November 16^th 1965   11.05  Three Lamps Public House, Kingly Street,  Soho, London

 

“Hello George,” said Bruce, fixing the door to the wall of the pub with a hook as he opened it. “You’re starting early, aren’t you?”

 

“No time to waste on days like these,” George replied, walking past him and into the dark pub.

 

George leaned on the bar, waiting for Bruce. He knew he should call John and Ringo, most probably Paul too, before Archer got to them and twisted George’s words. He should probably ask them about Brian too, but all the good intentions and determination George had had that morning had ebbed away.

 

Bruce joined him and walked around the other side of the bar. “Usual?” he asked. George nodded. “You alright, Judd?” Bruce asked in his thick cockney accent. “You don’t half look pale, son.”

 

George nodded again, “Bad morning,” he said.

 

“Well, perhaps this’ll make you feel better.” He set a pint down in front of him.

 

George looked at it, “Ta.”

 

Bruce turned away, wiping out some freshly washed drip trays. George’s mind wandered. He wondered if it could be true about Brian. He had thought Archer was lying, he didn’t trust that man as far as he could throw him, yet there must be something wrong. Brian wouldn’t stay away this long, not a single word from him since August. And the fact he had just disappeared overnight, gone back to England. Or had he? Niggling doubts crept into George’s mind. There had been enough to draw Brian back too. The Beatles had been in the papers - even more than usual – break up rumours, speculation about him and Paul, and George’s evenings on the town hadn’t been ignored either.

 

“I’ve gotta go,” George said, straightening up.

 

“What about this?” Bruce said, pointing to George’s untouched drink.

 

“Put it back in the pump for me,” George said, with a smile.

 

“Hang about…” Bruce protested, but George had gone.