Secret

Chapter 1

He glanced over his brother's shoulder to see which pictures he was looking at and smiled as he saw they were the ones he and Mike had taken together four days ago after coming home from school. They had turned out well.

"Paul, please don't tell me you're going out wearing that?" Paul looked up from his brother's pictures back at his father, who was looking at him with disapproval in his eyes as he stared at Paul's dubious choice of clothing. Paul looked down at himself with a surprised frown, pretending not to know what his father was talking about.

"What? Why?"

"It's almost eighty degrees out there, Paul! You'll melt!" Jim McCartney told his son, who rolled his eyes at his father's comment, before turning around to make himself some breakfast.

"I'll be fine, Dad. It's not as warm as it looks," he tried, despite better knowledge, being well aware that his father had a point. The only thing was, his father knew it too.

"Son-"

"I'll be fine!"

His father huffed at that, but didn't try to press the issue, knowing there was no way to change his son's mind once he had gotten an idea into it, and turned back to his newspaper.

"George's picking me up at quarter past for band practice. I don't know how long I'll be. We're going over to John's so... you know," Paul said as he sat down with his father at the table with his breakfast, hoping the change of subject would make his father drop the issue.

"You better be home for dinner, Paul. I'm making fish pie," his father said as he turned the page with a sigh, his eyes leaving the paper for a moment to look his son firmly in the eye. Paul took the opportunity to nod and smile, wanting to get back on his good side. He liked his father's fish pie, though; it was one of the few things he actually knew to cook well, the recipe having been his grandmother's from Mary's side of the family. She had always been fond of it too, which was why he liked making it; to keep her spirit alive.

"Sure, Dad. I'll be on time. We won't be that long anyway, I don't think," he said in reply, and with one last glance at the watch around his wrist, he started on his breakfast, shoving it into his mouth as fast he as could, wanting to be done before George would knock on the door, something that could happen any minute now. He occasionally blew into his tea to cool it faster.

"Paul, are you sure you don't want to wear-" Jim couldn't help but ask after a couple of long silences, but Paul was quick to interrupt him, not wanting to hear it.

"Yes, Dad. I'm sure," he said, and Jim mumbled something to himself that Paul couldn't hear, but he decided not to give it any thought. He was fine.

Paul was not fine. His father was right, as always. It was too hot, even just inside their kitchen with the back door open, allowing the somewhat cool air in. He had already started to sweat - he could feel it - and he knew he was going to have to put something else on. Only, he didn't want to. What if anyone saw? What if John saw?

The doorbell rang and Paul hurried to put his tea down and get up to answer the door, but his little brother been faster and beaten Paul to it, shouting a faint "I'll get it" behind him as he went, having already shot out of the kitchen by the time Paul had put his tea down. He let himself fall back into his seat with a defeated sigh, and blew into his shirt in an attempt to cool himself at least a little. He could feel his father's eyes on him, but he pretended not to notice. He listened to the muffled voices of his brother and George talking to each other, and picked up his tea to finish it anyway before they'd leave. His guitar stood waiting in the hallway, so he was all set to go.To see John, he thought with an internal squeal.