Plane Talking

Landing

"Oi!" John squirmed, and blindly hit out with his arm, blindly because he hadn't opened his eyes yet. "What the...?"

"Move over."

"Wha...?"

George grunted as he landed heavily in his own seat, and wriggled to make himself more comfortable. In doing so he pushed parts of John Lennon off the armrest between their seats. This was quite deliberate.

"What'cha doing?"

"Sitting down."

"Why d'ya wake me up?" John whined, rubbing his eyes like a toddler. George laughed, and shrugged.

"You woke me up."

"Yeah. Well." John yawned, sniffed and rubbed his eyes again. "Where you been?"

"Up the front with the others."

"What d'ya do?"

"Just chatting."

John leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and evidently decided that sleep had gone for the time being. "Got any smoke?"

George turned to his grumpy companion with a smile, and produced a ready rolled offering from his jacket pocket which he flourished in front of John's nose. John leaned sideways and fished in his own pocket for a lighter, and George took the first drag before passing it back to John. The two young men settled back in contented silence for a while until John asked, "D'you know how long we've got?"

"Landing in about an hour."

"Thank God!" and George nodded agreement with the sentiment. "What'll you do when you get home?"

George looked directly at John in quizzical amusement, and John snorted dismissively. "Fer God's sake, you know what I mean. I mean after that." He passed the joint back.

George took a long drag and exhaled slowly as he leaned his head back against the seat. He shook his head lazily. "Dunno really," he said, directing his gaze and words at the roof of the plane. "We haven't talked about it. Six weeks!" He grinned happily, still at the roof. "When did we last have that long to do fuck all?"

"Is that what you're going to do?" George turned his head towards his companion, and his eyebrows spoke a query. "Are you going to do fuck all for six weeks?"

"Doubt it. I mean," He took another drag and passed it back to John. "I wouldn't mind, after all this." He waved an arm in the general direction of the plane and everyone in it to illustrate what he meant by 'all this'. "But she's been at home all the time. Don't think she'd take kindly to watching me sleep for six weeks." He paused. "No, we'll be going out, you know. Clubs, seeing people... that stuff."

"Christ."

"Eh?"

"I mean," John paused, and then shook his head. "I mean, you've got a girlfriend who wants to get out, do stuff..." he paused again and looked at George. "I've got a wife who wants to stay at home and watch telly." Another quiet snort, and he shook his head.

A silence fell, as George pondered as well as he could through the effects of the joint, what was the best reaction to this. He made a stab at a reply. "You've got Julian."

He watched, in some dismay, as John ground out the joint in the ashtray in front of them in a distinctly angry manner. "So he has to be a fucking ball and chain?"

Oh shit, reflected George. What now. "He's not a ball and chain. He goes to bed at about four. You've got a nanny thing. You can go out."

"Yeah. But does she want to? No. She wants to stay in. So I sit there and get fatter and fatter..."

"For God's sake don't start that again!" George was not joking.

"No, ok." John had the grace to smile, albeit faintly. "Oh fuck, George, I don't want to sit and watch the fucking box all the time. And there's you, who wants to sit at home and sleep." He turned to his friend and opened his mouth to speak, and George forestalled him without missing a beat.

"No!"

"Come on..."

"No!!"

"She's gorgeous and she likes going out for some action..."

"Fuck off!" He was laughing, knowing his friend was both joking and deadly serious at the same time. "Get your mitts off."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching London Heathrow. Please extinguish your cigarettes and fasten your seatbelts..."

"John," George turned to the other and spoke seriously. "You know the grass is always greener. You know Cyn's gorgeous too and you know you love her. Stop being stupid." He stared at John and shook his head. "Yer being daft and you know you are. Pack it in."

"We're home!!" Ringo's grinning face appeared over the back of the seats in front of them. "Hoo-bloody-ray!" George found that he had to smile back – Ringo in a good mood was infectious. "What you two doing?"

"John's being an arse."

"No change there then."

"Alright lads?" Paul beamed at them and then pushed Ringo towards the window seat. "Move over. We're landing."

"Okay guys?" Neil sat himself across the aisle from John and fastened his seatbelt. "You got everything? You all okay?"

John Lennon and George Harrison looked at each other for a long moment amongst the happy and relieved hubbub bubbling all around them. "Yeah," said John. "We're fine."

George met his gaze and nodded. "See you at yours for another go," he said quietly. "I'll phone you."

Both men leaned back, closed their eyes and braced themselves against the ludicrous but inescapable fear of descent and landing.

When were they ever going to get over this?