Thursday the 3rd of October 1958
George winded up at the front doorstep two days later, when I least expected him to —— flashing his iconic canines with a grin and a black acoustic guitar case in hand.
"George, Paul isn't home," I admitted before shifting my footing. It was difficult to undermine how unbeneficial this was for me. Hanging around George would have consequences with Paul, even if the teenage version of the infamous version of the guitarist of my childhood seemed really cool. But their friendship was far too important. I couldn't under no circumstance be so disgustingly selfish.
"That's fine," George concluded honestly before meeting my eyes and running his free hand through his dark voluminous Vaseline gelled hair, "I wanted to see ye anyways."
My heart dropped and it took me a good five seconds to register that he was actually talking to me before I attempted to compose myself. I knew that George could see the the surprise written all over my face. "Oh, um, do you want to come inside?" It felt silly, wrong really, this wasn't my house and it felt incredibly invasive.
George rattled with laughter, noticing my discomfort and it bruised my soul with embarrassment for all eternity. "Actually, why don't ya come back to mine for tea? Me mum cooks great meat pies."
Nevertheless, I smiled at the thought of it, but I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. "I'll have to ask Jim if it's alright," I whispered. I was hoping Jim would say no and come up with this extraordinary explanation of why I shouldn't go. Maybe I could say that I had this massive headache?
George smiled ever since softly and I closed the front door behind me and stumbled into the living room. "Mr McCartney," I started. Alike always in the afternoons after work Jim always sat in the living room with his pipe and a crossword in the newspaper. Jim was an older man, with short peppery hair, dressed in a suit and tie, he was in his fifties but he had the enthusiasm and chirpiness of someone much younger.
"Yes Daisy?" He spoke kindly with a fatherly grin.
"I was wondering, uh, well, George — he's Paul's friend — y'know the one that looks like a teddy boy, anyways, may I please hang out with him for a bit? I don't think I'll be gone long. I know it's very wrong of me to ask something like this especially when I don't even live here and it's very selfish. . ." I drawled off. I was stupid I didn't even sound like I didn't want to go, instead I was enthusiastic and almost pleading about it and it killed me.
Jim met my eyes for a moment, so serious I could feel my palms go clammy but then he broke into laughter. "Of course love. I don't understand why'd ya'd even ask!" I blinked a couple of times, registering what had happened.
I awkwardly hovered over by the entryway to the livingroom, "Oh, well, um, thank you then Jim." He waved a goodbye before he took a puff from his pipe and it was undoubtedly my cue to leave.
I rushed hurriedly, despite my daze like way of walking. I couldn't just say no to George could I? But what if I never told Paul any of this? What if George and I never mentioned it? Would it be okay? Surely, it would wouldn't it?
Questions reeled within the gears of my mind and George was still waiting at the front door where I left him.
"Hello again," He spoke with a grin and I couldn't help but return it.
"Hi again," I repeated with a lazy grin. Today seemed brighter, no longer so grey, dull and rainy. There was even a bit of sun. I wouldn't even need my raincoat.
"Come 'ead this way," George spoke and I trailed behind him, my brown shoes scuffing on the concrete pavement. George adjusted the strap on his guitar case and swung it over his shoulder before reaching into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.
"Do ye want a ciggie, la?" George offered noticing that I was starring him down.
"No, they aren't good for you," I whispered, so softly he couldn't hear me. It felt as if someone had thrown me into a river of freezing ice cold water. I wasn't stupid. Despite my lack of knowledge on all things Beatles I knew the consequences of George smoking. He brought one to his lips, the sliver metal of his lighter flashed in the sun.
As soon as he took a drag from the cigarette I couldn't help it, I reached over and took it from his hand and threw it to the pavement and crushed it under the weight of my shoe a little too aggressively. The sudden nausea washed away instantly and I was filled with nothing but relief. "Oi! What the in the bloody hell was what for!" George spoke, his voice gruff and agitated.
I came up with the only logical explanation I could, "I said smok—I have asthma idiot." For a moment George's angered expression faded away into something more apologetic. There was a feeling in my gut horrible that I lied, but I knew that it was the best decision.
