November 16^th 1965   8.20pm 

 

Ringo watched John walking back towards the car. He was kicking up the gravel in the driveway as he walked. He glanced up at Ringo and shrugged. Ringo looked away and sighed.

 

“No one in,” John said, as he got in to the driving seat. “I looked in the windows.” He slammed the door of the mini, unnecessarily hard. The window rattled.

 

“I rang about three times,” Ringo said. “I could have told you no one was in.”

 

“It was George who arranged this bloody meeting,” John said grumpily. “Bloody idiot.”

 

“Perhaps he’s already gone to Paul’s?”

 

John looked at him. “Unlikely, that one, eh?”

 

“No,” Ringo replied, trying to sound positive. “You said he wanted to make amends and sort things out. Perhaps he’s gone ahead to talk to Paul. Alone, like. Y’know.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe,” John turned the key in the ignition. “We might as well go and see then.”

 

Ringo looked away, out of his door window.

 

John turned around in his seat to see out of the rear windscreen. “I know,” he said. “There’s better things I could be doing than running all over London in the cold.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Ringo protested, turning back.

 

“You don’t have to, son,” John replied. “Your face says it all.”

 

John pressed heavily on the accelerator and the mini shot forwards, mounting the lawn and knocking over one of the stone ornaments. “Oops,” John said, shifting the gear stick into reverse.

 

“How on earth did you pass your test?” Ringo asked, gripping the door handle for safety.

 

 

“Bloody George, I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately,” John said, as he hiccupped the car down the road, back towards London and Wimpole street.

 

“Second,” Ringo said.

 

“What?”

 

“Second! Second gear!”

 

“Alright,” John replied, annoyed. “You wanna drive?”

 

“Yes!”

 

John ignored him and shifted the car up a gear. The clutch made a horrible metallic scraping noise.

 

“Anyway,” Ringo said. “You do know what’s wrong with George. Isn’t that the point of all this?”

 

John shook his head. “He’s lost the plot. Gone funny in the head. It’s that stupid bird he’s living with. She’s crazy and George has caught it off her.”

 

“You hardly know her,” Ringo said quietly.

 

“She threw a knife at my head when we were in America!”

 

“Yeah, well, John, you often make people want to throw things at you. And it was a spoon. Not a knife.”

 

“She’s still out of her tree.”

 

Ringo didn’t reply for a moment, and then said, “I don’t really know.”

 

“You know enough,” John snorted. “She shows up on the scene, then suddenly Pattie’s out and she’s in, and George is acting odd and accusing Paul of… allsorts.”

 

“They’ll work it out.” Ringo tried to make it sound like a statement - a fact - but it came out more like a question.

 

“Do you… which one do you believe?” John asked. “Paul or George?”

 

Ringo looked at him. It had been the first time anyone of them had talked about it openly. Even between him and John.

 

“We’re not supposed to know about that,” Ringo said, diplomatically. “Paul hasn’t told us, and neither has George.”

 

“Yeah, well its hard to avoid when its all over those gossip columns. I’ve got Cynthia reading me bits of it every morning over me cornflakes.”

 

Ringo nodded silently.

 

“George hasn’t said ewt coz… George is George, isn’t he? Too proud, that’s his problem,” John continued.

 

“He probably doesn’t want to air all his dirty laundry in public, does he?”

 

“Public? It’s us. Don’t you think we have a right to know if they’re breaking up the band between them?”

 

“It won’t come to that.”

 

“Won’t it? Its girls, y’know, Ring. Its always girls, comin’ between people, yer mates.”

 

“There’s been birds before.”

 

“Yeah, back in Liverpool or whatever, but they weren’t… they weren’t as important. Know what I mean?” John looked at him, taking his eyes from the road, and his concentration from the steering wheel. “George was living with Pattie, wasn’t he? That was pretty serious. You ever known George to be like that over a girl before?”

 

“No.” Ringo agreed. “Watch the road for Gods sake’s John!”

 

John righted the car from its drift towards the gutter. “No,” he said. ‘And Paul, why hasn’t he said ewt, eh?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Me neither. I know if George had accused me, I’d be fuckin’ livid. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you be shouting yer innocence from the rooftops, eh? And what about Jane? She acts like she doesn’t even know, but she must. She must have heard something.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ringo repeated, quieter. John was right though, he knew. They were in a crisis. Not just as a band, but all of them, as friends too.

 

“Well, neither do I,” John said. “But where’s there’s smoke…”

 

“Paul,” Ringo said suddenly.

 

“What?”

 

“Paul. I believe Paul.” Ringo hoped he meant it, though he wasn’t really sure. But it had to be true. For the sake of all of them, Paul had to be telling the truth. The alternative was too horrible to even consider.

 

“Good,” John said. “Me too. Paul wouldn’t do something like that. I know he’s had loads of girls and that, but he wouldn’t do that to George. And I can’t see Pattie doin’ the dirty either.”

