'That's not true. And even if it was, it's clearly not mutual,' I tell her, attempting indifference, but just sounding hurt.

'I think he's jealous. Now you're marrying someone else and he's lost his chance with you.'

'He never had a chance,' I say belligerently, but then shrug. 'Anyway, George, and the others for that, could have any of the tons of women who throw themselves at them. Haven't you seen the chaos on the news? A crop dusting plane was mobbed because these insane fans thought the Beatles might be in it.'

'Nothing is as desirable as the thing you can't have though, is it? George might have a hundred women lying down at his feet, but perhaps he just wants the one that isn't.'

I laugh and shake my head at her, returning to stare at the pages of my book. I've read the same paragraph six times and not taken a word of it in. Minnie leans over and removes the book so that I have to look her in the face. 

'You're not that hard to read, you know, Han.'

'I'm getting married. Tomorrow. To Ricky. Honestly, Min, I don't care about George anymore.'

'If you say so,' she sighs, giving in. She straightens up and walks towards the door, pausing to say, 'Don't wait up!' with a wicked glint in her eye.

'Minnie, make sure you get taxis everywhere. Don't go anywhere on your own,' I shout after her, but she's already gone, door slammed behind her.

Alone, the apartment seems too quiet and cold. I put the TV on, but it doesn't really help.

This time tomorrow I will be Mrs Ricky West. It still feels unreal, like it's just a story. Part of the TV show. I haven't really thought about the 'big picture' of things before. Everything - all the planning - was just leading up to the wedding. It's only now that it's dawned on me, I haven't thought about what comes next.

It's stupid, but it was only a few days ago, when Ricky was talking about where we would live once we were married, that I realised I hadn't even considered that I would have to move out of the apartment I share with Minnie. I haven't spoken to Minnie about it. I don't think she will afford the rent on her own, but after what happened, I don't like the idea of her living alone anyway. We can't all live together, though, can we? I can't see Ricky agreeing to that.

Tomorrow, I'll be a wife. I don't know what that means. I don't... I don't know if I want to be someone's wife. Wife. The word sounds so old fashioned and musty. It sounds so final.

This is daft. I'm driving myself crazy. It's just nerves, that's all. When I get to the church tomorrow, in my blancmange of a dress, and I see Ricky waiting for me, I'll be fine.

I keep thinking about George. I shouldn't be. Why am I stewing about him? He was horrible when he was last here. I just... I just can't stop replaying the conversations we had.

You don't say, "George, I can't be with you, because I'm in love with Ricky."

I love Ricky though, don't I? Of course I do. Why would George, who I've spoken to a handful of times in the last three years, presume to know anything about me and Ricky? He doesn't. He doesn't know anything.

At ten o'clock I give in and go to bed. It will be around this time that The Beatles will be going on stage. I can't sleep. I lie, wide awake and staring at the shape of my wedding dress, for what feels like hours.

The dress hangs on the wardrobe door, still in its dust cover, waiting for the morning. It is a rather frilly monstrosity, but the best of a bad lot, all chosen by Maurice - one of the few details of the wedding not signed off by Ricky, because, well, it's supposed to be bad luck isn't it, for the groom to see the dress before the day? 

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