"Sorry, Daisy," He admitted sombrely, his soulful brown eyes meeting my eyes for a splintering moment and I could see the guilt burning within them. "I didn't know."
I smiled half-heartedly and shrugged my shoulders, "It's alright, George. I know that."
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The journey to George's house in 12 Arnold Grove in Waverlee was better than I expected. The house was a two story bricked council house and it felt like such an honor to stand in it's proximity. George pushed open the small gate for me to walk through and I muttered a thank you under my breath. Somehow, just being around George this felt more like a dream. There was always this grounding sense of being around Paul. I was probably just so used to hanging around Paul and being within the bubble of his world that it felt funny being in the atmosphere of George's.
"You're house is pretty," I admitted genuinely. To me, older houses always had more character and more of a story within its walls. In my time, houses were beginning to loose that far too much.
George laughed at my words as if I stupid and it was that moment I wondered if this was what having siblings was like, "Do ye live in a shack or somethin' back home?"
I realised his words were supposed to be a sort of teasing joke but I took them seriously. "Unfortunately, no, I live just out of town on rural property but my grandmother lives a bit closer to town."
George strached his chin and pulled the front door open. "Ma! I'm home. I've brought a friend." I followed George into his home and I noticed how tidy and modest it was. In contrast it was similar to Paul's, in all honesty, a typical English home or what I knew as a typical English home.
As I stumbled into the small kitchen behind George, the waffling scent of some sort of delicious pie filtered through my nose. Whatever it was smelt great. George's mother was a short woman, with greying hair and laugh lines around her eyes. She was dressed like a proper housewife in a dress, apron and everything. The look on her face was a look of surprise and confusion washed over her face before she smiled in a polite sort of way.
I knew that everything was a lot more formal back in these days so I held my hand out towards the woman who took my hand in a firm manner, "It's a pleasure to meet Mrs Harrison. I'm Ju–Daisy Twist."
"It's lovely to meet any friend of George's," Although their was a skeptical look on her face and she looked me over as if she was search for an answer before George decided to take the matter into his own hands.
"She's Paul's bird, ma. I'm still goin' out with Iris."
I could feel my brows furrow at his words but George's mother Louise spoke before I could even utter a word. "Oh, that's good then. It's wonderful that Paul has a lovely girl like Daisy then, aye?"
"I'm going to show Daisy how to play me guitar ma," George declared and clamped his hand over my wrist and pulled me along with him down the hall and up the stairs before he thundered up the stairs with me with him.
George was excited, a child-like innocence washing over his features as he turned back to smile at me and opened his bedroom door. There was no more of the older grown up facade he put up around John or Paul. He looked happy that I was here and somehow in some magnificent way it touched me more than I would have guessed but the guilt still burned in my veins. His room was small and shoebox shaped, cluttered in a way but tidy as if he'd sudden made an effort to clean it in a rush. Had he actually planned this? I sat down on the edge of his roughly made single sized bed, it sank slightly under my weight.
An eagerness shifted through me, riddling my body with determination. George unlatched his guitar case and carefully pulled his sunburst accustic guitar onto his lap.
"What sort of music do ye like?" He asked, his thoughtful brown eyes meeting my own.
I tried to think of all the music Paul played on the Radio Luxembourg which operated nightly and played all new American releases somewhat blurred by French or Belgian voices and static. "Uh, well I like Elvis mostly but I dabble in Bully Holly and the Crickets, Chuck Berry, and um Carl Perkins."
George looked surprised, maybe it was the wrong answer, maybe I should have talked about girl groups or something? I only said I liked Carl Perkins because I could remember my grandmother saying something about it. I couldn't name a single song he sang.
George cracked a cute grin but his eyes were secretive as if he knew something I didn't before he bumped his shoulder with mine, "I see why Paulie fancies ya. He hasn't shut up about ya in days. It begining to be a drag."
"I'm sorry," I blurted loudly, blush fanning against my cheeks. I hated that he talked about me. I hated to be the centre of attention and I couldn't understand why Paul wanted to talk to me. I never had seen myself anything other than average with my brown hair and brown eyes —— everything about me was average.
