66. Savoy Truffle

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You might not feel it now
But when the pain cuts through
You're going to know and how
The sweat is going to fill your head
When it becomes too much
You'll shout aloud


'George?'


'George?'

'Mmphff...'

'George?' I try again, giving him a gentle prod with my elbow.

'What?' he mumbles into my hair, still asleep.

'Turn over. I need to lie on my back.'

George exhales deeply and doesn't move for a moment, then he slackens his grip around my middle. He's holding me higher up than he would normally because of the girth of the bump. His arm brushes against my breasts accidentally as he retracts it, which isn't surprising - they are bigger as well, to match. George rolls onto his back with a groan and appears to slip back into sleep immediately.

I roll over too, wincing at the tender ache in my lower back, caused by lying in one position for so long. I lift my hips to arch my spine, but it doesn't help much. I should get up, start getting dressed - that also takes me quite a while at the moment - but I think I will have to lie here and wait for the pain to pass first.

I turn my head. George lies on the pillow next to me. It's still early. The dull grey light of a winter's dawn comes from the gaps in the blinds at the window, just enough to see him by; perfectly still, asleep, with his shaggy chestnut hair - actually reasonably short for a Beatle currently - covering his eyes. I want to lean over and touch him, brush his hair off his face, feel his soft skin under my fingertips, but I don't.

We didn't share the bed after the kiss, after the day I packed to go to Minnie's and George asked me to stay. For a few nights, George slept on the sofa, without discussion or complaint.

The Beatles worked last weekend, trying to finish the film. They lost a few days when George walked out and I think everyone wants to put the whole thing behind them as soon as possible now. Minnie's party was on the Saturday, two days before her actual birthday. I couldn't find her before we left. I don't know where she went after she screamed at that poor girl.

George and I got a taxi back from Cotchford Farm. George had originally planned to drive, but he'd drunk a bit too much and I think after the scene Minnie caused he was past caring if a taxi driver saw him going home with a heavily pregnant girl.

When we got home, he simply followed me into the bedroom, got undressed and climbed into bed with me. I should have protested, I suppose, but I didn't. I've missed him. Missed his presence, reassuring and warm and safe. I sleep better with George next to me. And it wasn't like before. He didn't lie with his back to me, pretending I wasn't there. George pulled the covers over us both and lay close behind me, snaking his arm around my now non-existent waist, like he used to in the days when we were lovers, holding me tightly.

'I'm sorry,' George whispered in the dark.

I assumed he meant for getting into bed with me, for unthinkingly snuggling up to me and holding me, but he didn't move.

'It's okay,' I whispered back. 'Stay here tonight if you want to. I don't mind. You don't have to sleep on the sofa.'

George didn't reply. A couple of minutes passed. I waited for his breathing to become deeper as he fell asleep. I didn't want to go to sleep yet. I wanted to savour being this close to him for a little longer, even though I know it didn't mean anything, he was drunk and tired, it wasn't significant, but I still wanted it.

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