Dear Sean

Eleven

“Thanks, mate,” Ringo said. He turned the script over and continued to read.

“Zap!” Paul shouted from somewhere across the room. I sighed.

Ringo must have noticed, because he looked up. “Why all the moanin’ and sighin’?”

“It was just breathing,” I grumbled.

“Your eyes are following Paul,” Ringo said. “So it was about him.”

I shook my head, fixing my eyes on the floor.

“Where’s George?” Ringo asked again.

“Off with that model,” I answered. I paused for a second, examining the floor with painstaking scrutiny, before speaking again. “He’s just so…so…uptight.”

“Well, I thought you’d’ve known that by now. That’s just Paul,” Ringo said reasonably. He didn’t have to ask who I was talking about.

“Yeah… well, I dunno… He just won’t talk normally to me until he’s done that bloody script.”

Ringo nodded.

“It’s like… it’s like he loves that script more than me,” I continued.

I realized what I’d just said.

“No, I mean—“ I stammered, trying to backtrack.

“S’fine,” Ringo said.

I watched his face for any sign of alarm or disgust, but he was peacefully reading through his lines.

We didn’t get much time alone, with all the people milling about.

Time for a kip, I decided, falling backwards onto the bed. I was properly exhausted now, and the hotel room gave me the much-needed privacy to nap.

Until someone knocked at the door.

 I groaned pathetically. “Go away!”

“It’s George.”

“Go away George!”

“Paul wants you to see him,” he said knocking again on the door as if this would produce a better result this time.

“He can move his lazy arse!”

George let out an obnoxiously loud sigh and left. I turned over and covered my head with a pillow. Just the sight of the pale gray light that escaped through the gaps in the blinds was enough to make my head throb; my stubborn headache refusing to subside.

Another, quieter knock came at the door. It was obvious who it was.

“The door’s not even locked,” I said in defeat.

The doorknob turned and I heard the light footfall that led to the bed. Paul’s fingers rested gently on my neck and I turned over to see him.

“We have a quick break, they’ve all gone out to lunch—we have some time to ourselves, y’know, if you want…” Paul mumbled. Obviously he’d clued into the fact that I was angry because he was starting to doubt whether I’d want to interrupt my inglorious nap for him. Back in the old days, we wouldn’t have wasted time talking or asking; we would’ve just devoured each other immediately.

Things were changing.

“No more lines to run through?” I asked cruelly, not being able to stop myself. “I’m so glad you could fit me into your schedule.”

“Shut up!” Paul suddenly exclaimed. He turned and I knew by now that he’d done that so I couldn’t see him cry. Paul was proud like that, he’d never let anyone see the tiniest sign of weakness, not the smallest crack in his resolution.

I heard the door slam on his way out.

When the movie came out, there was a premiere at the London Pavilion. It was a fancy gathering where only a few people were allowed to attend, and there we went to show our movie to the world.

It was like we were driving through a sea of people. Everywhere; right and left, people, people, parting to let us through, all trying to peer through the windows to get a good look at us while we drove on, painfully slowly.

This made me impossibly nervous; the claustrophobic pressing of people around us, barring our escape, like a never-ending, living wall of flesh, but Paul seemed to be humming contentedly.

He waved at one of the fans who had pressed her face against the window, tears flowing down her cheeks, and even blew a kiss that I think started a small riot.

Jane looked impossibly jealous at that moment, and it was a shame that Paul, looking out the window, missed the way her face twisted into a sour expression to rival Mimi’s worst ones. She clutched onto Paul more tightly, though he didn’t notice, blinded completely by the undeniable proof of his fame.

I stroked Cynthia’s hand absently, looking away from Paul and out a different window, but leaving my expression stony though fans fell over themselves at the sight of me. I’d have been waving myself, or rolling down the window to say obscene things to amuse myself; but Paul’s cold attitude weighed on my mind.

Smiling for the cameras would prove difficult tonight.

That night was lovely, Sean. All the families came, and people from around the world were there to congratulate us. We watched the movie for the first time, since we’d only acted out the scenes, but now we were seeing what we looked like doing all these goofy things on camera.

Fans all over the world were watching too, watching Uncle Paul and Uncle George and Uncle Ringo, and watching your old dad.