In My Life

Not a second time

"Paul? The lads are here, son. It's time to leave!" The sound of his father's call made Paul's heart jump. He was in the middle of a battle of wills with his suitcase, which contested Paul's determination to close the lid on the obscene volume of luggage with an equally stubborn refusal to comply. "Comin' da'", Paul yelled back, staring daggers at his uncooperative baggage. He pondered his options, but decided he really didn't want to come to a compromise, so he pulled the suitcase onto the floor, positioned his knees atop either end of the lid and put his weight into it. With one final effort, he finally managed to win the fight.

As he moved to grab his coat, he caught his reflection in the mirror. A rather dishevelled image looked back at him: sweat was running down the sides of his face, and his quiff had lost its battle against gravity. The prospect of spending the next who-knew-how-many hours looking like that in John's presence didn't seem very appealing. There was just one problem: his comb was packed away in the suitcase he had just managed to close after wrestling it for the better part of ten minutes. There was nothing to it: the lads would have to wait a minute longer.

Answering Jim's stern cry of "Paul, please!" with an exasperated "Yeah yeah, I'll be right there", he made a beeline for the bathroom, in search of the items required to fix his hair. Relief washed over him when he found his father's comb and some vaseline, and he quickly put both to good use. With his duck tails firmly in place and his pompadour thoroughly greased up, he ran a wet finger over his eyebrows, slipped on his coat, grabbed his luggage and galumphed down the stairs to meet his bandmates.

"Alright, la'?" John stood next to Jim, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lopsided smirk on his face. "We feared you'd flushed yerself down the loo there for a second. Ready to go, then?"

Paul's nodded, "Sorry to keep you waiting, man. Me suitcase wouldn't close." He chose to keep his last-minute styling session to himself, suspecting a confession like that would make him the target of relentless teasing all the way to Hamburg. "Can you load my stuff into the van for me, John? I'll be right there."

As John heaved Paul's suitcase and guitar into the back of the minibus, Paul turned to face Jim. "Well, I guess I'm off then, da'. Thank you for allowing me to do this. I know you'd rather I didn't go..."

"You're right, son. I'd much prefer you here where I can keep an eye on you," Jim agreed, placing a warm hand on Paul's shoulder. "But if this is what you need to do to further your career, then you must go. Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself this time, alright? And if you can, call us on the telephone or write a letter about your adventures." Jim pulled his oldest son into a hug and pleaded, "Try not to get into any fist fights, jail cells, or situations that compromise your overall well-being. I couldn't bear to see anything bad happen to you."

Paul gave his father a bit of a squeeze before gently pulling away. "I will da', I promise. Don't worry about me, alright?" He made for the door, but looked back just before stepping outside. "I'll call you in a few days, after we've settled in. In a bit, da'. I love you!" And with that, he pulled the door shut behind him and joined his friends in the van. "Go'ead lads!"

"Ferngespräch nach England bitte." Paul really hoped the switchboard lady understood him. Languages were not his strong suit and he knew his accent was terrible, but he also took pride in making the effort to at least try and speak German. After a few seconds, he heard, "Yes, sir. City and extension, please?" Relieved to be able to continue in English, he quickly replied, "Liverpool, Garson GAR 6922, thank you." The anonymous voice said, "Garson six, nine, double-two. Please hold, sir."

For a moment, Paul considered the woman's voice, which has been bright and warm; a voice suited for a singer. Not at all like Dorothy, who always spoke in whispers. Just as he was reminding himself to seriously consider whether or not he wanted to continue dating the girl he left at home, his father's voice interrupted. "Paul? I've been waiting for your call, son. How was your journey?"