November 16^th 1965   7.30pm  Kinfauns, Esher, Surrey

 

George waited impatiently in the hallway. “Grace, c’mon!” he shouted, in no particular direction. “Birds,” he added, quietly to himself.

 

Grace appeared from the bathroom, pushing George out of the way so she could see herself in the hall mirror, and running a brush through her long hair. “It’s not me who was late, was it?” Grace complained, meeting George’s eyes in the reflection.

 

George smiled and came closer to her, standing behind her. “You look nice,” he told her.

 

“Where have you been anyway?” Grace continued, ignoring the compliment.

 

“I had some stuff to take care of,” George replied, he lifted her hair off her shoulders and pulled it back, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck.

 

“I thought you were in a hurry,” she said.

 

George looked up at the pair of them in the mirror. Grace’s face was blank, unreadable.

 

“Do you love me?” Grace said.

 

George stopped and stepped back. “You’re right, they’ll let the reservation go if we’re late,” he said and turned away.

 

“Well, I’m ready,” Grace said. She lifted her coat from the hook on the wall and put it on.

 

George nodded and opened the front door. The phone began to ring. “Ignore it,” George said. “We’re already late.”

 

Grace glanced at the phone and then back at George. “I have to talk to you.”

 

“When we get to the restaurant then, eh?” George said, shepherding her out of the door and closing it so that it locked. “We can’t stay out too late, I’m meeting John and the others later.”

 

Grace walked to the side of the Aston Martin. George thought she hadn’t heard him and was about to repeat himself when she said, “Paul, too?”

 

“Perhaps.” George opened the driver’s door and climbed in.

 

Grace stood, motionless beside the car door. George sighed and leaned over, opening the passenger door for her. “Get in,” he said. She looked down at him. “I’m not getting out again,” he said.

 

Grace got into the car. “Do you remember when we met, George?” she asked, closing the door.

 

George nodded and started the engine.

 

“It was because of this car,” Grace said dreamily and looked out of her window, leaning her elbow on the frame.

 

*

 

George checked his watch, impatiently. Not bothering to hide it from Grace. She sighed at him.

 

“I should call John,” George said. “I said I’d be round there tonight. We’ve got things to discuss…”

 

“Its barely ten o’clock,” Grace replied.

 

“Exactly. Drink up.”

 

Grace looked away, sulkily.

 

The small club, The Commodore, was in the unlikeliest of places, in a remote corner of Soho. An old black and white building, serving real ale, nestled in between concrete monstrosities and faux haute couture. He had been there often when he had first started dating Pattie, a memory he quickly pushed to the back of his mind. But it had been Grace who had insisted on coming her after the meal at the restaurant, and George had agreed – just for one then – to keep the peace.

 

Particularly after the previous night.

 

A row had escalated into Grace screaming the house down. Again. It hadn’t been the first time he had been thankful they lived too far from other houses to be heard.

 

“Grace, I have to go,” George said, swallowing the last of his drink. “I have something important to tell the others, before someone else does…”

 

“’The others,’” Grace whined. “Its always about them, isn’t it? The fucking Beatles. John and Ringo, and even that fucking Paul.”

 

George said nothing. There weren’t that many people in the club, but a scene from Grace never went unnoticed.

 

“You care more about them than me,” Grace continued, her voice beginning to grate on George’s nerves.

 

“Are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked her in a hushed tone.

 

Grace pouted. “No, Georgie,” she cooed. “But I need you too, you know. As well as your friends.”

 

George blinked at the sudden mood swing. Grace could flick between sweet and caring and nasty and spiteful at will, yet it still took him by surprise when she did.

 

“Well, I won’t be long,” he said. “An hour at most. Come on, I’ll take you home first.”

 

“George, there’s something I have to tell you,” Grace said, sitting up straight. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all night.”

 

“Can’t it wait?”

 

“No. No, it can’t. Lets have another drink.”

 

George sighed, but obliged, waving the waitress over. “So what is it?” he said, as the girl brought them another round of drinks.

 

Grace looked at the waitress and shot George a black look. “I don’t want it airing in public,” she hissed. The waitress left tactfully.

 

“Then why didn’t you let me take you home?” George said. Grace didn’t reply. “Fine,” George drank his whiskey in one. “Well, I’m going Grace. Make your own way home.”

 

“What is it that’s so bloody important anyway?” she said.

 

George hesitated, not wanting to tell her, predicting what she would think. “I have to tell them first,” he said, carefully.

 

“We have no secrets from each other, George.”

 

George cast his eyes around the room, knowing she wasn’t about to let him go without him telling her… something.

 

“I handed my resignation in today,” he said quietly.

 

Grace’s face lit up. “You did?”

 

George nodded slowly, “But don’t get carried away…” he said, too late.

 

“Oh George,” she laughed and flung her arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Georgie, you’ll be so happy in the Moonshadows. You’ll love Mickey, I know you will,” she gushed.

