MAN IDENTIFIED

 

An unknown man killed close to the Dorchester Hotel, ten days ago has been identified as Maxwell Carver. Carver was killed outright when he was hit by a taxicab, late on July 29^th. Carver, a well-known and successful entrepreneur made his name in New York, owning a chain of upmarket hotels. He had recently returned to his native London to discuss a merger with English Rose Hotels.

 

 

 

 

August 12^th 1965

 

The phone rang in the other room.

 

George was awake, lying on his back in bed, but he didn’t get up. Instead, he just listened. Grace moved next to him.

 

“The phone’s ringing,” she said.

 

“Answer it then,” George replied. Grace didn’t move. The phone went quiet.

 

George turned his head to see the alarm clock. It was nearly seven. It had been light for hours but the bedroom was still in shadows, the morning blocked out by the curtains.

 

George wasn’t sleeping very well recently. If he wasn’t dreaming of Pattie and Paul, it was the face of Maxwell Carver before he was hit by the car, and occasionally afterwards. As if he didn’t have enough to chew over in his mind already.

 

The man had been dead when he hit the ground. The taxi came to a halt ten yards further up the street, and then for the briefest moment there was nothing. No sound, no movement, as if someone had pressed pause on the world. It could have only lasted a second but it felt longer as George stood there, staring at the man, or what used to be him. The man he had been talking to just minutes before, the man he had struck just seconds before, and now he was… gone. George couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.

 

Grace was the first to move. She ran to his body, where he had landed on his side and turned him on to his back, grimacing when she saw his face. “He’s dead,” she said stoically, then turning her head to look at George, added, “You killed him.”

 

“What?” George whispered, “I didn’t… I…”

 

The taxi driver stumbled out of the cab, looking from the body to George and back again. “Shit,” he said in a strong cockney accent, “Fuck,” then turned and ran down the street.

 

George couldn’t remember if he had shouted after the driver or not. He had wanted to, but he doubted he had the ability to at that moment. He’d thought the driver was running away, in fact he had run to fetch help. He was the one who had called the police and the -pointless - ambulance.

 

Grace still knelt beside the man in the road. George found the use of his limbs again and came next to her. “It was an accident,” he said, “I didn’t hit him that hard. He fell…”

 

Grace broke her cold exterior with a sudden sob. She tried to smother it with the palm of her hand. George put his hands on her shoulders, “Come away,” he said, softly guiding her from the dead man. She let him, tears running down her face. George took his jacket off and covered the man’s face.

 

Other people had arrived now, spilling out of buildings. Someone said “George Harrison!” but George didn’t look to see who. He went to stand by Grace as sirens began in the distance. She buried her face in his shoulder.

 

“Did you know him?” George asked.

 

“No,” Grace said.

 

 

 

The phone began to ring again. George looked at the clock. It was quarter past.

 

He sat up and silently padded out of the room. Grace didn’t stir. She always slept deeply.

 

“Hello?” George said, picking up the receiver.

 

“George?” asked the voice.

 

“Neil?” George asked, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

 

“Yes,” Neil said bluntly. “Listen, it’s about tomorrow.”

 

‘Tomorrow,’ George was dreading. Tomorrow was when he would have face everything again, this time without an escape plan. He had managed to more or less avoid Paul since the party, taking some time off after the accident, but tomorrow was the tour. Tomorrow was America and hotel rooms and cars and concerts and photographs, all with Paul, all right next to Paul.

 

“I thought it was all sorted?” George said.

 

“We’re not going, I thought you should know.”

 

“We’re not?” George asked with a glimmer of hope. By some miracle had the whole thing been cancelled?

 

“You are,” Neil said, “We’re not. Me and Mal.”

 

“You and Mal? You coming later?” George said, confused, his early morning mind not quite able to grasp what Neil was telling him.

 

Neil sighed on the other end of the phone, “We’re not coming at all, George. I thought I should tell you myself. I’ve already rung Ringo.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“We’ve made up our minds, so don’t give me the whole spiel. Paul’s already been through that. We’re going.”

 

“Where are you going? Neil, you can’t bail out at this short notice…”

 

Neil snorted, “Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “Look George, we’ve talked it over. We’re going before we’re pushed.”

 

“Pushed?”

 

“It’s changed. It’s different since Brian sacked everyone.”

 

George vaguely remembered the conversation at the party, weeks ago, Paul had seen Al, he’d said… “Neil, they can’t sack you. We employ you, not NEMS…”

 

“George, it’s not open for discussion. I thought I should call you and warn you, that’s all. I’ll see you sometime.”

 

“Wait, Neil, what’s brought this on?”

