The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 38

November 16th 1965, 8.20pm Kinfauns, Esher, Surrey

Ringo watched John walking back towards the car. He was kicking up the gravel in the driveway as he went. He glanced up at Ringo and shrugged. Ringo looked away and sighed.

"No one home," John said, as he got in to the driving seat. "I looked in the windows." He slammed the door of the black Mini, unnecessarily hard. The window pane rattled.

"I rang about three times," Ringo said. "I could have told you no one was home."

"It was George who wanted this bloody meeting," John said grumpily. "Bloody idiot."

"Perhaps he's already gone to Paul's?"

John looked at him. "Unlikely, that one, eh?"

"No," Ringo replied, trying to sound positive. "You said he wanted to make amends and sort things out. Perhaps he's gone ahead to talk to Paul. Alone, like. Y'know."

"Yeah, well, maybe," John turned the key in the ignition. "We might as well go and see then."

Ringo looked away, out of his door window, trying to hide his expression from John.

John turned around in his seat to see out of the back windscreen. "I know," he said. "There's better things I could be doing than running all over London in the freezing cold."

"I didn't say anything," Ringo protested, turning back.

"You don't have to, son," John replied. "Your face says it all."

John pressed heavily on the accelerator and the Mini shot forwards, mounting the lawn and knocking over one of the stone ornaments. "Oops," John said, shifting the gear stick into reverse.

"How on earth did you pass your test?" Ringo asked, gripping the door handle for safety.

"Bloody George, I don't know what's wrong with him lately," John said, as he hiccupped the car down the road, towards London and Wimpole Street.

"Third," Ringo said.

"What?"

"Third! Third gear!"

"Alright," John replied, annoyed. "You wanna drive?"

"Yes!"

John ignored him and shifted the car up a gear. The clutch made a horrible metallic scraping noise.

"Anyway," Ringo said. "You do know what's wrong with George. Isn't that the point of all this?"

John shook his head. "He's lost the plot. Gone funny in the head. It's that stupid bird he's living with. She's crazy and George has caught it off her."

"You hardly know her," Ringo said quietly.

"She threw a knife at my head when we were in America!"

"Yeah, well, John, you often make people want to throw things at you. And it was a spoon. Not a knife."

"She's still out of her tree."

Ringo didn't reply for a moment, and then said, "I don't really know."

"You know enough," John snorted. "She shows up on the scene, then suddenly Pattie's out and she's in, and George is acting odd and accusing Paul of... allsorts."

"They'll work it out." Ringo tried to make it sound like a statement – a fact – but it came out more like a question.

"Do you... Which one do you believe?" John asked. "Paul or George?"