Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

02. Brian Epstein's Home on Chapel Street

Carnival of Light (Part 2)

02.

As I suspected, the major hurdle of moving me into Cavendish was finding enough space for my things.

Paul and I stood in front of the master bedroom's enormous walk-in closet, and I shook my head in despair. The hanging rails were full to bursting with more clothes than he could ever possibly wear in his lifetime, many of them old Beatles suits.

And the shoes. My God, I'd never known a man to own so many shoes.

"Surely you can get rid of some of this," I said as we examined the closet together. "You only ever wear the same thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Paul looked offended.

"I mean you find something you like and wear it all the time," I plucked at the sleeve of a tuxedo jacket. "How many tuxedo jackets do you need? You have about twenty of them."

"That one's from the premiere of A Hard Day's Night," Paul explained, ruffling his hair at the back.

"And are you ever going to wear the tuxedo jacket you wore to the premiere of A Hard Day's Night again?" I gave him a look.

"I might," Paul said defensively.

"Well, I suppose I'm not moving in then," I sighed.

"Alright, fine, I'll go through it when I have some time," he relented. "Just get your things packed and bring em' over and we'll sort it out."

Mal arrived to pick Paul up and take him to Stratford, where the Beatles were filming a sequence for the Penny Lane clip, and I went home to do some work and make a start on packing before we were all due to see Cream at the Saville Theatre that evening.

Mrs Fitz brought me a cup of tea and watched me sort through my closet. She'd come around to Paul after we sat her down to tell her we were together but keeping it quiet. She told me later she thought Paul was "very normal" which she liked for me. I didn't bother to tell her that there was very little that was "normal" about Paul, no matter how much he wished that were the case.

I spent a few hours diligently packing one trunk of clothes, shoes and accessories, trying not to think about where it would go once it got to Cavendish, then sat down at my typewriter in the study to write.

I was approximately halfway through the final chapter of my novel, which was both terrifying and thrilling. I started in June 1966, but I felt like I'd been working on my book for years — time moved oddly when you were in the Beatles' orbit — and the idea that I wouldn't have it to work on anymore filled me with mixed feelings. A bit sad that it would be over, and also nervous about what I would do with myself next.

But I'd poured everything I had to give into this novel and was ready to share it with the world.

I was especially keen to share it before the world found out I was living with Paul McCartney.

***

My presence was requested for dinner at Brian Epstein's home the following evening. The playwright Joe Orton was coming round to meet Paul and Mr Epstein to discuss the new Beatles film he'd been hired to write. I tried to get out of it because they would be discussing Beatle things that had nothing to do with me. In those situations I essentially took on the role of an attractive accessory attached to Paul's hand, a common affliction for women in 1967, but one I didn't like very much.

For example, watching Cream at the Saville with the other Beatles the night before had been quite a lot of fun, but going backstage afterwards had been very different. It was a very music industry crowd backstage— a lot of middle aged men wearing boring suits who wanted to talk to the Beatles about Beatle things.