A/N: Warning - Serious issues and sensitive, distressing topics discussed frankly ahead!
*
It's been a long, long, long time
How could I ever have lost you
When I loved you?
Much of Liverpool is smaller than I remember. The houses and buildings have shrunk, the streets are narrower and more windy than I recall. And it seems the people are smaller too; shorter in stature, slumped, bent over. Old.
But Calderstones Park feels, if anything, bigger. It's fields and trees stretch on, miles of wide open spaces, wooded paths and gardens, encapsulated by a black spiked fence and sandstone wall which runs around the ninety-four acre perimeter.
I don't think I've been here since George left for Hamburg. We used to come here a lot before Germany and The Beatles and leaving home. I've missed it. I've realised that I have missed all of Liverpool. It wasn't Liverpool I ran away from.
There are two Greek looking statues at the entrance to Calderstones Park supporting the gates, like Atlas holding up the sky, and two more statues either side. They represent the four seasons and the passage of time. Inside the park there are open fields, where children play in the summer, a large boating lake, a grandiose house and lots of trees, bushes and plants. There's a botanical garden not far in, which looks rather sorry for itself in the winter when all the flowers are dead.
George brought us here and parked a little way from the gates. I don't know if there's anything significant in him coming here, or whether it was just the nearest place he could think where we'd have a chance at not being seen and recognised.
'Can you walk?' he asked, unfastening his seatbelt, his eyes going to my bump.
'Yes, for a while,' I replied.
George walks next to me in silence. He's not holding my hand. It's not that kind of a walk. I can't look at him. Instead, I stare at the path in front of us and the fields beyond it. It's cold. There's a biting wind, which would dry any tears that might try to form in my eyes. Strange thing is, I don't really feel like crying.
As we walked through the gates and under the branches of tall ash and oak trees, George asked. The one thing I've always dreaded him asking. The one question I could never answer. A simple question, which has a very complicated answer.
'Why did you leave Liverpool?'
He knows there's no easy answer to this question. It's why he's not said anything for the last fifteen minutes either. Other people would badger for a reply, or they'd try to coax it out of you. At very least, some might fill the empty silence with talking, offering platitudes or advice.
George isn't like that. George just waits. He doesn't pressure. He doesn't pry. Even as intimately as we know each other, he still respects my privacy. But if I tell him this - if I do - it will change everything. It will slaughter the Hannah he thinks he knows. The image of Hannah he has. She'll cease to exist and then there will be no going back for us.
Still, as we walk, I am holding the knife to her throat. I have been ever since I realised that I could tell him this. I could and moreover, I should.
She's not struggling, she's not fighting. She's scared, but at the same time, she's ready to go.
The park is abandoned. We don't see another soul as we go down the path through the trees. It takes a while to find the Calderstones of Calderstones Park, six large Neolithic stones which are said to be older than Stonehenge. They've been moved. They were outside the gates when I was a child. They're inside a greenhouse in the botanical gardens now. We walk past, not even pausing to look at them properly.
We continue until we come to the Allerton Oak, the oldest tree in the park. It's over a thousand years old and it's wide trunk is uneven and contorted with age. I stop and look up at it's twisted and gnarled branches, bereft of any foliage or greenery.
George walks on for another couple of steps until he realises I'm not beside him anymore. He stops and returns to stand next to me, looking up at the tree as well.
This tree is also known as the Law Oak. Before courts, before any of the judicial buildings existed in Liverpool, trials were held under the spreading branches of the Law Oak instead. Wrongs were righted. People were judged. Justice was served here, under this ancient tree.
'He looked so old,' I say and George turns his head to me. 'And thin. And small. He's a lot smaller than I remember.'
George doesn't say anything but he gives me a nod of acknowledgement. There's a bench, set back from the path a little way. I'm tired, but I won't sit down. I should be standing when I kill Hannah. I owe her that much. She's been with me for so long.
I keep my gaze trained on the tree above us, my eyes tracing each entwined branch that reaches out and upwards to the pale blue sky. I'm not sure I can look at George while I say this.
'It seems absurd. We were terrified of him. I still am. Well, as you saw. The number of nightmares I've had about that man.' I laugh, but it's really not funny. 'He doesn't look like it now, but he was so strong. Physically. There was no fighting him.'
George bites his bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed. I still can't look at him directly, but I can see him on the edge of my vision. 'He was beating you?'
'It was worse for Minnie. A lot worse. She'd always try to protect me, if she could. The things she did...'
There's a tight constriction in my throat, but I'm not close to tears. I thought I would be. I thought I'd cry, but now the moment's here, I'm strangely calm.
