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

Chapter 31 - Honey, I'm Home

"The secret to making scones is to not get the oven too hot."

The over door closed with a bang. "Are you listening?" Angela said.

Marisol's eyes snapped open. "Sorry..." She lifted her head off the table. "I...sorry, the...what?"

Angela frowned at her. "Why don't you have a lie-down."

"No, I'm fine, I was only resting my eyes. I can't sleep while my sweet sunshine is out there suffering."

"Those girls aren't going to let anything happen to Paul's dog," Angela reasoned. "They only want his attention."

"Ugh. Ange...what am I going to do about those horrid girls?"

Angela pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "Paul needs to fix this. Does he talk to them?"

"Yes! Yes, he tries, and some of the girls are regulars and he reasons with them, but there are new ones every day. A constant flood of pulchritude all wanting me to disappear so they can sleep with my husband."

"Maybe you should—"

Beau let out a bark seconds before the front door opened. Marisol and Angela were instantly on their feet and heading for the front room.

Cookie burst in, her little body a blur of wagging tail and wriggling energy. Beau greeted her like a long-lost littermate, sniffing every inch of her, discovering with his nose where she'd been and what adventures she'd had, who had touched her and what they'd touched before they touched her. She was full of delicious scents and she was home!

"My sweet girl! Come here my sunshine!" Marisol dropped to her knees and Cookie pranced over, her bubblegum pink tongue lolling. Joyful and loving life and none the worse for wear. "What did those horrid girls do to you?"

With a beleaguered sigh, Paul flung his keys on the table by the front door. He stood in front of Marisol with his hands on his hips, his eyes half-mast with exhaustion. "Alright?" he said.

"I don't know, is it?" Marisol said, not looking at him.

Without another word, he stomped up the stairs. Seconds later the bedroom door slammed.

"Honey, I'm home," Angela said. "Mardy bloody git. What's his problem?"

"Oh I don't know," Marisol said, happily ruffling Cookie's soft fur. "No sleep, the war in Viet Nam, the devaluation of the pound, "Last Train to Clarksville" edged his song off the charts, the press keep saying the Beatles are over, his wife can't get along with the rest of his harem. I could go on...?"

"I think I got the thrust of it. Why don't you get some sleep? No classes today, I brought my French text, I can stay here and study and wait for the baby to wake up."

Marisol chewed her lower lip, considering. Cookie was sniffing around by her basket, probably ready to sleep off her mad day out, and Marisol's bed was beckoning. But this was asking a lot of Angela. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Why go back to a cold empty flat when I could sit here on your comfy couch where all the action is?"

"You are welcome to it. You'll wake me when Melody gets up? I feel like once I lie down I'll be unconscious for days."

"If there's anything I can't handle I will rouse your lazy arse. Now go. I have to see to the scones."

"Je t'aime de jours, mon mari," Marisol said in halting French.

"Je t'aime tous les jours, mon ami," Angela corrected.

"Y tambien usted," said Marisol, blowing a kiss.