Six Weeks Later,
Friday 8th November 1963
I ignored the people walking towards me as I strode down the pavement, shopping bags in one hand and my handbag in the other, my head turned to look into all of the windows of the big shops - the ones that I had read about in the magazines in America when I was just a young girl - I could hardly believe that I was now one of the elite - one of the few rich enough to shop in them!
Well, Paul was, anyway.
He had given me a ridiculous amount of cash and had told me to go and buy all of my Christmas presents for everyone, and some nice bits for myself and for the baby.
I had bought some newborn baby clothes, but there wasn't an awful lot, and it was difficult to get anything specific because I didn't know what gender the baby was going to be. It was all so exciting, and I was really looking forward to being a mother -
"Emeraude?" I groaned inwardly. It was Jane Asher, and she was staring at me with a nasty little grin on her face before she turned sideways to draw my attention to who was beside her.
"Cynthia?" I said in surprise.
"Hello!" Cyn enthused, "haven't seen you in ages, how are you?"
"I'm -"
"Are those maternity clothes?" Jane asked, looking pointedly at my outfit.
I looked down at them and then blushed a deep red.
"I, um -"
"Are you pregnant, Em?" Cynthia asked excitedly.
I blushed a deep red, and that was their answer.
"So that's why Paul moved out." Jane crossed her arms against her chest and then turned to Cyn, "I told you they were hiding something -"
Cynthia hushed her before turning back to me, "who's the dad? Do we know him -"
"Do you?" Jane asked, implying that I wouldn't know the father of my own child and therefore slept around - that I was a whore, effectively.
For a few seconds, I had to physically bite my tongue because I wanted so badly to taunt her with the fact that I was carrying a Beatle's child, and she wasn't - I knew that she would have loved nothing more than to become pregnant with Paul's baby - but Cynthia was beside her, and I couldn't.
"Is it George?" Cynthia asked excitedly, ignoring Jane's remark. "He hasn't been the same since -"
"It's not George." I told her.
"Do I know him?"
Better than most, I'd say...
"I, uh -" I looked down at the floor uncomfortably, trying my best to avoid giving an answer. "Oh, is that the time?" The clock chimed in the distance - Big Ben. "I better be going!"
I dashed past the two of them (and Julian), and into the first shop I saw, hurrying to the back of it and resting my back against the wall and taking several deep breaths. I closed my eyes, thinking about how close I had just been to blurting it all out to Cynthia - and Jane.
If anybody would tell the media, it would be Jane, and that was exactly what I didn't want.
"Excuse me?" I jumped, my eyes darting open as I stood bolt upright and stared at the stranger who was completely dressed in black and had a black flat cap on. "Are you Miss McCartney?" I opened my mouth to ask him who he was, or why he was asking after me, but he cut me off immediately. "I've been sent to collect you by Mr Harrison."
I swallowed.
George? What could he possibly want from me?
I nodded, "Emeraude McCartney. Yeah, that's me."
"Come with me, Miss." The man took my bags from me and then turned and led the way out of the shop.
I hurried after him, catching up only as we got out of the shop, "where is George?" I asked.
"At his flat, Miss." The man replied, putting the bags into the boot of the black Austin Princess car parked in front of the shop we had come out of.
"How did he know I'd be here?" The man was silent and I groaned. "He had you follow me, didn't he?" The man was silent and I sighed, "whatever." I opened the door of the car for myself and got in, "let's just go."
* * * * *
We arrived at the flat that I had lived in with George and Ringo. It hadn't changed. If things were different; if they had gone the other way, that is - I could have been on my way home and to George's arms.
I thanked the driver despite the fact that he had not spoken to me for the entire drive, and I made my way up the front steps. I still had my key, but it didn't feel right to use it. I rang the intercom, waiting for somebody to answer.
"Hello?"
"George?" I said, leaning closer to the bell so he would be able to hear me more clearly, "it'sEm."
There was a slight silence between us, but I could hear him breathing heavily. After several seconds, he said, "come up."
I heard the door open and I pulled it so I could get through. I went up the stairs to our old flat - God, it was all so familiar. I passed Eppy's flat on the way, and didn't even really think about whether or not he was in there - did he know I was pregnant? Had Paul told him?