'Hannah, you should have told me he was hurting you. It doesn't matter if he was your father, it doesn't give him the right to beat you. I could have helped you. If you'd just said something...'
His concern actually surprises me, although I know George, and he is like this. If someone is distressed or in danger, George would always try to help them. But it still surprises me.
'I don't... remember seeing you with any bruises...' he continues, carefully. 'I know it's possible to hide it. Only leave marks where people can't see them, like Ricky would, but...'
I smile weakly and give a small shake of my head. 'He didn't beat us. He threatened to. He slapped Minnie's face once, but that's all I remember him ever actually doing. He was violent. He'd take it out on the furniture when he was angry. All the walls and doors in our house had dents and holes in them where he'd punched or kicked them. And he'd get into brawls in pubs or pick a fight in the street. But no, he never hit us.'
'Then... what..?'
There's a metal fence in a square around the tree now. That wasn't here before. A fence to stop people damaging the tree, I suppose. When I was little, I climbed in the branches of the Allerton Oak.
'We did fight him. We tried. We couldn't do anything physically, but there were other ways we could defy him. We'd leave the house every night and stay out as late as possible. He'd drink quite often during the day, come home for dinner and carry on drinking all evening. If we stayed out late enough, then there was a good chance he'd be asleep - passed out - before we got home. The Iron Door club was good. They had all nighters at the weekends. And the coffee bar on Bold Street that stayed open until four in the morning.'
The cuts are deep, but they're almost comforting. The pain needs to be felt. This is will be the end of the Hannah that George knows; the girl he loves. Loved. She was the disguise I wore when I was with him, with anyone, so I wouldn't have to be who I really am. But she was nothing more than an illusion. She wasn't me.
I put my hands on the rail in front of me. The metal is cold.
'There were other things too. I was never brave enough, but Minnie - you know what she's like. She'd do anything to... We had a TV from Radio Rentals. Minnie took it to a pawn brokers. He was paying rent for it for five months before he could afford to get it back from the hock shop and return it to Radio Rentals.' I smile. 'She'd pull tricks like that and it would be hell at home, but it was her way of winning against him. I would never dare... Although, I did have you. You were my way of fighting back. There was no way I'd have been allowed to see you.'
George tries to smile. 'You'd never let me walk you home. You'd only let me go as far as the corner of the next road, then you'd make me stop and say goodbye to me there.'
I nod. 'Funnily enough, I don't know if he'd have been so bothered about Minnie having a boyfriend, but I was his good girl. Minnie was the bad one, and I was the good one. He'd try to pit us against each other like that. Favour me and make Minnie miss out on things. Treat me nicely and Minnie... not so nice. We knew what he was doing, but it still worked to an extent. I think it's partly why she resents me.'
George frowns. 'Minnie doesn't resent you.'
There is a sensation of relief in telling him. It's cathartic just saying the words out loud. Words which, I realise, have been running around my head for years. I always thought I would never be able to say these things - and there are still a couple of things I don't quite know how to - but it seems the words have been here all along.
I avert my eyes so I can't see George in my peripheral vision anymore, casting my gaze to the path we're standing on. It's littered with old autumn leaves, trodden until they're mud.
'"You're the good one, Hannah. You're my good girl,"' I say, without emotion or emphasis, but I still hear his voice inside my head, saying it along with me. '"Tell me again, Hannah. Tell me that you love me."'
I flick my eyes to George. 'And I would.'
George opens his mouth slightly, but he doesn't say anything. That's okay. There's nothing to say. I return my gaze to the tree.
'Every time I wanted to tell you I loved you, he'd be there. In my head. Forcing me to say the words. I felt like I wasn't saying it to you. I was saying it to him. Those three simple words. Poisoned forever.'
'Han-'
I shake my head. 'It wasn't just you. It was everyone. I think I've only ever said it to Minnie two or three times and I've never said it to Ricky, not once. I don't know if he ever noticed. He rarely said anything like that either. At the very beginning, when we were newly-weds, I would say the same as I said to you. I do too. Yes, me as well. Then I stopped, because... it's a terrible lie to tell, isn't it? To tell someone you love them - even if you don't say it in such certain terms - when you don't mean it. It's a lie my father made me repeat to him everyday, several times a day. Before. After. As if in saying it, I gave him licence to do what he wanted.'
'What... did he do?' George asks, falteringly. There's a slight tremor to his voice. Unusual for George.
I draw a deep breath. My courage is starting to flag.
