In Your Atmosphere (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 2 - I'll Follow the Sun

One day, you'll know
I was the one
But tomorrow may rain, so
I'll follow the sun

Neil slid behind the wheel of the Anglia with his grandmother beside him, and Marisol and Paul sat in the back with the girls between them. Minutes later they drove through the small village with its one of everything: one bank, one chemist, one greengrocer, one school, one newsagent. After passing the old stone church they turned onto a narrow tree-shrouded lane and headed south toward the sea.

Molly, who'd finagled the seat next to Paul, pulled a plastic doll out of the beach bag at her feet and showed it to him. "Do you want to have a go?"

"No, I do not want to have a go."

Molly giggled. "It's a Little Miss Echo."

"A Little Miss Whatzit?"

Neil's eyes darted to the rear view mirror. "That thingy has a little phonograph record inside it, Macca, it records over and over."

"Whaaat? Hand it over."

Paul's head was close to Molly's as she turned the doll's switch to the left. "I want a blue-eyed blonde a-hangin' on my arm," he sang at the doll, in a low pitched, playful Elvis style. "to have, ah to hold, ah tonight."

Molly and Lizzie squealed with delight and turned the doll's switch back to the right. "To-have-a-to-hold-a-tonight," the doll repeated back, slightly higher and faster.

The girls doubled over laughing, playing the recording again. Marisol didn't miss Neil's slight eye roll and the shake of his head before he flicked his attention back to the road. Across the seat from her Paul glanced up and, when he saw she was watching, he winked.

"You," she mouthed at him over the heads of the giggling girls, "are such a flirt."

He cupped a hand to one ear. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. I don't speak American."

Lizzie swiveled to face Marisol. "Is Paul your favorite Beatle?"

"My favorite what?"

"The Beatles," she said with a hint of impatience, "which one is your favorite?"

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about, sweetie."

"Liz, she's American. They don't know about the Beatles yet." Paul said.

Molly made a shocked face while Lizzie shook her head sadly. "You poor things. It must be dreadfully dull." She patted Marisol's knee, her face brightening. "You're here now though. We'll sort you. Show her the thing, Mol!"

Molly rooted around in her beach bag and pulled out a tattered newsprint magazine. She handed it solemnly to Lizzie, who spread it open on Marisol's lap. "Here you are. Meet the Beatles."

Marisol examined the black-and-white, grainy photo of four twenty-something men in matching tailored suits and ties, all with come-hither stares and identical floppy hairstyles. The one with the boyish face and perfectly arched brows was sitting on the other side of the back seat from her. The Beatles reach number 17 on the charts with Love Me Do, the caption read.

She glanced up to see Paul watching her, one arm slung across the back of the seat. "Oh, I get it...are you in a band or something?"

His eyes smiled. "Are you a detective?"

This explained so much, Marisol thought, flicking her attention back to the magazine in her lap. The long hair, the over-confidence, the flirtatiousness, the van... She brought a hand to her mouth to keep from scoffing aloud. The van! He had mistaken her for some sort of a lovestruck fan!