Part XXII


Merry Crimble at the Pewl



On the day of John’s birthday, the band once again took off for a tour of England. Knowing I would be alone, Paul had me shipped to John’s house. Cyn was staying, and I would be staying with her for the duration of the tour. Paul had asked me not to talk about the issue of the letters and the diaries with her in order to avoid general Beatle panic. Only if push came to shove would it be made public. Unfortunately, while one thing was made into small local gossip within the Beatle circle, there were still three main forms of communication: Telephone, Telegraph and Tell The Beatles. Once there was word of one thing within the group, for some reason the whole world found out soon enough.

It could be said that helping Cyn with Jules and all other house chores served as training. The morning sickness was slowly becoming less and less frequent, until it reached a point where I no longer felt it. I was happy with the thought that by the time Paul returned from the tour, the bulge would already show, and the baby would be around the "kicking around" stage of its formation. They were due back on November 10th, and I had gotten pregnant on the fourth of July. Some Independence Day!

Naturally, whenever Paul called, John would have a word or two with Cyn. It was odd to see John’s change when he was away. He continuously asked about Julian, claimed he missed him like mad and promised he would play with him more when he returned. Cyn would also receive endless letters loaded with funny stories and huge spelling mistakes. Cyn and I spent some evenings giggling over the letters while Julian played by the fire. Most of the times during the day we would sit in the sunroom and talk about pregnancy. I knew Cyn was the one to go to for every doubt. She had, after all, been a Beatle chick from day one, and she also knew what it was like to have a child whose father spends most of his time away from home. More than once, she brought out huge photo albums with pictures of the boys before, during and after their Hamburg days, with skintight shiny leather and colorful cowboy boots. I had especially liked a photograph of Paul, John and George sitting on a rooftop, legs crossed, wearing caps and smoking cigarettes.

One day, Cyn and I went shopping for maternity clothes. I knew I wasn’t yet completely in need for them, but I soon would; My normal bras were feeling tighter and tighter each day, and I was no longer able to wear jeans.

As usual, downtown London was filled with stores for every need. Cyn had lent me a black, pixie wig and huge sunglasses. But despite the disguise, more than one girl managed to spot us. Some just whispered things like "It’s them! The Beatle wives!" while some others were downright aggressive, saying things like "John and Paul deserve better than you!" I was tempted to reply, but Cyn would whisper to me. She had been enduring this for years, even before John had become a star. Apparently, the moment they returned from Hamburg, they immediately became a local hit and more than one girl in the clubs would snicker and moan against Cyn. It was amazing to see the boys had had such magnetism since their early days.

Cyn would also tell me stories on how she had met John at the Liverpool Art College. She said that on their first day of class, she was appalled at his teddy boy appearance; And John being John, found her too much of a college pudding to leave alone, constantly picking on her, throwing her books around and even hiding her pencils from her. In her case, the saying "love is born from hatred" was easy to apply. It seemed that it had been Lennon’s weapon to disguise the fact that he had a huge crush on her from day one. On her part, she had found his bad boy image irresistible. Then one day, he asked her to dance… And cupid hit them. In a matter of weeks, they were seeing each other, and they would often sneak into Stu Sutcliffe’s studio apartment to make love.

It was a funny story, I had to admit.

I also hung out with Jane. Naturally, her parents didn’t want to hear my name or Paul’s mentioned, especially since Mrs. Asher had been generous enough to allow Paul to live with them. But Jane was naturally kind and ladylike, and truly appreciated me as a friend. I couldn’t cease to apologize to her for what I had done. At one point she almost lost her temper and told me that if I apologized another time she would go home. So I stopped altogether.

Once we even went to our home, and Jane went on and showed me some shopping she had done. She also asked me to model all my new maternity clothes for her. As I was still too thin to wear most of them, we had a laugh by shoving a cushion under the dress to bulge it up.

Theresa arrived home from America telling me the ads were a success. And she had also thought of an idea; as I was already famous for both the Mary Quant ads as well as for being a Beatle wife, she thought I might just be able to model through the pregnancy for maternity clothing and accessories. People would immediately recognize me, and know that the tummy growing was Paul’s thus making instant impact on pregnant customers. It wasn’t a bad idea. When Paul called and I pitched the thought, he first found it amusing, but upon serious consideration suggested it would be better to decline, especially with the trouble with Steve brewing up. I hadn’t thought about it, so I told Theresa I would take the rest of the pregnancy without working.

Once, Patti showed up at Cyn’s and the three of us spent one whole weekend just laughing about. Patti and George were definitely involved, but still had to keep it somewhat secret. Patti, like me, was very young. She had a pretty pixie face lined by long, straight strands of golden blond hair, and legs that went on for miles and miles. Despite her schoolgirl looks, she was smart and perfectly able to carry on a conversation on just about any topic. I was the hick, really, all I knew about was Art. Cyn was delighted with me in that sense, having been an art school student herself, and delighted in showing me some of her work. Naturally and being with John, she had all but given up. I told her that being married was no reason to quit, but she debated that with a child like Julian she had almost no time to indulge into her own wishes. The drawings and small carvings she showed me were very good. I wondered then if John had been a blessing or an anchor for Cyn, as she obviously had talent that was being wasted away. Then I thought of little Jules, and I figured that one look into his little eyes was more than enough to keep her going.

Julian was now a lot bigger and had begun walking about on his walker. Once, Cyn and I were chatting while she knitted something, and Jules suddenly grabbed on to the couch and pulled himself up. Cyn and I froze, and a huge smile arose on her lips. She put her knitting down and held her arms out to the smiling tot. –Come on then, Jules! Go on, you can do it, luv!

I sat there, on the floor, and stared in delight as Jules took three wobbly steps towards his awaiting mom, who spun him around in the air as he giggled and laughed, proud of himself. I applauded and congratulated him, all the while thinking of John and how he had missed his son’s first steps. That night, there was the usual call and John cursed a multiple "f" word upon hearing what had happened. He told Cyn he would never miss such an event again. After that, she passed the phone to me, and I spoke to Paul about what had happened and my own expectations for the future. He knew he would miss a lot of significant moments, but promised to be there for good quality time while he was at home. That was good enough, I figured.

Time went by faster than I had imagined. On the last three days before the boys returned from their tour, I made a Beatle girl slumber party at my home on Cavendish. After that, I dared Paul’s orders and I stayed by myself in the huge, newly decorated home. Nothing happened. I basically sat there, either with Jane, or Cyn or pat, drinking tea, watching the news of the tour on TV of playing with Julian.

Paul asked me not to pick him up at the airport, saying he would arrive directly home. I knew that this wasn’t because of some other woman, but rather to keep me from harm’s way. It seemed to me that Paul was more scared about the situation than I was.

