Shelter In Your Love (Beatles Fan Fiction)

102. I Don't Care Anymore

'None.'

'None?'

'And before the Isle of Wight, nothing since 1966.'

I suppose that is a little more concerning. 'I'm sure he won't let you down, George.'

George sits up and dips his hand into his jacket pocket, taking out a scrappy bit of paper. He unfolds it and shoves his dinner plate out of the way so he can lay the paper on the table. On it he's written a rough running order in thick, soft pencil.

Ravi
Wah-Wah
Something
Awaiting On You All
Billy P
Ringo
Hannah?
Beware of Darkness
Leon
WMGGW?
Here Comes The Sun
Bob?
MSL
Bangla Desh

'You're going on after Ravi?' I ask. 'Before anyone else?'

'Yeah.'

'I thought you'd be last. You're the headliner.'

He folds the paper up again. 'I'm not.'

'Of course you are. That's who people are coming to see. George Harrison and Friends.'

George puts the paper back in his pocket. 'What do I do if Bob doesn't show? Play Here Comes The Sun again? There's going to be a huge gap.' He smiles sardonically. 'It's not like the Beatles shows. You could have got away with playing the same song over and over then, but people are coming to listen to the music tomorrow.'

'You know tons of songs. You could play anything.'

'It's not what I know. It's what the rest of them know.' He shakes his head. 'We're not rehearsed enough.'

I reach across the table to pat the back of his hand. 'Everything will be alright,' I repeat, firmly. 'And you can rub out that question mark beside my name.'

George doesn't say anything but he looks at me doubtfully, still not quite believing that I will perform like I've promised him I will. Me neither, I think. I've only had a handful of run-throughs with the band and I'm sure I'm going to fluff the lyrics or freeze or something, but I'm trying not to show that to George. He has enough to worry about.

I smile. 'I thought you might be fretting about... something else.'

'What?' he says, quickly, then adds, 'Oh. No. I'm not even thinking about that.'

'You're not?'

He straightens his back. 'No. I can't. I've got to concentrate on the concert. That's what's important.'

'Oh, right. Okay, umm...' I turn my head around, searching for a clock. There's a large ornately carved wooden one sitting on a mantelpiece over an unlit fireplace at the head of the room. 'Well, it's getting late. I suppose I'd better get back to Bobbie.'

'I didn't mean everything else wasn't important,' George says, gently. 'I didn't mean that how it sounded.'

I turn back to him. 'No, I know you didn't... You've a lot on your mind.'

'Yes.'

'Shall we get the bill?'

'Hannah, that is the most important thing to me. But it's... It's too much to deal with all at once. I'm just trying to take it all one minute at a time.'

I soften. 'I know. It's okay.'

Mal's waits for us outside the restaurant, or rather, he's waiting for George. He chats to a man - a taxi driver - beside the car we've rented while we're here. There's a black taxi that Mal's booked for me parked behind it.