Days with John treating me nice were few; no he wasn't nasty, just not here. Appointments and meetings, studio time, media commitments had them running everywhere.

I filled in for Freda when she was ill for three days so I managed to see all the boys and even catch them pushing through the night with take after take in the studio watching on as Mister Martin pressed buttons and machines whirled, meters for this and that, flicking from 0 to 100 or green through red. Changing minuscule things that I barely noticed but to them it was plain to see, amazing how in tune they were, how much they meld together to create perfection.

I was delivering George and Richie some biscuits when they had a break. We sat huddled around the drum kit while Paul and John bickered in the control room with George Martin.

"Are they always like this...... poor mister Martin" I watched the boys throwing their hands about, animated and set on protecting their music.

"Abigail, are you really.... Are you and John, you know ...." George studied my face and I was sure at that moment he was waiting for my blush to overtake and claim me red. "together"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, George" I played dumb and saw Richie roll his eyes at George.

"Are you, really, really close" George again broached.

"Oh, he's nice" I'll stir him, the bugger. I'm sure he was stirring, still waiting for the blush, no I won't give it to him!

I lifted my chin and he smiled his little 'I know what your game is' grin, lifting his chin too, he took my hand and pulled, making my face come close to his.

"Are you, Abigail Grant, bonking Lennon" I bit my lip and tried so hard not to blush but the red lit me like the traffic lights at the end of the street, all shiny and flashing bright.

"Leave off George if she wants to bonk John she can, right luv" Richie squeezed my shoulder. A pleasant, protective somewhat un-needed squeeze.

"Naughty Abigail. I do hope your using, ummm, protection" George laughed then was quickly tossing a condom in my lap.

I jumped up knocking the foil into his tea, Richie rolling about laughing on the floor at my feet. "George, I think you've a floatie in your tea, mate" Rich couldn't quite contain his mirth and went down again rolling about with laughter.

I stood hands on hips trying my best scolding pose on my face, while George flicked the tea off his floating protection.

"Abigail you should really-"

"No George I don't"

"Abigail here take it, it's from my stash, plenty there" He smirked.

"No, I can't..." I stated waiting for Richie and him to look up at me.

"It's too small" I hightailed it out of there as Rich slapped his leg, I paused by the closed doors to watch George with his petrified unbelieving face on. 

I waved and left them to it; Richie still laughing and slapping poor Georgie on the back.

Nights with John could be educational, fun, sweet, amazing. I thought him wonderful and he could be so endearing but I also began to experience his lows which I didn't, until then, know he could have.

Realising he hurt underneath that polished exterior was hard. Outwardly, tough like nails to all but underneath, in private, his guard dropped to me. Showing how fractured his life had been, not understanding his youth, his parents, wondering about his mum, cussing his dad, even his worry over singing.

The stresses of the divorce and the medias blood-hound-like tailing of him and Cynthia pushing him to drink, pushing him to turn into himself. Pushing me away with a sharp word or devil stare as he drained a glass.

Always apologetic the new day, I forgave easily, he didn't hurt me physically but I felt the pain of his words, swords lancing my emotions.

At the same time though I didn't notice I was growing up, growing a backbone, blooming confidence at being able to cope with life, relationships and these men.

He could make love to me sweetly and then roughly and then once more with apologies. All on one night, all different, all good but a little bad.

I sometimes didn't know which I preferred, which in itself was a little naughty too.

If I saw him nasty to Paul I would leave the room and rush to bed, try and be asleep, try and forget the pain I saw as I listened to him snarling and nasty. The pain in Pauls face, the pain in John's, the pain in my heart hidden.

A few days would pass and it was just me and Paul, a routine of normality, comfortable and nice as he ate breakfast I did the washing up, or visa versa.

Jane wasn't mentioned, she flew in and flew away again. Random fleeting days, not enough for a true romantic like Paul.

Paul brought me flowers today after a rough night of John mouthing off, I had gone to bed at 7 o'clock instead of John hours of 4am or not at all.

John was gone but Paul was here. He was always the steady in my days.