For You, Blue

3. Can't Buy Me Love

Hello, all! I do hope you had a very happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year's. I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has voted on this little story, or just taken the time to read it at all – I'm so glad you're enjoying it thus far. Little bit of a change in this chapter, trying out a new narrative. I may do this a few times, but do let me know if it bothers you and I'll try to cut it down. Enjoy! Xx

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Somewhere in London... 8th of July, 1964

Have you ever wondered what it must feel like to be a secret agent? A spy? A James Bond-esque bandit, living in and out of the shadows, looking over your shoulder with every move?

Would you assume it would be fun?

I have terrible news for you – it's quite the opposite. How do I know?

Being out with a Beatle is a hell of a lot what I would imagine living life on the run would feel like.

The first order of business that day was to drop by George and Ringo's flat, a short drive to Knightsbridge from Harry's townhouse. Leaving had been a slightly awkward affair, unbeknownst to everyone else, as it had been nearly impossible to discuss any... sensitive matters with Harry. Every time I had tried to get a word in, a mop top had popped its head around a corner or waltzed directly into a room.

It had taken a concerted effort to sneak away for a moment and iron out any details... which, unfortunately, were few.

"I'm going to stay here, and you'll go out with George. Entertain yourself for a few hours and by the time you get back, I should hopefully have her ready for you."

Not the most perfectly laid of plans, but it would have to do.

The first order of business had been to sneak all four boys outside and into their vehicles, sight unseen. That itself was to be a momentous challenge. I was to be sent out as a look-out first, and immediately spotted a group of young girls posted across the street, fussing about with wildly teased bouffants and records in hand. If I hadn't seen it myself, I almost wouldn't have believed it – it seemed nigh on impossible to comprehend the full depth of the whole 'Beatlemania' craze, but I seemed poised to experience a crash-course.

"A small group of girls, just across the road."

A chorus of 'oh, bugger me' and 'bollocks' had rang out at my information, and a shoddy plan had to be made. It consisted of four things:

1) Get Paul and John to their respective vehicles.

2) Get Ringo, George and I to Harry's Beetle.

3) Haul absolute ass if we were caught.

And:

4) Pray to God we made it out alive.

"We'll go out one at a time. That way if they catch us, the others will at least live to tell the tale," Ringo suggested, straightening the buttons on his shirt.

"If you don't mind, I think I disagree," I had interjected, meekly. "I think everyone should go out at once and hope for the best. Like ripping off a band-aid."

"A what?" John said, screwing up his face.

I blinked for a moment before catching on, elaborating with a small smile. "A plaster – it'll be like ripping off a plaster. The sooner, the better I say."