Golden Lockets

Want to Know a Secret?

George slipped into his warm winter coat. It just fitted around his rotund waistline, although he felt like his insides were being squeezed. John threw on his coat, not bothering to button it up, and slapped his cap on his head. He sped out of the studio and onto the footpath outside. George sighed and ambled after him.

They set off down the road, John speed walking a few paces ahead of George. The band's shared home was only a five minute walk from the studio, so they didn't have far to go, but George was still slightly worried. On a normal day he would have run after John and tried to beat him home, maybe even take the long way home through the park and throw rocks at the pesky crows - but none of this really interested either of them. John had his heart set on getting home, and George wanted to be somewhere else entirely. Anywhere but here. He was wondering what to do, whether he should say something to John, when he suddenly paused mid-step. He looked down cautiously at his stomach, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He'd felt a sharp pang there.

"Oh, God," George whispered, clutching himself, "Not now!"

"You all right there, Georgie?" John called from up ahead.

"Yeah! I'm fine!" George answered. He tried his best to sound nonchalant, but his teeth were gritted. He was in mild pain now and he didn't like it at all. It felt like someone was kicking a football around inside his stomach, and the pain was spreading rapidly. George grasped at himself again, tears forming under his eyelids and sliding down his cheeks.

"This," he thought to himself, "must be what hell feels like."

"Hurry up, George!" John shouted, "There's a good show on telly in less than five minutes and I don't want to miss a moment of it! Come on!"

"I'll be right there..." George muttered. He tried to ignore the pain - which had, by now, spread to his back and chest - and began jogging to catch up to John. He attempted to blot out the dull ache in his stomach by singing a song in his head, telling himself a joke, anything! But the ache was still there. It was hurting much more now, completely relentless.

John and George were just turning into there street when suddenly...

"Oh God!" George screamed, falling to his knees. John glanced back, saw that his friend had taken a tumble, then raced over to help.

"Bloody hell, George! What's the matter?" John asked, hauling George to his feet. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?!" George shouted, vigorously massaging his stomach.

"Sorry, stupid question." John mumbled apologetically, "Can you get up? Are you hurt? Should I get help? Come on, George, what's the matter?!"

George breathed in sharply, his teeth clenched. He muttered a very rude word under his breath. There were two things he could do in this situation. He could either lie and say he was fine, then sneak away and tend to the matter himself. Or he could reveal his secret to John and risk it all.

George mulled it over. He knew he didn't have much time, so he had to decide there and then. He let out a long, mournful sigh then stared up at John, his face solemn. George had to let John know the situation... or it could spell disaster for both of them...