In My Life

Chapter 21:

May had finally brought Spring, and yet music filled the McCartney home as Paul's father, Jim McCartney, cheerfully waltzed inside his home. It had been a long day at work and from his slumped frame indicated he was tired and glad to be home. He scrummaged through the mail in his hands, opening each envelope with his name. As he went through each one and briefly read the contents, he came across the last envelope and raised his eyebrows, seeing it addressed to Paul.

He stepped into his living room, staring at the three boys that were strumming guitars and tapping their feet along with the rhythm. He nodded his head in unison to the beat of the music and smiled, waiting for a moment to interrupt.

After a few minutes, Paul glanced up to look at John, and the presence of his father caught the corner of his eyes, suddenly ending the strumming of the strings on his guitar.

John and George had both followed suit and had stopped playing once they realised Paul had not been playing. They both lifted their heads up and also noticed Jim standing there with a broad smile on his wrinkled face.

"Soundin' good there, lads," he tucked the other letters under his arm and applauded.

Paul pursed his lips, "Ah, it's just practice, Dad."

Jim returned a side smile to Paul, looking over at John then George, "Is right, ya know. Keep up that practicin', and it'll get ya lads somewhere!"

"Right then," Paul glanced at John, knowing he might have been a little annoyed they had been interrupted, "Did ya need anythin'?"

"Or what did Paul forget to do?" George joked, reaching for his already lit cigarette from the ashtray sitting on the side of him.

Jim raised his eyebrows and gasped, "Ah, almost forgot there," he handed the envelope to Paul, "This came in the post for ya."

The moment that envelope reached his hands, and his eyes briefly scanned his written name, he immediately recognised the handwriting, "Ah, thanks for bringin' it in."

Jim glanced at the curious looks George and John were giving Paul, "Well, I'll leave ya back to rehearse then. I'll get started on supper."

"Ta then, dad," he waved a finger to him as his eyes remained glued to the letter. He was excited to open it but then remembered John and George were staring at him intently and thought it might be best to wait.

"Well, who's it from?" John took the guitar strap off his shoulder, resting his guitar on the floor and started to relax his back against the wall.

George exhaled his cigarette smoke, "Paul, ya got a bird ya hidin'?"

"Not exactly... and, I'm not sure who this is from," he lied, scooting the letter behind him and out of sight.

John rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at George, motioning for a cigarette, "Ah, for Christ sakes, Macca. We know ya wanna read it so go 'ed then."

"Ya sure? I don't wanna..."

"Just do it before I change me mind," John mumbled through the cigarette in his mouth, trying to light the end of it.

Paul shrugged to himself and reached behind him, pulling the letter back out. He turned over the white envelope, and before he opened it, he studied the address on the back: 9 Burrows Rd London, UK

There was an address on the back this time, so perhaps this wasn't from who he thought it was. He quickly ripped open the top of the envelope and pulled out the folded up letter.  He glanced at John, acknowledging he was watching every move he made as he unfolded the letter. A faint smile came to his lips as he read the first line.