Remember, Now, Be Here Now
As it's not like it was before.
I lean into the dressing table mirror, inspecting my reflection critically, separating strands of my freshly cut fringe with my fingers.
'What do you think?' Minnie asks, standing behind me, scissors still in hand.
I haven't had a haircut in ten months. My fringe is springing up from the sudden loss of weight, curling at the ends, no matter how many times Minnie wets it to try to straighten it. I won't let her put any of her - many - hair products on it.
'It's nice, thanks,' I reply.
'Is it short enough? At the front?' she asks, still fussing, pulling the bits at the front straight, checking they're the same length. 'I could take another half inch off?'
'No, no, it's fine. Short enough.'
It's nice to have a proper haircut again, even if it was only Minnie who's cut it. She used to cut my hair when we were kids, still in Liverpool. She's not all that bad at it. She's chopped about two or three inches off the length - it's still long, below my shoulders - and cut my fringe back in. I think I look better with a fringe. I hate seeing my forehead. Still, it's strange seeing myself like this. I don't quite recognise myself. Maybe that's just because of the enormous bump I carry in front of me.
'I'll do your makeup next,' she says, setting the scissors down on the dressing table. 'Then your nails.'
'Oh, no, that's alright. Just the haircut will be enough for today.'
'Don't be silly,' Minnie replies, crouching down to root through one of the two large shopping bags of brushes and bottles, potions and perfumes and accessories, she's brought to the flat.
It's strange to see her in our bedroom at Bobby's flat. For so long it was a solitary hideout for me and George. No members of the outside world allowed in. Recently, there's been a procession of people. The midwife, a plumber, Minnie has been here twice and a guy came on Tuesday to change the locks on the front door. I thought that was wise after Bobby's letter. Despite this, I can't think of the flat as mine. The deeds for it were under the kitchen sink, like Bobby said, but it doesn't feel like I own it. I think it will always be Bobby's flat.
'You'll feel better with a bit of powder on your face,' Minnie says, pulling out several makeup brushes and compacts. 'A bit of blush to put colour in your cheeks. Not too much, I promise. Wouldn't do for a pregnant woman to be walking around looking like a Friday night special.'
I frown at her as she returns to stand behind me, putting colours of eyeshadow next to my skin. 'Something copper, or orange,' she muses. 'Brings out the colour of your eyes.'
'Minnie, I don't want makeup or nail polish. The haircut was all I needed.'
She widens her eyes at me, as if I'm being ridiculous, and carries on regardless. 'Turn around.'
I sigh inwardly and spin round on the stool to face her. There's no arguing with her about things like this. Minnie sits on the end of the bed.
'So then, how are things?' she asks, attempting innocence but sounding loaded anyway. She's rubbing the powder in that compact much too ardently.
'What things?'
'You know. With the baby and that.'
'Fine. Alright. You were there.'
Minnie's gone to every one of my clinic and doctor's appointments, of which there have been many. I feel like I've been to one almost every day, but I have missed a lot previously, of course. George and I have to keep a distance in public at the moment, not that he'd go with me anyway. None of the other women have their husbands with them. Most are on their own, but I'm glad I have Minnie. I plucked up the courage on Monday to ask the doctor if the baby was alright. 'Because I haven't been to see anyone,' I said, but I meant because of what Ricky did. He looked at me like I was stupid and said all was as expected. I'm not sure what that means.
'Yeah, I don't mean that,' Minnie continues. 'I mean how's George and... you know. Things.'
'George is... alright,' I answer, closing my eyes as she dabs powder haphazardly all over my face.
'What about with the band?'
'Oh. Okay, I think. He's not said an awful lot about it, but he's been going everyday.'
On Monday, when I went to the clinic with Minnie, George returned to the Beatles. The first day in the new studio at the Apple offices in Savile Row. After a very long meeting at Ringo's house, lasting all day, George had agreed to return to the band. He wouldn't back down on playing live, but he did agree to continue with the film so long as they moved to the Apple Studios. They went in on Monday to test the new equipment that Magic Alex, the head of Apple Electronics as he's been crowned, built for them. Except it wasn't quite magic as it didn't work. Any of it.
'And what about... John?'
'John?'
'Yeah, John and the others.'
'They're fine. From what I've seen anyway. Ringo is Ringo, as ever. Paul was okay but annoyed with John at the time so he didn't say much to me.'
'Someone's always annoyed with John.' Minnie laughs. 'How... How is he? John?' she asks again.
'He's... Well, I don't know really. He was behaving a bit odd during the meeting, but he was more like himself when I spoke to him on his own. He was talking to me about the baby. I thought you weren't friends with him now. Has that changed?'
Minnie's stopped applying the makeup. I open my eyes and she's staring into the middle distance, shoulders slumped, hands together in her lap, as if she's contemplating something. She snaps out of it, blinking a couple of times and leans in with her blusher brush again. I close my eyes, flinching slightly.
'No press following you around yet?' she asks.
'No. Not yet,' I reply, cagily.
Then on Tuesday, with the commencement of filming, a statement was released to say George and Pattie have separated. It's actually been rather low key, not an awful lot of fuss made. Reasons for their split haven't been mentioned. I haven't been mentioned. That will come later. George wants to finish the film and then we'll make the announcement about the baby. He wants to keep out of the public eye for a while following it and he can't do that while they're recording.
Everytime I think about it, it brings my heart to my mouth. We've been doing things in secret for so long, it will be strange to be acknowledged so publicly. It's nice, though nerve wracking with the anticipation, and bittersweet that it's all too late. We're not together anymore.
'You're quite pretty now,' Minnie says, thoughtfully, leaning back from me to inspect her work.
'What was I before?' I ask her, drolly.
'You know what I mean. Close eyes.' She leans forward to apply burnt orange eyeshadow. I close my eyes again. 'So, what about George?'