At 3:45 PM on the afternoon of September 21st, the keys rustled at the door. I ran with a huge smile on my face. He was loaded with extra bags, but dropped them all on the floor to hold me the moment I touched him.

- Been staying ‘ere by yerself? - He looked at me reprimandingly.

- Just a couple of days, that’s all…- I pouted. – You’re going to shout at me?

Paul huffed. –Cor, will you ever ferget that? –He held me and hugged me, pressing my body against his. - Whoa, what the…- He pushed away suddenly and smiled, feeling the slightly larger bulk on my tummy. –You’re getting bigger, aren’t ya? - He smiled, and gently did some tapping on the soft mound, as if he were knocking on a door. –Eah, there, you! Gonna say ‘ello to yer daddy, then? I’m ‘ome!

I laughed. It was obvious from day one that Paul would turn out an excellent father. He had it in his blood. Plus, he loved children. it would be years later when I would learn the true nature of being a blood born McCartney. family people by heritage, the lot of them.

- Cum ‘ead. - He held my hand and pulled me to the livingroom, holding some large paper bags in his other hand. – Look what I’ve got ‘ere!

He sat the bags down on the couch and pulled out a series of clothes for me. They were all gorgeous. With all the shopping Cyn and I had done, plus all this, I was almost fully stocked for the duration of the pregnancy.

Paul was actually little more than a little boy in a man’s body. He froze, pouted, and pulled out a small blue teddy bear with a little red ribbon around its neck.

- Awww! – I smiled.

- Me name is Wendell! - He spoke in a fake voice as he wiggled the bear in front of my face. –Want to be me best friend?

- So, it’s Wendell, is it? - I spoke to the toy, following Paul’s joke.

- Yeh! - Paul wiggled the bear’s little arm. – I was given to yer hubby by one of ‘em really nice well wishing fans! "Fer the missus", she said!

I smiled at Paul. – Have you any idea how much I missed you?

Paul put the bear down and kneeled on the floor. –Not ‘alf as much as I did…- He kissed me gently and leaned his forehead against mine. – I’m just bloody aching fer a bath…

- Just a bath? - I spoke playfully.

- Actually, fer today? Yes, just a bath…- He gritted his teeth. –I’m knackered, luv. I’m sorry…

- Aw, don’t excuse yourself, McCartney! – I hugged him. –Go on, let’s get your bath ready, ok?

When I stood up, he stayed on his knees and leaned his head on my tummy. –This is nice…- He sighed with his eyes closed.

I laughed out loud as I ran my hands through the thickness of his black, moppy hair. –God, you really are looking forward to this, aren’t you?

He looked at me from the floor. –Yep. Can’t wait…- He stood up and spoke as he followed me up to the master bedroom and into the bathroom. –I mean, all that anticipation of not knowing what it will be, you know… Boy or girl, and all tha’…Plus I can’t wait to see who the baby will look like the most, you know…

- I hope it’s you…- I said as I opened the hot water tap.

- So do I…

I turned to look at him with mock dismay. –Hey!!!

- I AM the Cute Beatle, you know…- He joked.

- Yeah, and you ARE arrogant as all hell too, you know! – I felt the temperature of the water on my fingers and then sprinkled the drops to his face. Get off the cloud, Paul…

- Go on, you know I’m joking! – He hugged me. –Besides, face it: YOU think I’m cute…

- I think you’re GORGEOUS. – I turned and hugged him back.

- There you go…

- And you? – I hoped for a flattering answer.

- Oh, I think I’m just about the sexiest bloke in the world.- He posed a huge, toothy smile that was as fake as the statement he had just made.

I slapped him on the chest. –I hate you!

- No, you don’t…- He kissed me hard and then allowed me to come up for air. –And regarding yer question? Yeh, I think yer a bloody knockout.

I looked down. – Even if I’m this fat?

He presses his lips and huffed. –Yer NOT fat, yer ‘aving a baby. It’s a completely different thing. Besides…- he toyed with my hair. –You look luvely… Even luvlier than when I left you…

He turned and removed his clothes. He looked a bit thinner, but I figured that’s what the tour did to him.

The tub was full, and I poured a small amount of salts while he removed the rest of his clothing. God, he looked great in the nude! Very white, not extraordinarily strong looking, but he had a lithe frame that drove me mad. I loved the color contrast, his dark hair, his nipples and his skin. white, pink, pitchh black... Had Snow white been male, she would have been Paul McCartney, I thought, and was unable to hold back a giggle after thinking it.

He stared at me and smiled. –So what are you staring at? and what's with the giggling, then?

- I missed you bad…- I looked at his entire nude self.

He chuckled. – You’re not bathing with me, then? – We stepped to me and unbuttoned my blouse. –I want to take a look at that tummy "al natural".

I helped him remove my clothes. The water from the tub rose in steam and reached our nostrils with a delicate smell of roses. My favorite scent in bath salts.

We stepped into the water. The warmth of the liquid and the soft graze of his body hair delighted me in sensual pleasure. He leaned against the wall of the huge tub and I leaned on him.

- Now THIS is life…- He mumbled as he kissed my cheek. – Cor, I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight…

- Hopefully not tomorrow night…- I wiggled my toes outside.

Paul went on to tell me about the tour. But he was more concerned to know if anything had happened during his absence. When I gave him a negative answer, he sighed and held me to him. I knew this would be one of those moments of non-sexual loving, and I was indulging in every second of it. I knew now how much of a jerk this man could be, but it was moments like the few seconds with the teddy bear and the times he spoke to the baby that made it all worthwhile. Inside, Paul was loving, sweet, deeply caring, fatherly and highly emotional, strong when required to be and tender in times of need. Maybe he was the perfect man; at least the perfect man for me. I felt his hands gently caress my stomach as he hummed a lullaby. God, he could make me melt! I was never known to indulge in extremely cloying sweetness, but with Paul it just seemed easy to do so. I didn’t know if he was singing for the baby or for me, but I began to feel drowsy soon enough. We both stepped out of the bath, dried up, wrapped ourselves in a matching set of bathrobes (a wedding present from John and Cyn), and flopped dead on the bed.

When I woke up, my hair was an obvious mess. Paul snored softly on the right side of the bed. I stood up and tried to brush my mane. Once I had, I loved the look I achieved. It looked natural enough for me to perk up in pigtails, which I tied in two red ribbons. I went downstairs and picked out one of the dresses Paul brought home for me. I had picked red ribbons because this was a small, cute little red dress that reached a little above the knee and had white cuffs and collar. I looked like a schoolgirl gone bad; too adorable, yet pregnant. All I was missing was the lollipop.

