I Learnt To Love In Liverpool | George Harrison ✅

♥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐰𝐨 ♥

Three Weeks Later

"What did dad say?" Paul asked as soon as I put the phone back onto the hook. He turned his head away from his acoustic guitar to give me attention when I spoke.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "that he's... met somebody." I sounded incredulous.

"Met somebody?" Paul echoed, watching the removal men move the new furniture into the room and arrange it how the interior designer (who was standing in the middle of the room) told them to.

Since I had decided to move out of George and Ringo's flat, Paul had offered to buy me a house - but I had refused. So he had mentioned that he was 'coincidentally' looking for a place of his own, and somebody to take care of it whilst he and the boys were on tour - hence my role in the flawless operation that was Paul McCartney's life.

"Yes," I sat on the settee beside him, taking the guitar and strumming mindlessly on it. "Her name is Angie. Her husband passed away last year, apparently. She has a little girl, too."

Paul shrugged, taking the guitar back from me, "it won't last -" I elbowed him in the gut. "Ouch!" He shrieked, shooting me a glare, "that hurt -"

"Don't be so cynical." I hissed, though not unkindly. "He deserves to be happy."

"Well -"

"I've invited them all up for Christmas with us."

"Christmas?" Paul echoed in surprise, "why?"

"Because I like family Christmases, and we have the biggest house so it makes sense to do it here." I answered in a tone of voice that implied my answer should have been obvious. Paul just sighed and didn't reply, instead going back to play his guitar. I checked my watch, "I have to go."

"Where are you going?" He asked me nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off of the six strings in his lap.

"To the doctor."

"Are you ill?" Paul asked me in surprise and dismay, now meeting my gaze. "Do you need me to drive you?"

"Not ill, Paul." I assured him, "I just need to go for a check up... I'll get a bus, don't trouble yourself -"

"The driver?" He continued. "Em, I don't like the thought of you going out by yourself anywhere, especially if you might be ill or have something wrong -"

"I'm fine, Paul." I reassured him, putting a hand on his arm. He looked down at it briefly and then back up at me. "Better than fine, actually."

My heart was beating very loudly in my chest. A smile spread across my face before I could hide it and it was contagious. My brother smiled, too.

"You're kidding?" He asked, immediately catching onto what I was silently trying to say - the secret that I had been keeping for several days. "You're sure?"

I bit my lip, nodding eagerly. "Pretty sure. I, um, missed my period and I've been getting nauseous in the mornings for the last week or so. I think I am, Paul."

He stood up, putting the guitar on the settee in the seat which he had just been sitting in. He offered me a hand and I took it, letting him pull me to my feet.

"I'm driving you."

I couldn't deny him the opportunity to drive me to my check up.

I nodded.

Paul turned to the interior designer, "we're going out. When you finish, lock the door and post the key back through the letterbox."

The man, whose name I hadn't even bothered to learn, nodded and Paul and I left.