'What about him?'
'Oh, Hannah, just tell me,' she says, exasperated. 'You know what I'm asking. Are you back together with him?'
I don't reply. Minnie finishes the eyeshadow and I open my eyes again. She raises a questioning eyebrow. I give a small shake of my head. Minnie sighs.
'Oh, I've brought something for you!' she says, suddenly brightening and jumps up.
She crosses to her bags, left on the floor by the wall and pulls out what can only be described as a dark teal circus tent.
'What on earth is that?' I ask, laughing as I stand.
'A maternity dress,' she says, sweeping the ample fabric over the bed and laying it flat. 'I was doing a photoshoot the other day. Sometimes they let you keep the clothes and they had this. There's another two the same in navy and maroon. I don't know why, because the shoot wasn't for maternity clothing, but I nabbed them for you anyway.'
I move to the bed and touch the dress. I'm not sure what the fabric is, but it's soft, with a peached sort of texture to it.
'Do you like it?' Minnie asks.
'Yes. It's lovely. Thanks.'
'Well, good. I'm glad you like it because I've sacrificed my reputation for these frocks. Everyone thinks I'm knocked up now. I won't be able to get anymore modelling work.' She smiles, teasingly. 'There will be rumors flying around everywhere. Especially with Brian's track record--' She lifts the dress up and holds it up to herself, turning to the mirror. It's so big it looks like she could wrap it around herself three times. She smooths the fabric down.
'Brian's track record?'
'Yeah, he's got a couple of kids already,' Minnie says, briskly, as if she regrets mentioning it. 'This girl, she's a model too, she's called--'
'How many kids? With who?' I ask, surprised.
'Called Flora, she started shouting--'
'Minnie, with who? I didn't know Brian had been married.'
Minnie stops and turns back to me, cocking her head to one side. 'Aw, love,' she says, a little patronisingly. 'You don't have to be married. You should know that.' She nods towards the bump and folds the dress over in her hands. 'You can get pregnant without having a wedding first.'
I give her a withering look. 'So how many children does he have then? You've never told me about this before.'
'Just two... or three,' she says, flippantly. 'Here. Try it on.' She holds the dress out to me. 'So, anyway, this daft cow, Flora starts shouting, "Why do you need a maternity dress, Minnie? Are you expecting?!" And I can't say it's for you, what with it being the secret Beatle love child. So I said it was for a friend, and that always sounds like a lie, doesn't it? "It's not for me, it's for a friend."'
I take the dress and turn back to the mirror holding it up in front of me. 'Who's the mother?'
'You. You're going to be the mother. Now stop looking a gift horse in the mouth and put it on. I don't know how you can stand wearing all that frumpy old fashioned stuff. Mooching around in that horrible, second hand bloody... mens coat all the time. Where do you get it all from?'
I look at my parka, left hanging over the back of the bedroom chair. 'What's wrong with my parka?'
'Try the dress on,' Minnie commands. 'I brought you some shoes that will go with it too. Hang on--'
I drop the maternity dress onto the bed and struggle to pull the dress I'm wearing over my head. I found this shapeless, grey knitted dress at a jumble sale in Whitby. Not that I'm going to tell Minnie that. It looks like someone was knitting a jumper and got carried away, knitting it down to knee length. It is rather frumpy, I suppose.
'I mean, who's the mother of Brian's children?' I ask as I sweep the new dress over my head and twist it round, wriggling into it.
Minnie ignores the questions, still chattering about heels and flats and where the hell is the other shoe to this one. I pull the dress straight and look at my reflection again.
'Here, try these.' Minnie drops a pair of patent navy and white shoes with a low heel on the floor beside me. She adjusts my hair for me again, brushing it out with her fingers, over my shoulders. 'Have you got any lipstick?'
'There's some in my bag, I think,' I tell her. 'What do you want it for?'
'Not for me. For you.'
I roll my eyes but Minnie's already turned away, gone to fetch my bag from where I've left it in the living room. I look at myself again. I do look better, Minnie's right. Not quite my old self, but I'm not sure I'm going to ever get that back again. The dress is a shirt collar style, with a four buttons placket at the front. It stretches slightly. I didn't have to undo the buttons to get it on. It has a flowing skirt, knee length and pleated so it does actually reduce the circus tent look of it.
'Fucking hell, Hannah! What did you do? Rob a bank?' Minnie says, coming back into the bedroom. She has my bag in one hand, open, and a bunch of pound notes in the other. 'That looks cute,' she remarks, looking me up and down.
I look down at myself and smile. 'Yeah, it's nice. Thank you for getting it for me.'
'I was kidding before, but there is some demand for models in the family way. You know, for maternity stuff. I could probably get you work?'
I laugh.
'No, seriously.'
I shake my head. 'I don't think so. And I don't think George would be thrilled with the idea. I'm supposed to be keeping out of the way until they've finished the film.'
Minnie purses her lips. 'Not out of the frying pan into the fire, is it?'
'What?'
'You haven't swapped one overbearing prick who tells you what to do for another overbearing prick who tells you what to do?'
I smile. 'No, George isn't anything like that. Besides, we're not together. But I've already caused him a ton of trouble. I'd better not do anything else.'
Minnie takes my lipstick out of my bag and gives it to me. I turn back to the mirror to apply it. I've been carrying it around with me but I've hardly worn any makeup since I've come back to London. It looks a bit bright on me.
'Perfect,' Minnie says, although I don't know if I agree. I think I'll wash all this off when she's gone. 'Oh, nearly perfect,' she corrects.
She returns to her bags and brings out a small bottle of perfume, squirting me with it before I can protest.
'Now you're perfect,' she says, smiling and sets the bottle down on the dressing table. 'You can keep that.'
