The Sound of Silence | Paul McCartney ✅

23

26th April 1963

Wherever we went, the sound of screaming fans followed, and by the second day of the tour, I had accepted that I would have to live with a permanent headache. It didn't seem to bother Paul or the other Beatles however - they simply got on with their music and their lives, though Maureen and I found it terribly difficult to adjust despite the fact that she had been on tour with them for months already.

We were in Shrewsbury, readying for that night's concert - or rather, the boys were, and Maureen and I were playing a game of cards whilst we watched them. John was in another room, avoiding me and Paul, as he had been since I'd arrived the day before, and the other two Beatles were practising their instruments, so it was just Mo, me and Paul in the room.

"Do you ever get nervous for a performance?" I asked him, completely out-of-the-blue.

Paul shrugged and then shook his head, stubbing out a cigarette in the ashtray resting on the coffee table between us. He looked down at his cards and laid one down before replying. "Never. Audience can't 'ear us, anyway."

"Do you know if the others get nervous?"

"Ritchie says he does sometimes," Maureen said, "but only when he doesn't know the kit that he's playing with."

"Does that happen often?"

"No." Paul answered. "Just when it's fer television or radio performances - they have special kits so they can adjust the volume of the sound."

"Don't all performances need that adjustment?"

"It's less likely that every concert hall will 'ave our preferred type of instruments, so we can bring our own." Paul explained. "Don't yer ever go ter a shoot and use yer own things?"

"No," I answered, "that's usually the whole point of a shoot - a brand or designer promoting their new pieces."

Mo giggled and lit up another cigarette. "Rummy." She announced, laying down her cards. "I win."

"Again." I muttered.

"Jealous, Addy?" She teased.

"Never." I answered. "Just bored of losing."

"So yer jealous then," Paul stated, "jus' admit it - no one will judge yer, luv."

We laughed. "I'm not jealous!" I insisted.

"A sore loser then," Maureen teased again. "That's worse, wouldn't you agree, Paul?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but I glared at him. Don't you dare. "N-no, Mo." He answered, stuttering over his words because he had seen my glare. "Definitely not."

"Oh for Heaven's sake," Maureen exclaimed, throwing up her arms in surrender, "get a room, you two!"

"We have one." Paul answered.

"You're in it." I pointed out.

I wasn't wrong. We were in Paul's dressing room.

There was a knock on the door and John came in, not waiting for us to invite him in. Cynthia was behind him, a newborn baby in her arms. John had a bunch of flowers in his arms, and they were beautiful. "I'm sorry 'bout the other day, Addy." John said as he handed me the bunch of flowers.

I thanked him, smelling the sweet blooms. "They're beautiful, John... did you mean what you said?"

"No." He answered in a sure tone of voice. "I think yer quite nice, actually. Just don't like Macca getting distracted and messin' up the performance." He threw a glance at Paul, but it held no malice in it.

"Well," I replied, "in future I will try not to distract him - and Paul," I said, shooting him a look, "will try not to be distracted." Paul nodded in agreement.

Cynthia walked over to me and sat down. "You've met Cyn," John said as he gestured to his beautiful wife, "this is our baby, Julian."

"He's so small!" I exclaimed. "How old is he?"

John looked at Cyn for her answer. "Eighteen days." It disgusted me. I was disgusted at how John had been flirting with and kissing Jean just days after his son had been born, and his wife had been at home, probably feeling sore and exhausted and everything that a new mother did. I decided then and there that I did not like John, but as I saw him interact with Paul, I realised that if I wanted to be with Paul then I would have to tolerate him. I did not want to break up The Beatles, and I especially did not want to break up a friendship like the one that Paul and John had. It was special, and I was sure it would withstand the test of time.

"Wow." I said, pinching his feet gently between my thumb and forefinger, "and he's already backstage at a Beatles concert - smart kid."

Paul, John and Cynthia laughed. "Wanna hold him?" I nodded and Cynthia placed Julian in my arms. My arms instinctively went around him and I smiled, holding the little boy as tightly as I dared. I felt so special - I had a little baby in my arms, and in that moment he was as much my responsibility as John or Cynthia's. If I dropped him or if something happened, then it would be my fault. I suddenly felt a rush of emotion and tears cloud my eyes. "You're a natural mother," Cynthia observed as she watched me with her son. "You look like you were born to have a baby in your arms. Like you'd rather have nothing else." She looked at Paul, who was watching me from the other settee, John beside him. "Don't you agree?"

"Yes." He said automatically, though the single word was loaded with sincerity. "You'd make a wonderful mother, Ad."

"He's so small," I said in a voice barely more audible than a whisper as Julian looked up at me with big brown eyes. "I'd love a baby of my own, I'd love to hold my little baby like this."

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Paul was shifting uncomfortably. "One day you will," Cynthia assured me, "one day you'll have so many kids that you'll have to count them when you go out in public to make sure you've got them all." I laughed quietly, not wanting to startle Julian.

"Just two or three will do me," I replied, smiling. "I don't know if I want loads of kids."

"Everybody says that," Cynthia said, "but once you have one, you want more - they're like an addiction."