After another two hours I went outside to the cobblestone yard, and I saw the pitiful shape of some rosebushes. Even if it was a bit dark, I was able to distinguish a dry branch from a green one. I could see these roses still had a bit of hope to bloom properly in the winter.

- I’ll ‘ave to call me dad over to see to those…

I turned and saw Paul had awoken, and was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The Mop Top was a total mess, and he still looked gorgeous enough to make me turn to putty. I had had him so many times in my arms yet every time I looked at him it always felt like the first.

He walked over and took a closer look at the branch, squeezing it gently, almost analyzing it. -This one’s still alive, you know…- He dusted his hands and took a couple of steps back, putting his hands on his hips. –Yep, the old man will be ‘appy to see to them. – He saw the confused look on my face and smiled. –Back at ‘ome, on Forthlin Road in Liverpool, me dad used to look after the roses on the front yard. ‘E ‘ad all sorts of ‘em, you know… He even ‘ad a few tulips and stuff…

- Was your house nice? - I asked, taking his arm.

- Yeh, I guess it was better than all the others I ‘ad lived in before…- He bit his lip as he remembered. –I can’t remember where I was, really, because I was a wee lad and all. But there was this one ‘ouse where me mum and dad ‘ad to put jackets on Mike and I to go to the loo because it was outside…- He signaled to the back of the garden with his left index. –And there was no heating or anything, the place was bloody cold all the time.

I was suddenly into the story-hearing mood. –What else do you remember about your childhood?

He laughed. – I was a right little bastard! I think I hit someone over the ‘ead with a rod or a brick or sumthing once, I can’t remember…- He giggled at the memory. – I also recall almost burning up me uncle’s garage with Mike, because we were doing sum experiment or another. Then there was one time when he and I stole apples from this huge orchard, but we got nipped, right? So we were punished by me dad! I was the older one, so Mike got scolded and I got a belt on my arse. - He laughed out loud. –I was so mad, I went into their room and made small tears on me mum’s expensive curtains… Not too noticeable, really, but I suppose in me brain I thought I was even enough.

- A sassy boy, were you? – I laughed with him.

He sighed. –No, not really. Tha’ was the thing. Mike was the sassy one. I almost never got caught doing stuff, basically because I tried to talk my way out of it. But Mike would immediately start bowling out… I always told ‘im, you know… "Tell dad you didn’t do it, and ‘ell stop ‘itting you!"

- Lying class, 1-0-1! - I shook my head. –You cagey little boy…

- I told you, I was a rat!

We walked across the yard and sat down on a white bench. After a long silence, he squeezed my hand. –Eah, tell us about you! Yer childhood! - He raised his hands as if explaining something in order not to offend. –The nice bits, I mean. I’m sure you do ‘ave good memories…

I leaned on his shoulder. –Well, I was born in Boston. I remember a few things with my dad, you know… I remember a big garden with a canal, feeding ducks and geese and stuff… Then there was one time when I fell of a marry-go-round, and my mom took me to get stitches…- I raised my fringe to show him a small scar.

- Yeh, I’d noticed tha’, but never quite got around to asking where you ‘it yer ‘ead…

- I must have been about five, or so…- I smiled. – After I had gotten the stitches, mom thought I had been so good, she took me to this ice cream place. There were a bunch of kids there eating ice cream, and she told me I could have the biggest one they had in the house. So Jesse and I sat with all the other kids, and felt proud of having the biggest scoops there… - I shuffled through my mind and found one more memory. –After the thing with Steve, we were already in New York and well, money wasn’t so good. But still, mom threw a huge birthday party for me… Well it was for both Jesse and I, so she wouldn’t have to spend on two birthdays. But I remember Jess and I got bikes. I got a red one and Jesse got a green one. We were the proudest girls in the block! - I looked down. –It was years later that I found out that mom had sold some family heirloom to buy us those bikes…- A faint smile shone on my face. –It was the best birthday of my life… Well, that one and the one where you kissed me, anyway…

Paul put his arm around me. – Yer mum sounds like quite a lady…

- She tried her best to get us both ahead. But cancer got the best of her…- I sighed looking straight ahead.

- I know the feeling…- He behaved exactly like I did.

- And what was she like? - I asked, hoping not to make him feel bad. I was actually surprised when he threw a curve at me and displayed a huge, shiny smile.

- She was all mother, you know. She lived fer us. She was a nurse, you know, during the war… A midwife... I was actually born during an air raid. And becausw she 'ad been a nurse in the maternity I was born in, they gave 'er one of the fancy rooms so she could 'ave me, you know...

- You must have been her pride and joy. – I snuggled against him, suddenly feeling cold.

- Her? Oh, yeah… I could get away with murder. But not me dad…- He laughed out loud. –It took old Jim three days to acknowledge ‘is son was a cute baby…

- What? – I smiled.

- Yeh, he actually ran out of the ‘ospital crying. He thought I ‘ad been born all deformed. ‘E thought I was an ugly piece of red meat, because I was all bloody and all tha’ stuff babies cum covered in… Poor man, wept all night.

I laughed. –How is that possible?

- Well, I supposed ‘e didn’t know much about childbirth…

- He must feel a bit ashamed every time he sees your face on a mag or newspaper, labeled as The Cute Beatle.

Paul smiled. –I ‘ope so… I’m not an ‘orrible piece of red meat, am I?

I laughed out loud. –Certainly not…. And I hope to God that’s not your reaction when the baby’s born…

He looked at me with a devilish little grin. – I know what newborns look like. I’m actually looking forward to meeting this one…- He leaned over and kissed my tummy again. Oh, God! I loved this man! That was all there was to it. I loved him. Not because of his pretty face, or his famous name. I just loved the way he loved me.

I sent out invites to Lin and Sharon to spend Christmas over with us. Paul and I would be flying out to Liverpool to spend the celebration with his family. I had no family left anyway, so the McCartneys were like my own blood by now. While Sharon declined because she had to work to keep up with the rent of my old apartment, Lin agreed to come over. Lin’s parents had actually been gracious enough to lend her money for the trip, thus allowing her to cover her share of the rent.

While I anxiously waited for their arrival, the baby began to kick. It all happened one night while Paul and I were watching Juke Box Jury. Oddly enough, the song in the jury stand was "Eight Days A Week", which had been released not long before.

Naturally, it was voted a hit.

- THAT song was fer you…- Paul mumbled sleepily.

- I know. –I kissed hid hand. I turned to look at him. He was nodding on and off. His eyes, which were already naturally droopy, were looking even more tired than usual. We had actually spent the day painting one room exclusively for the baby.

