The mini started and I was off, if Jim was not hallucinating this car was Paul fucking McCartney's and Bill dear friendly, cheeky Bill was John Fucking Lennon.

Now I don't usually swear, maybe a bloody nora or similar, but swearing was not in my vocabulary on a daily basis.

Til Now.

I picked up a copy of the latest 'Teen Monthly' from the small newsagent stand on the corner and went home to Jim's, Mister James, Mister McCartneys house.

Settling in on the sofa, feet up with a cup of tea, swirling the leaves in the bottom the cup, staring as they sat or slid in the wash of brown liquid.

Then I remembered.

I told him off about the Playboy magazines, bloody fucking nora! Paul McCartney and the playboys, I giggled and rolled off the couch, banging on the floor, rolling around again, if I wasn't going mad I was being mad, so I just went looney to get it all out.

The teacup coming to rest beside me not a drop spilt.

What to do when he called, circled in my brain.

Page 16 Teen Monthly

The words of the news article jumped off the page:

So George, the fellows have told us you were very ill" A reporter asked George

"Oh yes, it was horrible, couldn't say Marmalade or anything, was a right bother, what with the show being so close to the day of my being ill. Was right depressing"

George Harrison, pictured below left, looking dashing in a blue suede jacket with black slacks.

"Well you look raring to go now, that's good. What do you contribute to your sudden return to health?" Said reporter asked.

"Oh it was dead simple really, a nice girl called up and said Lemon and Scotch"

George Harrison plays lead guitar for the band that has stormed the states, soon to appear on the Ed Sullivan show in Miami

Blah blah blah

and it continued on,

pages filled with photographs of the band and them playing on some stage somewhere or other.

A list of shows followed on from the article and they matched up with the chicken scrawled red biro on the page I left beside the telephone.

I dropped crumbs of Chocolate Oliver all over Pauls beaming face and laughed, flicking the crumbs into the fire as I stood.

Having sat for the afternoon I was being lazy but this was humongous.

Paul sat there,

he ate over there,

he bathed in there, He bathed naked in there

and slept up there;

They had all been here, eaten my food, slept and taken off again, me none the wiser.

I think I don't blame Jim much really, for all he knew I could have brought half of London over for tea in the vague hope of meeting one of them.

I was a fan, but not a big one, oh yea they were gear and fab and very handsome.

I looked over the pictures more carefully as I thought about them. It all didn't matter anyway, they were there I was here and when they were here I would be in Liverpool.

The shrill of the phone ringing woke me from my slumber, the clock was just about to hit midnight and I had a plan.

Ramone Paul: "Ello Abigail, how are the English tonight.

Me: Oh grand the English are all just grand. Once we got rid, sorry, shipped off those blighters, the Beatles, to America everything has been looking up, spring and all that, much brighter now.

RamonePaul: O..K...... (Bill John: 'ello Abby. Pass the tomatoe sauce Geo, ta mate)

Me: So, knife sales moving along. Must have sold boxes of the crap now hey? 

RamonePaul: oh, it's not crap Abigail, strong and good, last well and all that, good English manufacturing. Life time warranty, you know.

Me: So the Americans like inferior English Shite then, they are most welcome to it. I say.

Ramone Paul: Abigail....

Me: Hmmmmm

RamonePaul: I sense some hostility (Bill John: Abbs I'll be home soon my luv") Is da alright then?

Me- (I started off quietly at first til all the words grew louder and louder. I couldn't stop myself faster and faster they tumbled from my lips) : oh yeah, yeah, yeah. He's fine in spite of all danger Mister Ramone or is that PAUL...... You horrible, phoney boys, how can you do that to someone. I hate you all, well I disliked (I lied, shoot me, I'm angry) you before, but now, now! Your da's just fine PAUL. Oh and tell Bill or John or whatever his real name is - he has buckleys.

Click.

I hung up, slamming the phone down so hard it rattled for a good few seconds as it came to rest in its cradle.

I held my chest and tried to control my out of control breathing.

For whatever reason, I was angry, mad, so so mad at the lies and deception especially from Jim. I thought I was close to him, I thought wrong obviously.

The hot sting of tears filled my eyes and I grabbed a tissue holding it in my hands running fingers along the edge of it. It was a given for if that thin piece of tissue touched my cheek I would surely howl and scream and tears would fall fast like a river. I wasn't sure I wanted it to happen yet.

Pacing was good, let off my steam of sorts but as I did the deceit and lies piled along my path to and from the kitchen to the fireplace. Jim, Angie, Ruthie?! Did Mr Carter the chemist know? How did Jim manage at the hospital surely they knew. Everyone looking and laughing at the housekeeper, none the wiser, in the dark like a fucking mushroom in shite.

"A fucking mushroom I am, feed shite" I said it out loud and walked to my room.

I'm getting quite good at the swear words now.

Passing quickly through the kitchen door to my own small space I stood at the open door of my bedsit, casting my eyes about in the half-light trying to think, to make head and tail of the thoughts that ran through my mind, the mind of a mushroom.

The bedsit was neat and tidy, the small wooden desk in the corner covered in my school books and pieces of paper I thought important; poems, sketches and doddles, a diary and pictures of me ma.

My bed, Mister James' bed that I slept on, no that sounds improper! The bed that was in the back for the staff was narrow, a good mattress that let me sleep well. My own multi-coloured bedspread that I crocheted myself covered the rainbow flannelette sheets I had purchased at the linen shop as I walked by one day them being half-price on sale.

I sat down on the floor to reach under the bed, grabbing and seeking blindly for my suitcase I flopped it on the bed turning the bedside tables reading light on as well now. 

I packed essentials tooth brush, paste, hairbrush, head band, my meagre amount of makeup, scarf around my neck, spare pair of shoes, my Sunday dress and capris and a turtle neck. The rest would stay for now, I wasn't bothered if it stayed forever at this point I just needed space from the shite that seemed to fill the air around me in this place. 

 I  left a note on the table in the kitchen under the salt shaker.

Dear Mister James / Ramone/ Mr McCartney,

Please take this letter as a resignation from your employment.

I thank you for the opportunity to work for a wonderful citizen like Mister James. Thankyou also Mister James for allowing me to reside in your home and attend the local college.

As I have but one suitcase I pray it is satisfactory that I leave the rest of my items for a day in the near future to collect.

Please pass on my apologies to Ruthie for not sewing the new dress for her doll, Jemima.

Yours sincerely

Abigail Grant 

I then called the hospital so the nurse could tell Mister James my mother was ill and I had to return to Liverpool immediately.

I fled like a thief in the night and the coward that I am, an angry child scooting back to the arms of her mother.