It was a dreary December night and Paul was sat on his bed at Forthlin Road, his guitar on his lap and a cup of tea on the windowsill. The tea had been hot when he put it there but had long since grown stone cold, because Paul had lost himself in thought and was staring out of his bedroom window into the rapidly darkening evening sky.
Over two weeks had passed since he and Pete got kicked out of Germany, just days after the bizzies had deported George for being underage. He hadn't heard from anyone since, so he assumed the band was history. Part of him was sad about that, but it also made things a lot easier at home. Paul winced at the memory of his return, and the look of disappointment on his dad's face when he heard his son had been arrested. Getting an earful was something he could handle; feeling like he let his father down was a lot harder to digest. And so he had heeded the warning to 'get a job or don't come back', started working at a factory, and stayed out of the way as much as he could in hopes of getting back on his dad's good side.
A familiar voice tore Paul right out of his daydream, and back into his bedroom. "So what are you thinking about then, anything good?"
Paul jumped at the sound. He turned his head so quickly, he nearly pulled a muscle in his neck. His face lit up at the sight of John sauntering into the room. "John! How are you? When did you get back?" He gestured for John to come and sit next to him on the bed, "Who let you in?"
John grinned at the questions fired at him. He took his time getting comfortable, before he answered, counting the questions on his fingers as he did so. "Fine, five days ago, and Mike, but I don't see the relevance in that last one."
"Yeah well, I doubt da' would be happy to see you right now. He didn't take me getting arrested very well," Paul shrugged. "So if you've been back nearly a week, why haven't you contacted me before? I missed you..." A slight blush crept upon his face at his last words.
"So, the arl fella's takin' it hard, eh? I can't imagine why. Who wouldn't want a felon for a son?" John nudged his knee against Paul's. "I missed you too, Macca. Hamburg as a drag after you left."
Paul nodded. "Yeah, home's been on top te fuck too. I'm glad you're back." He shuffled around a bit, unsure how to proceed. Eventually, he managed, "John, maybe we should talk about everything that's happened..." His voice trailed off and he looked at John, unsure what his response would be.
To his relief, John's lips curled up in a mischievous smile instead. "You mean, things like this?" He reached out and casually moved the guitar out of the way. Then he pulled Paul in to close the gap between their bodies. His lips grazed Paul's for a moment, very softly, as if he was asking for permission. Paul leaned in a bit closer, answering the question that was present in John's touch. He steadied himself by placing one hand on John's hip, lacing the other in the auburn tresses. John let out a soft groan and smiled against Paul's lips, to which Paul replied by nipping gently at John's bottom lip. John now had his arms wrapped firmly around Paul's torso, pressing their bodies closely together. The kiss deepened as they explored each other's mouths with a passion that made their hearts beat in a hypnotising rhythm. When they broke away from the kiss, their cheeks were flushed. Paul was slightly out of breath when he answered, "Yeah, things like that."
They sat there for a moment, arms wrapped around each other, each immersed in their own train of thought. Then, Paul gently untangled himself from their embrace when he heard his brother pottering about across the landing. He placed a finger against his lips in response to John's questioning look, and mouthed 'Mike' as he made to close the bedroom door to hide them from prying eyes and ears before quickly returning to sit next to John once more. Eventually, he willed himself to put his thoughts into words.
"John, I need to talk to you about what happened... in Hamburg, y'know."
John sighed a little. "Please stop apologising for that, Paul. I meant it when I said it the first time. It happened, there's nothing we can change about that now. Can't we just forget about it and move on?"
"Maybe you can, but I can't. I nearly strangled you, John. I need to know where it all came from y'know, because I'm not like that at all and it's been haunting me. I can't just blame it on the drugs and the alcohol; it must have been something deeper than that."
"Go'ed then, let's talk. Do you have a theory at all?"
Paul rubbed his eyes, trying to remember what he had thought of earlier. "Yeah, could be rubbish though, I dunno. I think a few things happened at once, really. Remember how I sort of passed out after that fight? I heard about anxiety attacks and I think I had one of those. It fits, you know. And I think it's been a long time coming – ever since me birthday, now that I'm thinking about it."
"Of course I remember that, you beaut, how could I forget? Dead scary, that was. Not just the strangling, mind. That was frightening too but I got over that soon enough really. But that whole thing... It was like ye weren't even there anymore, you know? And to see you just collapse like that... I didn't know what to do at all. For a moment, I thought..." John let his words trail off, and grabbed Paul's hand. "But how can a barney from six months ago lead to that, Paul? I know I was being a tosser, and I really am sorry, but didn't we work that out?"
"I'm not accusing you, John. I'm over that, I think. But I think you kissing me started something, y'know, in the back of me mind... I'm thinking I was havin' feelings for you without knowing it. I knew I loved you right before I kissed you last month, but now I'm thinking it was in the back of me mind all along, and it made me insecure, and frustrated, and maybe even jealous..."