I stood up and woke him. – Where are you going?

- I have to answer the big white phone…

- Hey? - He sneered.

I giggled at his reaction. – Nature’s calling, you know…

Paul giggled and he leaned over to switch off the TV. –Ok, telly off then. I’m off to bed, I’m knackered and all….

- Ok… I’ll catch up with you there. - I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

As I walked upstairs with Paul behind me I felt the first nudge. It was hard and it actually hurt a bit. Halfway up the stairs, I stopped and held on to the rail with my right hand while I touched the bulge with my left. – Whoa…

- What is it? – Paul suddenly awoke.

I turned to him with wide eyes. – I think the baby kicked… I’m not sure.

Paul stared at me intensely and grinned. – Well, you best go on to the loo and into bed then. We don’t want another kick halfway up the stairs, do we?

I grinned and walked on. It didn’t happen again for a while, even while I was in the W.C. When I went into the bedroom, Paul was already undressed and in bed, his head cocked to the side and almost completely asleep. Silently, I slipped into a pink little baby doll he bought for me and carefully slid beside him, careful not to wake him up.

At five months I was already unable to sleep face down, so the best I could do was lean slightly on my side. Just as I was turning, the baby moved, this time persistently.

- Paul! Paul! - I nudged him.

- Hmm? What? - He woke up drowsily.

- Give me your hand! – I took his hand and placed it gently on my tummy. –Here!! Feel that?

Paul suddenly was wide-awake. I will never forget the look in his eyes as he felt the tiny child move and wiggle inside me. They shone like the morning.

- Cor, restless little bugger! - He laughed. Without warning, he lifted the baby doll to see the movement. He stared at my abdomen with a grin as he gently leaned his hand on me again. –Look at tha’! It won’t sit still, will it?

I was personally close to tears. I had never felt the baby move, and this being the first time, I was marveled at the fact that there was indeed something alive inside of me.

- What’s it like, then? - He looked at me, wide-eyed.

- It feels great… It’s beautiful…- I could feel my eyes begin to water up in tears of joy.

- Cor, I can’t wait to meet the tike! – Paul laughed, staring at the bulge again.

Just then, the movement stopped. We both waited in silence, hoping to feel it again, but it seemed the baby had grown tired and was finally taking a well-deserved break.

In his usual fashion, Paul spoke to it as he kissed my belly. – You did great there, luv! Great workout! Got to stretch them limbs out, hey? – He picked up a small radio and shuffled through a few radio stations until he caught a song by the Platters called "Smoke gets in your eyes".

- There, that’ll do…- He leaned the radio gently on the bulge, and turned to look at me with a sweet stare. –Do you think the baby can hear tha’?

- I’m sure it can… - I smiled at Paul. He leaned over and we made out for the duration of the song. Even though I was now unsure whether sexual contact was dangerous or not, I immediately felt like touching him. At first he declined, saying it was not fair on me to allow me to do things to him when we were not sure if he should do it back. But I didn’t care; I just wanted to please him. He eventually caved in, and I could feel my own pulse increase as his panting turned into gasping.

- You ought to stop this…- He spoke aghast, eyes closed.

- No…- I looked at him and began to find my way down, kissing his lips, his neck, and his chest.

He looked at me funny and grinned. –What are you up to, girl?

- Don’t talk to me about being "up", here… You should be the one to talk! Now lean back and relax, will you?

And he did… And it was a huge success. And it tasted terrible, but I was pleased to see him go so nuts, even more than through usual contact. it wasn't until then that i discovered the kick a man can get from oral sex. I had heard about it, I had even seen it written on school bathroom walls and lockers. The popular cliché of asking a woman if she swallowed became crystal clear to me that day. When it's so damn sudden, one doesn't have much of a choice, so I just did what my body instructed me to do with the dreadful tasting liquid, just as Paul panted and laughed aloud at the same time. bad tasting or not, I was thrilled to have made him let go so hard and happy. The rest didn't matter.

- God… bloody… almighty…- He panted as I found something to wipe my face with. One look at me and he was decidedly embarrassed.- God, luv, I’m sorry… I should 'ave told you to pull away...

- No way! – I laughed as I looked at him. He was all blushed, and I could see the pulse on his neck. Yep, I was proud of myself. – I mean, it seems I did well, didn’t I?

He pulled me up by the shoulders and allowed me to sink into his neck. – That has to be the best one I’ve ever ‘ad… AND I’VE ‘AD PLENTY!!

- Well, then, glad I was able to make you happy…

- But why? – He caressed my hair. – I mean, we don’t want to chance it with you, yet you…

- Because you’ve given me everything I’ve ever dreamt of, Paul…- I interrupted as I felt his hands on my head. – I was pretty much by myself, then I found you… You gave me a space in your life, in your family… I owe you a whole lot more than just a… - I blushed. – You know…

- A blowjob, luv…- He giggled. – That’s the only way I know it to be called. I know there’s plenty others, but…

I laughed. – I guess there are, but you can’t even say the word "testicles" without blushing!

After a long laugh, we looked into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity, a knowing look that said it all without the need for words. I could feel his chest rise and descend as his excitation decreased at the same pace as his heart beat. I just stared into his eyes as he slowly fell asleep, a deep and very warm, peaceful sleep. I then just spent a few minutes looking at him, breathing hard and deep, his china white cheeks still rosy from a huge blood rush, his lips slightly parted and his eyes moving under thick, heavy, curly lashes.

I rolled to my side and sighed as he slept. I stared at the ceiling and blissfully prayed, thanking God for letting me be with Paul. Just then, the baby kicked again. I hesitated in waking Paul, as he was so tired and was sleeping in such an angelic state. I simply soothed the baby myself. – There, you… Shhh- I caressed my stomach. –Let your poor dad have a snooze, will you?

Soon after that, I was sleeping. The three of us, rather. I had dreams of a grassy park, a baby running around, and Paul and I laughing around it as it fell and stumbled around. Who could blame me? I was in love.

The next couple of weeks were dedicated to Christmas shopping. Since Lin would be coming over, I had to figure out what to get both Paul and her. Not to mention my brother in law, Mike as well as Jim. I continuously asked Paul what would be good for them, but he had finally put all my anxiety regarding his family to rest when he told me HE would take care of the presents and label them as gifts from Paul and Rita.

As for Paul, I saw a gorgeous brown suede coat with a hood for sale at Mark’s and Spencer’s. I had gone from model, to Beatle intruder to future mom of a Beatle baby. That last status gained me a lot of respect from Beatle fans at last. Most of them would approach me with smiles, asking if they could touch my stomach. They figured it was as close as they’d come to touching Paul.

