An Unexpected Conversation

The date was the 29th November 2002, and the time was 1.30 in the afternoon. It was hot. Pattie had retreated into a patch of shade and had drawn a scarf over her head and arms to protect her from the heat of the sun. She would not normally have elected to sit on a mountainside in Peru in their summer in the heat of the day, but she had no choice today. The Concert for George was starting right now, a few thousand miles and six hours away, and this was how she had chosen to honour him. Not to sit in the crowded Royal Albert Hall, enduring all the glances of recognition and curiosity from friends and strangers alike, and not to attempt dry-eyed stoicism as each song being played up on the stage ripped at her heart. Here she was alone, and her grief was hers alone.

A sharp breeze riffled the chiffon scarf around her head and she drew it closer as she gazed across the panoramic view which spread out below her feet. She knew she was safe here, she'd chosen her spot well, but nevertheless sat still and careful, her back pressed against the rock behind her; she had never been good with heights. She remembered how George had giggled at her when they first boarded their boat in Tahiti and she'd hung on grimly for fear of falling. She'd got used to it after a day, or maybe two days to be honest, and was soon clambering around the beams like a pro.

The memory brought the familiar sharp stinging to her eyes. The tears were nearly always just below the surface, they came so easily now. As the breeze stroked her cheeks the tears, allowed to fall freely here, now, dried around the creases to the side of her nose and mouth. She embraced the complete luxury of being able to weep with no-one around to try to console her and no-one for whom she had to be brave. Pattie sat on her mountainside and cried and cried for George. She listened to her own sobbing and she cried some more.

The pain seemed unendurable. A year was too long. She wanted him back on this world.

"I am."

The voice was unmistakable. She'd heard it nearly every night in her dreams. Millions knew that voice as well as their own. Near the end it had lost its quality, its timbre, and the words had rasped through pain. But this...

Her head whipped to one side towards the direction of the voice, with the result that she turned right into the scarf and her face was completely covered. Through the folds of chiffon though she thought she could see something. But she certainly could hear something. It was laughing. It was George laughing. It was George laughing at her.

She thrust the scarf out of the way and blinked at what looked for all the world like George Harrison, sitting next to her. Checked shirt. Hair brushed back. Not her George then...

What on earth...?

"What...?" She could do nothing but gawp. The thing that looked like George grinned.

"What are you laughing at?" She heard herself snap. She was apparently cross at something that wasn't there. What was happening?

"You. You're all snotty with a scarf over your face."

"I'm..." This thing that wasn't real was now insulting her.

"But you're still gorgeous." At that, the... whatever it was...stopped grinning at her and instead looked out over the view, hands clasped and arms wrapped around his upturned knees.

Pattie could do nothing but stare at him. At... it? It couldn't be real. It obviously wasn't real. But... what was this sitting and talking to her and looking like George?

And shouldn't she be terrified? It was some kind of... ghost... sitting in front of her and talking to her.

"Not really." He turned back to look at her, and said, "I'm not a ghost. I'm not haunting you." He grinned again. "I've just come to see you."