A Day In The Life ||The Beatles

Chapter 8

Mick was chatting with a girl when Emma entered the party. She was wearing a dress and makeup, which on it's own was unusual enough for her. At the sight of her, Mick whispered something in the ear of the girl he was talking to and lifted a finger at Emma. He walked towards her which was just as good, because her feet felt unstable in heels.

"Well, look at you, dressed all nice just for me," he told her slyly, his trademark smirk finding its way onto his face.

Emma restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Look at you, cocky as ever."

"Don't take that attitude with me luv, I've got good news," Mick's face lit up as he spoke. He looped their arms together and started leading her towards a table at a corner of the room. This could not be good.

"Oh?" She tried to remain calm, keeping her face in a neutral expression.

"I found you the perfect person for you to shag tonight. He is as lonely and desperate as you, it seems," he let out a sigh, leaning in. His eyes scanned the area, trying to find someone. "Just between you and me, he's been moping around for the same girl. It's getting rather daft."

"Mick, I told you I didn't want to do this," Emma tried to unlike their arms and stop on her tracks but he was stronger and kept dragging her on. "Stop."

Mick stopped a table and called out, "Ah here, George!" He waved his hand.

Emma tried to get the earth to open up and swallow her whole because this could not be happening.

"Mick?" He asked, confused.

"George, have you meet my good friend Emma?" He slightly pushed Emma forward, showing her off. Emma stayed quiet, trying to keep her heartbeat steady. The man, George, looked at her briefly before looking away. Without waiting for a response, Mick went on. "Emma, have you meet my good friend George?"

He leaned towards Emma, letting her go. "Isn't he a handsome lad?"

"What?" George stood up from his seat, brushing his hands off on his pants nervously.

"Alright now, I'll be leaving you two lovebirds alone. Make me proud." He raised an eyebrow before disappearing towards the middle of a crowd.

He slowly lowered himself back down on his seat, and Emma slowly followed. "George?" She asked hesitantly. He hadn't even spoken to her and he sat so stiffly. Over the years, she had thought about him so much but she never missed him as much as she did in that moment. She missed their closeness and how they used to be. They used to laugh. And now he could barely look at her.

His head turned towards her and he smiled politely, but it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Er, hello," he told her softly, his liverpudlian accent as thick as ever. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Her fingers plucked at a loose thread on her dress, as she wracked her brain on what to say. There were so many things she wanted to tell him but none of them seemed appropriate, not with him acting the way he was. Instead, she played it safe and asked, "How have you been?"

"I've been fine, I guess," he muttered, his reply guarded and vague. The entire situation was awkward and embarrassing. What must he think of her? He obviously didn't consider her in high regard; his feelings had cooled over the years while hers had smoldered.

It would make sense. He had lost nothing but a simple, boring girl. He turned into a Beatle, and he could have any woman in the world. She couldn't even be angry with the way he was acting.

"You look so different and still exactly the same," she said in a rush, her hand pushing down on the couch and pushing her closer to him. A part of her craved to remind him of the old times, to bring out the old George that she had known so well. She wouldn't be able to stand this stranger that sat beside her for much longer.

"What?" He asked in clear confusion, shifting backwards and away from her. And suddenly it all began to make sense. His uptight demeanor wasn't simply out of disinterest in her.

"You don't remember me?" She asked, unable to mask the strong feeling of hurt. "I'm Emma."

Her name seemed to spark something within him. He leaned towards her, eyes narrowed as he searched for any familiar traits. And then his face fell. "Emma?" He whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"I...I'm a friend of Mick's," she weakly replied. So, they were finally on the same page but they still felt so far apart.

"You're friends with Mick Jagger? Guys like him have lots of friends."

Emma's cheeks blushed as she struggled to come up with something convincing. "I work with him." That wasn't so far from the truth; they met through her work at least. But she just couldn't bring herself to tell George that she worked as a waitress.

"You're in the music industry?" He asked in surprise, before scooting over closer to her on the couch.

"Not exactly," she admitted. Her hands pulled at her hair, a tell that was too obvious before. It had been so long since he had thought of her, but now that she was here, it was all coming back to him. All the memories, all the feelings. He remembered it all.

"Emma, what is it?" His eyebrows knitted in concern.

"Look at you, George," she told him in a shaking voice and a soft laugh. "The years have been so good to you." Looking back at him, she smiled, and though it broke his heart, it looked genuine.

"Well, they haven't exactly been easy," he admitted with a sigh, looking at her as though she might disappear. This pained expression made a knot grow in Emma's stomach. Why hadn't she called him?

He put his hand on top of hers. And that enough, was enough to bring memories of the past. "Emma, you don't know how bizarre seeing you here is...last I heard about you, you were doing well in London. And now, you're here."

"I've wanted to speak with you for the longest time. Your number isn't so easy to find. And when Mick said he was throwing this party, I could only hope..."

"What did you want to tell me?" He asked. And despite how loud it was, and how they were surrounded by people, Emma felt they were on their own little private world. "You said you've wanted to speak to me. Well, here I am."