Bristol 5pm

"Call the office, check again Neil" Brian Epstein tapped his foot beside the motor in the carpark. Mal had been trolling through the few cars that were in the lines but none was a fancy green Aston Martin and none contained a young lady on her way to a Beatles concert.

Neil made the dash 200 metres to the phone box and back, Freda was beside herself back in the central London office, 'no Abigail hadn't called apart from just before she left the house at 8am that very morning'.

Brian's watch ticked and he made the decision to head back to the hall, time was closing in on the first performance of the evening and Mal, Neil and he were needed as security and for a multitude of other matters. One being to get four tired boys on the stage at 6.15pm.

"Not a word you two" Brian also made the decision to not breathe a word about the young lady that was supposed to meet them in the Bristol pub's carpark at 4pm, an hour and a quarter ago.

The first show was seamless and on time, the usual screaming and fainting and mad rush of human flesh towards the stage. Mal did his job but only with half his brain on the task the other was wondering if Abigail sat forlorn in a dark carpark, both John and Paul would have his hide.

A couple of girls made the stage while the National Anthem played and were up and out the back after the lads in seconds, Mal lumbering down the narrow backstage corridor after them. He finally found them hiding in a janitor's closet three doors down from where the lads were trying to rest up for the second show.

Showing the girl's the back door of the Colston hall, Mal took in the buildings off toward the Hatchett and made the quick choice to go and fetch Abigail, surely she would be there twiddling her thumbs by now, he thought.

A doctor approached the hospital bed and she shrank back whimpering almost. Two hours of torture had been inflicted and hours more in the extraction from, and collision with, the lorry, she was white with bandages and her shoulder throbbed from the dislocation being set proper. Both feet burned in varying stages of pain.

Something shiny glint in the light near her arm and she slept.

Shaking his head Mal walked up the steps slowly as he returned to the hall, Neil had already walked out minutes before and called Freda with no more luck than his previous phone call that afternoon.

Mal loved the girl, she was sweet and thoughtful and bloody good at making Paul and John toe the line although making John admit to that would be a hard-fetched thing to do.

He told himself, convinced himself, she had a flat tyre. Something trival had occured. He walked back into the room and smiled as though nothing was wrong.

Second show a mirror of the first, Paul and John joked around making George laugh and Ringo clap, they were all enormously happy because the second that show finished meant home.

Home to missed girlfriends and sister, and soft beds.

The standard setlist disappeared faster, much faster the thirty minutes and closed in to under twenty-six and as the national anthem repeated they charged into the tiny back change room with small windows, dropping guitars haphazardly but carefully into cases, suit jackets flung on chairs and drumsticks on the table. They were noisy, full of beans and bore no sign of the tiredness of earlier that day.

"Where's Mal? He should be packing this lot up quick smart so we can get back to London" Paul stuck his head out the door to garner Mal's attention but the short corridor was vacant and almost quiet, the girls yelling had abated and they could all hear themselves think, even though their ears where still ringing from the incessant screaming.

"He had to step out for a few moments" Brian crossed his arms a cigarette burning low, then he rubbed his forehead, trouble sat on his face plainly.

"Christ, what the hell, Neil's not here either" John jumped up and started banging around clipping guitar cases shut, zipping up the suits in protective covers "You know we could employ new people if this is how they work"

"Settle down John" George sat back on his chair, feet stretched up over another "Maybe they knew I was hungry"

"There's a load of biscuits in that box and a dozen cokes in the corner, George" Ringo pointed out calmly.

Brian paced, the room too small, not designed for pacing and especially with four other people crammed in it. Sweat beaded and Brian swiped, they should have found her by now and been back, this wasn't right, something was wrong, very wrong and the boys were going to be just livid.

"Brian, can you stop moping and sort the cars!" Paul barked, he laughed but seeing Brian's face he settled down and gave up the fight to be home by 1am; The plan- 1am fall into bed, a day and a half nap then almost the rest of the year off!

Mal stepped in the small room finally and John threw a pair of dirty socks at him, Mal ignored the socks and turned to face Brian and shook his head. Brian immediately tucked his head in, and down, thinking.

"Hey Mal, did your cat die or something?" Ringo piped up and Mal bore holes in him, sweeping round to set the guitars by the door, looking back at Brian again, willing him silently, to admit there was a bloody big problem.

