Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

75. All Things Must Pass

When we at last reach the small building that contains Minnie's first floor flat, I can hear music playing even before we get out of the car. I draw a sigh of relief because it can only mean that she's here, but my relief is diminished when I ring the doorbell for five minutes continually to no reply.

'Try one of the neighbours. They'll let us in,' George says, pushing the buzzer for the downstairs flat.

'What if she's... George, what if...'

'Stop it. Stop playing "what if,"' George says, and turns away to speak into the intercom.

Minnie's downstairs neighbour - rather irked about the music which he tells us several times has been "going on all day" - lets us into the building. I run up the stairs, leaving George in my wake and bang on Minnie's door as hard as I can, but it's not until George catches up with me and raps his fist against it - considerably louder than my efforts - that there is some movement inside.

The volume on the record player is turned down a couple of notches, still not to an acceptable social level, but low enough so I can hear Minnie when she shouts through the door.

'Fuck OFF, Albie!'

'It's me,' I wail to her. 'Minnie, it's me, open the door!'

There's a pause, longer than it should be, before Minnie unlocks the door and opens it three or four inches on a chain. She looks at me through the gap. I can only see half her face but what strikes me is how different she looks. It takes me a second to realise it's down to the absence of makeup. She always wears lipstick, powder, blusher, a lot of eyeliner and kohl and mascara, but as she blinks at me, dazzled by the daylight, her face is bare. Her skin is pale white and her eyes are red, sore and puffy from crying.

'What do you want, Hannah?' she asks, flatly.

'What do I want?' I ask, my concern quickly turning to anger. 'I have been calling you! Why didn't you answer the phone?'

'Oh, I don't know,' she replies, sarcastically. 'I guess I don't really feel like a chat today.'

'Let us in.'

Minnie moves her head, noticing George for the first time. 'No,' she says and goes to close the door.

George puts his shoulder and foot in the way, stopping her. 'Hold on.'

Minnie glares at him. 'Fuck off, George. I'm not in the mood.'

'Hannah has been going out of her mind over you,' he says, bluntly. 'You'll open this door and let her in so she can see that you're alright.' 

'Shift your foot.'

He shakes his head.

'Please, Minnie, then we'll go if you want us to,' I beg.

She blinks a couple of times. 'I... I just want to be on my own,' she says, breaking down into a sob at the end of the sentence.

'Oh, Minnie, I'm sorry,' I say, annoyance dissolving.

She sighs, drops her eyes to the floor, then mumbles, 'Take your foot out of the door. I have to close it so I can take the chain off.'

Hesitantly, George removes his foot and Minnie opens the door for us. She goes back towards the front room of the flat, leaving us on the doorstep. I move to follow her and George catches my hand, squeezing it, before we step inside. 

The flat is dark, every room has the curtains or blinds closed, and there's a strange, sweet aroma inside. The air is hot and stifling, choked by smoke and poor ventilation. Minnie yanks the needle off the record player in the living room, making it screech as it scrapes across the vinyl. She flops onto the sofa next to it and reaches a packet of cigarettes from the small table in front of her.