Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

21. Paris: Part 1

Carnival of Light

21.

September 1966

It didn't take much to get me to agree to Paris. The idea of a few days alone with Paul, away from London where we could give into this thing between us for a bit of time made me feel giddy. We'd have this one long weekend together and not think about what would come after. Maybe it would slake my ridiculous lust for him.

But once Paul dropped me off at home, and I was left alone with my thoughts, the anxiety set in. I shouldn't be this happy about something that would hurt the person I loved. The person I'd already agreed to spend my life with. Finally, I felt the real weight of the guilt I'd been waiting for all this time. Guilt that informed me that I was selfish and I didn't deserve to be happy.

On the bright side, guilt distracted me from the "what comes after" part of Paris.

And guilt wasn't enough to stop me from going.

I went for lunch with Matthew the day after I saw Paul, in a state of great apprehension. When I last saw Matthew in Paul's wake I'd managed to shuffle Paul to the back of my mind. This time Paul was very much at the front of my thoughts, stubbornly refusing to budge, and I was anxious about it.

"Are you quite alright, darling?" Matthew asked, immediately picking up on my mood. "You seem a little nervy today."

"I am a bit," I admitted. "I didn't sleep well." That was true. "I haven't been writing as much as I should and I feel a bit bad about it." Also true, but not especially pertinent.

"I wish you wouldn't punish yourself, my love," Matthew said kindly. "It won't do any good."

"I suppose," I sighed. "I've been thinking about Paris again. Taking a little trip by myself."

"That sounds like just the thing, darling," Matthew beamed at me.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You don't think it's a bit much?"

"Of course not, not if it will make you happy," Matthew insisted. "We've absolutely been in each other's pockets since I've been back from Scotland. A little time on your own in Paris will do you good."

"And then I'll come back to you," I smiled. "And appreciate you even more."

"Darling, you're such a romantic," Matthew beamed.

Then he leaned toward me, his expression turning serious, which was most unlike Matthew.

"You must do what makes you happy, Beatrix," he said, meeting my eyes. "There's nothing I hate more than seeing you unhappy, and it's usually because you won't allow yourself what you want, or because you're punishing yourself. That's your mother talking, and we both know how happy she is with her lot in life. It's alright to take a page out of Robert Fraser's book every now and then. Darling, all I want is for you to be happy. Please allow yourself to be."

I honestly could not believe the words coming out of his mouth as he said them, but it was just like Matthew to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, to calm me down and cheer me up. It was just like Matthew to be the one to inadvertently ease my guilt over Paul.

Of course, I compared them. It was impossible not to. Physically, they were completely different beings aside from both being tall. Matthew was blonde, luminous, and chiselled. He looked after himself and he liked to eat well, only occasionally smoking a cigarette when he fancied it. Paul was striking and deceptively sweet-looking with truly beautiful eyes and inky hair. He chain smoked, didn't sleep enough, and as I'd soon learn, he mostly survived on a diet of cornflakes and toast.