Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

99. Cry For A Shadow

A/N - A quick warning for sexual content in this chapter. I think its a tad more explicit than what I usually write. Also a quick warning - this is where the story gets a bit... different. Fingers crossed this is gonna work! Thank you all for reading up to chapter 99!!

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"Heaven and hell is right now, right at this moment. You make it heaven or hell by your actions. It's just obvious, isn't it?"

[George]

27th January, 1972

The phone rings for ages. A strange cross-atlantic ringtone that sounds electronic and foreign. It's the early hours of the morning at home. England. Still referred to as 'home' in his mind. He knew that if he didn't call now, then the drinking would start with earnest, the drink and all the other stuff, and then it would be another day without doing it, without at least asking. Today's the best day to do it. Also the worst. He's already a bit pissed. Enough to brave it. Selfish to call at this time, but why change the habit of a lifetime?

'Hello?' An eventual answer, gruff, half-asleep.

'Hey man, how's things?'

A pause while he makes the connection from the voice to the identity of who would be calling at this hour.

'John? Do you know what time it is?'

'No, why? What time is it?' Lie number one.

'It's past one in the morning. Bobbie's sleeping. I was sleeping.'

'Oh, really? It's only eight here. Eight at night.'

'What do you want?'

'I, uh... I was talking to Ringo. He was over here for that Blindman premiere. Y'know, his new film. Have you seen it yet?'

'What? No. John--'

'Well, anyway, we were saying what do you think everyone would have done if we'd never made it? You know, if there was never any Beatles. Ringo said he might have been a hairdresser. Can you imagine that?' He laughs, too much, over the top. 'What do you think Paul would have done?'

Pause. No reply.

'Ringo said he'd be a teacher or somethin'. You could almost picture it, couldn't you? Paul. Big, stupid, black gown and a mortar board. Teaching poetry or music or some shit.'

'John, look--'

'What would you have done, George? You were... uh, you were gonna be an electrician, weren't you? You were an apprentice at Blacklers. I remember that.'

'--I'm hanging up now.'

'Know what else I remember? Going round yours and your mother giving us whiskey.' He chuckles. 'We had to go to yours, because Mimi wouldn't have you in the house. You were too Teddyboy-ish, too laddish. Too bloody Scouse. You were a bad influence. You! You, George!' More forced laughter. 'She, uh... She liked Paul though. He had the right accent.'

He sighs. 'John, seriously...'

'Nah, no, you were always gonna play guitar for a living. Even if we'd never done it, you would have. I can't think of you doin' anythin' else. You'd have been a session musician at least...'