The perfume fills the room. I pick up the bottle and squirt a little more on my wrist, raising it to my nose to inhale it. Notes of lavender. Like our mother used to wear. The smell always makes me think of her. I look at my sister in the reflection of the mirror.
'Min, when I went to George's parents house with him... we went to Liverpool too.'
'Did you?' Minnie says, off handedly, turning away, trying to pretend she's not all that interested, but there's a strain in her voice she can't disguise. 'What was it like? Same as always, I bet.'
I sit down on the dressing table stool and turn around to face her. 'We went to the house.'
'To the..?'
I nod.
'Oh,' she says, deflated. She sits down on the edge of the bed again, dropping her chin to her chest, looking at her feet.
'Not inside, not to... to see him...' I say, lowering my voice. 'Just outside, to look at it.'
'Oh,' she repeats.
'But I did see... I saw him, Minnie. He came out. He must have noticed the car.'
She lifts her head.
'We left. I didn't speak to him. George just... put his foot down and we... went,' I say, trying to smile, careful to miss out what the effect of seeing him did to me. 'He looked... Well, now he looks like...'
'I know what he looks like now,' Minnie replies, quietly, casting her gaze down again. 'I went there too. When you were missing.'
'You did? What for?' I ask, astonished.
'For you,' Minnie replies, looking up. Her eyes are cool and removed. Minnie has very light coloured eyes, a striking blue-grey. She's the only one in our family who does. Everyone else has always has varied shades of brown colour eyes. 'I thought you might have gone there.'
'To... To Liverpool?' I ask, shocked. 'Min, I wouldn't have... There's no way I would have gone back there.'
A small smile appears on her lips. 'No, well, I knew that really, but I hadn't any idea where you were and Brian kept saying, "Couldn't she have gone home?" And after that newspaper article about us too, I started thinking, maybe...'
'Did you speak to him?'
She nods. 'I had to ask if he'd seen you.'
I cover my mouth with my hand. I can't believe she'd do that. 'I'm so sorry, Minnie. It never occurred to me that you would...'
'It's alright,' she says, softly. 'In a way it was... I don't know. Freeing. A relief of sorts. Because since we left... I've thought it would be awful, horrendous to have to see him again, but it was... It was different to what I thought it would be.'
'Did you go on your own?'
She shakes her head.
'Brian went with you?'
'No. It was... It was John, actually,' she says, stoically. 'It was after he came and told me about you being... When Ricky...'
Her voice trails off, but neither of us need her to finish that sentence. I cringe, partly from the memory but partly with guilt for the pain I've caused Minnie, what I've made her do.
'George had told me before,' Minnie continues. 'But he hadn't given me quite the whole story. John did, and then...' She sighs. 'He came to Liverpool with me.'
I realise John tried to tell me this. It's what he meant when he said Minnie had been searching for me everywhere. They'd gone back to Liverpool. To look for me.
'I'm sorry, Minnie. I'm sorry you had to do that.'
She shakes her head and shakes the atmosphere off, giving me a watery smile and standing up. As she does, I wrap my arms around her waist before she can move away from me, pulling her to me, resting my head against her stomach.
'I love you, Minnie,' I murmur into the fabric of the top she's wearing.
'Oh, come on. Don't start getting soppy,' she says, making a half hearted attempt to push me off.
I refuse to release her, squeezing her tightly. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I--' A sob catches in my throat.
She smooths her hand over my hair. 'Hey, don't get wound up. Don't cry. It's all over now,' she says in a way which reminds me of a time long ago.
'I promise I won't ever do anything like that again,' I tell her, trying to fight tears.
Minnie bends and kisses the top of my head. 'If... If you want to make me a promise, just promise me you'll be alright.'
I lean back from her, blinking. 'What? I... I am alright...' I reply, unsure.
Minnie smiles. 'Good. Stay that way. That's all I ever wanted for you, Han. For you to be alright. I thought you would be when you married Ricky, but you weren't. You should have left him. Ages ago, you should have left him.'
I nod.
'So promise me you'll always make sure you're alright. You won't get yourself into a situation like that again. And if you won't promise me, promise him.' She points towards the bump.
I smile weakly. 'I promise.'
'Now stop it, you'll spoil your makeup.' Minnie returns my smile. 'So,' she says, changing the subject unsubtly. 'How come you're getting free haircuts and handouts from me when you've got all this cold, hard cash in your bag? Who'd you mug?' She flops down onto the bed, leafing through the crumpled money she spilled there earlier. I should have put it in a purse or a wallet or something. I just kept stuffing it in my bag.
'I didn't ask you to bring all this. I just wanted the haircut,' I reply. I turn to the mirror again, combing my fingers through my hair but really to check my reflection. I blink the tears away from my eyes. 'The money is George's.'
'Does he know you've got it?' she asks, facetiously.
'Yes, of course he does,' I laugh. 'He gave it to me. It's to... buy things. I can't go into shops and tell them to put it on George's account or send the bill to Apple, so he's giving me money.'
'But you're letting me cut your hair, and you're still wearing your charity shop clothes? Even though there's at least... a hundred pounds in here?!'
'It's not for haircuts or clothes. It's not for me. It's to buy things for the baby.'
'Oh? And what have you bought?'
'Well, nothing, yet. Only some food for the flat. I feel funny paying for things with it,' I say, turning to her, as Minnie rolls her eyes at me. 'It's not mine to spend.'
'That's stupid. Of course it's yours. It's for his baby, isn't it?' She rolls onto her side, stretching the length of the mattress. 'So, let me get this straight. You live with him. He's split up with his wife. He gives you money. You sleep in the same bed--'
I flinch at that comment, regretting telling her we shared the bed. I told her without thinking when she was quizzing me on our living arrangements earlier.
'--You're having his baby. You love him. He, clearly, has always loved you. Yet, you're not together?'