John watched Paul with a look of astonishment on his face. "Wow, you really thought about this, haven't you? But 'ang on... what would you be jealous of, and why didn't you say anything before?"
Paul shrugged, "Because I didn't realise this before. Like I said, I didn't know I felt that way. But looking back, I can see that I did; why else would I have been so upset by that row? It's not like we haven't had a barney before, right? So when you were giving all that attention to Stu, and I was stuck behind that piano, I just felt it should be me standing next to you and it started to fester. Those pills were doin' me 'ead in, I was drunk off me arse, I was knackered... I think it all just added up, and it was a matter of time before I was going to blow up. And when I did, you and Stu bore the brunt of it, when the real issue was inside of meself."
John thought about what Paul said for a moment. "You know Paul, I think I understand what you mean. I'm impressed you sussed that out all on yer own."
"Yeah well, I've had time to think. I'm working at Massey and Coggins now, and that's not very exciting so the mind tends to wander, you know. I mean, I can't complain. I'm making money and learning a trade; I even get Sundays off, which is nice. But I'm at the bottom of the ladder so it's not very challenging."
"Of course not. Nothing can be a challenge after everything we've endured. And you, music is in yer blood, Macca. That's what you were born to do, not work some factory job like every other sod. I'll have to talk to the lads, see if we can get some gigs. What do you say?"
"I don't know, John. Me da' was very clear about it: either I earn me keep or I can bugger off. I was in a really bad way when I got back and I don't think he'd be thrilled to see me choose that life again, y'know. I've let 'im down John, I owe it to 'im to take this job seriously. What are the chances of us ever making it as rock stars anyroad? da' didn't make it, why should we be any different?"
"Fair enough mate, but I'm going to talk to the others anyroad. Maybe Pete's mum will put us on the bill for Saturday nights at the Casbah again, you could combine that with yer job, right? Let's at least play together again. Maybe Jim will change his mind when he sees how good we've gotten. What's that sound like?"
"Yeah, I could do that. I think that'd be quite good, actually."
"Brilliant. I'll talk to George and Pete, and if they're up for it, we'll see if Mona can put us up. Stu stayed with Astrid so we'll need someone on bass, but let's worry about that later. There's something I want to talk about with you too."
Paul cocked his head at the sudden change in John's demeanour. "Yeah? What do you want to talk about, John?"
"Us. I need to know where we stand, what this is, and how it's going to be." John looked away, so Paul gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, much like John had done for him just moments before.
"I think that's a good idea, John. Why don't you start? You can say anything to me, I'm listening."
"Well... I know I like girls, and I know you do too. But I love you more, you know what I mean?"
Paul nodded, "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. So what do we do about it?"
"I'd like to see if we can make it work. We just have to be mindful, you know. I don't want this to wreck our friendship. And we'd have to be careful about it, because I don't want either of us to end up in jail... or worse.... simply because we like snogging each other. We can't tell anyone – at all."
"I agree. We do have to be careful. It's not right that we should, but it is the way it is."
"Right. And I also think that's why I reacted so badly in June you know. I took a chance and I thought you were rejecting me, and I was scared you'd go and tell someone. But I wanted then what I want now, and that is for us to be together, whichever way we can make that work."
"That's what I want too. And I believe we can find a way. But John, let's take it one step at a time, alright? I'm still getting used to the idea, so nothing too serious for now, okay? I really enjoy kissing and stuff, but I don't see meself – you know. Not yet, anyroad."
John laughed, "You and me both, mate. I've never been in love with a bloke before either, you know. Taking it slow sounds good. I'm not in any hurry."
The room had now gotten completely dark. Paul turned on the light and checked the time. "Look at that, we've been yakkin' fer hours. I need to get up early, so I best get ready for bed. Are you stayin' over?"
"Don't mind if I do," John chuckled, as he proceeded to strip down to his underpants. When he was about to step into the bed, a memory made him giggle. "No top-and-tailing for old times' sake, then?"
Paul couldn't help but laugh too. "Best not risk it, mate. I doubt me arl fella would be amused by you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night again."
"Michael, would you mind finishing your breakfast in your room? I need to talk to your brother in private. Thank you, son." Jim McCartney smiled warmly at his younger progeny.
Mike knew better than to argue, so he quickly got up. "Good luck, mate," he murmured to Paul before he collected his things and marched up the stairs.
Paul sat in anticipation of what was to come. He had a clue, and he realised he wouldn't have to wait long to discover whether or not he was correct. His dad wasn't one to skirt around an issue. Sure enough, Jim dived right in and clearly stated what was on his mind.