"It's not so bad, I mean I just ignore him most of the time. Nod along really."
I had no idea how this became a gossip session, "He'll shut up eventually right? I hope so for the sake of my dignity." George laughed at my words, his fingers on the guitar playing a melodic tune I had never heard but it was quite rock-and-roll-ish.
I watched him for a moment, trying to hide the fact I was in awe of him and I hoped he wouldn't look up at me, "You're very good, George. How long have you been playing?"
"A couple of years I'd say," He said with a shrug as if it was nothing at all. I noticed the blush that grew against his cheeks, even if he tried to hide it. George looked up for a moment, his brown eyes bore into mine and then he smiled, that wide grin that showed off his canines. He set his fingers along the fret, while the other strummed, then his movements were slow as if to show me, "This is a D, then E and A."
I watched helplessly, before muttering under my breath, "Awesome."
I was in shock when the guitar was pressed to my hands. Holy shit. I suddenly felt special and also shadowed by the fact that this was the guitar of the lead guitarist in a soon-to-be world-wide phenomenon called the 'The beatles' that touched the heart of billions and left a mark upon history forever. George chuckled at my reaction, my face must have been strange or distant, "It won't break, lar."
The smile on my face was nervous but I realised that I needed to toughen up and stop being a baby. I tried to place my fingers on the fret like George did, trying my best to mirror his actions but moments later when I finally strummed the guitar it sounded unclear, muffled and the strings were rough against my finger tips. I grimaced at myself, embarrassed and self-conious and hoping that George wouldn't judge me too much.
His expression was balanced, but I could he the humerus twinkle in his eyes but his words were comforting, "Ye just need a wee bit more practice that's all." I nodded and handed it back to George, his expression was confused but soft and understanding, "I'll show ya again and then ya can have another go."
Time flew by quickly then as I mastered those three simplisic chords and dinner rolled around quickly. I was nervous, especially when I sat down at the dinner table with George's family. It felt even more intrusive then I had a Paul's and everything was much more formal than I was used too. I referred to his parents as Mr and Mrs Harrison, thanking them for dinner and ensuring that I was contantally polite and posied and lady-like –– but I couldn't lie, it was strange for everything to be so formal. I was even sitting with perfect posture which I never really recalled myself going before. My Australian accent arose many questions from George's father, Harold and his mother Louise who didn't say too much but I could see that she was curious but she was warming up to me I think.
George's older brother's Peter and Harry kept making teasing faces at poor George. I hated that he was suffering under my presence but I was grateful he sat next to me, while his brothers were across from us and his parents at either head of the table.
"So, Daisy, how does your father know Mr McCartney?" Louise, Mrs Harriosn asked. My blood ran cold. I didn't really know what Paul's fake story was. I let my fork drop onto my plate with a loud clatter by accident. I flinched at it and drowned in the silence, unable to form any words on my lips.
Somehow, in some miraculous way George spoke up about it, "Paul told me that. Daisy's dad met Mr McCartney back in the twenties. Good mates they were before Daisy's dad ended his holiday and back to Australia."
Mr Harrison raised an eyebrow at me and I smiled bashfully, "We'll you see my grandfather, my father's father is half-Irish," a lie or well sort of, "and my father wanted to see where my grandfather grew up in London before he moved to Australia but he missed the train and got stuck in Liverpool."
So many lies. I gritted my teeth together. Oh boy, I was in deep deep shit. I had to change the subject. Nobody in these days would have enough money to parade across the sea just to see where their father grew up. I was such an idiot!
I must appear to be so strange. I mean, I was from the future and all –– and I hated thinking about that. "What do you do for a living, Mr Harrison?" I asked shyly, trying my best to remain calm and keep the conversation far far away from any aspect of me. George muffled a laugh and his mother sent a sharp dagger-like look at him which made George panic and sound like he was a wounded and dying seal.
Thanks, George.
Mr Harrison seemed delighted that I asked, or well that's what I got from his thoughtful reaction, "I'm a bus driver."
