.'

'Where did you meet her? At one of your gigs?'

'No.'

'Where then? Where do you go to meet girls?'

George pulled his face at him and turned away. 'If you really want to know, it was a couple of weeks ago. My birthday, when I went out with John and Paul from the band. We met her and her sister.'