Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

36. Beatrix's Birthday Hunt

Carnival of Light

36.

I caught the last train to Wiltshire and spent most of the journey staring out the window, crying quietly into the handkerchief my cab driver had given me. By the time our butler Mr Everest drove me home from the station, everyone was in bed aside from the housekeeper, Mrs Lourdes. She held me by my shoulders, frowning as she examined my pale, tear-streaked face.

"I'm fine," I insisted, but my voice was croaky.

My room was made up for me. I laid down but didn't sleep. I was aching for sleep but I just couldn't manage it. I kept replaying my argument with Paul. I felt more conflicted and overwhelmed than I could remember. Like I'd made a horrible mistake, and yet I couldn't fathom what else I was meant to do about Paul. Nothing else seemed sensible.

I'd been hoping for some peace and quiet at Lisemore, but at breakfast the next morning it was obvious my family had other ideas. Mamma was clearly furious with me, my brother Barney was stoically quiet, and my heavily-pregnant sister-in-law Lavinia uneasily quiet. Even the staff were tense.

"Do you have something you'd like to tell us, Beatrix?" My mother asked, cold as ice first thing in the morning.

I didn't know what she was talking about — did she know about Paul?

"Barney received a very concerning telegram from Matthew yesterday," she continued, giving me one of her chilly, penetrating looks. "To let us know he's going to Australia early. Why on earth is he going without you?"

"Oh," I faltered. I had completely forgotten about Matthew. "Matthew and I split up."

"You've split up?" My mother huffed. "Why have you split up?"

Irritation prickled the back of my neck, but I smothered it. Reacting to her was always worse than letting her get on with it.

"Because we've drifted apart," I explained. "We don't make each other happy anymore."

"Drifted apart?" My mother snapped.

"Yes," I snapped back before I could stop myself. "I don't see how it's any business of yours, Mamma."

"My God, Beatrix." She stood up, glaring at me like I'd done something obscene. "Why in heaven's name would you throw away such a good match, you silly girl."

She stormed out, leaving the breakfast table in a stony silence.

I laughed incredulously.

It was 1966 and she was still obsessed with "a good match"?

"It's not funny, Bea Bea," Barney frowned. "Poor Matthew."

My eyes widened indignantly.

"Barney," Lavinia hissed, catching his eye.

The silence was pervasive and horrible and my hand flexed on my fork as we all finished our breakfasts. Then I escaped outside to smoke, feeling insane and trapped.

I spent the day walking around the gardens and the woods with some of the dogs, smoking the pot I'd brought with me which I realised I would have to ration. I managed to avoid my family up until dinner, which was horrible and tense. No one spoke. It was as if someone had died rather than that I'd broken up with the boyfriend my mother and brother were so keen to see me marry.

Being frustrated with them was better than thinking about Paul and what "a proper go" would mean, though of course I did. I played out all the ways it could go wrong with him: walking in on him shagging someone else in the spare bedroom, being chased by photographers and my privacy eradicated, having my life swallowed up by his like Pattie's had been by George's, only to inevitably be spat back out again.