Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

29. Yoko Oh No, No

Carnival of Light (Part 2)

29.

June 1968

Scotland

The sessions for what would eventually become the White Album started on a Monday. On the Sunday I decided I would stay in Scotland to keep writing while Paul went back to London.

Of course we had a massive row about it.

"I can work here," I told him. "I'll be distracted in London."

"So you're just going to stay up here on your own?" Paul demanded.

"I'm not alone," I gestured to Martha, who was sitting between us, panting happily. "Martha is here with me."

"Martha is a dog," Paul said emphatically. "You're pregnant, I can't leave you alone up here with the bloody dog."

"Ian is just down the road," I reminded him. "This is the first bit of writing I've done in months. I can't stop now."

Paul made an exasperated sound. "How long are you thinking you'll stay?"

"Probably the rest of the summer."

"The rest of the summer?" Paul said incredulously.

"About that," I shrugged. "Maybe more, maybe less, however long it takes to finish this novel."

"What's the fucking rush?" Paul complained. "Finish it when you finish it. You don't have a deadline."

"Do you think I'm going to be writing when this baby comes?" I demanded. "Cavendish is already a madhouse, imagine adding a baby into the mix."

"Beatrix," Paul scrubbed his hands over his face. "Look—"

"Unless I get an office to work from," I was working it out in my head in real time. "But then we'll need to get a nanny—"

Paul looked offended. "I thought you didn't want nannies?"

"I don't," I threw my hands up. "Which is why I have to finish my work before I have a child to distract me even more than you do, and I can't do that in London."

Paul groaned. "Baby, I don't want you up here on your own."

"I am staying," I said crisply. "It isn't up for discussion so please accept it and let's move on."

"Hang on," Paul scoffed. "You can't just whip out your bloody sceptre and announce we're not discussing something."

"Whip out my sceptre?" I said incredulously. "I've made up my mind and I don't want to row about this."

"We're rowing about this," Paul said hotly.

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we bloody well are."

I bit back another pointless pronouncement. We would go around in circles forever this way. I tried a different tactic and stepped closer to Paul, putting my hands on his chest and looking up at him entreatingly.

"Can't we skip the fighting and move on to making up with each other?" I suggested gently. "Please?"

"Beatrix, this is barmy you staying up here alone," Paul said, exasperated. "There's no telephone, no proper plumbing. What if something happens?"

"How will plumbing help if something happens?" I ran my hands down his chest.

"You know what I mean, love," Paul hesitated as I started unfastening his belt. "What're you doing?"

"I told you," I looked up at him slyly. "I want to move on to making up with each other."

"You're trying to distract me with sex," he said in disbelief.