The day I bought the jacket for Paul, the lady at the cashier smiled as she pressed the buttons in the cash register. –Is this for him, then?

I nodded with a smile, and she looked at me with almost teary eyes. – Can I hug it before you take it over for wrapping? Please, can I hug the jacket?

I looked around me and I blushed a little. –Yeah, I guess…

The way she squeezed the jacket to herself made me feel sorry for Paul had he been the one to get the mortal hug. After she was done, she put the coat in a bag and smiled at me, handing me my ticket. – Can I ask you a question?

I had to giggle. –Go ahead…

- Is he a good kisser?

I gasped and began to laugh to avoid blushing. –What?

She lowered her voice. –Beatle Paul… Is he a good kisser? Because I love the shape of his lips, you know… He is so, so gorgeous!

I nodded and chuckled. –Yes… yes he is a fantastic kisser.

- Oh! - She closed her eyes and took her hand to her chest. –You are so, so lucky!!! You’re even having his baby and all! God, I’d give anything to be in your shoes!

It was around this moment when I generally started on all his bad points; But why tear away that illusion from this one? No, Rita, don’t be cruel. Let her dream on about her Beatle.

I took the bag and went to get the coat for gift-wrapping. Like the girl in the cash register, the gift wrappers asked me a bunch of questions on Paul. What he was like, did he kiss good, was he happy to be a future dad, was he nice to me and even things such as "Does he sing in the shower?" Finally, another rub in the tummy. One of them was even lucky enough to receive a jump from the baby, making her giggle and squirm as if Paul himself had touched her. I was relieved the fans were now accepting me in the light of Paul’s happiness.

When I got home, Paul had gone to the airport to pick Lin up. I said hello to the fans that were now regulars outside. Some of them were even friendly enough to even do occasional chores for Paul and I. Paul would often ask one or two of them to keep an eye on the house. Not literally let them house sit, but watch over the fans who wanted to jump over the fence and all the like. They knew they gained favor in Paul’s eyes if they did that, so they would oblige and even hand over a report on what had and had not happened. They were nice enough girls.

Once inside, one of them rang the buzzer. –Hello?

- Yes, Rita! Hi! I forgot to tell you! You have a package here!

- A package? – I said, leaving my jacket on the couch.

- Yeah, we told the mail guy he could leave it with us, and I signed for it, so it wouldn’t be left there on the floor.

- Ok, thanks Margot! I’m coming out.

I felt a cold breeze hit my shoulders and I shuddered. I knew it would start to rain real soon. I hit the button that opened the gate from the inside and stepped through the cobblestone yard through to the gate.

- Ok, then, where is it? – I smiled at Margot. She smiled back and handed me a somewhat bulky envelope. I shook it, and heard what sounded like the rustling of papers. Holding it up to the lamppost, I managed to see some photographs. I remembered Sharon was going to mail me some stuff, and the packet was labeled from America, so after smiling at Margot and thanking her again, I went inside, closing the gate behind me. As I walked back to the house through the cobblestone yard, I opened it up and pulled the first photograph out. I froze. I paced slower and felt like I was losing my balance. I reached the door little in time to hold on to the post before falling. The photographs scattered to the ground just before the rain began to fall. I stared at them, panting, and trembled as I held the note to my hand. The Polaroid photographs showed Jesse aged around ten or eleven, naked, bruised and beaten. And the note read: "Where’s my other little child?"

When Paul got home, I was still sitting outside, getting drenched. Naturally, he and Lin immediately helped me up and took me into the house. Paul collected the photographs and looked at them with dismay while Lin desperately looked through her luggage for a towel.

Paul kneeled in front of me and shook the photos in my face. –When did this cum in, then? At what time? - I didn’t answer, and Paul shook me by the shoulders, shouting violently. – Rita! Listen to me!!

- I don’t know! I don’t know! - I screamed in tears. –I was out shopping! Margot took the package from the mailman! I don’t know!!!

Paul stood up and paced like an angry animal before running upstairs and locking himself up in the room. I could hear him cuss and swear and smash things around while Lin tried to comfort me.

After an hour, Paul came down again, a lot calmer. He sat with me and hugged me. –I’m sorry, honey... I'm so sorry... I just get so mad at this cunt, that's all...…

We talked about going to the police. That very afternoon, we had a constable visiting our home. Paul and I said we would have liked to talk to a higher official, as this was serious stalking issues, but the man said he would need to have conclusive and hard evidence of who the stalker was in order to take things to a court and raise a warrant. Paul was furious, and insisted to speak with someone from the Yard.

The next day, we visited the Yard ourselves, but were found in a line of bureaucratic business. Either way, we left a claim there, hoping someone would tend to us soon.

Despite the fact that I was worried, Paul went out of his way to make my Christmas a pleasant one. He went MORE than just out of his way. He gave me the best Christmas present anyone could have ever given me.

The flight to Liverpool was a bit disastrous, as the weather was horrifying enough to even scare the hell out of Paul, who was used to flying in tough ones. At some point, he even grabbed a hold of my hand and tightened it as he threw an arm around me, whimpering a wobbly "I love you!" as he gritted his teeth. More than once, the plane bobbed back and forth. When we finally reached Liverpool, Paul had a problem with low blood pressure and we had to make him drink a bottle of Coke with a spoonful of sugar. In a matter of minutes he was feeling better, but was somewhat scared of flying in that weather again.

Inside the lobby gents’ room, he threw up, washed his mouth and put on his old reliable beard and moustache. When he came out, I knew he had been sick, as he was looking paler than usual. With a smile, I put an arm around him and pressed a bit on the corner of the beard. –It’s falling off… Here. - I placed a Panama hat on his head and a pair of huge, thick brown glasses. Lin giggled, claiming he looked a bit too much like her dad.

Good father that he was, Jim immediately recognized his son. –There’s me lad! - He held open arms for Paul. –Gosh, son, you look like you ‘ad seen a bloody ghost!

- I almost did, you know…- Paul muttered as he hugged his father.

Mike took a long look at Lin. –And who’s this, then? - He turned to me. – Isn’t this yer mate, Rita? The one who was at yer wedding? - He shook her hand.

- Nice memory! Mike, this is Lin, Lin, this is Mike, Paul’s kid brother…

Lin gasped. – Oh, God! You were at the wedding! I would have never known you two were…

- Yeh, thank GOD I look nuthing like that wanker…- Mike joked.

- Mike! We ‘ave ladies around! – Jim barked.

- Besides, I’m not a wanker! - Paul tried to smack Mike on the top of his head. Mike cleverly ducked in time and ran from Paul. – Cum ‘ere, you! – The Beatle shouted as the younger brother ran from his smacks. –I may be smaller, but I can cripple ya in three minutes!