'That's about the size of it,' I say, biting my cheek.
'Hannah, that's crazy.'
I sigh. 'It's not. It's really not... We're living together, and he's giving me money because of the baby, but that's all. We're only sharing the flat until we can arrange something else. Pattie has Kinfauns. He goes out most nights. I don't know where he goes or who he's with and I don't ask, because it's nothing to do with me. We're not together. We're not in love.'
'Except you are and you are.'
'No. I've hurt him too many times. I think he's still upset over Pattie.'
Minnie sighs at me. 'Shoes on, Hannah,' she says, in the exact same fashion she used to command me when we were kids.
I slip my feet into the shoes she gave me earlier and holding the hem of the dress in one hand, give her a small curtsy. She laughs as we hear the front door of the flat open and close. There are footsteps to the living room, a bit of banging around and then a moment later, George appears in the doorway of the bedroom.
'Ah, the man of the moment,' Minnie says, getting off the bed. 'We were just talking about you.' She walks round and starts gathering her things, pulling the other two dresses out of her bag and laying them on the bed for me.
George raises an eyebrow and leans on the door frame, folding his arms. 'Were you?'
I shake my head at George and roll my eyes, then turn and shoot Minnie a look as she walks past me.
Minnie laughs. 'I'll love you and leave you.' She kisses my cheek. 'Doesn't she look pretty?' she says to George as she reaches him.
George looks at me and smiles. 'Yes.'
'New haircut and new dress,' Minnie stage whispers to him, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
'I can tell,' George says and straightens up to let Minnie pass him.
'A guy who notices when you change your hair,' Minnie says to me and squeezes George's arm at the elbow. 'He's a rarity, Han! You need to hold on to him!'
I widen my eyes at her, trying to tell her to shut the hell up. She thinks she's helping, but I can already see George stiffening at the comment, uncomfortable.
'Oh!' Minnie continues, regardless. 'I nearly forgot! I'm having a party next week. For my birthday. You'll both come, won't you? It's at Cotchford Farm.'
'A party?' I echo.
'Yeah. I know you might be a bit... down on parties at the moment, but I've never had one of my own before. They've always been someone else's, or joint with someone, so this one is mine. All mine!'
I nod and smile. 'Yes. Of course I'll come.'
'Both of you!' Minnie trills. 'Together!' She disappears, the front door slamming behind her.
I cover my mouth with both hands. 'Her birthday!' I cry. 'I'd totally forgotten about it. What can I get her?'
George laughs and comes into the room. 'When is it?'
'The twenty-seventh. When's that? Sunday?'
'You've got a few days then.'
'Yes, but I've no idea what to get her. It needs to be something special, after all the grief and worry I've caused her. Not that a birthday present can make up for that, but...'
'I'm sure you'll think of something.' He crosses to the bed and frowns at the money Minnie's left strewn over the covers. 'What's this for? Have you been rolling around on it?'
I shake my head. 'Minnie went in my bag and found it.'
George raises his eyebrows and sits down on the bed. 'How was the clinic thingie?'
'It wasn't today. That's tomorrow morning.'
George starts gathering the notes together, straightening them out in his hand.
'You're back early,' I say.
He nods but doesn't comment, still counting the money. 'Talking of presents, there's one in the living room for you,' he says, off handedly.
'For... What?'
He raises his head. 'Go and look then,' he says, cheekily.
I go into the living room. On top of the coffee table is a bulky television set. Tall and oblong, encased in wood with a convex screen. There are five small dials on one side to adjust the picture and the brightness and one large dial to change the channel.
'I thought it was about time we had one,' George says coming up behind me. 'Seeming as we'll be spending more nights in soon.'
'We will?' I ask, surprised.
'Yeah, when the baby comes.' He walks past me and behind the TV, smoothing his hands over the top of it. 'Only I didn't think about where we'd put it. I suppose we'll have to get a stand or a table or something.'
I nod.
'Don't you like it?' George asks. 'It's colour! Weighed a ton, lugging it up those stairs.'
'No, it's... great. It's very thoughtful of you. Thank you.'
George stands up straight. 'You do look nice, Han.'
'Oh,' I say, looking down at myself, embarrassed. 'I asked Minnie if she'd cut my hair for me. She took that to mean do the whole lot. I was going to wash the makeup off in a moment.'
'No, leave it,' George says. 'It suits you. The dress too. Is it new?'
'Yes,' I say, without thinking. 'Oh, but uh, it was a gift. From Minnie. Some clothes she got from modelling. She got a couple of maternity dresses for me. I didn't buy it.'
George frowns. 'It wouldn't matter if you did.'
'No, I mean, I haven't been spending the money you gave me on myself. That money on the bed, that's all of it. Your money.'
'Hannah,' George laughs. 'I gave it you to spend.'
'No, I think you should take it back. It's too much, George.'
'It's so you can get things for the baby,' he says. 'You know. Prams. Cots. Whatever... babies need.'
'Yes, I know and I looked but it's all too expensive. I... I didn't want you to think I was frittering it away or spending it on myself.'
George frowns at me. 'So you haven't spent any of it?'
'Just... Just some on food,' I say, desperately.
George laughs. 'It's alright. Spend it, Han. Spend it on yourself. You need clothes, don't you? You must need lots of things. You left everything behind.'
'Yes, but... I want you to take it back, George, please. I've got everything I need already.'
'Well, that's plainly not true,' he says. 'Come on. I've got the afternoon off. The soundboard Magic Alex made is less than useless and we can't get one from EMI until tomorrow, so we've packed it in for the day. I'll take you shopping for a few things. Then we'll get something to eat and come home and try out the new telly. Good plan?'
I smile at him. 'Yes. Good plan.'
*
'You're the first girl I've ever known to get tired of shopping,' George says.
