The Arch of Love ~ Paul McCartney

16. Liverpool rain

St. John's Wood, 28 April '67, 5:41 PM

'I'm so fed up with all these paps asking me the same old question,' Paul complained as I let him into the flat. He gave me a quick peck on the lips and shrugged off his coat, before continuing in a mocking voice. "Paul, do you think you'll ever get back to performing?", "Paul, when are you going on tour again?", "When will ya get out of the studio?" Hell if I'd know. If we had any plans of sort we would've told them.'

'I reckon I don't have to ask you how your day went?' I stated with a bit of a chuckle as I took his coat and hung it up for him. It was clear to me he'd a hard day.

With Jane away again, Paul had taken up camp in my little flat. He said he liked the anonymity of not having a flock of girls outside his house twenty-four hours a day. My apartment was like his own little hideaway in the city. I really didn't mind, as long as he didn't bring the fans with him. But so far, so good. No one had found out he was coming here, just yet.

'Please don't. I'm just done with it, y'know. It's all they ask about, because they only now realise we haven't a tour scheduled,' he went on, annoyed. 'We'll perform when we want to perform. And we really don't want to now.'

'Do you think you'll ever perform again?' I asked carefully. I really didn't know where he was on that topic. One day he seemed fine with not touring and on other days he could go on about how he wanted people to listen to his songs. And with his mood right now, I knew he was on the verge of giving me an earful, especially now I was stepping on dangerous soil.

Luckily Paul smiled kindly and took my hands with a sigh, pulling me towards him. 'Definitely not. Though, y'know, if they paid us a lot or it was for charity of something. Then maybe. But things really need to change, before any of us come near a stage again. Maybe in a couple of years we think different, but now...' He trailed off, then shook his head. 'No, with the Beatles? I don't see it happening.'

'Do you miss it, though?' I pushed on. I knew I was pushing my luck. But he needed to talk about it and not just bottle it up. Someone had to pull it out of him and Jane clearly wasn't doing that. Even if it was her job as his girlfriend.

Paul sighed a little and wrapped his arms around me. Clearly, I was doing something right, because he was being extremely amiable. 'I miss the times when it was only about the music. When we were just four war babies from Liverpool who enjoyed making music together. When the music was still about the music and not about proving anything. When there were no worries, no expectations, no prejudices, nothing to live up to, no one to disappoint. Just four lads, making music. I miss that.' He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled his face in my neck, peppering me with kisses. 'And I miss us.'

'God, there is nothing to miss about that time, is there? We're doing it all over again,' I told him as I snuggled into his hug. He did have the best hugs.

'We are. Let's hope it ends better than the last time. But we were just kicking off back then,' he said, before he continued. I seemed to have opened a can of worms and Paul made sure they were all out before we could proceed with the lovemaking.

'You know, it isn't all that I thought it to be. Sure, it's nice to not have to worry about money anymore. And being able to buy me dad a house was the proudest thing I ever did. But I can do without the endless stream of people that want something from me. Sometimes I wish it was all over, y'know? Let someone else take over, a new band that makes the same kind of music. Let them sing about our lives and sorrows for all I care. But let us be just four normal lads from Liverpool.' The words tumbled out of him and he didn't seem to be able to stop them. I guess he just needed them off his chest.

I was very aware of the fact that he was speaking, not just for himself, but for all of the Beatles. Because that was it, wasn't it? They weren't just a group of friends, making music together. No, the Beatles were one. Whatever happened to one, happened to the other three. And whatever one felt, the other three felt.