- Let me see you try… FATTIE!

Paul gasped. –All right, mate! Tha’s it! You looked fer it… Cum ‘ead you little twit!!! –

It was very funny to see a bearded old geezer chasing a long and leggy youth like Mike McCartney around, both laughing as they played like schoolchildren during a break period.

- My two sons will never grow up, it seems…- Jim laughed. He suddenly took a good long look at me and his mouth fell open with a smile. –That’s me grandchild then? Luv, yer looking luvely! Give us a hug, then! – He laughed as he put his arm around me. –Ah, the daughter I never ‘ad! – He took me by the shoulders. –‘Ow are you, luv? Me boy giving you any trouble?

I laughed. –Actually, Jim, I’ve been a lot of trouble to your boy…

Just then we heard a crash. We then saw Paul had Mike on the floor over a stack of luggage, and was twisting his arm back. –Take it back! Take it back Michael!!

- Yer not fat! Ok? I’m sorry, Paul! Yer not fat! Aagh! Let go off me, you tosser! - He whined between giggles. People stared at them, unable to recognize Paul and even angered at the loud pandemonium created by his American Football tackle.

They walked back giggling. Mike, who was a lot taller than Paul, had him by a chokehold and walked to us. – All right, Rita… See ‘ow it’s done, then? This is ‘ow you treat the old boy at ‘ome, is it?

- No, she’s a lot gentler than you! - Paul spoke between gasps.

Mike let him go and Paul rapidly placed his hat back on and checked if the beard wasn’t falling off. Mike offered to take Lin’s luggage while Paul took mine and his.

- So, how’s me nephew cooking up, then? – Mike asked smiling, gently touching my abdomen. – May I?

- Yeah, sure! - I smiled back as he touched me. – Why would you be so sure it’s a Nephew?

Suddenly, we heard a squeak. –It ‘as to be ‘im!! Look! Tha’s the American bird ‘e married, so tha’s got to be ‘im!

- Aw, shit! – Paul grabbed the bags and his father’s arm somehow. –Very well, Dad, RUN!

We all ran and met up with a couple of security gorillas hired from London in Liverpool, who stopped the girls chasing us short of ripping Paul’s hat apart. He then stopped, turned and tried to speak to them. One of them passed out on the floor and the other one was in tears. By then, attention was growing, and it was time to leave the airport.

Inside the car headed for Rembrandt, Jim and Mike’s home, I realized Paul was truly careful of the way he spoke around me, as once he was with his family he went all the way into his old Scouse self. They spoke about all sorts of things, but it was a dialect too hard to understand. That’s what I said: A DIALECT. Liverpool english was a bit over my head, when Paul asked Mike to give him "tha’ ciggie dofor, mate! Cor, Yer too bloody wasteful, me whack! Cum ‘ead, ‘ere, gisalite, then. Feel like goanto the fleapit, hey? ‘Aven’t been ‘dur fer years, no, ‘ave I? The Pewl’s becum bloody snapping, it’as!"

Huh? What?

When Jim gave me the literal translation, it turned out something like this:

"Give me that unfinished cigarette butt, Mike. God, you’re such a wasteful person! Come on, you have a light? Hey, feel like going to the movies while I’m here? Haven’t gone for years! Liverpool’s gotten to be a very active city!"

Paul and Mike got naughty and began to talk to Lin and me in the exact same lingo, having a great laugh at our confused reaction.

- ‘Ere, tatty ‘ead! Who’s me Judy, then, hey? - Paul held my hand.

- Huh? - I frowned, annoyed at not being able to understand what had seemed easy to grasp before.

- I swear THAT is not english! - Lin sneered. –I don’t know what it is, but it’s not English…

- Go on! - Paul spoke to her with a boyish grin. –Don’t you start to get a cob on, hey?

- A what?

- She dunno a blind bloomin’ werd ye sayz, Paul! - Mike laughed with him. –Look at ‘er! She can’t find ‘er arse frum ‘er elbow!

They both laughed out loud like two boys after putting glue on the headmaster’s chair. Paul suddenly cleaned off his face with the back of his hand. –Eah! You yockered all over me clock, stupid!

The only two words I had managed to make out so far had been Paul and Stupid.

- Aw, listen to ‘is bloody ranting! - Mike spat again all over Paul intentionally and then turned to me. –This cuming frum tha man ‘os been the naughtiest, hey? Yew and our gammy ‘anded kid living over the brush, or I who yockers on speech?

- Sod, off, ‘ooter face! – Paul banged him on the arm. –We’re not over the brush! We’re married, we are!

From that point on, it was all a blur. I could not make out a single word they said.

Eventually, Paul got to talk decently, and as we pulled over at Rembrandt he apologized for his childlike misbehavior. Lin and I got the explanation of some scouse terms, although it didn’t help much, for Scouse itself was a whole melodic use of english language, not just a few selected words. "Tatty head" was an affectionate word for "girl." "Me Judy" was like saying "My Wife", but I had figured that one out from reading almost every "Punch and Judy" book in my childhood. To get "a cob on" meant to be upset over something. To "yocker" was to spit. "Gammy handed," meant being left handed. And the reason Paul had gotten defensive over "living over the brush" was because it meant to be living in sin. Not that his explanations cleared up the huge knot of sentences I had in my head. Jim explained that it would eventually be all right, but that I’d better get translations if I was to talk to good old Auntie Gin.

Auntie who?

- OOOH, THERE’S ME GORGEOUS ‘ANDSUM LAD!!- A woman ran, open armed, to Paul. – God, ‘ow long ‘as it been, Paulie?

- Too long! - Paul smiled as he hugged her. –Cum ‘ead, Ginny! I brought the missus, ’ere. -

Gin came across as a small and somewhat chunky woman with a face as red as a cherry and a huge smile. –‘Ere, this is me wife, Rita… - He smiled and pointed at me. –As you can see, we’ve got the stork cuming over…

- Hello…- I held my hand out shyly, but the woman threw herself at me with a tight hug that I thought would make me come to term prematurely.

- Aw, me luv! Welcum to the family!

Oh, no more scouse for today, please…

I begged Paul to explain to me what the hell the woman had said while she gave Mike an equally affectionate hug. It wasn’t that I minded all the affection. After all, Paul had warned me he had an overly affectionate family, a virtue the canny McCartneys were famous for.

