The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 24

August 16th 1965

The slam of the door woke Paul with a jolt. He sat up, sucking in air through his nose and rubbing the ache in his neck caused by the arm of the sofa. John, the source of the noise, was standing over him.

"John, for fuck's sake..." Paul glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten to six. He rolled onto his side. "Go back to bed."

"Chance would be a fuckin' fine thing!" John said and yanked Paul's feet off the end of sofa, making room for himself. He sat down heavily.

Paul reluctantly sat up, resigning himself to the fact he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that morning. "Are you gonna start every day like this?"

"Can't you hear them? All fucking night! Walls are paper bloody thin... No wonder you're out here!"

Paul raised an eyebrow. "George and that girl?"

"That girl?! That fuckin' mad cow!"

"What?"

"Screaming and shoutin' – all bleedin' night!"

"Screaming?!" Paul grinned.

John rolled his eyes. "Not fucking. Screaming – Fighting! Ringo, he bloody well snores all the way through it, doesn't he?"

"Fighting?" Paul repeated, confused.

"Yes, fighting. What are you? A bloody echo?"

"George and that student girl? What about?"

"Not her. She's long gone. George and that crazy bitch he's taken up with."

"Who? What?"

"And Mal's here? Did you know that?"

Paul smiled. "Really? Where is he?"

"Well, he's not here now, this minute. He's at some hotel down the street. Very fuckin' wise."

"How did Mal get here?"

"She brought him over, didn't she?"

"Who?"

"Oh Paul, for fuck's sake, keep up! That Grace girl. The redhead George is living with."

Paul's smile faded.

"No, no, please don't. Don't Grace," George pleaded. It took all of his self restraint to stop himself from throwing his arms round her waist and holding her there. "Don't leave, please."

"Give me one good reason not to."

"Because... because I don't want you to... I want you to stay here..."

"What for? So I can watch you fuck any whore fan who comes your way?"

"No..."

"You've only been gone a few days. You don't waste time do you, George?"

George wore the thin bed cover wrapped around his waist. He was very aware of the feel of the cotton against his naked skin. His trousers were on the floor on the other side of the room. He hadn't been able to edge his way over there yet.

Grace stood in the space between the two beds. She had been screaming and crying for nearly two hours. George had been apologising. She would threaten to leave. George would beg her to stay. Going round in circles with the accusations and arguments. Grace hadn't even taken her coat off.

"You were so sad when you left," she said tearfully. She crossed to the hotel window and looked out between the drawn curtains. The world outside was getting light already. "I found that lackey and brought him over here for you. I thought it would be a nice surprise." She turned back to George and came to sit down on the edge of his bed. "It certainly was a surprise," she sniffed.