'Minnie was fearless,' I continue. 'I don't think I would have survived without her. I know I wouldn't have. And she got us out of there in the end. If I'd been on my own, I don't think I would have found the strength to leave. She could have gone before, you know. She was waiting for me to leave school, til she thought I was old enough. She did two years more than she'd needed to, and that's also why she resents me.'
'Minnie...' George sniffs and rubs his nose on the back of his hand. 'Minnie has always done everything for you. She doesn't resent you.'
'She does, George,' I say, quietly but firmly. 'It's not her fault. How could she not? She would try and bargain with him. She'd promise to... behave, if he'd leave me alone. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. I know it used to kill her when she couldn't do anything to protect me.'
'I don't understand, Han. What was she protecting you from?'
I've hacked away at her, but Hannah's still there, she's still breathing. George is standing facing me now, but I still look at the tree. He frowns, confused. Troubled. I think he knows what I'm saying, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. He doesn't want to believe it. I will have to state it plainly and clearly for him. I turn to him, looking into his eyes, as I place the knife at Hannah's neck one last time.
'From the time Minnie turned twelve, and then a little later for me, when I was thirteen, he would... He would have sex with us. Sex, and everything else that comes along with it. Why did I leave Liverpool? Minnie and I? We had to. We had to go, before one of us fell pregnant.'
In the end, it was clean. Bloodless, almost. A straight cut across the throat. No fuss, no mess. Just done and she's gone. The Hannah that George knows, the image he had of her, she's gone.
I think George tries not to react at first. He stares at me, not moving, but he can't help it. His breath hitches and the colour, the rosiness in his cheeks that's risen from the cold, slowly drains from his face. I see his eyes trawling through the memories of our shared past, re-examining them all within the context of this new information. His face, his lips, all of him turns a shade of grey-white. Shock, maybe. Realisation, more so. It's the missing piece of the puzzle. The oldest secret.
He takes a small step back from me, lowers his head and puts his hand to his mouth. I see his body shake slightly and he takes a small gasp, as if he'd forgotten to breathe for a moment.
I don't move. This is the reaction I think I expected. I've been expecting it for nine years, ever since I met him. His concern earlier, that had no place here. Repulsion. Disgust. Fear, even. That's what I've expected.
He glances up at me. I can hardly stand the look in his eyes.
'It's okay,' I say, softly. 'You can go. You don't have to stay here.'
George gives me a small shake of his head, but then he shudders again and he turns his back to me sharply. I watch him walk away from me, down the path about twenty or thirty yards. I step back and lower myself onto the bench. I feel so weary suddenly. Further down the path, George stops and turns. The boating lake is at the bottom of a steep bank. Another railed fence stops people from slipping and falling into it. George stares out at the water, gripping the railing in both hands and resting his weight there.
I turn my head and look down. I can't watch. I can't watch him leave. I pull the sides of my parka around myself tighter, place my hands on the bump, take one last glance up at the Allerton Oak and then close my eyes.
I don't open them again for five full minutes. I count the seconds in my head. Force myself to count it slowly and calmly, then I turn my head in the direction George was and open my eyes again.
He's not there, by the railings and the boating lake anymore. He's gone.
'I love you.'
I turn my head sharply. George stands on the other side of me, beside the bench. I never heard him approach. He's looking at me with soft eyes, full of pain.
'I know it's not exactly the most appropriate time to say it,' he continues. 'But I haven't said it since you came back yesterday. Not even when you said it to me. So I want you to know, I love you, Hannah.'
I smile faintly. 'But..?'
'That's it. There's no but. There's no conditions.'
George crosses in front of me and sits down on the bench. He exhales and leans back, as if he's exhausted, spent.
'My God, Hannah,' he breathes, covering his mouth with his hand. 'Why didn't you tell me about this before? All the times... It was going on while we were together? When we were kids?'
I nod, weakly.
'I'm so sorry,' he says, earnestly. He runs his hand over his jaw. There's a growth of stubble. He's not shaved today. 'I'm sorry I made you come back here. I'm... I'm taking you to fucking cinemas and saying, "Hey, remember the good old days?!"' He laughs, hollowly. 'The good old days, when I took you to the flicks, bought you a box of popcorn and then sent you back home to... to that.'
George stares into the distance, his eyes searching the horizon. I look away from him. I thought I would be more upset - more emotional - when I told him this. I'm not. I'm calm, although numb might be a more accurate description, except for the guilt and the shame. It runs through me like it's the blood in my veins, hot and consuming, surrounding and swallowing me.
