The Certainty Of Chance (Beatles Fan Fiction)

4

George stood in the doorway checking if he had his keys. It was eleven o’clock and he was supposed to have left half an hour ago. Brian would be on the phone any minute wanting to know where he was. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all last night, despite the fact he had got in around one and slept till ten. Where are those bloody keys? He cast his eyes over the junk on the small table by the door. If they weren’t in his pockets then they were usually there, but no, no sign.

“Oh, for…” he murmured, double checking his coat, then caught a glimpse of silver metal in the corner of his eye. Hanging in the lock of the door were the keys. George stared at them in curiosity. Surely I didn’t leave them in the lock overnight? He shook his head at his own stupidity.

The phone started to ring. It’d be Brian.

“I’m comin’!” George shouted at it and slammed the door on the ringing, making sure he took the keys out of the lock this time, and hurried towards the car.

Forty minutes late, George glanced at his watch as he fumbled with the car door key.

There was an excited squeal of “George!” from across the street. He looked up and saw a girl of about twelve rushing towards him, leaving a burly, older man, who had to be her father, on the other side of the road.

Oh, not now, please, George thought, trying to get the door open in the vain hope he might be in the car and away before the girl could reach him. No such luck. The girl was already hanging on his arm like a sea battered limpet before he managed to get the keys out of the lock.

“Oh, George! George!” she squealed, “Oh, George, I love you! You’re my favourite, you know! I can’t believe it’s really you!” She was around his neck now, pawing at his clothes, trying to kiss him. He lifted his head up to avoid her mouth and untangled her from around him. She wrapped her arms back around his waist, hugging him to her.

“Look, let go!” he snapped, pushing her away.

“Are the others here?” she asked, relentlessly coming for him again.

“No, they’re bloody not.” George barked back and turned to get in the car.

“Can I have your autograph? Where are you going? Can I come?” she asked in delirious joy and grabbed hold of his waist again.

For over the past year there had been thousands of girls screaming and crying at him, pawing and mauling him, pushing and chasing him, and this was just one too many. George felt a familiar wave of irritation wash over him and he’d had enough.

Turning back to the girl he said coldly, “I’m late as it is. Just piss off, will yer?” He shoved her back firmly. She banged into the car and stared at George forlornly. Large teardrops began to fall from her earnest, blue eyes and guilt replaced the annoyance inside George.

“Look, I didn’t mean…” he said, holding his hand out to her.

“I hate you!” she cried.

“I’m sorry,” George said remorsefully and felt in his pockets for a pen. “Of course you can have my autograph, and if you give me your address, I’ll make sure they send you some photos or something.”

“Really?” the girl asked, sniffing back her tears.

“Yeah, sure.” George smiled, finding a pencil and a scrap of paper. “What’s your name?”

“Cathy,” she said, still sounding upset.

“Okay,” George leaned on the roof of the car to write, “To Cathy, with love…”

A muscled arm gripped his shoulder, interrupting him. The arm spun George round to face the intimidating form of the girl’s father. He stood almost a foot taller than George as his cold eyes regarded him with abject revulsion.

George swallowed. The man held him against the car by the scruff of his neck.

“Who do you think you are?” he growled, in a deep, broad Welsh accent. “You think it’s clever to make little girls, like my Cathy, cry?”

“No…” George began.

“Huh? Do yer?” the man shouted over him. “You fucking jumped up little poof! You think you’re somebody just because you can play a guitar?”

“Don’t kill him, Daddy!” Cathy cried plaintively on George’s left, “I’m going to marry him!”

“Marry him?” her father roared. “Over my dead body!” then turning back to George, “She’s only twelve, you pervert!”

This is a circus, George thought, the whole world’s gone crazy.

“I’ve never met your daughter before,” George pleaded, “Why would I want to marry her?!”

“Oh, I see,” the Welshman said, practically lifting George off the ground. “Not good enough for the likes of you, is she?”

“What?!” George had time to say before the fist smacked into his eye.

“Daddy!” screamed Cathy, horrified. The man dropped George to the ground and, grabbing hold of his little girl’s hand, pulled her off up the street.

“I love you, George!” Cathy called back to him as George watched them leave, blinking in disbelief.

That couldn’t have really happened, George thought, sitting in the car a few minutes later. However, in the rear view mirror he could see evidence that it had. His eye was already forming a purple-black ring around it, starting to swell painfully. He poked it with his finger and winced at its tenderness. Brian’s gonna love that, he thought.

Where am I supposed to be? Oh yeah, a photo-shoot for some girl’s magazine. Well, that’s not gonna be happening now, George sighed. No amount of makeup or careful, subtle lighting’s gonna cover up this shiner. Wonderful. Brian’ll go up the wall.

Perhaps I should just go back to bed, he mused, but then reconsidered, nah, I shouldn’t have got out of it in the first place.

He turned the keys in the ignition and the cold engine grumbled to life. George sat there, hands on the steering wheel, but with little will to make the car move. He could almost hear John, Paul and Ringo laughing at him now. Ribbing him mercilessly when he told them what happened, Brian desperately trying to calm down a hysterical photographer and a very angry magazine editor. There would be no end of it. This had already been a bad day and as far as George could see, it was all downhill from here.

“Oh, I need to get away,” he thought aloud. Then it occurred to him.

Well, why not?

It wasn’t as if he was going to be much use to them today now. Brian would probably just send him home anyway, if he did turn up. So then, he reasoned, there’s not much point in going, is there?

George smiled.