August 17^th 1965

 

“Just get in the car,” he said dismissively and Archer turned away, signing something the desk clerk presented him with.

 

George stood behind him, unsure what to do. He couldn’t go back to Grace and tell her no. Not after yesterday. It was still a little shaky between them, and that could be the final straw.

 

But Archer wouldn’t even discuss it. George had asked for a word in private. What he got was a very public and flat ‘no’ in the middle of the hotel lobby.

 

The other three Beatles were already outside, standing around the car, waiting for him. They always travelled together, the four of them. George considered just running outside and jumping into the car with them, escaping away to Toronto and not dealing with this awkward situation.

 

Archer turned around. “George, do I have to escort you?” he said.

 

“She’s coming with us,” George said, trying to sound authorative.

 

“She’s not, and that’s the end of it.”

 

“She already thinks she is…”

 

“Well, you’ll just have to go back and tell her she isn’t.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“It’s not open for discussion. You should have told me your girlfriend was joining us, then perhaps something could have been arranged.”

 

“I didn’t know she was coming,” George said through gritted teeth.

 

Archer ignored him. He waved Steven and Phillip over.

 

“Cynthia has accompanied John before.”

 

“That’s different.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because John is married to Cynthia.”

 

George sighed.  Archer gave some instructions to Steven and Phillip. They scuttled away.

George hated arguing like this, he hated having to blackmail even more, but it seemed there was little choice.

 

“If Grace doesn’t come, then I’m not going either,” George said quietly, still standing behind Archer.

 

Archer turner around slowly. George expected he would call his bluff, but the look on his face told him differently.

 

“Brian…” Archer began.

 

“Brian’s not here, so there’s not much he can do.”

 

Archer pursed his lips, making his mouth very small. “Very well,” he said. “But she cannot travel with you, and no one must know you are… together.” He said the final word with great distaste.

 

George blinked, surprised at how easily he had given in. “Right,” he said, a bit lost for words. “I’ll tell her. Um, thanks.”

 

 

Grace protested a little but eventually agreed to travel without George when he bribed her with Mal as an escort. Secretly, this was preferable to George, who didn’t particularly want Grace to travel with Phillip or Steven or the rest of Archer’s slowly invading army. George didn’t trust any of them.

 

He kissed her goodbye in the hotel room, out of the gaze of prying eyes and ran down to the lobby again to find the rest of the Beatles. Mal met him at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Oh there you are,” he said. “I was just coming to look for you.”

 

“Hi Mal,” George said, thankful to find a friendly face. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had chance to talk to you since you arrived.”

 

Mal loosened the tie around his neck, “Yes,” he said. “Sorry about that George. I said we should telephone before, but she wouldn’t have it.”

 

“S’alright,” George nodded. “Grace can be quite single-minded sometimes.” He smiled.

 

“Everything… okay, now?”

 

“Yeah,” George said, attempting flippancy. “Fine. Uh, I said you would travel with her to Toronto? That’s okay, isn’t it? I didn’t want her travelling with…”

 

“I’m not going to Toronto,” Mal said.

 

“You’re not?”

 

“No. I was only visiting you, George.”

 

“Oh,” George said.

 

Mal shrugged and smiled, “Well, I guess a few days more won’t make much difference.”

 

George smiled back, “Good. Coz we could do with you around, Mal. I know Paul…”

 

“I don’t work for you anymore, though, George,” Mal said. “It won’t be like before.”

 

“No,” George agreed. “I know.”

 

“Well, anyway, come on. They’re waiting for you.” They began to walk towards the front doors. “Should be round the back,” Mal mumbled. “Not out front in the street, like this.”

 

George smiled. There was hope yet.

 

“Is it just me and her, then?” Mal asked as they reached the door.

 

“Grace? Yeah, I think so.”

 

“Grace,” Mal repeated. “Not to me apparently.”

 

George paused on the top of the steps, looking at Mal questioningly.

 

“Oh, she insists I call her Miss Burgess, not Grace,” Mal said, trying to sound light although it was obviously bothering him.

