Track 21 - When I Find Myself In Times of Trouble

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The tall, classically pretty woman from the photograph answered the door with a toddler on her hip. She didn't seem at all surprised to see a stranger on her doorstep holding a vase full of daisies. Paul's fond memories must have been true. Tokens of appreciation from a grateful community to a kind, capable nurse in post-war Britain were likely a common occurrence.

Five minutes later Lainey was seated on a beige sofa in a tiny but immaculate front room smelling of tobacco and lavender, holding a warm cup of strong English breakfast tea. Worn throw rugs were scattered over clean wooden floors. An upright piano stood only feet away. Above the fireplace hung a small pastoral painting of children playing. Framed black and white family photographs lined the mantel.

A four-year-old Paul McCartney in grey shorts and a pullover sat near Mary McCartney's feet, running two metal die-cast Dinky toy trucks up and down the wooden floor, while two-year-old Michael crawled all over his mother like she was his personal jungle gym.

"Tell me about your mother, dear. How is she?"

Lainey took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on not blowing the story she'd begun to tell Mrs. McCartney. What she really wanted to do was kneel down and squeeze the chubby cheeks of the adorable little boy with huge eyes playing on the floor in front of her.

"Oh, she's fine. Of course she misses all the people she knew here and especially wanted me to stop by and tell you how much she appreciated all you did for her."

"That's terribly kind of her. What did you say your last name is?"

"Spencer." At least that part wasn't a lie.

"And how long has your mother been gone?"

"Hmm. Five, six years?" Lainey bit her lip, hoping the questions didn't get more specific.

"During the war, then. Such a chaotic time."

Michael slid from his mother's lap to the floor and reached a chubby hand for the red fire truck that had rolled tantalizingly close. Paul snatched it away just in time.

"Paul, give your brother one of the trucks."

Lainey saw Paul's lips tighten, but he surrendered the toy. Then he looked up, his huge eyes resting on Lainey's face, and she couldn't help smiling at this beautiful child who would one day have the whole world at his feet. He continued staring at her until she gave him a little wave and he blinked away as if bored with her.

"I'll fetch more tea," Mrs. McCartney said, reaching for Lainey's cup. Michael toddled after her, still clutching the red fire truck.

"What's yer name?" Paul asked her the moment his mother left the room.

"Lainey. You're Paul, aren't you?"

He nodded and flashed those big brown eyes at her. "Your hair is pretty."

"Oh!" Lainey said, surprised. Was a four year old Paul McCartney flirting with her? "Thank you." This child was precocious from the very start. "Your mom is very pretty too."

He nodded and examined the underside of the green truck in his hands.

"She loves you very much, you know that?"

"Except when I'm naughty."

"I'm sure she loves you even when you're naughty."

"'Cept when I break things."

"Even then."

"'Cept when I break the rules." He hunched his shoulders up to his ears and began to giggle, and it was such a Paul giggle that Lainey couldn't help giggling back.

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