 

Neil laughed hollowly, “Where have you been George?”

 

“I don’t…”

 

“It’s nothin’ personal. Not against you anyway. But they’re always there now, telling us what to do, telling us how to do it…”

 

“Who?” George asked, but Neil wasn’t listening.

 

“…and that pay cut was just an insult. Me and Mal both have families to support, y’know…”

 

“Pay cut?! Who did that? Neil, I…”

 

“You did! Who the hell do you think?”

 

“I didn’t, I knew nothing about…”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe it was just one of the papers you signed without looking.”

 

George tried to think. He couldn’t remember anyone saying anything about Neil or Mal except what Paul had brought up at the party. Then again, he had hardly been immersed in Beatle business recently. “Look, I’m sorry Neil, no one has said a word to me, but don’t quit, I’ll sort it out…”

 

“Sure you will. That’s what Paul said when it happened.”

 

“When was that?”

 

“Weeks ago.”

 

“Well, it’s not right. That can’t be right.”

 

“It’s not. That’s why I’m going.”

 

“Give me half an hour, I’ll speak to Brian…”

 

“Good luck,” Neil said sarcastically, “If you can find him.”

 

“Find…?”

 

“Jesus George, it just what you’re like isn’t it? You and the other three, so wrapped up in your own lives. You don’t give a toss about anyone else.”

 

“I’ve had a…”

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. Everythin’s done and dusted. I’ve been offered another job,”

 

“Where?”

 

“Back in Liverpool. A driving job.”

 

George paused, unsure what to say.

 

“Anyway, no hard feelings. I’ll see you later.”

 

“Neil, I’ll sort it out. Don’t go back.”

 

“I’m going next Tuesday. Bye George.” Neil hung up. George held the receiver to his ear a moment longer then hung it up.

 

 

“We’ve got to call someone,” George said, as the initial shock was replaced by panic.

 

“Who?” Grace said, still in his arms.

 

“The police, an ambulance…”

 

“George, they’re coming.”

 

He looked at her blankly.

 

“Hear the sirens?”

 

George realised and nodded. “Fuck,” he said letting go of her, “He was… he was…” he put his hand over his mouth, feeling nauseous.

 

‘What are you going to tell them?”

 

“Tell who?”

 

“The police, George. They’ll want to know how it happened. You pushed him in front of that car.”

 

“I didn’t push him,” George said incredulously.

 

“I saw you hit him and then he went over the car.”

 

“I didn’t mean to…”

 

“Oh George, don’t worry, we’ll think of something,” Grace embraced him again. George held on to her as a police car and ambulance turned into the road.

 

 

 

George picked up the receiver again and dialled Brian’s number. It rang a few times before he remembered he had changed it and George never had found out to what. He hung up again and went into the living room, rubbing his arms, realising how cold the flat was in the morning. How can we go on tour without Neil and Mal, he sat down on the sofa, tucking his feet underneath himself. It’s impossible, we couldn’t do everything ourselves. I can’t. I can’t stay with just the three of them.

 

Grace walked into the room, yawning. “There you are,” she said, and came to join him, putting his arm around her shoulders so she could snuggle into him. “Who was on the phone?”

 

“It was Neil. He and Mal have just quit.”

 

“Who are Neil and Mal?”

 

George sighed, annoyed.

 

“I can’t be expected to remember the name of every little person you employ!”

 

“They’re not just employees,” George said, ‘They’re friends. They’re as much part of the band as I am. They’ve been with us since the beginning.”

 

“Well, nothing lasts forever,” she said flippantly, “Shall I make some tea?”

 

“I don’t want any fuckin’ tea.”

 

Grace sat up, “You got out of the wrong side of the bed, didn’t you?”

 

He looked at her and relinquished, “Sorry.”

 

Grace kissed his forehead, “That’s better.”

 

George shook his head. “There’s somat going on. Somat I don’t know about.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well, then I would know, wouldn’t I?” George smiled, and stood up, walking towards the phone again.

 

 

 

“He pushed him, but he didn’t mean to kill him!” Grace gushed.

 

“Grace!” George said, dumbfounded.

 

The police officer looked at the pair of them. “What happened, sir?”

 

“He was trying to get her,” he indicated to Grace.

 

“Get her?”

 

“Attack her, I don’t know…”

 

“He was attacking you miss?”

 

Grace nodded.

 

“While you were with her, sir?”

 

“Yes. Its hard to explain.”

 

“Then it broke into a fight?”

 

“Sort of. He tried to hit, I hit him back, but… it connected wrong. He fell into the road and the taxi hit him. He was drunk. I don’t know, it happened so quickly…” George had the feeling he wasn’t making much sense. He shut his mouth.