'You try wandering around as big as this and see if you don't get tired.'
George smiles and turns to speak to the shop assistant. He's teasing me, but I've never been an avid shopper. Women like Minnie spend hours going from boutique to boutique, trying everything on. I like clothes and fashion, but shopping bores me. It was better when I was in the Raindrops, we were always given things to wear and they were usually beautiful.
Record shops and bookshops are a different matter. I can spend hours in them. When George and I were in Liverpool we used to go into town sometimes and walk round the music shops, although we couldn't ever afford to buy anything. We'd maybe stretch to a cup of tea and a toasted teacake at a cafe before we'd get the bus back home. Today has been very different.
It feels like we've walked the length and breadth of Regent Street and Oxford Street and been in every shop on Carnaby Street. We've bought lots of things - all paid for by George. Having to rely on his generosity like this still makes me squirm.
We went to the Mothercare at the top of Oxford Street to order some things for the baby. It's a risk for us to be out shopping. It wouldn't take much for someone to put one and one together and realise that soon we're going to be three. George waited while I went inside to look at the prams and babies things, but I didn't know what to buy. I went back to ask his opinion so often, he eventually came in with me anyway. We ordered a pretty wooden cot which will be painted white and stenciled with blue and yellow ducks holding umbrellas, a navy blue pram, a carry cot and a lot of other things. The cot is being made specially and will be delivered next week along with the rest of the things. I daren't look at the price tags but George doesn't seem bothered.
No inspiration has hit me for Minnie's birthday present. I saw a silver cuff bracelet that I liked in a small shop down the side of Regent Street, but Minnie's not really a bracelet wearer.
'What's the words?' George asked, looking over my shoulder as I examined it.
'It's Shakespeare,' I told him. 'From Hamlet.'
'What's it mean?'
'It means... You might doubt everything else, but never doubt that I love you.'
The sentiment is right, but the design is not. I settled on a deep red garnet necklace, Minnie's birthstone, with matching earrings instead.
I wouldn't let George buy anything for me... except for the books. We went to Charing Cross Road where all the bookshops and antique book dealers are. George trailed around after me patiently as I went in almost every one. He bought me a handful, insisting on carrying them all for me.
This is our last port of call. Domino Male, back on Carnaby Street. We looked in Tre Camp, the women's shop next door, but I won't let George buy me any clothes today. I told him I have all I need now, with the dresses from Minnie for while I'm pregnant, and I don't see there's much point in buying clothes I won't be able to wear for another few weeks. Though, if I think about it, it's because I don't know what clothes I want to wear anymore.
'What do you want to do now? Go for something to eat?' George asks, turning back to me while the shop assistant wraps the shirt he's bought.
'I wouldn't mind a coffee.'
'There's a cafe on the corner of Carnaby and Beak Street,' George says. 'Go there and I'll catch up with you when I've finished here.'
I hope this is the cafe he means. When he said cafe, I thought he meant.... Well, a cafe. Tables and chairs and gingham table clothes. This is all plastic banquette seating and tall, silver topped tables that are shoulder height.
I slip into a booth seat at the back. Slip? More like ungracefully hoist myself up on to the banquette seating, holding onto the table so I don't fall off, my feet not reaching the floor. I unwind the knitted scarf from around my neck, dumping it on the seat next to me and pull my mittens off. I should have took my coat off before I sat down. The effort of getting up, taking it off and then climbing back onto the seat seems too much. I make do with unfastening the top buttons of it as the waitress approaches me.
She has platinum white hair, cut into a neat bob, and wears a bright yellow check fifties diner style dress. She calls me honey four times as I order a coffee and leaves a menu for me to look at, but I don't know if I want to eat here. George and I could go home and I'll make us dinner.
It's cold out, but I'm getting hot sitting here in my coat. George and I bundled up in coats and scarves, me in my army parka again, despite what Minnie said, but I still wear the dress she gave me beneath it. The parka is so large and bulky it gives me some anonymity walking around. I feel like it hides me.
The cafe, or diner, or whatever it is, is nearly empty, just me and a couple of other people sitting at a counter in front of an open kitchen. The waitress returns with my coffee as Buddy Holly's Everyday starts playing on the radio beside the till. If I closed my eyes, the music combined with the strong coffee aromas and humidity of the steam from the kitchen, I could imagine I was back in one of the coffee bars in Liverpool, waiting for George to arrive. The Zodiac maybe, on Duke Street. Cilla Black was a waitress there.
I have a couple of the shopping bags with me, but George has the rest. Mine contain a few of the books and the present for Minnie. I can't remember when I last had a new book, though some of these aren't new, they're second hand.
I open the small, white paper bag from the jewellers, intending to take out the jewellery set to inspect it, still in two minds over whether Minnie will like it. Next to the black velour covered box is another item, wrapped in blue tissue paper. An item I didn't buy. I take it out and unwrap it, finding the silver bracelet I'd been looking at, Shakespeare's words in black script around it.
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
George bought it, and a little voice inside me whispers that I shouldn't assume that he's bought it for me, that it could be for anyone, but I slip my wrist into it anyway and hold my arm out to admire it. I feel strange and it takes me a moment to identify what it is. It's happiness. Or at least, contentment. I feel better than I have in a long time. I know there are so many problems waiting for us outside of the bubble that this afternoon has been - divorce and the Beatles and the fuss there will be when the baby comes - but today has been so... lovely.
George and I have been laughing and chatting, and for the first time I've felt like perhaps this could work; us, having a baby together, living together, maybe... I don't know. I daren't let myself think that perhaps there's still a chance for me and George to--
'Hello, baby.'
I snap my head up at his voice. For a moment I can't reply, can't breath, can't move. Where did he come from? I glance round the cafe but nothing seems out of place. There was a man at the counter earlier and he's gone now. It couldn't have been him. It couldn't have. I would have noticed.
