Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

35. A Row at Beauford House

Carnival of Light

35.

I went home, had a joint, and tried to go to bed, but couldn't manage to sleep. I wrote for a while, edited for a while longer, re-read some of Brave New World, and then dawn arrived and it was a new day. Once Mrs Fitz was awake I asked her to tell Paul I was out if he rang.

If I was out he wouldn't think I was avoiding him, which I absolutely intended to do.

I hadn't a clue what to say to him other than that I didn't want to see him anymore. That wasn't even remotely true because I was madly in love with him like a complete idiot.

Not only was I an idiot, but I'd sold my dignity up the river for a song to become part of Paul's bloody harem. I had known he was a womanising cad who couldn't keep his cock in his pants — he was cheating on Jane with me for Christ's sake — but the giddy joy of falling in love with him had been enough for me to wilfully forget it.

Paul and I had made no agreement about not seeing other people, and if he had gone home with Maggie I had no right to be angry about it, which made me fucking furious. Seeing them together made reality come crashing through the fantasy I'd been living in for weeks — months. It crystallised exactly what Paul and I were doing together, this pretend girlfriend farce of a relationship, and I hated it.

I should have been clever enough not to get involved with him. I should have listened to my conscience and employed some bloody self control. I should have had enough common sense to know it would always go this way. There is no happy ending to an affair. How can you ever trust the other person? How could they trust you? How could I be so bloody stupid to think this would all work itself out once I left Matthew?

Paul rang that afternoon. Mrs Fitz told him I was out and let me know, frowning as she watched me finish off yet another packet of cigarettes to add to the empty pile beside my typewriter. I tried to have a nap but it was as if I was too tired to sleep. I managed a few hours in forty minute bursts that evening, and in between I re-read Brave New World and Pattie's meditation book. I tried some of the breathing techniques it outlined but couldn't seem to find the trick of it.

On Wednesday I had Mrs Fitz ring Poppy to let her know I wasn't coming to the Dandy Fashions launch party. I would have been too exhausted to go anyway, even if I wasn't avoiding Paul. Poppy would make sure Tara, Paul, and anyone else expecting me knew I wasn't coming. After that, I took a handful of uppers to knock me out — or rather up — from my sleep deprived twilight trance and wrote all day. I took quaaludes before going to bed that evening, smoked a joint, and finally got to sleep.

Thursday morning, I left a message with Alistair— not Mal, who I couldn't bear to speak to—to let Paul know I wouldn't make it round for our usual Thursday afternoon tryst at Cavendish, which seemed a humiliating ritual to me now. Alastair felt like the more straightforward secret girlfriend answering service while speaking to Mal confused me because I liked him so much.

"Who's this again?" Alastair asked.

"Beatrix," I reminded him miserably.

"Right, you want Paul to ring you back?"

"No, he doesn't need to. Please let him know I'm not able to see him this afternoon," I said. "Something has come up."

Paul rang me back anyway, but Mrs Fitz fended him off again.

I didn't sleep that night. Not a wink.

The only thing I could think to do was get out of London. I started packing for Lisemore. I was going home for my birthday and Lavinia's baby shower anyway. I could go early and try to get some writing done. Mamma drove me barmy but clearly Paul did too.