4.10am

 

“I think we’re going to have to take a statement from you, sir,” the constable said, leaning on the kitchen worktop. He was a middle-aged man, with experience in his eyes. The female copper, the WPC was the one who had been shaken when she had seen Grace. The PC had taken it all in his stride, barely a reaction, apart from to shepherd George in to the kitchen where he had kept him for the past fifteen minutes. He looked a bit like his dad, George decided. That was a comforting thought.

 

“Can I go and see her yet?” George asked.

 

“In a moment,” the PC replied.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Constable Barnes, Sir.”

 

“I’m George. George Harrison.”

 

“Yes, I know. Do you… do you own this house, Mr Harrison?”

 

George nodded. “She’s bleeding.”

 

“Constable Percy will take care of it.”

 

“She cut her arm with a piece of glass,” George’s voice broke.

 

“Why don’t you sit down, sir?”

 

George slid into one of the chairs at the table. “I mean… I mean she might need stitches or something.”

 

“Constable Percy is talking to her. Once she’s calmed down we’ll take her to the hospital.”

 

George rested his temple on his hand. “Did someone call you?” he asked wearily.

 

“The neighbours, sir.”

 

George raised his eyebrows, “Really? She was screaming that loud?” The nearest house was quite a distance away; one of the reasons George had picked the bungalow to begin with.

 

“Uh, no. They saw a light. The house is supposed to be empty?”

 

“Oh,” George said. “Yes, I’ve been away.  We’ve just come back.”

 

“Uh-huh,” the constable nodded. He opened the kitchen door and stepped through it, pausing to look back at George. “Don’t go anywhere, will you, sir?”

 

George shook his head. The PC closed the door behind him. George sat back in the chair, trying to collect his thoughts. The pieces of the coffee mug were still in the sink and on the floor. He bent down and picked a couple of the bigger pieces up and dropped them into the basin.

 

The door opened again and Barnes returned. He shut it quietly and joined George at the table. “They’re going to be a while,” he said, his southern London accent suddenly apparent. “I think we should take a few notes. We can get a proper statement typed up later, can’t we, George?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” George agreed.

 

Barnes took a small notebook and pen out of his coat. “Now, let’s see,” he said, flipping through the pages.

 

“Is she okay?” George asked.

 

“Oh yes. She’s just talking to my colleague. She’s fine. The cuts… the cuts aren’t that deep.”

 

George nodded.

 

“Right, so. How did this little domestic start?”

 

Domestic? George thought. It didn’t seem quite the apt term. “I don’t know. We just got back from America. About an hour ago. We had an argument, it got out of hand. She just… she just went crazy.” Crazy? That word didn’t seem correct either. The girls at the concerts went crazy. Grace’s was a class of its own.

 

“What was the argument about?” Barnes asked.

 

George shrugged. “My ex- girlfriend, I suppose.”

 

“Mmm, you suppose?”

 

“Yeah, well, her and my friends. Grace doesn’t like them.”

 

“Who are your friends?”

 

George looked away, not really wanting to tell the PC. “Paul McCartney, John Lennon…”

 

“The Beatles?”

 

George nodded.

 

“Ah. And how does your previous girlfriend come into this.”

 

George swallowed. He hadn’t been able to even say this to John or Ringo yet, although Paul had told them. The idea of telling a stranger didn’t fill him with desire. “She was Grace’s friend, but I… left her for Grace,” he said cagily.

 

“So why is Grace upset about her now?”

 

“She thinks I want her back.”

 

The door to the kitchen opened and the WPC stood there, looking pale and drawn. “Excuse me,” she said to Barnes. “She wants to see him. She won’t go without him.”

 

“Go where?” George said, alarmed. “You can’t just take her off without telling me.”

 

“Calm down, sir. We just need to ensure Grace is okay.”

 

“Okay? You said she was… she…”

 

“Calm down, please sir,” Barnes said, in a suddenly very loud, commanding voice that made George fall silent immediately. “In cases such as this, where a lady has been hurt, seemingly inexplicably, we have to ensure her well being.”

 

“I told you what she did,” George said, quieter. “She did it herself… glass from the broken vase.”

 

“And the bruises?”

 

“Bruises?”

 

“Bruises on her arms and one below her eye.”

 

“She says you hit her,” the woman said, glaring accusingly at George.

 

Barnes shot her a look, “Perhaps you should go and see how Miss Burgess is, Constable Percy?”

 

The woman opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind and left.

 

“I did hit her,” George said, choosing his words carefully. “But not like you think. She was hysterical, screaming. I slapped her face to wake her out of it.”

 

The constable nodded slightly.

 

“It’s what you do, isn’t it? When people are hysterical…” George’ s voice faded away.

 

“She needs a doctor,” Percy said, turning her accusing eyes from George.  “He’ll have to talk to her.”

 

George stood up. Barnes did too, allowing George to pass him, but following him into the lounge closely.

 

Grace was still sitting on the floor, mumbling to herself and playing with a shard of glass in her left hand. George paused, unsure for a moment, not wanting a repeat of the earlier scene.

 

“Grace?” he said quietly and she snapped her head up, surprised, as if she hadn’t been away of them standing there.

 

“Georgie,” she cooed in a strange voice. “My Georgie…” She looked down at her hand again, moving the glass over her fingers.

 

“Love, you need to go with this lady now so a doctor can have a look at you,” George said gently, still standing a distance from Grace, not wanting to get any closer to her.

 

Grace ignored him, still babbling, too quiet to make out her words, just a sing-songy murmur.

 

“Miss, we want you to…” Barnes began.

 

Grace gasped and looked up, as if noticing the police officers for the first time. “No,” she said, her voice wavering, going up in pitch. “No, you can’t take him away from me…” and she closed her fingers around the glass, moving it to her wrist, tracing it over her cuts but not pressing hard enough to draw blood.

 

The previous cuts – George noticed – had stopped bleeding. Perhaps they hadn’t been as deep as he had thought. Grace went back to murmuring. George looked at Barnes. He was staring at Grace, his face paled. He looked at George and understanding passed between them, George could see he believed him.

 

George looked back at Grace and stepped gingerly over the broken glass; thankful he was still wearing his thick soled Chelsea boots, and crouched down in front of Grace. She didn’t look up, still playing with her piece of glass.

 

Closer, George could make out what she was saying. She wasn’t saying anything, she was singing. Eight Days a Week it was, or just part of it – the first verse… “Ohh, I need your love, babe, guess you know it’s true…” - over and over.

 

George swallowed. “Grace,” he said.

 

She looked up at him and smiled. “Hey Georgie,” she said.

 

“Gracie, give me that,” George told her and gently took the glass from her. She gave it to him without any resistance and George put it behind him, as far away from Grace as he could.

 

“You need to come and see a doctor, love,” he said.

 

“I love you, Georgie,” Grace said, flinging her arms around George’s neck, nearly pulling him over. George put his arms around her, holding her, her hair in his face. She smelled strange; there was a metallic odor. “Do you love me, Georgie? Beatle Georgie?”

 

“Yes, yes, I love you,” he said and maneuvered her to her feet. He glanced at Barnes and nodded towards the door.

 

Barnes moved across the room and opened the door as George slowly walked Grace towards it. Percy walked behind as they made their way out of the house and into the police car.