Christmas was a complete success. Paul went absolutely mad over the coat He put it on, modeled it around while everyone oohed and ahhed over it, kissed me a million times and sat back down. I finally decided to get Lin a very expensive dress. I got them almost for free from Mary Quant’s store after the sessions. She was naturally overwhelmed. And what overwhelmed her even more was that Paul, Jim and Mike had gotten her presents as well, after hearing she was coming over. Such were the bonds between McCartneys and friends. A tight unit, a friendly unit… The family Paul dreamt of and had been reared to believe in. Jim’s new wife Angie and her daughter Ruth, also seemed incredibly nice. Paul treated Ruth like she was a legitimate sister, spinning her around, playing with her and talking to her. She was a small child then, but a lovely little girl all the same. Paul bought her a huge stuffed plush puppy, which she was rolling around with on the floor not long after.

Snapping crackers was also a new for Lin and I. We had heard about this British tradition, but had never quite understood what it was about. We all sat in a circle, and took what seemed to me like a giant candy wrapping. On Paul’s side, he took one end and I took the other, pulling an even tug until the cracker made a snapping sound. Inside would be a paper hat (which was some sort of a Christmas obligation to wear), a small toy and a riddle. Paul seemed to forget completely the Beatle world as he happily placed the paper crown over the Mop Top. I somehow felt unembarrassed enough to do the same, and before I knew it, everyone was wearing a paper hat.

Paul then approached my ear. –I ‘ave a prezzie fer you too, you know…

- A what?

- A prezzie, you know…- He gestured with his hands. –A gift, a Crimbo present...

- Oh…- I grinned and turned to him. –Where is it?

He moistened his lips. – Cum ’ead…- He stood from the floor. –Put yer jacket on, we’re going off fer a spin…- he looked at Mike, who instantly threw him the car keys.

- What, is he in on this as well? - I turned to Paul.

- You’ll see…

The spin included a small tour of what had been his childhood: The old graveyard that separated the Liverpool Institute, or the "Inny", form John’s Art College. He showed me the exact place where he and John would sit smoking cigarettes they had shoplifted. We also went over to his old home in Woolton, a gorgeous little house with rosebushes planted on the front yard on 20 Forthlin Road, just across from the golf course. Paul told me stories of how he and John would skip class and go to his house while old Jim was out working. They would sit by the piano smoking Typhoo Tea on his dad’s pipe and write songs. Most of them had failed to make it to Beatledom, but those that had were the best, songs the like of "Love Me Do".

Over at penny Lane, he stopped at a flower shop and Paul bought two bouquets of flowers, one of purple lillies and another of forget-me-nots, my favorite flower ever. When he was back in the car, he gave me the forget-me-nots. –‘Ere, luv, these are fer you…- He smiled as I took them in my hand. –Those are not yer prezzie, though…

I hugged him. –They’re gorgeous. – I stared at the other bouquet in his hands. –And who’s this one for?

Paul held a stare at me, a stare that was a mixture of happy, sad, nostalgic and resigned. –There’s sumone I’d like you to meet, still…

He started the car and we drove to a green landscape. When we pulled over, I saw a huge gate and large lettering: Yew Tree Cemetery.

- Why are we…?

- Cum on…- He stepped out of the car and walked around it, holding the door open for me. I was happy to see him wearing the brown suede jacket, but I had no clue why we were here. - Get the flowers, hey?

We paced around the graveyard. It wasn’t the same cemetery we had visited earlier on. This one was a bit prettier, less grim and more inundated with life and trees, even if at the time they had no leaves on them. Suddenly, we stopped, Paul glared in silence and he bent over to kiss the stone. –‘Ello, mum…- He spoke softly as he removed some grown grass from around the stone. –It’s me, James...

He took me by the hand and pulled me in front of the headstone. – This is me wife, Rita…- He turned to me and grinned a sad grin. –She was the only one who ever called me James all the time, you know...Go on, then… Put the flowers where they should be…

As I leaned forward, I read the headstone:


MARY PATRICIA McCARTNEY MOHIN, SEP. 29, 1909- OCT 31, 1956, LOVING WIFE OF JAMES McCARTNEY AND MOTHER OF PAUL AND MIKE.

WILL BE MISSED DEARLY.

I gently lay the flowers down into a small hole on the ground, and helped Paul clean up the stone from growing weed. –Hello, Mrs. McCartney…- I saluted as I stood up. I knew Paul was going through great pains, visiting his mom’s grave. But I knew he had to, and I was grateful he had chosen me to support him while he did so.

- We’re ‘aving a baby, you know tha’, mum? - He spoke. – I just know you’ll be absolutely ‘appy, won’t you? – He tugged at his coat as it was getting cold. -We've agreed tha' if it's a girl, we'll call her Mary Michelle... Mary, after you... I'm sure you'll be dead 'appy with the new baby, right, mum?- It suddenly seemed like he was by himself. Tears welled in his eyes and he let them roll down his cheeks as he spoke, seemingly unaware that someone else was watching.

- I’m sorry I ‘aven’t been around lately…- His voice cracked. – But with the band and all tha’, I just…- He lowered his head and sobbed unceremoniously. –I’m sorry, mum… - He sniffed and fell to his knees, leaning one shaky hand on the gravestone. - I’ll be better, I promise… I just ‘ave been so… bloody wrapped up in me own crap, mum… - He looked up and tried to smile at the stone. –But I do miss you, you know… You do know, don’t you? God, mum, I wish you could ‘ear me…

Unable to remain aloof another second, I kneeled next to him and held him. He immediately turned to me and hugged me, shedding tears as he sobbed.

- She can hear you, Paul…- I touched his head. –Loud and clear…- I then turned to the headstone and smiled at it. –Merry Christmas, Mrs. McCartney. You did a real good job with your sons. They’re fine guys. So fine, in fact, that I just happen to be madly in love with this one in particular. I hope you don’t disapprove of us, because I really, really love him.

Paul was smiling at me through tears. –If she can hear you, I’ll bet she’d be over the moon with you…

- Let’s hope so…- I said, as we helped each other stand up.

Paul sighed and touched the stone, no longer in tears, but with a rather nostalgic grin.

- Merry Crimbo, mum…

After this, I held on to his arm and we walked back to the car. He was quiet and sighed as he took his place behind the wheel.

- Are you ok? – I asked.

He grinned and nodded. –Yeh… I feel great, actually…

I touched his cheek as he started the engine. He then smiled warmly. –Now about yer prezzie!

I frowned. –That wasn’t it?

He turned around, looking for cars as he backed up. –Are you serious? Taking you to a bloody graveyard to see me cry like a baby on Crimble? No way, luv! I got sumthing else fer ya.

We drove until we reached a small little house. –Go on, then! - He said - Get out of the car.