Ricky sits opposite me in the booth, his hands palm flat on the table. He raises himself up slightly looking down at me and for a moment I can't figure out what he's looking for. Then I realise it's my hands. My wedding ring. It's not there anymore, but there's still a mark, a band of whiter skin around my finger where it was.
Then again, perhaps I wouldn't have recognised him. He looks... odd. He slumps down in the seat again, as if he can barely hold himself up. He looks tired, black circles under his hooded, bloodshot eyes. There's a thicker, purple-black mark around one. A bruise lingering from a black eye a few days old. His skin is uneven and blotchy and he has a weeks worth of stubble growth. There's a familiar cloud of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke hanging around him, more pungent than usual. I've never seen him looking like this, even after those few days when he went missing and came back beaten up, he looks half dead. His movements are lumbered and his speech is slurred. It's not four o'clock in the afternoon yet, but I recognise the glaze of drunkenness in his eyes.
'Where have you been, baby?' he asks. 'I've been looking for you.' He smiles, his teeth are yellowing and his lips are dry and cracked. 'I've been worried about you,' he continues, as if I have only been gone for a night or two, not nearly eight months. 'You just... disappeared. I even... I even had to ask the Beatle if he'd seen you. Baby, I've been searching for you everywhere.'
His smile widens, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I've seen this smile before, many times. Whenever he'd done something wrong and wanted my forgiveness, he would admit his guilt and regret, promising it would never happen again, and he'd smile at me like this, trying to be charming and sweet and sorry.
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
That's from Hamlet, too.
He wets his lips and clasps his hands together on top of the tall table, continuing to talk but I'm hardly listening. I'm gradually recovering from the shock of him appearing like this. I need to leave. I shouldn't talk to him. I shouldn't engage with him.
'Baby, we... we both did things we shouldn't have,' Ricky whines. I struggle to take in what he's saying. I glance round the room. No one is taking any notice of us, but if he moves, if he tries to grab me or even reaches to touch me, I will scream.
'I regret it. I'm sure you do,' he continues. 'I... I think we need to put it all behind us. We can move forward from this. I admit I have maybe neglected you in recent times. I understand why you did the things you did, why you ran away, and it... It doesn't matter, baby, I am prepared to forgive you for the Beatle. We'll go back to New York and we--'
'Are you insane?' I blurt, loudly.
Ricky blinks, surprised. He casts his eyes around, as if he didn't know who spoke.
'Ricky, there is no "we" anymore. After what you did, why on Earth would you even consider that there could be?' I look him directly in the eye. 'Get off that seat and walk out the way you came in,' I tell him, as calmly as I can. 'Or I'll ask the manager here to call the police.'
Ricky's lip almost curls into a snarl before he gets it back under control. 'Things... things got out of hand, I agree,' he tries again. 'And we both did things we regret now but--'
'No,' I tell him, sitting up straighter. 'I didn't. I don't regret anything, except not leaving you sooner.'
'What do you want?' he snaps, starting to lose the false veneer of his own humility. 'You want me to apologise? I have. I'm sorry. I'm fuckin' sorry for all of it, but you're gonna have to shoulder some of the blame too, baby. You were always antagonising me. With your fuckin' smart mouth. Pushin' me, all the time. Pushin' me to do somethin' and then... then I lose my temper.' He draws himself up and swallows, as if he's trying to rein himself back. 'What did you leave your diaries out for?' he asks, shaking his head. 'You always keep them hidden away. Did you want me to read them? Was it your way of telling me about the Beatle? Tellin' me that you... Okay, I wasn't always faithful to you, but you'd slipped too.' He stops and gathers himself, taking a deep breath. 'It's all in the past now. We don't need to keep talking about it. We're still married and that means--'
'No, Ricky, we're not. In name only and, actually, I'm glad I've seen you because we need to file for divorce and I need to know where you're living to do that.'
'We're not getting a divorce,' he says, wearily as if I'm nagging him over something trivial. 'I won't, baby.'
I frown at him. I can see he's been drinking, but I'm starting to think he's lost his mind. I'm eight months pregnant. Why would he want us to stay together if I'm going to have another man's baby, no matter what stage shows or real life pretences he needs me for. I look down at myself. The tabletop is high and I'm still wrapped in my army parka. Is it possible he hasn't noticed it?
'Why haven't you gone back to New York?' I ask, levelly. 'There's nothing here for you anymore, Ricky. The Krays are about to be jailed. I read that Esmeralda's Barn is in receivership. There's not going to be anymore shows there for a long time. Go home, Ricky.'
'I can't,' he says, a pathetic whine in his voice. 'I can't go back without you, baby.'
'Don't call me that, Ricky. Don't call me baby. I'm not your baby. I hate it when you use that name for me. Call me Hannah, or preferably, call me nothing at all.'
He lifts his head. 'And I'm not that name either,' he snarls. 'I am not Ricky West. I am Riccardo Salvatore Vescio. Sono sempre stato Riccardo Salvatore Vescio e sarò sempre...'
He begins to ramble in Italian, surly and drunk. I don't need to understand the language to understand what he's saying. Vicious words, full of bile and nastiness. I recognise the odd phrase. I don't know the literal translations, but I remember the names Ricky would call me in Italian, and the names he'd spit at Joey.
'How is Sal?' I ask, suddenly, speaking over him.
Ricky stops abruptly. 'What?'
'Sal. Your uncle. The man who gave you your name, Riccardo Salvatore. How is he? I don't think I have spoken to him - or any of your family - since we came to London.'
'What are you fuckin' talking about?'
'Maybe I should give him a call and see how he is. Maybe he'd like to know how we are, what we've been up to. Or maybe I will just tell him what you've been up to. All the things you've done, starting with when I found you in bed with Joey that night.'
