63. I Me Mine

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All through the day, I me mine, 
I me mine, I me mine,
All through the night, I me mine,
I me mine, I me mine.

Is it selfish if I keep the baby?

Because I want to. I don't want to give it up. I want it.

I want it, so I will keep it.

Like I wanted George. I pursued him, even though I knew it wasn't the right thing to do, just because I wanted him, and that was selfish.

If I do something just because I want to, that might not be the right thing, it might only be the selfish thing.

Oh, but, is it selfish if I give it up?

If I gave it away, it lets me off the hook, I don't have to deal with the consequences of what I've done, I could forget about it. And the baby, what would he think? That I didn't want him? That I couldn't love him? Isn't that more selfish?

I don't have to choose now, not right this moment, do I? I feel like I do. I need to know what I'm doing because of where we're going today. If I'm giving it up, then there's no need for all this.

I don't want to choose. I don't want to go with George. I don't want to have to face everyone, and I don't want to have to make up my mind. I want to stay here, in the nice - now clean, now tidy, now warm - flat and read my books and forget about the world outside.

George comes into the hall and walks around me. He pauses to give me a disdainful look with a raised eyebrow. I ignore him, moving my eyes away from him. He picks up his shoes and goes back into the living room to put them on.

I stand, ambivalent, staring at my army surplus parka hanging on the peg by the door, like it's going to give me all the answers. We're going to see the others. John, Paul, Ringo. We're going to see if George will rejoin the band and we're going to tell them about the baby.

But we don't need to if I'm not going to keep it. We don't need to upset everyone. We don't have to say anything about it.

George returns and reaches past me for his jacket, making me take a small side step so he can get it.

'What's the matter?' he asks, shortly, looking sideways at me.

'I don't think I can go...'

George tuts contemptuously and and puts his jacket on. He turns away from me so he can check his reflection in the hall mirror. I narrow my eyes at his back.

He's being very short tempered with me recently. Constantly snapping and rolling his eyes. I don't know why I'm still here. It's three days since the night we found Pattie waiting for us. Each morning I tell myself I'll go today, leave the flat to George if he wants it, I'll go to stay with Minnie and Brian again, but each night I find I'm still here.

'Well, it's up to you, Hannah,' George says, flatly, as he ties a thin scarf around his neck in the mirror. 'You can come with me and tell them now. Or - what? You want to wait until you've had it and tell them then?' He pauses. 'I can see the face you're pulling in the mirror, you know.'

I straighten my expression but otherwise don't react.

I'm still here because I don't feel like I should leave George at the moment. I'm worried about him. He's so unlike himself. He's miserable, cross all the time, particularly with me - I can't do anything to please him, I only seem to irritate him, but I still have an urge to... take care of him. He hangs around the flat all day, not doing much of anything, then he'll go out without telling me. I don't know where he goes. Each time I expect he won't come back but he always does, sometimes quite late. He wakes me up when he gets into bed.

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