 

“No,” Ringo said firmly. “No, I can’t either. Has anyone spoken to her?” Pattie, he thought, she wouldn’t. She didn’t seem the type.

 

“To Pattie?”

 

Ringo nodded. John shrugged.

 

“Dunno. She hasn’t been round ours. I haven’t seen her in months.”

 

Ringo shook his head. “Perhaps someone should ask her what she thinks.”

 

“He’s not here,” John said and Ringo looked up. They were outside the Asher home in Wimpole Street already. “No car,” John explained. “Unless George has parked it off road somewhere.”

 

They got out of the car and walked up the steps to the front door, pulling their coats around them against the cold wind as they waited. After a moment, Paul opened the door. He had his usual welcoming smile as he met them, but when he saw it was John and Ringo, the smile froze.

 

“Hello,” he said. “What are you two doing here?”

 

“Bloody carol singing, whatcha think?” John said, nearly shoving Paul out of the way to get into the warmer hall.

 

Paul reluctantly opened the door wider for Ringo to follow and closed it behind him. ‘Have you heard from George?” Ringo asked. John had already taken his coat off and flung it over the stairs banister. Ringo slipped his off as well.

 

“No. Why? What’s happened?” Paul replied.

 

‘He rang John, earlier today. Said we should all meet up tonight, but we went round his house and there’s no one there.”

 

“Meet up for what?” Paul said. “We’re not booked in the studio til…”

 

“For ‘talking’,” John said, cutting him off. “’Sort things out’, that’s what he said.”

 

“Oh,” Paul said. “Well, no, he hasn’t been here.”

 

“Ah well, happen we need a chat anyway,” John said.

 

“Erm, yes, I guess so,” Paul said, hesitantly.

 

John shot Ringo a glance. “So c’mon Paulie, where’s your manners? Aren’t you going to offer us a drink? Or are we gonna stand in the hall all night?” 

 

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Er, cup of tea?”

 

“Tea? In this weather? Can’t you stretch to something a bit stronger? Me and Ringo nearly caught our deaths coming here tonight.”

 

“I think there’s some scotch left,” Paul said wearily and walked towards the kitchen.

 

John hung back and caught hold of Ringo’s arm. “What’s up with him?” he said in a whisper.

 

Ringo shrugged.

 

“You uh, you can’t stay long though, lads,” Paul called from the kitchen. Ringo walked to the doorway. Paul pulled a half bottle of scotch down from the top of one of the cupboards. “Jane’s parent’s will be home soon. You know how it is.”

 

“We’re not stopping long,” John said, behind Ringo. “Looks like snow outside.”

 

“Alright then,” Paul checked his watch. “Unless you wanna go out somewhere? We could do that?”

 

“No,” John said. “We won’t be able to talk properly if we go somewhere.”

 

“You alright, Paul?” Ringo asked.

 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Paul said, sounding a little defensive.

 

“Well, its just… you don’t seem very happy to see us, that’s all,”

 

“Oh. No, sorry,” Paul said, finding some glasses. “It’s just - its Jane’s parent’s house. You know how it is,” he repeated.

 

Ringo and John exchanged looks again. Paul pushed them through to the living room and sat in the armchair. John and Ringo took either end of the sofa, Ringo seated between the two of them. For a moment the three of them stared into the flames of the small coal fire, which heated the room

 

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about?” Paul asked, breaking the silence.

 

“George,” John said.

 

“Oh,” Paul said, with a tinge of sadness. “Yeah.”

 

“Did you shag Pattie?” John said.

 

“John!” Ringo said, staring at him.

 

“What?” John said. “You heard him. Jane’s parents will be home soon. We haven’t time to beat about the bush.”

 

“He means,” Ringo turned to Paul. “There’s been a lot of animosity between you and George, hasn’t there? You’ve fallen out?”

 

“Fallen out? Ringo, George says Pattie ran off with Paul!” John said.

 

“George said that?” Paul asked quietly.

 

“Well, no, but you know what he’s like. Besides, it’s in the papers.”

 

“The tabloids,” Ringo said. “Not even that, News of the World. Rags.”

 

“No,” said Paul.

 

“No you haven’t fallen out with George or no you haven’t shagged Pattie?” John asked, with a grin.

 

Ringo looked at him. “Can you stop for one minute?” he said.

 

“I haven’t done anything with Pattie,” Paul said, flatly.

 

“We didn’t think you had,” Ringo said kindly.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” John said, serious now.

 

“Say what?”

 

“Something. Anything. You and George are hardly speaking. George goes home early from America, rarely turns up to the studio, and its not like we don’t need the lead guitar, is it?”

 

‘I can play on…”

 

“We’re not here to talk about the fucking album.”

 

“John,” Ringo said, waving him to calm down.

 

“I mean,” John said. “I mean, we have to sort this out, once and for all.”

 

“We need George here for that.”

“He might be on his way,” John said, sitting back in his seat, stretching his legs out and lifting his glass to his lips.