'Are you threatening me, you little whore?'
'Threats are all you understand, aren't they? Threats, coercion, blackmail. If you continue with this... this delusion that we will remain married, Ricky, if you continue to refuse to grant me a divorce, Sal will find out every reason why I don't want to stay married to you. Sal and Gianni and...'
Ricky flinches involuntarily.
'Oh. Gianni already knows, doesn't he?' I ask and I can't help smiling. Ricky turns his head away, muttering in Italian. 'Yes,' I say, nearly laughing with the realisation. 'How was I so blind for so long? Gianni knows about you. It's why you were so close when you were younger and now, inexplicably, you're not. "He hates what I am." I remember you saying that. You meant it in a literal sense, didn't you?'
Ricky slams his fist down on the tabletop, causing everything, including me, to jump. My untouched coffee slops over the rim of the cup. 'I am not some fuckin' frocio! Do not think you can treat me like one!' he shouts, pointing his finger in my face, leaning over the table to me. I move back in my seat as far as possible. 'You fuckin' dare speak to Sal, baby, and it'll be the last words you ever say.'
'Hannah.' George is at the side of the table, carrier bags bunched in one hand. He glares at Ricky but speaks to me. 'What's going on? Are you alright?'
'I'm fine,' I say, gathering my things up. 'Lets leave.'
'Well, speak of the devil and and here he is. The fuckin' Beatle,' Ricky sneers. 'Shoulda guessed when I heard you'd split up with your wife. You fuckin' liar. You swore you didn't know where she was.'
'I didn't then,' George replys, flatly.
'Ignore him. Don't speak to him. Lets just go home,' I tell George.
George stares at Ricky for a moment longer and then deliberately turns to me, putting his back to him. He offers me his hand and helps me as I gingerly climb down from the seat.
I stand up and unbutton my parka, smoothing my dress down over the bump. I know Ricky is watching, it's almost possible to feel his realisation that I am pregnant, and very pregnant at that. I turn back to the table to retrieve my scarf, and to steal a sideways look at him.
'Well, now it makes sense,' he says and laughs, meanly. 'That is what happens to miserable whores like you, baby.'
'Now you will divorce me,' I tell him.
'And now you will have everything you never wanted,' Ricky retorts.
George frowns, confused. I shake my head at him.
Ricky levels his eyes on George. 'She's done a number on you, buddy.' He laughs again, gleefully. Any small sense of victory I was feeling ebbs away. 'Was it worth it, baby? Was it all you could think of to finally wrestle him away from his wife, eh? Get yourself knocked up and finally pin him down.'
I look up at George. He puts his arm around my back, maneuvering me away from the table and Ricky.
'She doesn't want it,' Ricky says, behind us. 'Don't want kids, ever, do you, baby? You'd know that, Beatle, if you knew her at all. Still, I guess with your money you can just have a wet nurse raise it. If you're lucky, you won't have to have anything to do with it, baby.'
I can see George bristling next to me. I shake my head at him, telling him to ignore him with my eyes. George exhales and step away from the table.
'Fottiti figlio di puttana,' Ricky says.
George drops the bags he's holding and rounds on Ricky. 'Say that in fucking English,' he barks, resting one fist on the table top and one on the back of Ricky's seat. Ricky just smiles at him.
I tug George's sleeve. 'Don't. He's just trying to get you to rise to him.'
George sucks air in through his nose and steps back from Ricky, keeping his eyes locked on him. 'Stay away from her,' he warns him. 'Don't come anywhere near her again.'
Ricky turns his head with a sneer. George moves away and offers me his hand. As I reach to take it, Ricky is suddenly beside us. He grabs my arm, wrapping his fingers around my wrist tightly. I wrench myself away instinctively.
'Hannah--' Ricky says, and then he's not there anymore. He's sprawling on the floor, wrestling with the upturned table that he took down with him when he went over backwards. George stands over him, flexing his hand, hurt from the impact when he hit Ricky, squarely on the jaw.
*
'Hows your hand?' I ask, setting the freshly made cups of tea down on the coffee table.
George slouches on the sofa with his feet on the table. He pushes himself up to make room for me and holds his hand out in front of him, flexing his fingers, grimacing slightly. 'It's alright. Aches a bit,' he says, pouting. 'Not very tough that, is it? You don't see James Bond having a punch up and then going, "Ow, that bloody hurt!"'
I laugh. 'Well, real life is often different from movies' I say, sitting down at the other end of the sofa. As I join him, I notice that Pattie's wedding ring, which had been left on the table, untouched since I put it there, has gone. 'Thank you for defending my honour,' I say, turning to George.
I was joking but George smiles sadly. 'Well, owed him, didn't I? I should have smacked him one years ago.' He pauses and then adds, 'You don't think he's going to start turning up places now?'
I shake my head. 'I don't think so. Not now he knows about this.' I indicate to the bump.
'Fingers crossed, then.' George exhales. 'Can you see where you're sitting?'
'Yes, it's fine.'
We've set the TV up, precariously, on the sideboard that normally holds the record player. It's a little narrow to hold the bulky television. I'm not sure what we're watching. Roger Moore is on the screen. The Saint, perhaps? The colour picture is a novelty. We didn't have a colour telly at the house in Golders Green, only a black and white one.
'Does the picture look fuzzy?' George asks.
'No, it's pretty good, isn't it?'
'I think you're in the way of the aerial,' he says, sitting up, taking his feet off the table. 'Move up here.'
The TV has an aerial resembling a coat hanger on the top, which we've angled towards the window. The picture looks perfectly clear to me, but I scootch up the sofa, closer to George, anyway. George stretches his arm out behind me, along the back of the sofa. 'That's better,' he says. 'What have you been doing? You've been ages.'
'I was washing up and making a cup of tea.'
