Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

30. That Is All

Minnie sighs shortly, still not completely convinced. I push myself up and lean over to look at the little clock next to the bed. It's nearly eleven. I flop back into the bed, putting my hand to my forehead and closing my eyes again. 

There is a press conference for The Beatles after lunch, here at the hotel, then they'll be taken to the venue for the first of the two shows we're doing in Houston. We are supposed to go ahead earlier, but I doubt I will be with them. I don't think I can stand up at the moment, never mind sing and dance about.

I open my eyes and focus on Minnie. She's still standing over me. 'You've got to sing today,' I tell her.

'Yes, I know.'

'No, you've got to sing, Minnie. You'll have to do the matinee and the evening show. You can't miss them, otherwise it would only be Cat and Bet and they...'

'I'm not going to miss it. I haven't missed one yet, have I?' she says, sulkily.

'I won't be well enough...'

'I can see that. I won't miss it, okay?'

'What if you have one of your... y'know? The things.'

'I won't.'

'You're sure?'

'I won't. And if I do, I'll just have to make myself do it anyway.'

I stay silent, pursing my lips doubtfully.

'Hannah, I won't miss it,' she says, exasperated.

'Promise me?'

She looks away, unable to meet my eyes now. 'You're not meant to be talking,' she says and marches out of the room.

*

'There isn't really much I can give her,' the doctor says, as he feels for the glands in my neck, checking to see if they're swollen. His fingers are long and boney. They feel pointed as he prods me. 'It just has to run it's course.'

'There must be something you can do?' Maurice says.

The doctor stops. He stands up, getting off my bed and I pull the covers back up, self consciously.

'She'll probably feel better in a day or so anyway. Even if I give her something, it's unlikely to make an awful lot of difference.'

Maurice sighs. 'So, it was something she ate?'

They keep talking as if I'm not here, in the room with them. It's irritating. All the doctors questions have been directed at Maurice, like he would know how I feel better than I do.

'I only said it might have been food poisoning. It could be viral. It could be gastroenteritis.'

In other words, he doesn't know what's wrong with me.

'Gastro-?'

'Stomach flu. That's the vomiting, abdominal cramps, fever...'

'What about the fainting? The dizziness?'

'I didn't faint, ' I say quietly. 'And I just felt dizzy for a moment.'

'That will have probably been down to dehydration. She was - is - quite dehydrated. That could have been very serious. You should have had someone out to see her before now.'