I frowned and obeyed. He then spoke to me through the window. –Fine! Wait ‘ere! – And he took off, leaving me standing in front of the house. Just before I could shout after him, the door behind me opened and out came none other than Theresa Waybridge. I was shocked to see her there, but she was seemingly in with Paul’s "prezzie".

- Well, aren’t you looking like a blimp! – She hugged me. –Merry Christmas!

- What the…?

- Oh, best get inside! We haven’t got all day!

- For what?

- Paul’s present!

She pulled me inside the house, and I found every female from the McCartney Clan as well as Lin.

I gasped. – Ok!!- I laughed out loud. –What sort of conspiracy is this?

Before I knew it, I had Theresa all over me. –This, dear, will be an insult to every Catholic Church, but Paul insisted on it, so…

- Catholic Church? – I sneered as Lin sat me down. –What on earth…

Just then, Angela, Mike’s girlfriend, came out with a lovely white dress… A bridal gown.

I stared in shocked silence. So much for the suede jacket!

Theresa smiled at me. –Paul sent Miss Quant the measures you had now, you know, from your dresses. And she was more than pleased to create an exclusive five-month wedding gown just for you…

Tears began to well in my eyes. Theresa held my hand. –Paul knew this meant the world to you, so he thought it would make the perfect Christmas present. Like it?

At this point I was sobbing like a baby. Theresa laughed and stopped me from carrying on as fast as she could, as she had been placed in charge of doing my makeup. God, even Lin was behind this! It would be small, private, but definitely a lovely event, the way I had wanted it. And definitely the way Paul’s mom would have wanted. No wonder he had taken me to see her first.

Between all the McCartneys, Lin and Theresa, I was done in a matter of an hour. I looked at the dress. I giggled, seeing what Theresa had meant. The tummy was not yet huge, but already visible, so the dress had been designed to be wider around that area, disguising the bulge. All in all, Mary Quant had excellent taste, and had done a magnificent job at designing it. It was a bit large, but it was quickly solved with a needle, a thread and a couple of pins.

By the time I came out of the house, Mike was standing outside dressed in his finest outfit. –Now THIS is more like a bloody bride! - He held me tight. – Like our kid’s present, then?

- I can’t believe you people! – I smiled at Mike, while Lin took into her role of bridesmaid. It was hard to believe Mike had the same car Paul and I had been spinning around in only an hour earlier. It was now decorated with flowers on the outside.

- Go on then! Can’t keep the groom waiting! – He helped me into the car and after instructing the other McCartneys to take Theresa with them, he stepped behind the wheel and drove for a while.

We suddenly seemed to be heading up the downtown Liverpool and we turned into a small street called Vauxhall Road, pulling over at a somewhat small but ancient little church. I read the board on the outside: Roman Catholic Church of Our Lady Of Reconciliation of La Sallete. How was that for a long, fancy name? I heard church bells ringing, and I saw a couple of people gossiping around. I knew then a few Catholics were coming in for Christmas morning mass, and would actually be gratified with a wedding; Not just any wedding, either. But unlike our wedding in New York, there were no weeping fans or press. It was just the Liverpool locals, Paul’s Family, Lin, Theresa and I.

As Mike opened the door for me and held his hand out, I took a couple of steps outside, not believing my lucky stars for having a guy like Paul. I was able to hear the old ladies around me speaking in their scouse accent. "Aw, isn’t she luvely, now?" "What a lucky lass to ‘ave a groom take ‘er on Christmas morning!" "What a gorgeous dress!"

Ha! Little did it show that under the dress was a five-month belly! Thank you, Mary Quant!

Mike told me to wait there, and he ran inside while old Jim stepped out with a proud smile on his face. –My lad is just full of surprises, isn’t he?

I was close to tears, but I didn’t want to blemish my face before Paul could lift the veil.

– Yes, he is…

Jim held his arm now. –If you didn’t ‘ave a dad before, luv… Well, you do now… Cum on! Let me ‘ave the honor to give this luvely bride away…

Don’t cry yet, Rita! Not yet!

As we stepped in, the whole congregation stood up. Most of them were strangers that just happened to have arrived to hear the morning service. A few were shocked young Liverpool girls who gasped in excitement of being privileged enough to assist Paul McCartney’s wedding. As I looked up front, Paul stood next to Mike, dressed as a proper groom, and (may I add) looking drop dead gorgeous at that. Brian had also arrived with his Mother Queenie, as he happened to be in Liverpool for Christmas as well. He smiled at me as I passed and whispered a loud

– Good luck!

My second wedding! A real one! And this was a Christmas present from my husband?

Wow…

As I reached Paul, I couldn’t even look him in the eye for fear of crying. He raised the veil with both hands and smiled at me. –Merry Christmas, Ritty. - And he kissed my forehead before staring at me through sad, intense gazing hazel eyes. –You look so, but so beautiful….

I finally gathered courage to look into his eyes and I smiled. It was all I could do. There wasn’t much I could say. Thank you would be lame. I love you didn’t even cover half the stuff I wanted to say to him. I’m sorry for the jacket was stupid. So I just looked into his eyes and went on ahead with it. I wasn’t nervous, and even though I had to be told step by step what to do, I did it ok. Paul was actually twice as fidgety. I had to keep to myself a couple of gasps from feeling the baby kick around during the service.

At the end of it, I received the gentlest kiss he had ever given me. Mike McCartney was in charge of taking all the photographs. Now the press would be shocked they had missed THIS one, and they would even have their official press photo.

On the way out of the church and feeling rice paper land on our heads, we heard one of the people from the congregation shouting. –Hey! It’s one of them!! You know them Beatle lads!

Time to rush out!

The wedding party was held at Jim’s home, and Paul and I spent the night at a local hotel named Bradford Hotel on Tithebarn Street. We didn’t do much but caress, talk and maybe touch each other up a bit, given the fact that we didn’t want to harm the baby in any way or even be relatively close to injuring it, but we always found other ways to pleasure ourselves. Now THIS was a real honeymoon!

We spent the next few days sightseeing. I saw the docks, which were in my opinion, quite pleasant to walk around. Paul took me to the Woolton Parish where he and John had met. We spent a whole day walking around Sefton Park and also went to The Wirral, just eating what he called "Jam Booties" (Jam butties, butty for sandwich... ah, these Liverpudlians!) just staring into the vast ocean port. One of my final visits was on a boat across the Mersey River, looking at the skyline. It was not as grim a city as I had originally believed, but one could see it was still recovering from a few merciless Nazi air raids.

All this made me forget about a couple of things. It made me forget about the movie being prepared to roll early the following year. Made me forget this guy was actually going to be away a lot of the times. It made me forget about the anonymous sender who was beginning to break up what was barely just beginning to form between Paul and I.

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