'Not doing that... funny cleaning thing again?' he asks, warily.
'What funny cleaning thing?' I ask, grinning.
'Like at the cottage in West Bay that time.'
My grin fades. 'Oh. That was... We were going home. I was tidying up.'
'Hannah,' he says, warningly.
I sigh and shake my head. 'I was just upset at the time. There was that newspaper story and Minnie was insisting it had come from John and... and that's when she told me that John knew.'
'John knew what?'
'About us. About my father.'
'Oh,' George says, surprised. 'Right.'
'Minnie told him. I don't know when, but it was a long time ago.'
'Okay,' George says, uncomfortable.
I smile. 'I'm not upset now.'
He wets his lips. 'You're not?' he asks, carefully.
'No. I don't have anything to be upset about.'
George smiles thinly. 'Good, then.' He traces two fingers down my arm slowly, to my wrist, where I still wear the silver cuff bracelet.
'Oh, uh, sorry, I found it in the bag,' I say, taking it off. 'I was trying it on when Ricky showed up.'
'It's alright, put it back on. It was for you,' George replies. 'You wouldn't let me buy you any clothes because they wouldn't fit, or they wouldn't fit for long, so I got you something that'll fit you always.'
I slip it around my wrist again. 'Thank you. I love it,' I smile. 'You didn't have to, you know.'
'I wanted to.'
Our eyes meet. We look at each other for just a couple of seconds too long. I look away, back towards the TV screen, but I can see George still watching me, on the edge of my vision.
'What?' I ask, self consciously, turning back to him.
He gives a small shake of his head. 'It's nothing.'
'What, George?!' I ask, giggling. 'Have I spilled something down myself?' I look down, stretching the fabric of my dress out to inspect it.
George laughs and shakes his head, but still stares at me.
'Stop it!' I laugh. 'What are you looking at?'
'You,' he says. 'I was just thinking how pretty you are when you smile.'
I pause, surprised for a moment, then burst into laughter. 'Oh, George! That must be the oldest line in the book! Or at least the corniest!'
His laughs quietly and moves closer to me. 'It's true though,' he says and reaches to touch my hair, tucking it behind my ear. 'And you haven't been doing enough of it recently. Smiling. Laughing. You're pretty when you smile, and you're beautiful when you laugh. I think that's why I fell for you. Do you remember that night at Terry Slater's party? We sat in the kitchen and you were laughing at me. Do you remember it?'
'Yes, I remember,' I whisper.
'It was the second time I'd met you. That first time, after we met you in the strip club and we'd gone to the pub, you didn't say a word. Not a single one. Even when I spoke to you. But at that party, I couldn't get over how you were talking to me, laughing and joking and... That was it. That was when I fell for you.'
'You tried to...'
He smiles and nods, then he kisses me. On the lips, but only briefly, sweetly, chastely.
The second kiss lasts longer. He smooths my hair and runs his hand down my back. His touch makes me shiver. The bump is between our bodies as I twist to face him. I break away from him and we stare at each other for a few seconds. My breath catches.
I lean closer to him again, and George turns his head away sharply.
I freeze, coming back to reality with a jolt. I scramble away, clumsily extricating myself from his arms, unsure how I got there in the first place. I sit down heavily at the other end of the sofa, hugging the side of it.
'I'm sorry,' George says.
'No, it's fine. I'm sorry,' I reply quickly, unable to look at him, casting my eyes around the room, at my hands, at the floor, anywhere but at him. My cheeks burn bright and hot.
'I didn't mean to... do that.'
'It's alright, George.'
'I just don't know if we should get back into all that... so soon after...'
'It's fine, honestly, George. I don't expect you to.'
'Hannah--'
'Just pretend it never happened, okay?' I snap.
George falls silent. I won't look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me.
'It's getting late. I'm going to bed,' I say, standing up.
'Hannah,' George says as I pass him, ignoring him.
'Hannah!' he calls as I go into the bedroom.
I try to close the door but he follows me, standing in the doorway. 'Don't be hurt,' he says, gently, putting his arm out, across the door to stop me from closing it.
'I'm not,' I say as I give up on the door and turn my back on him, pretending that removing my necklace takes a great deal of attention.
'Han, please.'
I undo the clasp and drop the pendant onto the dressing table. It falls face down on the stone. I'm usually more careful with it, in case I scratch it. On the back I can see Minnie's initials engraved; M.M.J.
You don't need a man to buy you jewellery. You can buy your own if you want it.
Minnie's words, when I married Ricky. I look down at the bracelet around my wrist.
Don't be like all the other women in our family. Don't make your life about him.
George stands behind me, hovering, shifting his weight as I do my best to ignore him.
'I didn't mean to kiss you, Hannah--'
'Then why did you?' I snap, turning to him sharply.
He takes a small step back. 'It was... I don't know... It felt...'
I wait but he doesn't seem to have any words to end that sentence. I turn back to the dressing table. I yank the bracelet off my wrist and carelessly let it drop with a thud onto the tabletop.
'You left me,' George says, emphatically, anger rising in his voice. 'Just remember that. You chose this for us. You didn't have to fucking leave. You could have told me what trouble you were in. You didn't. You chose this instead.'
'I know,' I say, plainly, turning back to him. George stares at me with his eyes raging. 'I don't know why you're getting mad with me. I didn't do anything.'
'Don't,' George says.
'Don't what?'
'Don't pretend that you don't care.'
'Don't be hurt or don't pretend you don't care? Which is it, George? Which do you want?'
George presses his lips together and remains silent.
I sigh and let my shoulders drop. 'Just... forget about it. It didn't mean anything. I want to get undressed. Can you go now please?'
'Yes,' George says, in a tone I don't like. 'Yes, I'll go now.'
A moment later the front door of the flat slams shut.