𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐘 ── PAUL McCARTNEY

III. MRS DUNNE

Tuesday the 28th of September 1958

Paul hummed softly to himself for a long moment, his calloused fingers gently hovering over where I hit my head and I tried my best not to flinch when he suddenly poked at the tender sore. "How bad do you reckon' it is?" I asked quietly. 

"Well...I can't be too sure, Daisy. Come on, we'll see Mrs Dunne." My brown eyes followed Paul as he crossed his living room. "Huh?" I muttered in a very much confused manner as I shakily stood up, rather unbalanced.

Paul turned to face me after realising that I had no idea who this woman was, "Oh, Mrs Dunne's a nurse like my mum was. Mrs Dunne is a friend of my family. She'll sort ya out." There was a hint of recognition as I had remembered. Paul had lost his mother at fourteen and I felt a pang of both empathy and heartache as I had lost my mother too, but a fair bit younger. No one ever deserved to lose their mother. Paul tilted his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest, "Everythin' alright? Yer quite lookin' lost in thought there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. My head just hurts a bit." Paul's eyes seemed to soften and then he gave me his signature boyish grin I had seen in so many photographs and films and interviews my grandmother insisted that I see. Paul was energetic and almost too impatient, moving ahead of me as he came to the front door. Paul quickly slipped my rain jacket over my shoulders. It felt stupid to blush at such a kind gesture so I shifted my gaze to the floor.

As I slipped my arms through the sleeves Paul had left me alone, wandering up the narrow staircase. For a good few minutes, Paul was gone, but then he returned with an umbrella and a smile. "Alright, love. Let's go." Paul opened the door for me and I stepped out into the wild and windy night with Paul closing the door behind us.

I followed the paved path, water soaking into my bare socks again. I groaned in annoyance, moving at a quicker pace as if it would stop the water seeping into my socks, Paul looked over his shoulder at me and laughed while putting up the umbrella. Paul's laughter was such a heavenly sound. "I'm sorry Daisy, I couldn't find any of my mum's shoes for ya to borrow. Dad's must have got rid of em all." Even in the depth of his attempt to be light-hearted in his words, I knew that he missed his mother. But in truth, it had been years for me and I still missed mine too. I would always miss my mother, just like Paul would miss his mother. 

"It's alright, thank you though. I'm the one that lost my shoes."

Paul led me down the sidewalk of his street, a couple of houses down from his own. It was weird to see no one around and I guess they were just staying indoors. Paul brought the two of us to an abrupt stop. "Now, just whatever I say go with alright? Mrs Dunne is rather...strict person y'know?"

It turned out that Paul's words were an understatement. When a middle-aged woman with dark ebony hair opened the door, her grey eyes narrowed at the sight of me and I knew that I had never looked so out of place in my life. It felt like she could see right through me and but when she saw Paul her face lit up into a warm smile.  "Ah, hello James. How can I help ya?" 

I found hard to make out the woman's thick accent and unable to understand why this woman called Paul 'James.' Paul gave a dazzling and charming smile, then his gaze fell over me and then the woman, "Daisy hit her head, could yer please have a look at it?"

Mrs Dunne pursed her lips and she appeared to be thinking it through, then gave a sharp nod of approval, "Very well. Come on in then."  I turned back to Paul before walking up the steps and he gave a sly wink. I could tell that Paul did that a lot — if I winked back at him it would look like I had something in my eye. By the time Paul had closed the front door behind us, Mrs Dunne was gone and I could hear a lot of ruckus in the kitchen. I peeled off my soaking wet socks and tucked them into my raincoat pockets, while Paul kicked off his ancient-grandpa-looking shoes. Wow, you must really learn to love the fifties.

I instantly noticed that this house was very much identical to Paul's but somehow this house seemed lonely, bare and less alive. Paul dragged me down a short hallway and into the small and cluttered kitchen. Mrs Dunne gently instructed me to sit on a stool and the world spun. I wondered if I had a concussion. I would have fallen over again if Paul hadn't helped lower me to the little stool.

Mrs Dunne looked over at me as if she was calculating something, then asked: "Well, how did yer hit yer head?" It was rather foggy and I had no idea how I had actually hit my head. Maybe I had hurt it by somehow getting here. "I slipped on the pavement and hit my head," I muttered and looked down at the tiled kitchen flooring. Mrs Dunne made a tsk-tsk sound as she moved from her spot on the counter and over towards me.

Mrs Dunne continued to ask questions and then she looked at the sore of where I had hit my head. "It looks rather swollen and bruised. Now, Daisy, you seem to have a concussion. Do you have anyone to telephone to come and get you?"

My stomach dropped and I could feel my eyes widen in shock. Naturally, my eyes crossed the room to where Paul was, who was comfortably leaning against the doorframe lost in a daydream or distant place. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned to the woman, "No...not exactly. I'm not from around here and my family is too far away." My words seemed to snap Paul out of his daydream and his pretty hazel eyes seemed to bore into my own.

Mrs Dunne took it upon herself to break the sudden silence, "What about your parents? Relatives? Surely you have someone in Liverpool?" 

I inhaled sharply, not allowing to look at Paul. "My father is back home in Australia, and my m-mother passed away when I was seven." Paul seemed almost confronted at the information, perhaps it was because he had lost his mother too. It was silly to cry, but again knowing that I was all alone lost in a place and time I didn't know was so scary.

"What about your grandmother? You mentioned her before when I stopped ya from leavin'," Paul suddenly asked, his handsome face crinkling up in confusion. I bit hard on my lip and I knew that the best thing to do was, to tell the truth, and to be honest to both Paul and Mrs Dunne. In honesty, I didn't want to be pitied or babied or anyone's empathy because I deep down I wanted to go home. As much as I had wished that this was some sort of bad dream, that I could wake up from, I knew that it wasn't. It was real. There was a creeping feeling of shock and worry that surfaced into the pit of my stomach, the thought rolled over and over, I was stuck here.

My vision was blurred and my headache as I spoke the nothing but the truth, "I don't have anyone here. I'm all alone." Paul unexpectedly knelt down in front of me, reaching my height to directly look into my eyes, and somehow I knew by the look in his eyes he had seen through this facade I was holding the whole time. I was shocked by the warmth when Paul's hand curled around my knee, an attempt to comfort or soothe me. Then Paul gave a small, yet sad smile. Looking into Paul's pretty eyes, I found myself lost in the swirls of brown and green. I was comforted by a small sense of familiarity of him, knowing that Paul was someone who surrounded my childhood with beautiful music — that maybe even so many years into the past, I wasn't entirely alone here.