'I was your boyfriend. I should have... I should have known there was something wrong. I should have done something to...' There's a strange tone to his voice, something I didn't expect - anger. Anguish and pain.
'You didn't know,' I reply, quietly. 'You wouldn't ever suspect... Why would you? It's not normal.' I try to smile. 'What could you have done, George? You were a seventeen year old boy. There was nothing to be done about it, anyway. We did the only thing we could do. We left.'
He swallows and turns towards me. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he asks, gently, almost pitifully.
The question takes me by surprise. Isn't it obvious why I didn't tell him? Why would he have wanted me to?
'Because I... I didn't want to,' I stammer.
He looks even more hurt when I say that. I don't understand why. I didn't think he'd react like this. He blinks a couple of times.
'I mean, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to know I did things like that. It's vile. You would have thought I was disgusting and... dirty and... Everything between us would have become tainted by it. I couldn't stand it if you'd thought that about me.' I sigh and pull my coat tighter again. 'I guess that it has tainted it anyway...'
'Hannah, I wouldn't... I'd never think that--'
'I should have told you, George. Years ago. I was selfish. I just never wanted to let you go.'
'What?'
I give a half-shrug. 'If you'd known this about me before, we'd never have done everything we have. By now you'd be happy with Pattie. You would have forgotten about me a long time ago.' I feel the baby move inside me. I rest my hand on top of him. 'And this baby wouldn't be about to ruin your life,' I add.
George frowns, pressing his lips together. 'You think if you'd told me I wouldn't have wanted you anymore?'
'Of course you wouldn't have.'
He leans forward, trying to get into my eye line, but I won't look at him directly. 'Why would you think that?' he asks, crisply, but trying to keep his voice level.
'You'd... You're... I wouldn't blame you, George. It's sickening. It's... horrible, and I'm horrible and there must... must be something wrong with me, because why would he do that otherwise? Why would you want someone like that? You wouldn't want to be with me, you wouldn't want to touch me once you knew what I'd done.'
'Hannah--' he starts, but falters. I still can't meet his eyes. 'I would have still wanted you,' he says, firmly. 'Of course I would. I was in love with you. And I would never think that of you. You must know that.'
Finally, I muster the courage to look into his eyes. He stares at me with disbelief and shock and hurt. Genuine pain. Whatever I do, whatever I say, I cause pain for George.
'You were in love with who - with what - you thought I was. You were in love with an image, an illusion of me. It was fake. I thought... At one time, I thought I could have been that girl. That I could be a singer, and live in New York, and wear my pretty dresses and cut my hair differently and I wouldn't have to be her anymore. I wouldn't be that girl. That girl who did those things... But it wasn't true. I was still her, it was all still there, just below the surface, and it always will be.
'I've told you this because I was tired of pretending. Because I didn't want to lie to you anymore. I have to lie to everyone about who I am, I didn't want that to include you anymore. And because it was hurting you. Don't think that anything that's happened between us was down to you. It's all been me. It was never because I didn't love you enough or because I didn't want you. It was only ever because of me, of what I am.'
I fall silent and George doesn't say anything, although he continues to study me. For a moment, it's as if the whole world is silent. No birds sing, there's no distant murmur of traffic or life, even the wind seems to still.
'Love, I know who you are,' George says, eventually. 'You didn't pretend with me.'
I shake my head, miserably. 'I did. I had to.'
'No,' he says, firmly. 'I love you, the real you. Good and bad and whatever. Nothing would ever change that. Telling me about... this, doesn't alter how I feel about you.'
'I couldn't even bring myself to tell you I loved you. Because of that. Because of him.'
George shakes his head and sits back on the bench, slouching, moving his knees apart. 'That doesn't matter. I've always known you love me, even if you couldn't say it. You've shown me that you loved me. When... when you said you didn't, I knew that was the lie, Han. It doesn't matter if you couldn't say the words out loud, I knew you loved me.'
'It did matter, though,' I say, quietly. 'I could see how much it hurt you whenever I failed to say it. You've always given me so much, George, and I've given you nothing in return, but pain and grief. I've let you down, and-'
'No. I've let you down,' George states, flatly.
'You... You haven't. What-'
'I've let you down, Hannah. Time and time again,' he says, spitting the words, anger returning. 'I've always been so preoccupied with thinking you didn't want me, why didn't you want me, I couldn't see that you needed help. Not just about that, either. Ricky was hitting you and I knew, and I did nothing. Nothing! I should have stopped it. And when he... that time he... you would have been pregnant then, Hannah. It could have been avoided if I'd just done something-'
'George, that wasn't your fault,' I say, surprised - shocked - that he would even consider it was.
