And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 62: A Solid Nine On The Ritchie Scale, Part 1

    I heard Paul count us in, then "Happy birthday to you..." we started, and I remembered dinner on George's birthday where I got to hear Paul and John singing to him. Now it was four of us, singing as sweetly as angels with some echoing of words thrown here and there. When we were done, John leapt forward to shake him hello but Ringo clapped a hand round his back. "Well you lot had better not have brought gifts because that was the best ye could've given me. Come in, come in," he called and we stepped inside the house. The party was already starting, someone had brought a record player and it was lazily singing Peggy Lee.

    "Cor, how many people did you invite to this shindig?" Paul asked looking round at the people spread like jam round the house.

    "Eighty or so. Hope this old bird can fit all of them. If she collapses—" Ringo spread his arms out. "—it'll be one smashing birthday I'll never forget." He laughed and two girls came round and handed out bottles of beer. I took one from a brunette and recognized the other girl. "Kathleen!"

    "Cora!" she grinned. "Hello! You made it!"

    "Here with the band," I smiled back. "Gotten round to reading your books yet?"

    "Fanon is really good so far," she said before Paul recognized her. "Kathleen!" She grinned at him, nodded at George and John and went back into the kitchen not before touching me lightly on the arm. "I'll talk to ye in a bit."

    "Want to walk around a bit?" John asked me and I nodded. He kept his arm round my waist the whole time, the two of us walking round clad in black like we were at a very hip funeral. I loved the way he held me, showing the party and the world that I was his. We didn't know very many people at the party but that didn't stop John. He stopped in and joked around and soon we were friends with whoever he started talking to, people who wanted to be friends with the man who made the witty remarks. I caught glimpses of Paul and a blonde head—Dot—as they circled their way round the party. Paul was sweet, making personal remarks about people and that was what was the key to his charm. John found other ways to appeal himself to the masses.

    Germany had certainly hardened us well. I drank drink after drink and at one point thought, maybe I should have some water and drank that. John was going and going, drinking bottle after bottle, separated with jokes and at one point strumming someone's guitar and doing an impersonation of Elvis before we all fell to bits and pieces laughing.

    I knew his real Elvis impersonation—when he had sung Blue Moon to me, just the two of us in his room in Germany, but I enjoyed this show, knowing I could ask for the other version later. People cheered and I noticed the noise levels inside Ringo's house began to climb.

    "Wanna get out of here just for a bit, toots?" John asked me and I laughed at the Americanism. We exited via back door and I stretched my arms, stumbling forwards a bit before he caught me and laughed as well. We were both laughing and then we were lying on the grass in the back yard, staring at the darkened sky. I moved towards him, feeling the grass on my bare legs and he took off his leather jacket before pulling me on top of him. I gave him a quick kiss; he tasted like beer and I scrunched up my face in distaste and he laughed, whispering, "You'll always smell like roses to me." We lay there for a moment, listening to the grass rustle. John mumbled something and smiled at me.

    I pushed myself up off the ground, staring at him below me, looking at the laughter in his eyes, childlike almost before lowering myself on him and kissing him. His hands travelled to my face, then down my side and reached my waist. We rolled over and I felt him and my mind thought, what if? No. Not now. Not again. I gave him a smile and sat up, panting a little. "You're too much, love. So good to me."