Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

83. Horse To The Water

You can take a horse to the water but you can't make him drink
You can have it all laid out in front of you but still won't make it think

The sun spills like honey, thick and warm, through the gap in the clouds over the large, raised stage. The first break in the drab blanket of grey that has lain across the sky since we arrived on the Isle of Wight.

I didn't think I'd be able to do this. I didn't think I could stand to hear it. The music, - all the music - has such strong memories and emotions attached to it. So much of it reminds me of Minnie; the records and songs she loved, and the ones she passionately didn't. Since the funeral, I've thought it would be too painful to listen to music, so I have avoided it. I haven't listened to the radio and I haven't played any records. But George has.

It's no secret that I didn't want to come to the Isle of Wight festival. I said I would, then I regretted it. I think George is regretting bringing me along too. We shouldn't be here now, standing shoulder to shoulder in the cordoned off VIP and press area, watching a band I missed the name of. George dragged me here this afternoon before I started world war three with the rest of his friends.

Ringo and Maureen came over to the island this morning. They're at the hotel that we were supposed to all stay at together, before George and I had to change to the farmhouse. I thought John and Yoko would be with them, but they haven't arrived yet. It's odd that they wouldn't all travel together when they're coming to the same place, isn't it?

We went for lunch with them, Bob and Sara and Emma and some of the others, then there followed a disorganised game of tennis on a huge court they have at the back of the hotel. Some of the boys played, while the rest of the group sat at a picnic table to watch. There wasn't enough room on the bench for all of us, so I took Bobbie to play on the grass a short distance away, and that prompted George to whisper in my ear, 'At least try to look like you're with us,' during a break in the tennis match.

I furrowed my brow at him as if I didn't know what he meant. George bent to stroke Bobbie's hair and she responded with a, 'Dah!' stretching her arms out to him.

'Join in,' he tells me, straightening his back, and then returns to the court to play tennis with Bob and the others.

My frown turns into scowl at George's retreating back. I sigh and look round at the table. Mal, watching us, gives me a sympathetic smile. He sits next to Emma, with Maureen and Sara on the opposite side. I struggle to my feet with Bobbie and move closer to them.

'Would you like to sit here?' Mal offers, standing up.

'No, I'm fine. Thank you.' I smile at him as I sit on the ground with Bobbie again. Mal hesitates, then sits down again too. In my arms, Bobbie wriggles and tries to escape. About a week ago, she learned to crawl and now that's all she wants to do. I hold her tightly, preventing her, and rest my chin on the top of her head. I wish John would hurry up and get here.

Over on the court, George is still watching me. He jerks his head towards the others, trying to encourage me, and misses the volley as a tennis ball whizzes past his ear.

I sigh inwardly. 'Does anyone know if Linda's had the baby yet?' I ask, loud enough so George can hear me "joining in".

'Yes, she was born yesterday,' Maureen replies, without looking round. 'A girl. They've called her Mary, after Paul's mother.'

'That's... nice,' I reply, for want of a more exciting response.

The tennis match breaks up. George gives his racquet to someone else and comes back over to us, picking up a water bottle from the table and swigging from it. He looks at me sideways and I pretend not to notice, tickling Bobbie instead.