'And whatever trouble you were in with the Krays and Bobby. No wonder you'd chose to run away rather than come to me. I've never helped you when you needed it most. I've let my own - ego, fucking ego - stop me from seeing what-'
'George, please,' I say, instinctively reaching for his hand. 'Don't think that. You told me to leave Ricky, didn't you? I didn't listen. We even stopped seeing each other because of it. I wouldn't let you help me. I was pregnant, and if... if that has caused anything to happen to the baby, then that's my fault too. And I... I have to live with that.' My voice cracks. Finally, here are the tears, but I gulp them down.
George sits up and tries to straighten his expression so that he looks neutral. He laces his fingers through mine. 'What did the doctor say?' he asks, not looking at me.
'He... He didn't say anything was wrong, but he might not know. No one will know until it's here. Until it's born.'
Neither of us speak for a moment, but George remains holding my hand, gripping it tightly. 'Everything's going to be okay, Han,' he says, eventually, his voice strained. 'Don't... Don't worry about anything, with the baby or... or... I'll do whatever you want. I'll give you money, if you want, if you want to leave or I'll... We could get married. I'd have to get divorced first, but then--'
'George, no, I didn't tell you this to make you... I've upset and ruined your life enough,' I tell him, appalled. 'I wanted you to know, but that's all, George. We'll both decide what we're going to do about the baby, but I don't want you to...'
'But, Hannah...'
I wrap my other hand around his, holding his hand in both of mine. 'I mean it,' I tell him sincerely. 'The only thing I want is for you to be happy. You should do the thing that makes you happy, George. You love Pattie, so you should go home to her. You'll be happy together and... And I've caused enough damage to that already.'
George looks out, scanning the horizon again. He sighs. 'I wouldn't say we were exactly happy,' he says, gruffly. 'When you left me and I told Pattie everything-' He reconsiders. 'Most things, she walked out. I brought her back. We tried to patch things up, but it's not... working.'
'I'm sorry,' I say, despondently.
'She was supposed to come up here with me this weekend, but she changed her mind. She said she doesn't want to spend the weekend going through the motions with me. Making out we're fine, when we're not. She's thinking things over. She's taking the weekend to decide if we have any chance of salvaging our marriage or not.'
I blink at him, dismayed. 'Oh, God, George. I'm so sorry... I should have just left you alone. Once you married her, that should have been it. I shouldn't have ever...'
He shakes his head. 'It wasn't just you, was it? You didn't lead me astray. I wanted to be with you as well. I...' He swallows and chews his lip. 'I haven't been straight with either of you. The reason I went home that day and told her about us - it was to prove to you that I was serious about us being together. But when I went back to the flat, after, you'd gone and I thought... Pattie and I have muddled on, but it's miserable, really. For both of us. And between that and the crap with with the band...' His voice trails away and he sighs, deeply. 'I don't know. I don't know what I want anymore.'
'I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to do this. Drop it all on you. I've made things worse for you, haven't I? I needed to tell you about the baby, but...'
George shakes his head, not looking at me. 'Don't be daft.' He moves to put his arm around my back, pulling me into him. I rest my head on his chest, wrapping my arm around his middle. I close my eyes.
*
George lets the car roll to a standstill on the gravel driveway and turns the engine off. The house in front of us is full of light, almost every window illuminated. It's afternoon, but it's already starting to grow dark. The trees that surround the bungalow and gardens cast long shadows. I feel empty, drained. I don't think I have the energy to smile and make small talk with his family, while we all try to ignore the elephant in the room, the bump.
'We won't be long,' George says, checking the time on his wristwatch. 'We'll just say goodbye and then we'll get on the road.'
George had originally planned to stay tonight too. When we left the park, he asked what I wanted to do and I said to go back to London. It's not so much that I want to go back. I just can't deal with people at the moment. I'd rather be on my own.
'We don't have to. We could go back tomorrow, if you want to stay.'
'No, it's alright. We'll go home tonight,' George says.
George and Pattie - although she decided not to come - were supposed to visit for a couple of days, to see his parents, as George's mother has been unwell recently. His brother Pete and his family are coming to dinner tonight. There's a red car in the driveway which wasn't here when we left, so I guess they've already arrived. George's nephew has just turned one a couple of months ago and George hasn't seen any of them in a while. I think George would rather stay. With me turning up and what we've done today, he's not spent much time with them.
George moves to get out of the car and then pauses. 'Are you coming inside?'
