Nobody Wants To Know Him

L - Stepping Out

Saturday 14th July 1973
Silverstone, England
6.42pm

After George had been carried off on the stretcher, he had been taken to the Towcester medical centre. None of us went with him and Pattie, thinking that with the children, it wouldn't be a wise idea, and there wasn't much we could do aside from wait.

That didn't keep us from worrying, though.

The race continued and finished. The United States' Peter Revson won the race, but none of us besides the kids, who didn't quite understand the extent of the seriousness of the situation, were able to properly enjoy the experience, with the lingering concern of George hanging over our heads.

We debated whether dropping by the medical centre on our way back from the track, but we ultimately decided against it. We had Zak and Mary in the car with us again, without Paul this time, and by the time the race had finished, which was about half five, and past six o'clock was when we were even able to get on the road, the day had already been long enough for them.

So we drove back to Surrey with plans to call Pattie later that evening to check on George, assuming they returned to Friar Park. We were to be heading back to Liverpool the next day, so if George was being kept as the hospital, which, since he had knocked himself out and had broken his leg, seemed likely, we could always stop by.

John was almost silent the whole ride back to Ringo's house, and although the children in the back didn't pay it any mind, I certainly picked up on it. He hadn't been very talkative the whole day, save for the car journey to the venue when Paul was with us. Something about him had felt off the entire day, all starting from the morning when I found him in the bathroom just staring into the mirror and the strange and abrupt departure following.

There was something going on with him, and I didn't know what, but I trusted he would express what that was when he felt he was able to.

For now, there were bigger things on my mind. Namely, George's welfare.

______

Sunday 15th July 1973
Surrey, England
8.34am

The previous night, Maureen had tried to telephone Friar Park, but received no response. As predicted, they must've remained at Towcester, and whether Pattie was there also or in a hotel room, all that could be said was that she definitely wasn't at Friar Park.

This had only soured John's mood more.

He woke up the following morning completely miserable, and I got it. We were all worried about George; hell, we didn't even know if he was awake yet. Or if he would wake up. Not knowing was the worst part, and not knowing when we would know was even worse, but there wasn't anything we could do about it. We could only hope that Pattie would think to call us from a phone box, and soon, but we couldn't expect that from her. Not when she had so much going on.

I was up before John as per usual, and I set about packing our things to head back home later in the day. It wasn't long after when he began to stir, but John having woken up early this morning was not a particularly good thing.

He was moody, and grumpy, and completely insufferable today.

He spoke no more than ten words to me the whole morning until after breakfast, communicating only in hums and grunts. He sat at the table with a cigarette, moping and pushing about the cornflakes in his bowl, tapping the side of the porcelain with his pinky finger.

Ringo was watching him closely from the opposite side of the table, I noticed, as was I, as the two of us engaged in conversation together. We tried to keep it light-hearted for the sake of both John and the children. After Ritch stood up, I stayed for a few more minutes to hear Lee babble on about something incoherently, then followed him. I found him out on the garden patio, still in his pyjamas with sunglasses on and having a smoke. He was lounging around on one of his wooden garden chairs, and I sat down on the one beside him.