 

“What?” Paul said. “Here? George is coming here?”

 

“Hopefully,” Ringo said.

 

Paul looked very pale suddenly. “You’ll have to go,” he said. “You’re gonna have to go.”

 

“Hold on,” John said. “We’ve just got here.”

 

“No, now, out!” Paul said, standing up. His voice went up an octave.

 

“What?” John asked, flummoxed for once.

 

“Now!” Paul yelled.

 

“Paul, what’s up?”

 

“Nothing,” Paul snapped, but then collapsing back into the chair, said, “How could he think that I would do that to him?”

 

Ringo sat forward. “George is… George is going through something at the moment,” he said. “He’s split up with Pattie and he’s looking for someone to blame other than himself.”

 

“I haven’t done… anything,” Paul said. “I’ve never touched Pattie.”

 

“Yeah, we know,” Ringo patted Paul’s forearm. “Don’t we John?” he asked, looking round at him.

 

“Yeah,” John said, gruffly. “Course we do, mate.”

 

Paul looked at Ringo and then to John. “I’ve wanted to talk to you two about it,” he said. “But George didn’t want me to say anything, and I thought… I thought you might not believe me. I was just trying to please George…”

 

“George?” Ringo asked.

 

“He’s… I don’t know what he is, but he doesn’t want all this talked about. In America, that’s the only time he’s said anything. When we were in Los Angeles. That night before Grace turned up.”

 

“Why didn’t you think we’d believe you?” John said.

 

Paul shrugged. “George has evidence, he reckons.”

 

“What ‘evidence’?”

 

“Letters. Letters I’m supposed to have written to Pattie. I’ve never written to her in my life.”

 

“Have you seen them?” John stood up.

 

“No.”

 

“We need to have this out with George,” John said. “The four of us, once and for all. What’s he playing at?”

 

Paul managed a weak smile. “Yes,” he said.

 

“Don’t worry, Paul,” Ringo said.

 

“Come ‘ed, we’ll go and find him,” John said.

 

Ringo shook his head. “Not tonight, John. We can’t just descend on him. Besides he wasn’t home an hour ago, he’ll probably not be back yet.”

 

John’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “I suppose,’ he said. “Tomorrow then. Tomorrow morning, first thing, all three of us together. I don’t care what state George is in. He can show us these bloody letters.”

 

Paul nodded. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed for half past nine. Paul got up. “I’m sorry,” he said, “But you really are going to have to go. I’ll call you in the morning. First thing,” he repeated looking at John.

 

“Alright,” John said and slapped Paul on the back. “It’ll be alright, Paulie. Y’know George. He’s just being a drama queen.”

 

“Yeah, cos George is melodramatic, isn’t he?” Paul said sarcastically and John smiled wryly.

 

“C’mon, Ritch. Let’s go have a drink somewhere, then I’ll drive you home.”

 

“Yeah,” Ringo said, standing up and smoothing his clothes down. “Perhaps we could share a taxi home instead.” He winked at Paul as John feigned offence.

 

“You,” John said as Paul ushered them into the hallway, “should be honoured I even let you into my car!”

 

Paul handed them their coats from the stairs banister.

 

“Where’s Jane tonight?” John asked.

 

“Brighton,” Paul said. “Theatre thing.” He opened the front door. “Sorry,” he said again. “But they’ll be hell to pay if they come back and we’re up drinking.”

 

Ringo frowned but said nothing, putting his coat on. The draft from the open door was biting cold. Winter had definitely arrived.

 

John stood in the doorway. Ringo finished the buttons on his coat and made to follow him through the door, but John didn’t move.

 

“Nothing going on, Paul?” he said.

 

“What?” Paul said.

 

“You and Pattie?” He was looking up the road, distractedly.

 

“Haven’t I just told you?” Paul said confused.

 

John turned round. His face was full of anger, taking Ringo by surprise. “Nothing?” he said loudly, accusingly. “You and George’s girlfriend?” He prodded Paul in the chest.

 

“John?” Ringo said, confused.

 

“No. What?” Paul asked again, stepping back from the intimidating John, the wall coming up behind him.

 

“John, leave him alone,” Ringo said, stepping in front of Paul.

 

“Is that why she’s walking up the road this way?” John said, leaning past Ringo. “Towards this house, Paul? Just a coincidence? Talk of the devil, eh?” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Ringo turned to Paul. Paul looked at him. Pattie was now standing on the bottom step, leading up to the house, seeing the three of them too late. She stopped, standing there with a surprised look on her face.

 

“That why you’re tryna get us out of here so fast?” John said, his voice getting louder.

 

“I can… explain…” Paul said falteringly.

 

“Paul?” Ringo asked, hardly believing it.

 

“Oh, there’s nothing that needs explaining,” John said. “I understand perfectly. I guess George does too,” he added and lunged at Paul.

 

Ringo stepped out of the way almost instinctively. Pattie screamed and ran up the steps. John and Paul sprawled across the polished, wood hall floor.