Above Us Only Sky (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 16 - Happy Hunting

"Did you ever see a lassie, a lassie, a lassie," Angela sang, dancing Melody around the living room. Melody crowed and clapped her hands with glee.

"She's really taken with you."

"Of course she is. I was there when the whole rigamarole began, with you and her daddy. Wasn't I munchkin?" Angela covered Melody's face with kisses.

The buzzer at the front gate sounded, for the third time in ten minutes.

"I have to get out of here," Marisol said, stuffing a cup of juice into the diaper bag. She called for Beau. Cookie was already underfoot, her tail beating a tattoo against the front door.

Angela looked up and tilted her head toward the ceiling. "Is that Bach?"

"Sounds like it."

"What is he doing?"

"They're making a movie." Marisol sighed. "It's taking up all their time."

"The Beatles?"

"No, Paul and some avant-garde pal of his. They're very buzzed about it."

"A movie about Bach?"

Marisol laughed. "No, silly. They're synchronizing their film clips to music. It's very time-consuming." She lifted Melody from Angela's arms. "Can you manage both leashes while I get Mel in the stroller?"

"Sure thing. C'mon pups."

A group of regulars, who seemed to make an appearance every day, stood guard in front of 7 Cavendish Avenue, waiting for the gate to open.

"Whose kid is that?" one of them asked, pointing at the pushcart.

"Ye wanna mind yer own bleedin' business," Angela said. Angela didn't use her posh accent when speaking to the girls, Marisol noticed. She used her other accent, the one that made her sound like a pirate.

One of the girls got in Marisol's space, much too close. "Hey. What's your name?"

Ignoring the girl, Marisol turned around to lock the gate. She gasped. There, in huge white chalk letters on the dark green gate, someone had scrawled "GO HOME SLUT!"

She whirled on the girls. "Paul is going to be very, very pissed."

"Yes indeed. Paul will not take to you calling that nice Mrs. Kelly a slut," Angela added. "What is your problem, girls?"

"We don't like her," a tall brunette pointed at Marisol.

"And she's American."

"He needs to be with someone like himself. Someone like Jane."

"That's not up to you, is it? Paul fancies her lots. And he won't take to you scrawling rude shite on his gate."

"She's just a gold digger."

"She stole him from Jane."

Angela turned to Marisol, miming a shocked face. "You stole Paul from that poor Jane? I'd no idea. How appallingly slutty of you."

"Let's go," Marisol hissed at Angela.

One of the fans was bending over the pushcart, peering at Melody.

"No no no no no noooo!" Melody said, pointing at the girl.

Marisol heard the agitation in her baby's cry. She was probably reacting to the negative energy swirling around them. The dogs were getting excited too, winding around the girls' legs, and they would soon be a tangle of leashes and wheels and fur and dreadful teenage girls.