 

George untangled himself from her. “It’s not that… It’s not going to be that simple,” he began. “Brian…”

 

But Grace was ignoring him, beckoning the waitress back. “More of these,” she said, pointing to the glasses on the table. “And bring us a bottle of champagne too! The best you’ve got!”

 

“Grace!” George said.

 

“What? We have to celebrate, George! This is… this is just the start. The rest of our lives, from here on, George. Together. Just you and me…”

 

She continued, planning the rest of their lives from that moment on, but George wasn’t listening anymore – the last few words ringing in his ears – Together. Just you and me…

 

“No,” he said, suddenly, loudly.

 

Grace stopped, “Well, we don’t have to live there, not if you don’t want to” she said, talking about something George had obviously missed. “As soon as you and Mickey release your first record…”

 

“No, no, stop, Grace,” George said, and for once she did, but the waitress reappeared, the club manager in tow with the bottle of champagne.

 

“Mr Harrison!” he said grandiosely. “Have we something to celebrate?”

 

“Not really,” George mumbled.

 

“Yes!” Grace said, as the champagne cork popped. “We’re getting married!”

 

“What?!” George said. “When… Grace, we are NOT!”

 

Grace looked at him and blinked. The manager looked from her to George. “I er… I’ll just leave you to pour this, shall I?” he said, putting the champagne on the table. “Er… con… congratulations.”

 

He and the waitress beat a hasty retreat. George stared at Grace. “Where did you get that idea from?” he said. “Grace, I’ve left the Beatles. That’s all I said. I have not promised to join your brother’s band – I’ve never even met him for Christ’s sakes – and I have definitely not promised… anything else.”

 

He readied himself for her anger, her tears, screaming – but none came. Grace’s face was blank. George wondered if his words had registered. “Grace,” he said, softer. “I’m sorry, you’re just going too fast…”

 

“You’re right,” she said, simply, suddenly coming out of suspended animation. “I’m sorry, darling. How can I expect you to marry me?” She took his hand.

 

“Well, no,” George replied. “That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying not… yet, y’know…”

 

“No,” Grace said. “I mean, how can I expect you to marry me, when I have been lying to you all this time?” The grip on his hand tightened.

 

“Lying about what?” George asked warily.

 

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Georgie. Oh, for so long, George, it’s been torturing me. I didn’t dare, you see. I couldn’t. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand and you’d leave me, and George, I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t ever let you leave me.”

 

George leaned back from her a little. Her voice had a strange tone, an unsettling tone. She still held on to his hand, although he was at arms length to him. George’s throat dried. He took a drink with his free hand. “What?” he said huskily.

 

“I’ve wanted to tell you, George,” Grace continued, in the same voice. “You must believe that. And you must believe that I only did it for your own good. So we could be together, George, because we’re meant to be together. You know that, don’t you, darling?”

 

“What?” George repeated, feeling his stomach turn, dreading what he thought he knew was coming next.

 

“But I can tell you now, it’s alright. You’ve proven to me how much you love me, by leaving that hateful band and those horrible friends of yours…”

 

“Its only the band I’ve left…” George tried to say, but his voice was small and the sentence stuck in his throat.

 

Grace continued. “Yes, you’ve proven your love to me, so now I will prove mine to you, by telling you this. Confessing to you, my dearest, beautiful George.”

 

“Pattie…” George whispered, but Grace either didn’t hear, or ignored him. He finished his drink again.

 

“You remember how we met, Georgie?” she asked. “In February? Only months ago, but it feels like we’ve been together for all time…”

 

That was a point George could agree with her on. He looked at his empty glass then around the room for the waitress. He felt he was going to need a stiff drink for what was coming next. He couldn’t see the girl. Grace was still talking about their ‘everlasting love’. George took his hand back, gingerly and started on the champagne, having nothing else to hand.

 

“What did you do?” he said, finally finding his voice, swigging the champagne from the whiskey glass he’d poured it in to.

 

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Grace said, staring at the glass. “You don’t drink it…” she let it go. “When I met you, and you hit me with the car…”

“Yes?”

 

“Well, you didn’t.”

 

“I didn’t what?”

 

“You didn’t hit me. You didn’t knock me down, I mean. I jumped in the way of your car, George. So you would stop and we could meet.”

 

George took a sharp breath. Her words sunk into his tired, now slightly drunk mind, slowly. It wasn’t what he had been expecting her to say. He was almost disappointed.

 

“You understand why, though, don’t you?” Grace was saying, pawing at his shoulder. “I knew I had done the right thing… When I opened my eyes and saw you leaning over me, and the way you took care of me… George, you even took me home, as if I needed a bigger sign! I knew then I was right. That we were meant for each other…”

 

George poured more champagne from the bottle and drank it. No, he was disappointed. It made no sense.

