In My Life

Getting better

"What's gotten yer knickers in a wad, Paul? Ye've been off the trolley fer weeks!" George's outburst tore Paul out of his daydream. It was the beginning of July, and the school year was just about finished. Not that George and Paul were at the Inny much anymore; the Silver Beetles were a proper performing band now and played two gigs a week: Wirral on Thursdays and Wallasey on Saturdays. They had started out trying to combine school and performing, but that had become too demanding so they only went to school the first half of the week, and were considering abandoning their education completely – already would have if they hadn't been dreading their parents' wrath. It was a lovely day, so George and Paul had made a beeline for the most secluded spot of the courtyard, where they unscrupulously used their upper student status and reputation as 'professional like, proper' musicians to chase some younger boys from the spot they coveted.

Soon, their blazers lay forgotten on the ground, and they smoked lazily, looking very casual and rebellious – or so they saw themselves – with their school ties loosened, sleeves rolled up above their elbows, and their shirts untucked and partially unbuttoned. Had a member of staff walked by their hiding place, they most likely would have received detentions for skiving, as well as for violating school dress policy. Of course, despite their carefully styled Teddy quiffs and rule-defying state of undress, it was still glaringly obvious they were wearing school uniforms, which severely compromised their bad boy image. Lower students may have been impressed by them, someone like John wouldn't hesitate to remind them they were mere lads who very much looked the part. Paul had closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, allowing the sun to warm his face. For the umpteenth time, recent events repeated themselves in his mind.

The morning after his birthday, Paul had woken up feeling terribly hungover; and it wasn't just because he'd gotten pissed. John had been gone by the time Paul managed to drag himself out of bed, and he had been carefully avoiding him since. They first saw each other again at their Thursday gig, which had been particularly tense. John had arrived exactly at the agreed upon time, and had buggered off the moment they finished, mumbling something about Mimi expecting him home. During the performance, he had made quite a show of acting normal, whilst very skilfully coming up with ways to avoid direct interaction with Paul. The other lads didn't appear to pick up on it much, but it was glaringly obvious to Paul. He had bitten his tongue and played the game equally as convincing as John, hoping their push-me-pull-you strategy wouldn't ruin their chances of working things out. So far, John hadn't shown any sign of wanting to talk about what happened, so Paul focused on George, or at least attempted to. Going by his younger friend's tone of voice, he had been failing miserably.

"I'm sorry, Geo. Just a bit knackered, is all. Bit of an 'eadache, y'know. 'M fine, really." He mustered a smile, hoping it would be convincing. But by the way George's dark brown eyes darkened to nearly black, and the clenching of his jaw, Paul knew he'd have to do better if he didn't want to end up on his todd. Eventually, he threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat, knowing George would be quite content to stare daggers at Paul until he received a satisfying answer. "Alright man, you win. John and I've had a barney, and he's been swervin' on me since. It's been a drag! Now sack it with the starin', alright?"

Finally, George looked away, redirecting his attention to his cigarette. He took a long drag and held his breath a few seconds before carefully exhaling. "Yeah, I reckoned it'd be something like that," he muttered. "Did something happen on yer birthday, then? John seemed a bit mingy to me. Thought he was getting' the lurgy, I'm tellin' ye. Didn't though, did he? Been dead shirty he has, trying too 'ard to act normal, like."

Paul felt a jolt of surprise at that declaration. He didn't think anyone, least of all George, had caught on; didn't think anyone was able to read John and him like they always read each other. He should stop underestimating George, he tried to tell himself. Nothing ever did seem to escape his attention. Still waters, 'n dat. His gaze followed the trajectory of the stub of George's bifter as it got flicked away. "You can talk to me y'know, Paul. I'm yer mate too, remember?"