Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

86. Hari's On Tour

'I'm drinking shitty, vinegary, white wine backstage at the Albert Hall, Han. What are you doing?'

'Wondering what's got into you.'

'Nothing has,' he says, innocently, but with an underlying insincerity. 'Why? Because I'm joining their band?'

'Yes. I thought--' I lower my voice and step closer to him. 'Can you do that? Can you just join another band?'

'John has,' George says, with a small shrug. 'Plastic Ono whatever. And he did that Rolling Stones film last Christmas.'

'Yes, but... Plastic Ono Band is his own thing, and the Rolling Stones was a one-off.'

'Well, this will be a one-off.'

'It's a tour!'

'It's a handful of dates round England. Something like... five or six. That's all. John and I thought we both might do this before, but he went off the idea. So I'm doing it instead,' he says, flippantly.

'You and John were going to join a band?'

'Yeah, this band,' George says. 'Last year. It was while you were... away.' He sniffs. 'I don't see why it's causing you so much trouble.'

'Well, it's not. I'm just... surprised that you'd want to.'

'Why wouldn't I?'

'You've always been adamant that you won't play live. You didn't want to play on the roof in January. When you--' I step closer to him again. This still isn't public knowledge. 'When you walked out of the band, one of the most important conditions of you returning was that Paul drop his insistence that the Beatles tour and play live concerts again.'

George straightens his back, moving back from me. 'Yeah, well, I'm starting to think that was a mistake.'

'Not touring with the Beatles?'

'No, going back to the Beatles. I walked out, and I should have kept walking. What did I go back for? Really, Hannah? Do you know?'

He seems to expect a reply. I frown. 'Well, it was because...' I falter. Because it's The Beatles, I want to say, but I don't think George would like that response.

'Wanna know why?' he says, slightly slurring his words. 'Why I went back to the fuckin' Beatles?'

I don't understand how he's managed to get so drunk so fast. He's been knocking drinks back since we arrived, but he still seems drunker than he should be in terms of how much alcohol he's consumed. He went backstage before the show and came back a little glassy eyed. Maybe he swallowed something or smoked something then. He wouldn't tell me. We sat in a box at the side of the stage to watch the concert and drinks kept appearing. Some sent by friends, some ordered by George and some compliments of the house. It was all fizzy champagne with orange juice, white wine or babycham. Sickly, sweet stuff. I've had enough of it.

'Why then?' I ask and George rears his head back with a sneer.

'Because you were pregnant, and I thought I'd better keep my job. Expensive, babies, aren't they? They need nappies and clothes and fuckin' prams and shit. I needed a job to pay for your baby.'

'My baby?'

George pauses, chastised. 'Our baby,' he corrects, calmer. 'It was stupid. It was because I panicked. I can't not be a fuckin' Beatle anymore, can I? What would I do?! Where would I go?!' He sighs, shortly. 'But I don't actually need to be, do I? It's not like I need the money. I'm a fucking millionaire.'

'Are you?' I ask, unsure where this is going. 

'I should be,' he scoffs. 'I might have been if I didn't buy that house for you.'