The Certainty Of Chance (Beatles Fan Fiction)

1

“Hello, gorgeous!” she said as she came in the door and dropped the two heavy shopping bags down on the floor. “How’s your day been then, flower?”

George Harrison, one of the four most desired men in Britain, didn’t reply.

“Well, mine was a living nightmare,” she carried on regardless, taking off her coat, “Mr. Harvey wants us out, he threatening to have the electricity or the water turned off now. But I don’t think he’d dare…” May started taking tins out of the shopping bags and setting them down on the small kitchen unit in one corner of the room that made up the pokey bed-sit. “It’s a bit of a cheek, considering how much we pay – for what? A one roomed bed-sit, with a shared bathroom, above a horrible little pub!” she told him. She held up one of the tins to him, “Beans on toast for tea again, I’m afraid. Never mind. Won’t be for much longer. Vicky thinks there might be a job going at the hotel where she works at soon, so fingers crossed!” she smiled at him. George said nothing.

May stopped and sighed. “I don’t know how I would have coped with all this without you, George.”

She shrugged it off and forced herself to brighten up again.

“Let’s have some music, eh?” she said walking over to the old record player, balanced on a stool in the corner of the room. “What do you fancy?” She flicked through her limited record collection. There wasn’t much variety but she never seemed to get tired of what she did have. She selected one and put it on, lifting the needle on to the vinyl carefully. “This’ll do then. Haven’t heard this for a while.” George stared at her unblinkingly as the music started. “Better get the tea on,” she said, looking up at the clock, “Jack will be home soon.”

“You’ll never know how much I really love you. You’ll never know how much I really care…” George told her, emphatically. May turned and smiled at him, then blew him a kiss before turning back to the old oven.

“Listen, do you want to know a secret?” George said.

“What’s that then, Georgie?”

“Do you promise not to tell?”

May was emptying the tin of beans in to a small saucepan.

“Closer, let me whisper in your ear…”

She lit the gas hob and put the saucepan on the heat.

“Say the words you long to hear...” George continued. “I’m in love with you!”

“I love you too, George,” she told him as the door opened again.

“You could get put away for that,” Jack said coming in and dumping his coat on a nearby chair, “Talking to pictures.” May just smiled and kissed his cheek. Jack was her own Beatle, well; he had the mop top hair anyway. He was a tall man, and strong with it. It was perhaps his eyes the May had fallen in love with, the same chocolate brown as George’s, but with a slight orange tinge.

“Tea ready?” Jack asked sullenly, slumping down on the bed, which except for the kitchen unit, took up most of the room. He picked up a newspaper.

“Nearly.” May hung his coat up for him.

“I’ve known a secret for a week or two…” George carried on in the corner. Jack wrinkled his nose up.

“You can put that off too,” he said. May ignored him, stirring the beans. “Or I will,” he added threateningly.

“Just this side?” May said, putting a couple of rounds of bread under the grill.

“I don’t work all day to come home to that racket,” he told her, reaching over and snatching the needle off.