"Paul, I am worried about you. When you came home two weeks ago, you were skin and bones, covered in bruises, dressed like a vagabond, and fresh out of jail. That was enough to upset any parent, but at least you promised to improve your behaviour. And now you go behind my back and sneak that John Lennon into the house." He paused when Paul's eyes darted in the direction of the door through which his sibling had just disappeared. "No, Mike didn't tell me. I may be old, but I'm neither deaf nor blind. I do know what goes on in my own house, Paul. What was John doing here?"
For a moment, Paul's mind wandered as the memory of waking up in John's arms warmed his heart. John had snuck out of the house at the crack of dawn, but not before they had spent some more time snogging and whispering sweet nothings. 'Can't very well tell da' about that,' Paul thought, so instead he just shrugged.
Jim sighed at the lack of response. "Paul, would you please answer my question?"
"There's nothing to say, da'." Paul really didn't want to talk, so he threw an exaggerated glance at the clock and pretended to be shocked to see the time. "I need to go, I'll be late for work." He quickly got up and made a beeline for the door.
"James Paul McCartney, you will get back here and sit down. This conversation is not over until I say it is!" Jim's voice boomed through the dining room.
Paul froze to the spot and felt his ears go red. He knew things were serious when his father belted out his full name like that. Dragging his feet, he returned to the table and plopped back down in his seat, annoyed by his father's probing. "Yer doin' me ''ead in, da'! Jus' sack it, yeah?" Why were parents always so... so... parent-like?
"Language, Paul! Scouse is something you eat, not something you speak. And I must say I don't appreciate your attitude at all. You may be an adult now, but as long as you continue to live under my roof, you will abide by my rules and that includes behaving like a civilised, respectful human being." The stern reprimand made Paul feel like he was 8, instead of 18 and a half.
"Sorry, da'." Paul hung his head and started picking at the callouses on his hands, which all of a sudden looked mighty interesting and something very much worth paying close attention to.
Jim heaved a deep sigh, and placed his hands over his son's in a protective gesture. His voice was calm, maybe even a bit weary when he said, "I wish you'd talk to me, lad. What happened in Germany that's so bad you can't confide in me about it? Don't you know I love you, and you can always speak to me – no matter what?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Alright then – John was here to catch up, that's all. He's thinking about getting the band up and running again, maybe play some gigs around Liverpool." There, the word was out.
"I see. And what did you tell him? Surely you remember our earlier conversation, Paul. I stand by what I said. Unlike your brother, you're not in school anymore and therefore you must maintain yourself a steady job. I cannot allow you to live in this house if you don't do anything constructive. We need the money, you know that."
Paul could definitely hear fatigue in his father's voice now. He willed himself to sound mature and reasonable when he replied, "I do know that, and I did get a job, didn't I? Of course I told John. And if we do go back on stage, it'll be on Saturday nights so I don't have to miss work. But I need to make music, da'. You encouraged me to become a musician. It doesn't seem fair to take it away from me now."
After a short pause, Jim nodded and gave Paul's hands a gentle squeeze. "Fair enough, son. If you can combine the two, then I won't stand in your way. But my warning stands: either you acquire a steady income, or you find somewhere else to live. That may seem like an outrageous demand, but you'll understand me when you're older. And please don't keep secrets from me. You know how I feel about that Lennon boy; I have always thought he's a bad influence on you. But I also acknowledge that you are now an adult and I am no longer in the position to tell you who you can and cannot see. If you must invite him over to the house, at least be honest about it. Can you do that for me, Paul?"
"Yeah of course, da'. Thanks." Paul felt relieved. He got up from the table and gathered his plate and cutlery in one hand, whilst utilising the other to drink the last bit of coffee on the way to the sink.
Jim followed Paul's example and ruffled his son's hair as they passed. "You best get ready to leave now, or you will in fact be late for work. Would you mind telling your brother to get ready for school? Oh, and he'll need to change into a clean shirt first. I saw an egg stain underneath his tie; it's unsightly."
"I'll tell him, da'." Paul planted a quick kiss on the top of his father's head before exiting the kitchen. As he trudged up the stairs, he heard his dad's raised voice, "I love you, Paul." He smiled to himself and replied, "I love you too, da'."
*
"Macca! Hey Paul, over here...!" George and John were frantically gesturing to Paul from behind the wall surrounding the factory terrain. It was the end of December, his first day back at work after Christmas, and he was supposed to be sweeping the yard – supposed being the operative word.
In reality, he was thinking about how good it was to be on stage again. As promised, John had made arrangements for them to play on Saturdays and that had been just brilliant. The crowd's response was a clear indication of how much better they had become over the past months, and that had definitely made short work of the dejection they had initially felt. When his band mates showed up at the factory, Paul had been idly leaning on his broom, thinking about their upcoming gig, which would be at the Casbah club on New Year's Eve.