 

The police officer closed his notebook. “Perhaps you should come in and make a statement, Mr Harrison. Just to be on the safe side.”

 

 

 

“Christ, man, do you know what time it is? I only got home four hours ago,” A groggy John finally came to the phone, after George insisted Cynthia fetched him.

 

“Have you heard from Neil? Or Mal?”

 

“No.”

 

“They’ve quit. They’ve left.”

 

“Oh,” John said flatly.

 

“Oh? Is that it?”

 

“Yeah, I know, George.”

 

“You know? You knew?”

 

“They did it yesterday. The pair of them, the fuckers.”

 

“And that’s it? You don’t care?”

 

“Why should I care?” John said angrily, starting to wake up, “They walked out, George, and right before the tour, when we need them the most.”

 

“Do you know why?”

 

“No, and I don’t give a shit. Archer said something about money.”

 

“Money, yeah.”

 

“So they’re the highest paid roadies around as it is. Now, George, ring me back later, okay?”

 

“They don’t want more money, they want what they’ve been getting. They cut their wages.”

 

“Who did?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t me and if it wasn’t you…”

 

John was quiet for a moment. George wondered if he had gone.

 

“That fuckin’ prick,” John suddenly said, his accent becoming thick Liverpudlian, “You can bet its Archer. Do you know he’s always on the phone, Brian says this; Brian says that – what, has Brian been struck dumb? Can’t speak for himself anymore?”

 

“Can he do that?”

 

“I dunno. He’ll be at the bottom of it. Well, it’s too late to do anythin’ about it before the tour.”

 

“We can’t go without them.”

 

“We’ll have to, son,” John paused, “I’m sure that twat said they wanted more money. He’s bloody lying to me now. I thought it was him again just now, when you rang.”

 

“He rings you a lot?”

 

“Yeah, well, no more than the rest, I guess.”

 

“He never calls me.”

 

“No? Perhaps he’s lost your number since you… moved. He’s never gives it a rest for me, Paul and Ring.”

 

“So you all knew?” George was getting worried. He had been preoccupied lately but he seemed to be being left out of the loop completely.

 

“Archer rang me last night. I don’t know about the others.”

 

“What’s going on John?”

 

“I don’t know. Brian’s lost his head. He’s let this wanker move in and take over.”

 

 

He found Grace waiting for him in the reception. Michael Archer was standing next to her, looking none the worse for the hour and wearing a suit that had to have been picked out by Brian.

 

Grace smiled when she saw him and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “Georgie, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” George said, looking at Archer suspiciously, “Did you call him?”

 

“No.”

 

“We heard about the accident, George,” Archer said, as Grace let go of him.

 

“You needn’t have come all the way down here,” George said walking over to him, “It’s gone two in the morning.”

 

“Quite alright. We thought it would be best if a representative was here with you.”

 

“A representative of what?”

 

Archer laughed. George didn’t.

 

“Are they charging you?” Grace asked.

 

“No,” George said, then added accusingly, “With what?”

 

“Oh no,” she said quickly, “Its just you were gone such a long time I thought...”

 

George shook his head, “They keep you waitin’, don’t they?”

 

“Everything alright now, is it?” Archer asked.

 

“Yes,” George said, resenting the fact Archer had involved himself, “Is Brian here too?”

 

“No, Brian and I have decided I should handle matters such as this.”

 

George raised an eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware things like this happened all that often.”

 

“Oh no, George. This is quite extraordinary. But it wasn’t your fault. It was just… one of those things. You’ve no need to reproach yourself…”

 

“One of those things?” George said loudly. The desk clerk looked up. “A man died tonight. They don’t even know who the poor sod was yet!”

 

“Of course. I meant to say…”

 

“He might have a wife or kids or anything!” George continued, getting angry.

 

“Can you keep it down, please, sir?” said the man behind the desk.

 

George looked at him and nodded an apology. He took Grace’s hand, “Lets go home.”

 

Grace smiled. They stepped towards the door.

 

“One thing, George,” Archer said behind him. George stopped. “We think it’s best if we keep this to ourselves. I’ll see your involvement stays out of the papers.”

 

“Right,” George said off handedly. He walked out of the door, pulling Grace behind him.

 

*

 

“Are you sure you didn’t know that man?” George asked as they rode home.

 

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Grace said, cuddling up to George on the backseat of the taxi.

 

“He seemed so sure he knew you.”

 

“He was just some poor, confused, lost soul,” Grace said and rested her head on George’s shoulder.

 

George watched out of the window, thinking, wishing, he and Grace had been going home in the earlier taxi.