Mal shook his head finally in answer to Ringo's inane question. No a cat didn't die.

The room turned chaotic. George was flicking Ringo with a towel, John and Paul were yelling- they wanted out of the cage and to go home. Brian decided he had to admit what the hold-up was.

"Lads, lad's. Attention" Brian clapped his hands and rubbed a hand again down his cheek, distress was not a normal emotion and he was having a hard time handling it, it wasn't exactly the worry for Abigail, although he was..... It was the volcanic eruptions awaiting him when John and Paul found out they had played through 2 concerts, hours of sitting around and all the time in between when Abigail should have been sat here, front and centre, the whole time.

Neil returned flanked by two bobbies and John stood straight like he was in some sort of trouble, then descended into a fit of laughter about big hats meaning little peni-.

"Paul, can you come out here please. Brian...." Neil spoke quietly, strained and flustered. John, George and Richie following until Mal shut the door on them.

Led down toward the stage area, clear of most of the amps and equipment. The seats in front row empty and full of trash from a thousand plus girls. Paul was motioned to sit on a chair, he ignored them and lit a smoke, peeved that he was being somehow picked on for no apparent reason.

"What's the trouble officer?" Brian spoke as one of the officer's opened his black note book.

"Mister McCartney.." The officer looked at Paul and that officer held an expression that was just enough for Paul to settle and realise he wasn't being arrested or in trouble. "Sir, do you own a vehicle with registration numbers LLO 84OD"

"Yeahhhh that's the Martin" Paul commented slowly. Had he not paid registration? Brian sat heavily in the empty chair, something was wrong, or had Abigail managed to only get arrested.

"Sir, were you aware that it was in use today?" As the officer spoke John walked out of the dimly lit area side of stage, puzzlement on his face. George, Mal and Richie stood in the wings. "In Swindon to be exact"

"No that's not right, it's in London not out in Swindon, my sister is using it" Paul was truly perplexed, John frowned and crossed his arms beside him.

"It would have passed through Swindon. The answer is yes, officer" Brian stood up, at least the boys couldn't murder him with two police officers present.

"What are you on about Brian?" Paul's voice rose an octave and he swung around to look at Brian's dejected face behind him.

"Abigail Grant would have been passing through the town in question today on her way to Bristol sometime lunchtime or there about, this afternoon. The car isn't stolen officer can you please release Miss Grant" There, Brian deduced, they assumed the motor was stolen, no harm done.

John and Paul spoke at once then George and Richie entered the fray, Mal's eyes bore into the Policeman's face, there was more and it wasn't good news.

How, what, when, where, why questions came falling out of all the lad's lips, laughing happily at the thought Abbs, innocent Abigail, was locked up for grand theft auto.

"Mister McCartney! Sir!!" Both officers pushed into the group and regained attention. "Miss Grant, is it?"

"Yes, Abigail Grant"

"Miss Grant is currently in Great Western, a hospital in Swindon... undergoing surgery as far as we are aware" A pin could have been heard drop "Car accident.... with a lorry, sorry to inform you like this"

"What? What! What happened?!" Paul thought he knew what happened- speed, yet hoped he was wrong.

The officer flipped his page over to the details of the accident and six people closed rank on him, Neil was organising the vehicles.

"Right, the witnesses all confirmed that-" The officer lost his place, pausing, Paul sat down and had to hold his head as the words were spoken "ahh, right. The witnesses both confirmed that the Aston Martin was waiting at the new traffic lights which were on red, the lights turned green and the car proceeded, a lorry seemed to have ignored its own red signal, entered the intersection from the right and ploughed into the side of the car resulting to a collision in the centre of the intersection"

She wasn't speeding, it wasn't her fault. Paul still needed help rising but he quickly regained his mettle and scrambled out the doors to the cars.

Operation extraction occurred.

Paul, John, Mal straight to the hospital flanked by a motorcycle policeman at high speed and George, Neil, Richie and Brian to follow behind.

Time was heartbeats and both John and Paul had theirs in there throat the entire journey. Both in their own worlds. Both utterly silent. Both worried.

A lorry had smashed into the small car.
The door?
The bonnet?
The boot?

Each scenario as bad as the other, the door the worst, it couldn't have been that they silently prayed.

A lorry would have decimated the small car and...... Abigail.