Paul - the boys - didn't keep anything from Eppy, even if they'd done something bad. If it concerned the band, then Brian Epstein was informed. Did I involve the band? Did my baby?
"Em." It was George. He was standing on the door mat outside the flat and he had a wide smile on his face. His soft brown eyes shined and he held out his arms.
I thought about dashing into them and burying my head in his chest. I thought about crying. About breaking down. I wondered if I should tell him everything.
But I didn't need to.
"You're pregnant?" He was looking at my slight baby belly, his jaw practically on the floor. "I... I..."
"George," I said softly as I slipped past him and into the flat, knowing that it wasn't a good idea for the two of us to hug, "it's not what you think."
"I didn't realise. Why didn't Paul mention it to me?"
"It's not Paul's place to tell you." I sat down on the settee, suddenly feeling exhausted. I didn't even bother to take off my beige pea coat. George sat closely beside me, and I resisted the urge to shift away. The dynamic between the two of us had changed, but I didn't know if he understood that, or if he even felt that. "And thank you, by the way, for sending the car. Your driver practically saved me from a very awkward conversation with Jane and Cynthia, so -"
George ignored my thanks and instead asked, "were they being horrible to you?" He looked pointedly at my belly and I guessed what he meant.
"Jane was," I confided, "but she always is nasty, isn't she?"
George chuckled, nodding, "I don't like her much, either." We laughed, and for a few seconds, it felt like the old days. It felt like we were back in Liverpool at the diner or in the backroom of the Cavern, giggling over something Paul was saying about his latest girlfriend. When our laughter had subsided, he said, "I do wish you'd told me, though... about the baby, I mean -"
"George, I -"
"I can't believe I'm going to be a dad. When did you find out? Mum'll be so pleased. What did your dad say?"
"George -" I bit my lip, looking into my lap as my eyes filled with tears as I tried to formulate my next words, "George... the baby isn't... you're not..."
"Oh..." The sound from his mouth was like a small exhalation of air, and it took me several seconds to even realise that he had heard me at all and that he had said anything in reply. We sat in silence for what felt like hours. "W-who is, then, Em...?" He didn't sound angry... or even hurt. Just concerned.
I pursed my lips.
I couldn't tell him.
"Emeraude?"
Uh oh. George never used my real name. He hadn't since we were kids and practically strangers.
"George, I can't tell you..." I said quietly, continuing to look into my lap as tears left paths down my face.
"Emeraude..." he put a hand on my arm, "you're not in any sort of trouble, are you?" I shook my head, still pursing my lips. "Then what could be so bad? Emeraude, I'd forgive you anything, y'know that -"
"I asked Paul not tell anyone -"
"And he hasn't." George assured me. "I asked you here because I wanted to know if we could still be friends. I hate not being able to talk to you when I need someone, Em, it's killing me. You were my friend before you were my girlfriend, and I don't ever want to let you go. I love you, Emeraude McCartney, and I always will. I'll always be aroun' for you, and I promise that I won't ever leave you - sure, I might be mad for a while and need a few days, but I'll always come crawling back with my tail between my legs and a bunch of flowers -" he cut himself off, standing up and disappearing from the room for a few seconds before coming back. George stood in the doorway, one hand behind his back and two shiny brown eyes watching me as if I was the most fascinating thing that he had ever seen.
He brought out the most beautiful bunch of white roses I had ever seen, and I smiled despite my tears. It reminded me of the first time he had ever bought me flowers - the night after my stepfather, Kevin, had died.
"Emeraude," George knelt down in front of me, offering the flowers up, "I don't care who the father is. As long as you're happy, then I'm happy, and I'll always be here for you and for your baby."
I took the flowers from him. I so desperately needed a friend, and I so desperately needed George.
"George..." I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the roses and grounding myself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it, I swear."
"Em..." I could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, and a little spark of realisation exploded in his right eye. "I-it's John, isn't it...?"
I sobbed, then. I sobbed and George dutifully put his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest and resting his chin on top of my head as he soothed me.