 

“Really?” George asked.

 

Mal forced a smile, “Perhaps I should call you Mr Harrison?”

 

George grinned, “Yeah. If you would.” Their smiles faded. “It’s just how she was brought up,” George said. “She was quite… that way, y’know.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Mal turned, starting down the steps towards the Beatle’s car. ‘Just gets on yer nerves, that’s all. She’s not very polite. To me anyway.” He looked up, “Sorry George.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

As the reached the bottom of the steps Mal stopped and chucked George on the arm. “Better go and find her then,” he said. “See you lads in a bit.” He raised a hand to the others and ran back up the steps. George watched him disappear back into the building.

 

“Move yer arse, George!” John called from behind him.

 

George turned to them and then he saw it.

 

It was a faded poster. Damaged a little by the rain, but still mostly intact, pasted to a billboard almost diagonally opposite the hotel. Everything else, the background, the things around him, seemed to blur out – the only thing in focus was her face. George wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. Then again, running in and out of the hotel, he hadn’t paused in the street before.

 

It was an old picture. George hadn’t realised it had been printed outside of Britain, but there she was. Pattie. Another girl with her, modelling in an advert for cigarettes. She was in black and white, but George could still see her blue eyes staring at him. She looked sad. George hadn’t noticed that about the photo before. Sad and beautiful. Perfect, as always, not a hair out of place. Suddenly, he missed her. Wanted her. Wanted to touch her, to hear her voice and smell her skin. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” a voice said to his side, and broke George’s bubble.

 

He blinked and looked, feeling a little dazed. There was a man standing next to him in a long grey coat. “Mr Harrison?” he asked.

 

“Yes?” George replied, wondering for a moment if he recognised the man.

 

“I’m glad I’ve caught you,” the man said.

 

No, George decided, he didn’t know him.

 

“I’ve been waiting. They wouldn’t let me in to see you. I had to try though, while you were still in town.”

 

“What?” George said, feeling a little unnerved.

 

“I need to speak to you urgently.”

 

“Alright, George?” Ringo said, appearing behind the man.

 

“Uh, yeah,” George said.

 

“Please, Mr Harrison. In private.”

 

“What about?” George said.

 

“What have I told you?!” said another voice, booming so loud behind George that he nearly cringed. The doorman roughly grabbed hold of the man in the grey coat. “I said if you came round here again I’d call the cops!”

 

“Just one minute,” the man cried, squirming in the doorman’s grasp.

 

Ringo tugged George’s arm, “C’mon.”

 

George looked at the doorman, “Don’t worry, Sir,” he told him. “Just another nosy reporter. Been trying to get in here since you arrived. I’m calling the cops this time!”

 

“Oh, okay,” George said and allowed Ringo to lead him away.

 

“Wait, please, George!” The man shouted behind them. “It’s about… about my…”

 

George looked back just before he got into the car. The doorman was dragging the man towards the hotel by the doorman, fighting him all the way. George climbed into the back of the car and sat down. The other three were sitting opposite him, looking out of the rear windscreen at the scuffle.

 

John turned around, “What was that about?” he asked.

 

“I don’t know,” George said.

 

“I saw him,” Ringo said. “I saw him run right up from the corner of the street,” he pointed far down the road. “Right up, made a bee line for you, as soon as he saw you. I thought he was going to knock you down or something.”

 

George looked towards the hotel. Both the doorman and the man had gone. “I never saw him til he was there…” he said.

 

“He coulda done anything,” Paul said. “He could have been trying to hurt you.”

 

“The doorman said he was a reporter. He just wanted to say something…” George replied. It was his voice, George suddenly realised. There was something in his voice I thought I recognised?

 

“Nutters,” John said, sitting back in the leather seat. “Place is full of ‘em.”

 

George wasn’t sure what place John was referring to but as that statement seemed to conclude the conversation, he didn’t ask. The car started and pulled off. George looked out of window just in time to catch another glimpse of Pattie before she disappeared from his life again.