𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 ── PAUL McCARTNEY

XIX. THE SUN MEETS THE MOON

Friday the 24th of October 1958

I brushed down the pretty light blue frock that Maggie 'Margret' Walters insisted on giving me. It was probably the most beautiful thing I had owned in all my life. Maggie had become more of a friend or sister than anything over the weeks that I had babysat her young daughter. It felt wrong wearing someone else's clothes but I was blessed by the kindness shown.

I did not support the idea of going to a party but Paul was very insistent. I was not one to say no to Paul McCartney ⎯⎯ within reason of course.

He helped me pick my shoes and suggested how to style my hair and I was very grateful for his help. I would have been so lost if he hadn't guided me. I did not have any makeup whatsoever but I was sitting against the edge of the tub chatting to George whilst he put Vaseline in his thick, voluminous hair, shaping it into an Elvis-like quiff with one of Paul's combs.

"That's rather a lot of Vaseline, it'll look greasy," I said with a soft laugh. From the reflection of the mirror, I could see how George sent a look of daggers my way.

Paul came into the bathroom, dousing nice a dress shirt, tie and pants. Paul clapped before speaking, startling both me who was waiting on George ⎯⎯ who still looked like a teddy boy.

"Are we ready to go?" Paul asked checking his wristwatch.

Paul's eyes casted to me, sweeping over my appearance. I felt myself blush, trying to act cool as I stood up from leaning against the bath tub and brushed down my skirt.

Together the three of us trudged down the stairs calling out a quick goodbye to Paul's dad Jim, who reminded Paul of our cerfew. The walk wasn't too bad. I was starting to get familiar with Liverpool which was nice. I wasn't as much a lost puppy, asking people for directions or asking Paul to walk me places.

The house was old and ridiculously fancy almost a little bit gothic with its stretching up endlessly into the sky. I could almost see why Paul made the choice for us both dress to impress. I'm not sure who this person was in Sefton Park but I imagined it was one of John's art friends from the Liverpool Art College.

George was ahead of both Paul and me and he looked around before he clamered over the iron rail fence. I tried to hide the look of astonishment. Was it really that hard to just walk through the front door?

"Over the fence, love," Paul asked me with a gentle encouraging smile.

"Pardon?" I asked, growing more and more confused.

"Come 'head, lar, I've got ya," George promised with a hand reaching over from the other side.

I hooked my kitten heel over the stone, trying not to snare my skirt. Paul was behind me trying to keep me steady and George was already grabbing onto my wrists to make sure I didn't fall over. I don't think I would've needed their help as much if I was wearing flat shoes or a petticoat under my dress.

George helped me down, my heels clicking against the pavement, although, he was still child-like in his appearance not just quite that sharp looking teenager in photographs ⎯⎯ he had the strength of someone much older. He absolutely saved me from spraining my ankle.

"Thank you, Geo," I said with the most grateful smile I could muster. I noticed in the darkening light that George blushed.

"We weren't invited were we?" I said aloud to him whilst I could hear Paul talking to himself.

"It depends on how yer look at it," George said seriously and it was absolutely clear that we were in fact party crashers.

Paul managed to clamber over the fence all alone but I giggled when he exaggerated how George would not help him but help me and rubbed his ass. He must've hurt himself.