The Gift of Girls

Chapter Two: Paul

Over the next few days John kept telling me not to worry and that he had everything under control. I raised my eyebrows at him skeptically. I doubt that any of you readers are famous musicians like me and the other lads, so you probably don't know that having any kind of fame prohibits you from doing any thing on the brink of fun. For example, George went out to buy milk a few days ago. It's barely a five minute stroll to the corner shop and back. He took an entire hour! 

"Bloody hell, George!" John shouted as soon as George had set foot in the doorway. "What took you so long? I had to eat dry cereal because of you!"

"Excuse me, your Royal Highness." George grumbled. He looked as miserable as he sounded. I focused properly on him and saw he was in poor shape. George's hair was tousled, as if he'd gotten hold of the most powerful hairdryer in the world and test driven it on his own head. His clothes were sweaty and rumpled, his face was the colour of a ripe strawberry, and one of his shoes were missing.

"What happened to you?" I asked, my eyes wide.

George slammed a bottle of milk down on the kitchen counter so furiously it's a wonder he didn't break it. He flashed a deadly stare at both me and John, his eyes shining with savagery. "What do you think happened to me, you simple blockheads?!"

"Hmm, I don't know." I said, pretending to think hard. "I'm stuck between either you running into a tiger and having it horrendously maul you, or there was a small tornado in town and it swept you up."

If looks could kill I would have been dead, buried, and George would be stamping on my grave. He glared at me, his aggression and exasperation clearly visible. I took a quick step back just in case he tried to take a swing at me. John seemed a bit wary too.

"I was on my way home from the corner shop, right?" said George, his face painfully mottled. "I got the weird feeling I was being followed. Being the cunning person I am I took a quick peek behind me without being too obvious. I was right - I was being followed by a whole gang of girls. There were about thirty of them at least. They were catching up quickly so I made a dash for it."

"Something tells me you didn't dash fast enough." I said, gesturing at his crumpled clothes and chaotic hair. George didn't bother to reply. He just nodded rather sadly and muttered something about fangirls not knowing when too much is too much.

"Never mind, George." John piped up. He picked up the glass bottle still sitting on the kitchen counter. "At least you go the milk back here safely."

"You're an idiot, John." George sighed, flopping into a chair at the kitchen table. 

John grinned in a silly way. "It's my job, love."

"Don't call me love, you queer."

"I'm not the queer around here, smartypants." said John, uncapping the bottle and pouring the contents into a glass. "What about you and Starkey?"

George kicked off his single shoe and hurled it in John's direction, narrowly missing his head. "Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing between us."

"He seems to think so." John smiled slyly and took a sip of milk. "Maybe we should drop looking for female partners and get you and the drummer together. That daughter of yours would love it."

"Serenity?" George sighed. "I don't think so. Ringo's just an uncle to her, and he's definitely never going to be my significant other, thank you very much."

"Where did you say Serenity was again?" I asked, sitting across the table from him.

"She's staying with my parents for a week. I dropped her off on Monday. They've been itching to meet their granddaughter, and they don't even care that I didn't marry her mother. They're just happy to have a grandchild at last." George exhaled loudly and slumped down further in his chair. "I miss her."

"We do too." I said, patting his hand sympathetically. "But she'll be back on Sunday. Let's focus on us right now. Where are we going to find some nice girls that won't rip us to shreds?"

"Hard to come by in this day and age." John chuckled. "Birds are crazy!"

"That they are." I picked at a loose piece of hangnail, wondering what to say next.

"Maybe if we hadn't become famous we would all be happily married and not have to worry about all these deranged fans trying to make off with us." George shot an accusing look at John. "Why did you ask me to join this wretched band in the first place?"

John sighed, set his glass down, and stared directly into George angry eyes. "Are you on your period or something, Mr Cranky?"

I burst into peals of laughter at this unexpected inquiry. I rocked backwards and forwards in my chair until I practically tipped it over. George's face had gone alarmingly pink, but he was giggling too. John smiled triumphantly and turned his back on us to put the kettle on. I was still laughing, hot tears dribbling down my bright red face. George glanced at me.

"You can stop that silly noise, Paul." he said sharply.

"Sorry, sorry." I mumbled, trying desperately to catch my breath. I exhaled slowly and cleared my throat. "There. I'm done now, Georgie."

"Good." George propped his elbows up on the table and placed his chin in his hands. His eyes suddenly glazed over as he stared into space. He appeared deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"I was just thinking about this whole girlfriend thing." George murmured. "We're already really busy, what with being massive rock stars with a schedule tighter than John's belt after Christmas dinner."

"Oi! Cheeky!" John called, bashing mugs and teaspoons around in the kitchen.

"And there's also my little girl." George continued. "How would she cope if I suddenly got a girlfriend?"

"Maybe she'd like a big girl to have some fun with." I said, trying to be helpful. George didn't seem convinced. He worried on and off all the rest of that morning and well into afternoon. (If you hadn't already guessed, George and I are completely irrational when it comes to worrying.) John kept trying to reassure us that everything would be fine; we just needed to wait for the right girls to come along.

As it turned out the right girls walked straight into our lives, following the steady beat of our very own little drummer boy.