'I thought I might stay here,' I say, carefully. 'But don't rush. I don't mind waiting.'
George purses his lips. 'C'mon,' he coaxes. 'They'll have calmed down since this morning. It'll be okay. Come and have a cup of tea with them, then we'll go.'
I give him a weak smile and nod, reluctantly.
We walk around the back of the house and go in through the kitchen door. George's father and Pauline, George's sister-in-law, are in the kitchen with a toddler, George's nephew. George greets them all, kissing Pauline on the cheek and picking up the baby, while I stand awkwardly in the corner of the room.
'Where's Pete?' George asks, handing his nephew back to Pauline.
'Getting something from the attic for your mother,' Harry replies.
Pauline looks at me and smiles. I smile back, but look away, self-consciously. I vaguely remember Pauline from our day trip to Southport before George went to Hamburg, but I don't think I would have recognised her if I'd seen her in the street.
George steps towards the door, then pauses and looks back for me. 'Come 'ed, come and say hello,' he says, jerking his head towards the door and suddenly sounding a lot more Scouse than he has done in years.
We find George's mother standing in the hall, at the foot of the ladder leading up to the attic, George's makeshift bedroom for the night before. Louise smiles at us and opens her mouth to speak, but George puts his hand on her arm and his finger to his lips for silence. He stands under the loft hatch, listening to heavy footsteps thundering through the ceiling.
'I can't find it, Mam,' says a voice above, the footsteps stopping. 'I don't know what the hell George has been doin' up here and it's too dark to see. Do you really need it? Now? Could I bring it all down next weekend for you instead?'
Slowly, a smile spreads across George's face and his eyes light up. It's the first real, genuinely felt smile I've seen on his face all day. It's infectious. I can't help but smile myself.
'You'll bring the whole lot through the ceiling in a minute, yer fat beggar,' George shouts up to him. 'What've you been eatin', Pete? Sounds like you weigh half a ton by the way you're clompin' about up there.'
There's a pause, no one says anything, then the voice upstairs replies, 'You're a cheeky fuckin' bastard, George Harrison. You come up here and bloody say that!'
'Peter! Mind your language!' George's mother scolds as George's brother, Pete comes towards the mouth of the attic. 'There's guests here.' She gives me an apologetic glance.
Pete sticks his head through the hatch, sees me and his cheeks flush pink. George is doubled over, laughing, holding his sides, as if this is the funniest thing he's ever seen. Louise shoots him a glare as well.
'Oh, uh, 'scuse me, love,' Pete says apologetically to me. He turns his head to George. 'I'm gonna throttle you.'
'It's only Hannah,' George says, still laughing. 'I don't know why you're all treating her like she's royalty or something. She was born in Allerton, not Kensington Palace!' He looks at me, wiping at his eyes. 'Haven't you noticed? They keep giving you the best china cups and saucers and things. We have chipped and cracked old mugs. Best Royal Doulton for you.' Then, turning back to his brother, adds, 'What are you looking for, anyway? The red carpet to roll out?'
'A trunk of Mam's,' Pete replies. 'What have you been doing up here? Rearranging the bloody furniture?'
'I had to move stuff to get the bed down,' George says. 'There's a black trunk in the far corner, under the low roof. Is that the one you want?'
Pete disappears to search where George directed him. A red GPO telephone, set on a small table at the other end of the corridor starts to ring. Louise gives me a smile and excuses herself to answer it as Pete returns to the loft hatch, struggling with a large rectangular box in his arms.
'Come 'ed, take this, it's heavy,' he says to George.
George steps forward and Pete clumsily lowers it down to him, climbing down himself as soon as George has taken it. Despite what George said, Pete's lithe and fit and just as skinny as George himself. They greet each other properly with half-hugs and half pretending to fight each other, then Pete turns to me.
'I'm Pete, his brother,' he says, with the same wide grin George has. 'As he's clearly not planning on introducing us properly.' I notice him glance at the bump, but he immediately averts his eyes, guiltily.
'You've met her before,' George replies, before I can answer. 'And I'm sure Mam's filled you in on everything.'
Pete gives him a tight lipped smile.
'George, telephone for you,' Louise calls from the other end of the hall.
'Who is it?'
'Paul.'
George frowns, his mirth evaporating. 'Paul?'
'Paul,' she repeats, walking over to us. 'Go on, don't keep him waiting.'
George looks for a moment as if he's not going to move, but then he stands up straight, sucks air in through his nose and strides down the hall to pick up the telephone receiver left lying on its side on the table.
