76. I Dig Love

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A/N: Potentially sensitive subjects/events ahead. For adults only!

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Bought love, short love, in any port
Love's always there to see
Make love, take love, but you should give love
And try to live love, come on that's where you should be


'Oh, fuck, Hannah,' George breathes, pushing into me and burying his face in the pillow next to my head. He moves to kiss me. It's a forceful kiss, passionate and consuming, lasting a few moments before he draws back and rolls off, flopping onto his back on the bed beside me.

I remain still, as I have pretty much the whole way though, akin to a slab of meat. If George has noticed, he doesn't let on. He recovers from his exertion, taking a deep breath and sweeping his fringe, stuck to his forehead, out of his eyes. He lifts his arm, inviting me to tuck myself into him.

I smile and move onto my side to rest my head against his chest. His skin is clammy and warm against my cheek. It's not that we were that energetic. It's just suffocatingly hot here, even at night. I feel a little dizzy. I had wine at dinner which has gone straight to my head and we'd had a couple of drinks in the afternoon too. It seems to affect me more when it's so sunny and hot.

George huffs and pushes the thin cotton sheet off himself, kicking his feet out from beneath it so he's lying unashamedly naked next to me. I pull my portion of the cover up to my armpits.

'I love you,' he murmurs, closing his eyes. He squeezes me tighter to him when I don't react. 

'I love you too,' I say, realising I haven't replied. I'm getting better at that. Or well practiced, at least. It's not that I don't feel it, but it's still hard for me to say aloud. However, I know that George needs to hear it, and that's what I can concentrate on.

He opens his eyes lazily, only half way. 'Want me to...?'

I'm not sure what he means exactly but I shake my head. 'No, it's okay.'

He closes his eyes again and pulls the pillow up from beneath his head. Sex always makes him sleepy. 'Well, maybe we try again in a minute,' he says.

'Try again?'

'Do it again.'

'Oh. Okay.'

'If you want to, that is,' he adds, quickly.

'Yes, of course,' I say, trying to sound convincing. It's been better here. Definitely better, but still not... like it should be. Like it used to be.

'It's just it's the last day tomorrow, isn't it?' says George, as if he's trying to reason with me. 'And tomorrow night we'll be busy packing and we'll have to meet Terry and... then we have to go home and... well, you know.'

We're both thinking the same, but neither of us have vocalised it until now. When we go home, it will break the spell. We've been trapped inside a kind of limbo while we've been on the island, a bubble surrounding us, protecting us from everything we left behind in England - Beatles and families and employees and nasty newspaper stories. I've not even really worried about things like Frank Heath since we've been here, and that's always been on the edge of my mind back at home.

Out here, no one knows who I am. Not really. People recognise George of course, but they don't know all the sordid details about me. The people who work at the hotel call me "Mrs George" and I don't mind one little bit. Back at home, I always feel compelled to point out that George and I are not married, like I have to take some kind of accountability. No, we're not married. Pattie is George's wife, I am just his... his whatever I am.

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