𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 ── PAUL McCARTNEY

XVIII. PROMISE TO YOU GIRL

Monday the 20th of October 1958

I was hanging out the washing, ignoring the horse whinnies and dog barking from training behind Paul's house. I wished it would settle down especially it being such a close proximity. Some days had been better than others though.
Jim was working in the garden, his pipe puffing smoke like a dragon as he was using a shovel to even out the garden bed. I did not know how he could do two things at once.

Paul's Aunty Jin greeted me as I collected the Liverpool Echo from the letterbox. She was Jim's sister. She would sometimes once or twice a week on a Monday or Tuesday, cook dinner or tidy up a bit with her other sister Aunty Millie as well. It had been hard since Paul had lost his mum I believe. I knew it all too well to have someone you love be here one day and disappear one day the next.

"How are you dear?" She asked me. Jin was a sweet lady. She had an excellent, extravagant hairdo and was well-dressed. Very proper.

"I am very well thank you. Shall I put the kettle on? It's gotten a bit nippy outside."

When did I ever say nippy? Oh, well. The English were Australia's cousins. We had the same Queen. I cringed at my thoughts. But was autumn for you ⎯⎯ in England that is. Australia was unpredictable. It could be sunny in the morning, then rain and then again be nothing but sunshine. But here it was gloomy and rainy and cold. Always. An everlasting cycle of cold and miserable.

I held the front door open, letting Aunty Gin inside before I followed after and closed the door behind us.

"Hello macca," I said with great enthusiasm. Paul had a rare day of completing the whole school day. Probably for appearances maybe to get his dad off his case.

Paul clambered over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Kissing me hard and fast right for a moment in front of his aunt.

"Paul!" His Aunty Gin shrieked. It was one thing for public affection but this made me blush. I am reeling with the taste of him and his smell of lavender and cigarettes. "What would this poor girl's parents think?"

Tears swell in my eyes. I could not help it. All I can think of how far away I am of home. And how little my dad would care, even if it was Paul McCartney.

"I-I," I start but my words falter when tears slide down my cheeks, "I need to walk."

Without a second thought, I back away stumbling for the door and step out into the cold. I cannot think. I cannot gain any semblance of thought. The door was closed behind me. Paul is calling my name. It starts to rain. I start to run. My saddle shoes are so loud against the pavement. I ran until I couldn't anymore and I sank against the stone fence of someone's house. I wrapped my arms around my knees. I couldn't stop sobbing. I couldn't do this anymore. I needed to go home. I needed to be in my own time and forget all of this. I needed to no longer feel this pressure on me. More and more I flelt like I could no longer enjoy my time here. I was forever enraptured with protecting history, ensuring that I didn't mess things up.

I somehow lost Paul. And instead I found John Lennon, guitar strapped to his back. I was officially a Beatles magnet.

"Don't tell me you broke his heart, Hawaii," John mused. I was surprised that there was a humorous tone to his voice. I refused to look at him. I couldn't dare. I'll just start crying even more. John was wonderful and beautiful and talented but he was also a complicated bastard.

I had never had a one on one confrontation like this with him. It was unsettling. The way John appeared like this was almost frightening. He had such a scary look to him. Although, I knew better. I had seen him around people he cared about and he melted like butter.