'Hannah, I'm Hannah,' I say to Pete and he turns to look at me.
He nods. 'Yes, I do remember, actually,' he says. 'Southport, wasn't it?'
'Bring the box in here, Pete,' Louise tells him.
Pete lifts and carries the trunk through to the living room, following his mother and leaving me standing in the corridor on my own. I look at George, still talking on the telephone. He stands stiffly, speaking low. Any joy or happiness he had moments earlier has completely gone. He catches me watching him and rolls his eyes, giving me a weak smile.
I feel something touch the back of my leg. I turn around and George's nephew is standing, swaying on unsteady feet, behind me. I smile at him and he raises his pudgy arms to me as if he wants me to pick him up.
'Ian!' Pauline calls, coming to the doorway of the kitchen. 'Sorry,' she says to me. 'He's just started toddling. He keeps getting away from me.'
'Oh, it's fine,' I say and because I feel obliged to, I stoop and pick the baby up. He's surprisingly heavier than I expected, quite solid feeling. I lift him ungracefully, as if I'm lifting a sack of potatoes and give him to his mother as she comes into the hall. She takes him and hitches him onto her hip as he puts his arms around her neck. He's only thirteen or fourteen months old. Do they walk that soon? I know nothing about raising children. I glance down at the bump, wondering if I can really do this.
'When is your baby due?' Pauline asks me.
'Um, in about a month,' I mumble.
She smiles and nods, as we stand in an uncomfortable silence, neither of us able to think of anything to say. I glance round for George, but he's still talking on the phone, his back turned to us now.
Pete comes out of the living room again and Pauline looks relieved. 'My mother would like an audience with you, Hannah,' Pete says, comically, taking the baby from his wife and cooing at him, making him giggle in delight.
'Me?' I ask, unable to disguise my surprise.
'Yeah, she just wants a word,' Pete replies, nodding his head towards the living room. I look for George to rescue me, but he's still talking.
I smile wanly at Pete and Pauline and step into the living room. Louise sits on the sofa with the red trunk open on the coffee table in front of her.
'Did you want me?' I ask, weakly, loitering by the door.
She looks around. 'Yes, love. Come and sit here for a minute.' She pats the space beside her on the sofa. I cross and sit down on the edge. 'How are you feeling?' Louise asks.
'I'm, um, I'm fine, thank you,' I reply.
'I'm sorry about this morning, dear.'
'I'm sorry too,' I say, quietly.
'I just wanted to say, I know your mother has passed away, so if there is anything you need, if you have any questions, you can always call me anytime you want to.'
I smile. 'Thank you, that's very kind of you.'
'And I also wanted to give you this.' She reaches into the trunk, rooting through it. 'This is what they used to call a pram set,' she says, taking out a tiny, light blue knitted top and playsuit.
It's a plain legging, quite long with enclosed feet and a jacket top with a single button fasten at the collar and a tie around the middle. It has tiny turn up cuffs and pom poms on the ends of the tie. She passes them to me.
'That was made by my mother, George's grandmother,' Louise tells me. 'She made one for all George's brothers and sister, and this one was George's when he was a baby. I kept them all and gave them to each one when they had their first child. I was saving this one but - well, this will be George's first son or daughter, so you should have it.'
'I can't take this,' I say, astounded. 'You should save this for... for something special.'
Louise looks at me, curiously. 'This is something special, love,' she says, carefully. 'I'd like you to have it.'
'Really?'
'Of course.'
'Then... Then, if you're sure, thank you,' I reply, staring down at the miniature clothing in my hands. It seems impossible that George would have ever fit into this. 'It's beautiful,' I say, my voice catching and I promptly burst into tears.
*
I can see the lights of the city from the road. We're nearly home.
Home. Is London home? I didn't want to go to Liverpool a day ago, now I find I don't want to return to London particularly either. George and I have driven here mostly in silence. Only a few words spoken between us. It's been a strange day. A strange couple of days. I'm finding it hard to take it in, and George must feel worse. George has been quiet since the phone call from Paul. He's not told me what was said, but I feel like I'd be prying if I ask.
George glances at me. 'Hey,' he says. 'I thought you were asleep.'
'I was for a while,' I reply, stretching as much as I can in the limited space in the front of George's car. It's quite late. We ended up staying to eat with George's family, not setting off for home until after seven o'clock.
'Where are we going? Where do you want me to take you?'
'Oh, uh, I don't know. I was staying with Minnie.'
'In Wandsworth?'
'No, at Brian's house.'
'Oh,' George says, with a note of reluctance. 'Okay. Let's see if I can remember the way to Hartfield then.'
