Razzmatazz (Beatles Fan Fiction)

6

August 1963

George was loitering in the doorway of the dressing room. John couldn't say how long he'd been there. Could have been two minutes, could have been half an hour, John had been so deep in thought. Now though, George was in his eyeline; distracting, annoying.

'Either come in or go out,' John said to him eventually, not looking directly at him.

George stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. 'Fancy a cuppa?' he asked with a false cheerfulness.

John shook his head. 'Mal just...' His voice faded away as he realised the tea Mal had set down next to him had turned stone cold. 'Perhaps I will then,' he said, handing George the cup.

George took it and threw the contents down the small dressing room sink. He filled the kettle and then leaned on the sink as he waited for it to boil, looking at John in that strange way again, something obviously playing on his mind.

'Are we going back to the hotel?' John asked, as much to fill the void as anything else.

'Don't think so. Second show starts in twenty minutes.'

'Really?' John checked his watch. He'd been sitting in the same chair since the first show had ended - where had the time gone?

George smiled thinly. 'It's chaos out there. There were fans blocking the road from the end of the first show onwards. Police can't move them. Mal keeps shouting at the theatre staff to make sure no one gets backstage. They've already caught some girls trying to climb in a toilet window.'

John stiffened.

'No one we know,' George added hurriedly, as the kettle whistled. 'So we probably wouldn't have been able to get out of here and then back in time for the evening show, if we'd wanted to.' He poured the boiling water in to the teapot. 'Mal's worried.'

'What about?' John asked warily.

'You, mostly,' George mumbled, staring into the teapot.

'What?'

'Just... Just Paul winding it up.'

'That bloody big mouth. Why? What's he been saying?'

'Nothing.'

'George...'

'He thinks if you get upset about anything else you might try and run off.'

'What? What is this? A school playground? George, I'm not about to 'run off'.'

George chewed his lip.

'I'm not!' John insisted.

'No.'

'I'm not!'

'I didn't say you were, but...'

'What?!'

'Before. When you thought Ruby was in the audience.'

'Yeah, well. I just panicked a bit there. That's all. I'm fine now.'

'Sure?'

George handed him a mug of tea. It looked a bit weak and watery but John sipped it anyway. 'George,' John said, attempting a deadpan tone. 'When have I ever not been?'

'That's just it.' George sat down in the chair opposite John's, blowing the steam from his own mug. 'You always are 'fine.' So when you're not, they all go to pieces a bit.'

John snorted. 'Don't be daft.'

George shrugged. 'I said he was over-reacting. Paul, I mean. Unless... there's something I don't know about.'