 

“Why?” he said. “What about your… you back… you hurt your…”

 

Grace shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, George. It was lies. I wanted no part of it, George – after I’d realised – after I’d met you, and seen how kind and gentle you are – after I’d realised we were soul mates – but I couldn’t get out of it, George. And then when I found out about Pattie having an affair with Paul, I couldn’t go on with it. I told them no.”

 

George’s heart sunk, and only at that moment did he recognise what he had been hoping for. That Grace would tell him she lied about Pattie and Paul. That she had made it up, and Pattie, his sweet, pretty, adoring Pattie had been innocent. That Grace was the liar, and Pattie was faithful too him, that he was the fool for ever believing…

 

But now he had to believe it. He felt the last wisps of hope ebb away from him, drifting away on the breeze. A hope he didn’t even know he had been holding on to.

 

“She was treating you like dirt,” Grace was saying. “I had to rescue you. I couldn’t let her do that to you – and with your best friend!

 

“Shut up,” George said, quietly, almost in a whisper.

 

“I know it seemed harsh at the time, but George, you see now it was for your own good?”

 

“Shut UP!” George shouted, without quite meaning to. People at a table near them looked round. George fixed them with a glare and they looked away, pretending not to have been staring. “Don’t talk about… don’t talk about her,” he said, turning to Grace. “I can’t stand it. I can’t…”

 

He was cut off by Grace’s mouth pressing on to his in a messy kiss. George didn’t kiss her back; he didn’t have time to, before she was mouthing at his neck, climbing on to the seat by him on her knees, her hands over his chest. “Grace,” he said, a warning. He looked down at her, feeling nothing. How could I ever have wanted this… he thought, and then he suddenly knew he never had. He hadn’t wanted Grace. He had wanted revenge. To hurt Pattie how she had hurt him. “Grace,” he said again, and pushed her away firmly.

 

Grace fell back against the seat and looked at him with tearful eyes. George turned away, his hand searching out the champagne bottle. He had drunk almost two thirds of it in less than twenty minutes and he could feel it going to his head. It was giving him a slight dizziness, as it swirled with the whiskey he had already drunk, and with the bombardment of information and revelation.

 

“You’re angry,” Grace said. “You’ve every right.”

 

George shook his head, refusing to look at her. “No,” he said. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Of course it does. Our whole relationship was begun with a lie,” Grace said forlornly. “But it’s alright now. We’ve cleared the air. We can start afresh, just me and you. We don’t need them, any of them.”

 

There was that phrase again - just me and you, just me and you. “No,” George shook his head.

 

“Now you know, they’ve no hold over me. No hold over either of us,” Grace said. “Because, oh, they wouldn’t stop hounding me after I said I wouldn’t do it anymore, George!”

 

George looked back at her again, finally, coldly.

 

“That’s why I had to follow you to America, Georgie. Because they wouldn’t leave me alone. I suppose they were right about that one, though. They said you would be fucking some slag. But I knew it didn’t mean anything. You’re a Beatle.”

 

“Who’s ‘they’?” George asked.

 

“No one, no one now.”

 

George made an attempt to pursue it, but gave up. The will to argue with her didn’t exist anymore.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, tonight,” Grace said.

 

George ignored her now, drinking more, trying to gather his thoughts.

 

“Paul came to see me today, and he said I had to. He said he would tell you if I didn’t and then I knew I had to speak to you first, or you would end up believing all his hateful lies and I would lose you. I couldn’t let that happen, George.”

 

“Paul?” George murmered. “Paul knew?”

 

“Yes. He’s probably known all along. I knew Paul before I met you.”

 

“You did?” George rested his elbow on the table and his head on his hand. How much else don’t I know about Paul?

 

Grace nodded. “So I had to tell you about that, the doctors and the bogus medical problems, instead. Instead of what I was supposed to tell you.”

 

“What was that?” George asked, getting lost in the intricacy of the story, the alcohol not helping. He drank some more anyway.

 

“That I’m pregnant.”

 

George nearly choked. He put his hand over his mouth and forced himself to swallow, water coming to his eyes. Grace smiled, “Oh, no. I’m not,” she said. “Not yet.”

 

George took a gulp of air, half from nearly drowning in the champagne, and half from relief.

 

“They said you would have to marry me if I was pregnant, Georgie. But I knew you would marry me anyway. So long as I told you the truth, you would, because you love me, George and I love you.”

 

George shook his head. “I won’t marry you,” he said, surprising himself with the calm, clearness of his voice. “I can’t be with you any more, Grace. I don’t know what’s been going on here, but it doesn’t matter.”

 

“George…”

 

He held his hand up to stop her. “No, it’s over,” he said. “It never really began. I don’t love you, Grace, I’m sorry. It’s Pattie, I love. I still love. It’s been her all along.” He looked up at her, and he was sure, in that split second, Grace’s eyes turned a shade darker.