Definitely Maybe (Beatles/Oasis Crossover Fan Fiction)

4

“You’ll fuckin’ flood it if you carry on like that!” John said.  

“Yeah, driving advice from you,” George replied, now sitting next to him in the driving seat.  

“Pull the choke out,” Ringo said from the back.  

“Just… just leave it a minute,” John said. George did as he was told and folded his arms. They sat in silence. Even Paul’s optimism had become tarnished as he sat, now visibly shivering, behind George. They were still at the T-junction, as they had been for the past twenty minutes, since Ringo had turned the engine off and it had promptly refused to turn on again.  

“It’s just the cold,” George said to no one in particular.  

“Its not,” Ringo said. “The engines warm. It doesn’t sound as if it’s turning over properly.”  

“So what are we going to do?” Paul asked. “I haven’t seen a house or a light for miles, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”  

“We’ll have to call someone,” Ringo said wearily. “Get them to come and find us.”  

“Who?” Paul said. Ringo looked at him blankly. What he had said earlier rang bitterly true, there was no one working on Christmas Eve, even for them. Mal and Neil were already home with their families, even Brian was spending the holiday in London with his mother.  

“We’ll have to phone Mal,” John said from the front of the car, “He’ll have to come and get us, we’ll pay him triple time or somat.”  

“We can’t ask him to do that,” Paul said, “It’s Christmas Night.”  

“As you bloody keep saying. What do you suggest then, genius?”  

Paul thought, “I don’t know. I could ring me Dad, or Mike?”  

“No, I’ll call my brother,” George said. “He’s home, I think. He knows about cars and that.”  

“Oh okay,” Ringo said, his voice betraying his relief.  

George turned round to face him and Paul. “Where’s the nearest phone box then?”  

Ringo closed his eyes, feeling the pressure building up behind them. If there’s one more thing… “I think we passed one about ten minutes ago,” he eventually replied.  

“Right,” George said, “Hope I can remember the number,” he added with a weak smile. He twisted back around in his seat and undid his seat belt. Putting his hand on the cold metal door handle he paused, looking out into the darkness on the other side of the window reluctantly. “Someone come with me?” he asked, turning back to the others.  

His three band mates looked at each other, no one overly enthusiastic at the idea.  

“I’m not going out in that alone,” George said, pointing through the front of the car as small snowflakes drifted down onto the bonnet. “I might never be heard from again!”  

“You go with him,” John said to Paul.  

“Me?” Paul asked. “Why me?”  

“Because this is your fault.”  

“I thought it was all my fault?” Ringo murmured and then quickly hushed, not wanting to buy himself a ticket into the snow.  

“You got out for a piss, and that’s why Ringo turned the engine off and thus, why George can’t get it to start again,” John said.  

“Thus?!” Paul mocked. “It’s hardly my fault! It’s not like I nicked the spark plugs, is it?”  

“Just go. The sooner you go, the sooner we can get out of this mess.”  

“No,” Paul said defiantly and crossed his arms.  

John narrowed his eyes at him, and Paul braced himself for the infamously sharp Lennon tongue.  

Instead John unclipped his seatbelt and opened the passenger door. ‘C’mon George,” he said and stepped out. Paul raised his eyebrows.  

George opened his door and made to follow John. “If we’re not back in half an hour…” he said, leaning back into the car, “…wait longer.”  

George slammed the driver’s door and ran after John, stalking away angrily.  

Ringo and Paul turned around to watch them walk away. “Reasonable as ever,” Paul said, as their band mates disappeared into the black. “He should be a diplomat.”