I smlied, "That's lovely. It's good to be always out and about." George stifled another laugh, this time managing to remain inauspicious from his mother and so I elbowed him warningly in the ribs.
"What do you do Mrs Harrison?" I asked and in that moment I considered that I might have been a little too forward.
"I work around the house, dear and keep it in order," She said with a soft laugh before kindly joking, "Did you think I was a bus driver too?"
Stupid, stupid me. I'd forgotten that women carried most of the domestic responsible these days. My cheeks flashed flammed in embarrassment before I defended myself, "I, mean, well, women can drive buses too. We can do anything if we wanted."
A look flashed over Mrs Harrison's face, it was one of both surprise and something else I couldn't face. Now, I diffidently seemed too headstrong and perhaps even a feminist. It would have been nothing but normal for me to stay this if I was back home. The table grew slient, it was like a game of chess I realised and I had played the wrong move. I should have never have came.
This was a disaster and I knew it all along. I was so selfish and so so stupid. I suddenly wanted to cry and I wanted to go home or maybe I just wanted to be around Paul. I felt safe and comfortable around him. I felt warm. I respected George so much and I was very fond of him and he meant a lot to my family, especially proving my grandmother with hope and consonance when she raised my mother alone —— but I felt too out of place around his own family, not that I had any dislike for them but I feared that they judged me.
I noticed that everyone was finished, "Would you like me to help clear the plates? I can help you clean up Mrs Harrison."
I always seemed to surprise the older woman and she nodded and stood and I took George's plate, unable too meet George's eyes and I could feel his watchful gaze on my back as I piled it with my own before going around the table and collecting everyone else's.
I swiftly followed behind Mrs Harrison as we moved into the kitchen and I took it as my moment to apologise. "I'm sorry about my behaviour or if I was too, um, headstrong and if I offended you."
From the reflection of the window her face softened considerably before turned from the sink that was filling with warm bubbly water, she smiled, it was kind and maternal and a lot like George's smile. I noticed that her eyes were thoughtful in what she said, "Oh of course not dear, you're very independent and brave that's all."
A calm feeling washed over me and I felt a bit better and much more relaxed.
After that it was a good half an hour before I decided to leave. I thanked George's parents for dinner and having me over before I said goodbye to George.
"Do ye want me to walk ya home?" George asked softly.
I smiled at him before giving him a quick hug. George was caught slightly offguard and I didn't think he was used to being affectionate.
"It's alright you can stay, George. It isn't dark yet. Thank you so much for everything you're such a wonderful friend," I told him honestly. I hoped I wasn't too mushy but I didn't know when or if I'd see him again.
"Ye can come over anytime ye like. Mum likes ye a lot. Ye can even come over with Paulie next time the lads and I practice."
"That would be really nice," I concluded with a grin. I opened the front door and stepped out into the cold, then closed it behind me. Instantly I crashed into someone and was almost knocked of balance. It didn't even take me a second to realise who it was.
"What on earth are you doing here!" I wheeled at him but how could have I not expected something like this?
The rain had caught in his eyelashes and his rounded cheeks were pink from the cold and the scarf that was knotted around his neck didn't appear to help. A hand swopped through his hair, before returning to the warmth of his trouser pockets. "I'm not ye letting catch the bus or walk home alone."
"Oh," I admitted a in slightly shocked tone. This turned out even worse than I was expecting but I was relieved to see Paul nevertheless. It honestly warmed my heart. I smiled to myself and threw my arms around him before I could stop myself. Paul chuckled while returning the embrace and it was music to my ears. I loved his laugh.
"I missed ye, today," He spoke in my ear and a violent shiver ran down my spine.
I wasn't expecting him to say that at all but it made me smile wider than I had all day — even more than George's silly jokes. "Oh. . . I missed you too, macca."
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author's note: i'm sorry this chapter's a little all over the place. there were certain gaps in my knowledge about george's family that i couldn't fill in with other than my own assumptions and imagination. i hope i portrayed them alright. i tried my best to make sure it was as relvent to the fiftes as possible but sometimes it's a bit of a challenge. i hoped you liked it — especially paul's unexpected cameo at the end and that you're all having a lovely day/or night xx