Paul casually sauntered over to where his friends were, trying not to attract attention. "What are you doin' here, I'm supposed to be working."
"Yeah, we can see that. Never seen anyone yield a broom with that much vigour, son," John quipped. George chuckled, "Yeah, you might want to take it down a notch or you'll hurt yerself."
Paul pulled a face, "Haha, very funny. Did you come here to watch me work or is there another reason?"
"We came to liberate you, actually," George chirped. He obviously had been aching to get to the point.
Paul failed to suppress a snort, "Liberate me?"
John's eyes were bright and smiling, "Yeah, we've got a gig at Litherland Town Hall, mate. It's going to be a cracker."
"What, today? I can't, me da' will kick me out on the street if I get sacked." Paul grunted internally. Perhaps his father had been right about John being a bad influence, because here he was – seriously considering doing the gig.
John's face spelt mischief. Paul was sure that if he looked close enough, he could actually see the word written across his friend's forehead. "Well, it's not getting the sack if you quit is it? Come on mate, you know you want to. This place has nothing to offer you, you belong on stage with us. Jim knows that, everybody can see it clear as day."
Paul was torn. He knew John was right. He knew what he really wanted, and it wasn't learning how to be a coil winder. He was rubbish at it anyway, not that he'd ever confess that to his mates. But barely a fortnight ago, he had promised his dad he'd not let the gigs get in the way of his job.
"Come on, Macca. I'm sure he won't kick you out and if he does, I'll pester Mimi into letting you stay at Mendips. But he really won't, you know."
That did it. "Oh, alright then. Stand back." In one swift move, Paul was up and over the wall, leaving the broom lonely and forgotten on the factory courtyard as three tall young men, clad in black leather, legged it to the nearest bus stop.
Paul couldn't help but feel slightly guilty when the band was waiting to go on stage. He had, after all, broken his promise by bailing his job for this gig. He desperately hoped the show would be a success. And if it didn't, there would be nothing else he could do but beg for his job back. And that wasn't all he would be begging for, knowing his dad.
"Chin up, mate, he'll understand. He's a musician too, he knows what it's like. I'm sure he's not going to binbag ye."
When had John learned to read his mind? Paul turned his face to catch John's eyes. A quick glance around the room told him nobody was watching, so he risked it and gave John a quick peck on the lips and a wink. "I hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Anyroad, there's nothing you can do about it now, so let's go and write history, shall we?" John squeezed Paul's hand, and then addressed the group.
"Alright lads, we go on in two minutes and I don't know about you, but I've got a great feeling about tonight. So, where are we going boys?"
Paul and George smiled broadly; it was a long time since they did this bit. Pete and the new bass player Chas didn't know it yet, so it was just the two of them that yelled, "to the top, Johnny!"
"And where is that, brothers?"
The lads cheered loudly, "the toppermost of the poppermost!"
"That's what I thought. Now, enough mucking about, it's time to start the show. Paul, you're up first. Let's show these people what real music sounds like!"
The band walked on stage, welcomed by polite applause. People were standing around the dance floor, apparently ready to twist and swing. Paul walked up to the middle of the stage, and smiled to himself. Time to bring some life to the party. To his left, he heard John count down. Just like so many times before, Paul hit his cue on '3' and pulled out all the stops:
"I'm gonna tell Aunt Mary 'bout Uncle John
He said he had the misery but he got a lot of fun
Oh baby, yeah now baby
Woo baby, some fun tonight
I saw Uncle John with Long Tall Sally
He saw Aunt Mary comin' and he ducked back in the alley
Oh baby, yeah now baby
Woo baby, some fun tonight
Well Long Tall Sally's built pretty sweet
She got everything that Uncle John need
Oh baby, yeah now baby
Woo baby, some fun tonight
Well, we're gonna have some fun tonight
Have some fun tonight
Everything's all right
Have some fun tonight
Have some fun, yeah, yeah, yeah
We're gonna have some fun tonight
Have some fun tonight
Everything's all right
Have some fun tonight
Yeah, we'll have some fun
Some fun tonight"
The moment the music started, Paul forgot all about his troubles. The world beyond the stage ceased to exist, it was just him, his friends, and the music. The energy he felt filled the room like an electric current, and soon people were not dancing, but surging towards the stage and screaming, completely beyond themselves with excitement. When the song was through, the room exploded with cheers. The lads had never experienced anything like that before, nor had they heard of any band ever getting that kind of response. It encouraged them to give it their all, and the more they gave, the more the crowd went barmy.
When their set was done, the roar was deafening. As far as the audience was concerned, this was the best band in all of Liverpool – and far beyond. And if Paul had any worries left about facing his father's wrath, he quickly learned he was going to be alright. Because before he went home that night, the band had been booked to play a large number of paid gigs. Suddenly, the toppermost of the poppermost seemed like a place they might actually see.