The World Spinning Round (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

17. Aren't You Clever?

November 1968
Alice

The captain's voice echoed through the first-class cabin as we began the final descent. Turbulence had forced the crew to suspend cabin service mid-way through the meal service, so everyone was grumpy and hungry. It hadn't bothered me since I'd been nauseous to eat anyway. It was called morning sickness, but perhaps a better term would be all-the-bloody-time sickness.

"The weather in London is cool and cloudy, currently 5 degrees Celsius."

The engine noise decreased, and there was a subtle thunk as the wing flaps extended. I remembered a passenger years ago who nervously announced that the captain should focus on flying the plane and not announcing the weather. Another more experienced stewardess interrupted to coolly explain that we would hardly trust our lives with someone who couldn't talk and fly simultaneously.

"Thank you for choosing Pan Am for your journey."

I had a vague notion of what awaited me at the airport, partly because I'd spent the past six hours poring through a stack of British tabloids, half of which had my face on the cover. And I'd had a brief, static-filled call with Paul from a phone box at the airport, during which he told me that the whole world had gone fucking mad. He couldn't say more because he was late for a Radio Luxembourg interview, but he promised to send someone to the airport to help.

"We look forward to landing shortly."

A clunk beneath the aircraft indicated that the landing gear had been deployed, which made it even more imminent that I was about to re-enter real life. Not easy, breezy San Francisco, where I could blurt out all my problems like a rookie debutante. No, I was back in London with all eyes on me. And I was very much in the family way.

I had no real plan about how to tell Paul. Should I blurt it out, just like I had with Theo? Wait for a good time? But there was never a good time for him. He was stuck doing all the publicity for The Beatles because George and Ringo had skipped town, and John was focused on promoting his own record. We hadn't spoken again about what I'd admitted about John, but I could tell it weighed on him. He hid it well, but his anxiety was there, hiding in the shadows.

No, it wasn't a good time to drop life-changing news on him.

Also, I wanted to sort out a plan for myself before I told anyone else. Zarby New York, was moving full speed ahead, and it was too late to stop it. I was expected to move there in a month, another fact I hadn't told Paul yet. It seemed too hasty to get married, mainly since we'd only managed to find our equilibrium as a couple.... But I also didn't know if I had the fortitude to face the world as an unwed mother.

Me, a mother. Me, a mother. It didn't make sense, and Theo's expression of raw pity and understanding was indelibly printed in my mind. Perhaps the fact that Paul had been born to be a dad would outweigh my general ineptitude when it came to that sort of thing.

The pilot barely stuck the landing, and I wondered if perhaps he couldn't talk and fly at the same time. With my stomach roiling, I collected my small suitcase from the overhead bin and walked onto the windy tarmac. Even from there, I could see that the arrivals hall was heaving with press.

Blimey.

I peeked inside the Ladies just before passport control. It was surprisingly empty, so I slipped in to collect myself. Leaning against the water basin, I took a deep breath to settle my stomach and glanced at the mirror. A gaunt, tired version of Alice Edwards stared back, my cheerful polka-dotted Marimekko coat no match for the dark circles under my eyes.

The door opened, and a frazzled-looking Pam Am stewardess entered, placing her standard-issue overnight case on the metal shelf by the door. She walked to the mirror and opened her purse, pulling out a tube of red lipstick and leaning forward to apply it. Without taking her eyes off her reflection, she spoke.