Dear Sean

Seventeen

That still left the fact that Ringo was gone.

Ringo’s excuse was that he felt he wasn’t playing well and felt unloved, excluded by the other three. When he told me that bullshit, I answered honestly: “I thought it was you three.” I was always the odd one out, not Ringo.

He had no reason to go, especially not such a self-pitying, passive-aggressive one.

I suppose he really believed it though, because he said he was going on holiday, took the kids and went out to Sardinia.

So there we were.

Shit.

Paul at the drums, really to fucking take over. The studio tense and quiet, waiting on a disturbance.

“Well, we can still record my USSR thing,” Paul said. “No need to go about wasting time.”

He came back eventually, though.

The studio was entirely decked out in flowers, and a grinning Mal Evans stood there, representing his handiwork. “Welcome Back Ringo,” a sign blared out, and his drum kit looked like a fuzzy pink mass underneath all the buds.

Ringo looked stuck between surprise, happiness, and horror. His line from A Hard Day’s Night came back to me suddenly: “Don’t touch me drums!”

Finally he opted for happiness and went over to hug Mal, before grinning at the rest of us.

“We’ve missed you, Ringo,” George said.

Ringo smiled at wiped at a tear that may or may not have been sarcastic.

And that’s where Mummy comes in. I’d met her two years before, and she’d gone to India with us…but it was in May that we really started being…together.

“What’s going on with Cyn?” Paul asked, his hands on his hips, and I could tell he was on the edge of shouting, if I said the wrong thing. I remembered our last big argument, almost two years ago, and decided to play it meekly.

“We…I ended it.”

Paul looked at me, and I hoped he wouldn’t take my wife, well, ex-wife’s side again.

“Paul, I just couldn’t be with her anymore. And anyway, it’s Cynthia I left, not you,” I told him, reaching for his face, eager to get past this uncomfortable discussion and into the part where we messed around.

“So, you’ve got a new bird then?” Paul said, falsely casual.

I paused. “Yeah. But you’ve got something like three birds at once right now. You’re hardly in a position to judge,” I chuckled.

“Yeah,” Paul mumbled, sounding distracted, but I was already kissing his jaw.

 I don’t want to hurt you Sean, but at first it was just another affair, just another one of the times I wasn’t faithful to Cynthia, Julian’s mum. This was just the time that finally ended it all with Cyn.

Needless to say, Julian was upset about this.

“Jules,” Paul sighed, when he saw Julian’s tear-streaked face.

Paul let Julian hug him round his middle, the highest he could reach. Paul looked over at me with a worried look.

“Keeping him for the day,” I said.

“Daddy and Mummy don’t love each other anymore,” Julian said, looking up at Paul.

I winced slightly at his blunt way of telling Paul.

“I know, love,” Paul said, ruffling Julian’s hair slightly. “It’ll be alright.”

Later we were at Paul’s home, writing a song that Paul had thought up for Julian, something Paul dubbed “Hey Jules.”

I sat by him at the piano, helping him choose lyrics, making no comment as I assisted him in writing a song to comfort my son.

Shit, I should be the one thinking of this, singing to him. Paul was better a father to Julian than I ever was, and he wasn’t even directly related to him.

I thought, for a fleeting, crazy moment that Paul could really be his dad, and we could raise Julian together, before tossing the idea out completely. That couldn’t ever happen.

Uncle Paul was so kind to Julian, and he wrote him a song to make him feel better.

He was really brilliant, you know. So considerate of him, paying special attention, even though he didn’t really have to.

He’s still your Uncle Paul, even though you don’t know him. But someday you will, and you remember what I’m telling you now.