Trials

Chapter 2

This chapter is dedicated to George Harrison, whose 73rd birthday is today. Sorry if there are some mistakes, my editor is away.

"Hey, Paul! How have you been?" The cheeky line George's lips drew on his face combined with the tired, almost fearful look in his eyes told Paul exactly what he needed to know.

"Oh, ya know, same old, same old."

George nodded awkwardly, "Well, that's good."

There was uncomfortable silence for a minute until George shifted his weight and a large grin lit up Paul's face "I can't believe it's you, here, alive!"

The younger man tried to smile, though it turned into more of a grimace. "How long?" The words were quiet and Paul wouldn't have heard them if he hadn't been expecting them.

The grin fell from Paul's face almost immediately. "Fourteen years last month." His voice had dropped to a level just slightly above his friend's, and George had to strain to hear them.

"Olivia and Dhani?"

"They're good. Dhani's made a band, Thenewno2. They're very talented, but nowhere near mainstream, thankfully."

George looked at him curiously, his head cocked to the side, vaguely reminding Paul of a dog. "Thankfully?"

"Yeah. If you think the music in 2001 is bad, you should here it now, it's about 20 times worse."

The younger man whistled through his teeth. "Wow," There was another pause, though not as awkward as the one preceding it. "And Rings, how is he?"

Paul stayed silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. "He's alright." The answer was short and Paul hoped the younger man wouldn't ask any more questions.

George regarded the other man closely. He knew the older man pretended to be tough and indifferent most of the time, especially to the press, but George Harrison was not the press. "Paul..." he started hesitantly, "I know we aren't, weren't, whatever, the closest of friends, but we used to be, in the old days. I want you to know if you ever need to talk about anything you can come to me."

Paul nodded in understanding before he let out a forced laugh in an effort to break the mood. "Leave it to you to turn all sappy on me. You haven't changed one bit, 'ave you Harrison?"

The person in question grinned back in response. Just then a boy Paul's age, or at least the age he appeared, walked up to them. "Honestly Paul, you say we're gonna go together, but then ya go run off and ditch me. Lucky I thought to grab your guitar, or ya wouldn't have anythin' to play later."

Paul had the decency to look a little ashamed, and Ivan, mistaking it for true embarrassment, smirked triumphantly. "Oh sod off Vaughan." Paul glared at him, his grin betraying his fake seriousness. He grabbed his guitar and started to make his way down the street.
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It took them a little more than 20 minutes to get to the fête. It should have taken them up to 40, but Paul and George pushed the pace, forcing themselves and Ivan into an occasional jog. The short sprints were always interrupted by a period of laboured breathing and groans of exhaustion, caused, of course, by the many cigarettes they had smoked. Both George and Paul hadn't smoked in years, for obvious reasons, but the bodies they currently inhabited did so on a daily basis.

The yard of the church was filled with screaming children, bored parents, and a small sprinkling of young adults pretending to babysit their neighbour's youngest child. There was also the large group of teenagers and Teddy Boys, smoke clouding around their heads as they exhaled noxious fumes. Ivan fit right in with the other teenagers, but the two time travellers hung back, not quite at ease with their childhood acquaintances.