'You can drop me off in the city,' I tell him. It takes at least an hour to get to Hartfield from the middle of London, and George would need to drive back Esher afterwards. 'I'll get the train.'
'All the way out there? How would you get from the train station to... to whatsit?'
'Cotchford Farm. I'd get a taxi.'
George pauses, then shakes his head. 'No, don't be silly. I'll take you. You can go catching trains on your own at this time of night. Anything could happen to you.'
I smile faintly. 'I'll be fine.'
'There might not even be a train running this late.'
'You won't get back until after two in the morning.'
'It's alright.'
That seems to be the last word on the subject. We drive on for a few more minutes.
'There's... Bobby's flat,' George suggests, quietly.
'I haven't got a key anymore,' I reply. 'When I left, I posted it through the letterbox.'
'Check the glove box.'
I open the glove compartment to find my door key for Bobby's flat. It's my key. It has my keyring on it.
'I picked it up,' George explains. 'Good thing too as I haven't brought mine.'
'Where are you going?'
George glances at me. 'I suppose I'll go home.' Home. There's that word again. George's home, in Esher, with his wife.
'I mean, you could stay too? If you didn't want to drive back so late. Pattie's not expecting you back until tomorrow.'
'Oh, I, uh... No, I called earlier and left a message with the housekeeper to say I'd be back tonight.'
He gives me a half smile, and I return it with as much enthusiasm. I never saw him make a phone call. He must have done it while I was talking to his mother.
'I'll take you to Brian's though, if you prefer?' George adds.
I shake my head. 'No, the flat will be fine. Thank you. I can go back to Hartfield in the morning then.'
'We'll have to arrange, uh... what you want me to do. I'll have to tell Pattie about this. First, obviously. And then there's the others-'
'Others?'
'The band. Apple. Even if... If I don't go back, I suppose we should tell them.'
'Okay,' I say, not relishing the prospect, but not enjoying the way he's talking about this like we're arranging a business meeting either. I turn away to look out of the window. I will have to get used to things. This is what our future will be like. 'Are you... going back to the Beatles?' I ask, falteringly, unable to resist.
George coughs and clears his throat. 'I don't know. We're having a meeting in a day or two. See what happens.'
It doesn't take long to get to St John's Wood. It's odd being back here as well. I haven't been to this area of London since the day I left. George stops the car at the front of the building, which is out of place too. He'd always park around the back when we were together, so no one would see.
'I'll come up with you,' George says. 'Make sure you get in alright.'
'You don't have to,' I say, opening the car door. I just want to be away from George now. It feels awkward between us. I think telling Pattie is playing on his mind. It must be. It's playing on mine.
'I'd better,' George says, opening his door as well. 'No one's been in for ages. I'll just check electric's not been cut off or anything.'
The hallways of the building are in darkness as we climb the stairs, but the light in the corridor on the top floor has been left on. I walk in front, George following me a couple of paces behind. As we approach the front door to Bobby's flat I stop abruptly and George nearly bumps into me. A feeling of foreboding bubbles up inside me.
'The doors open,' I whisper to George and he looks up. The door has been left ajar by a couple of inches. The flat looks dark inside and everything is quiet.
George steps in front of me. 'It might have been broken into,' he says. 'Wait here, I'll have a look.'
'No,' I hiss, grabbing his wrist in both hands. 'No, leave it, George. I don't like it. Let's just go.'
'It's okay-'
'George, don't. There could be anyone in there, looking for Bobby or looking for...'
George glances back to the door and then folds my hand into his, squeezing my fingers reassuringly. 'If someone has broken in, looking for Bobby or anything else, they'll be long gone by now,' he says, rationally. 'They wouldn't have found anything, would they? He's been in prison for six months. I'll just look.'
'No, George, please-'
'Wait here if you want to.'
'You're not going in on your own,' I tell him, firmly.
George laughs. 'Are you going to protect me?'
I hold his hand tightly, hesitating but then I nod my head towards the door.
Gingerly, George pushes it open using just his fingertips. The hall light is off, but light from the living room beyond spills out. The door to that room is half closed as well. Everything is silent. George pauses before leading me inside, not as confident as he was a moment ago. Carefully, we approach the living room, treading softly. George puts himself in front of me, blocking the way as he pushes the door open.
She sits on the sofa, holding a whiskey tumbler glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She turns her head when she hears us. Her blonde hair is tied back loosely. Her eyes are red, mascara and eyeliner smeared, but she's not crying now.
George drops my hand. 'Pattie--'