The World Spinning Round (Beatles/Paul McCartney)

30. A Bed's a Nice Place to Be

November 1969
Alice

I moped around Cavendish for days after Michael's visit, leaving only for lunch with Suzie. It was the first time I'd been seen in public since the news about Zarby broke, so I dressed carefully in wide leg trousers and a long mauve velvet blazer that Anita Pallenberg had lent me years before. My hair was starting to grow out, and I couldn't decide whether to keep it short or brave the awkward growing-out phase that would inevitably ensue.

Suzie and I met at Il Giorno, a lovely little restaurant in Mayfair that was known for being discreet. We spent two hours at lunch, but managed not to talk about Zarby at all. I was dying to find out if the flared men's trousers and the women's crochet vests were selling, but decided it was best not to know. If they were, it was proof that I had deserved my job. If they weren't, it was evidence that I'd been too distracted to properly forecast the trends.

I felt restless afterwards and couldn't bear the thought of dealing with the gate birds at home, so I took a taxi to my old house in Belgravia to see Cynthia. She was the perfect person to see at moments like this because she'd seen it all when it came to The Beatles. Plus, she was the only person whom I could safely talk to about any of this: the ultimate insider, only now on the outside.

She answered the door with a wide grin, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear as she ushered me in. She'd taken to wearing clear plastic glasses similar to John's, which suited her face in a way that his didn't.

"This is a pleasant surprise," she exclaimed, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "Haven't heard from you since you got back."

After the divorce, the boys and their wives had rapidly distanced themselves from her and Julian. It was sickening to watch, really. Paul had tried to stay in touch but even he'd admitted later that he'd felt like it maybe hadn't been worth risking John's wrath, especially when he was so moody and unpredictable on a good day. And then, once Yoko was properly introduced to the gang, it was like Cynthia had never existed in the first place. I'd tried to visit her at least once a fortnight, but by the time we reached Scotland and I was too busy trying to keep us all in one piece, even replying to her letters seemed overwhelming.

"You look nice," she said, eyeing my outfit. "Not that you don't always look nice, but you seem extra dressed up today."

"Lunch at Il Giornio," I explained. "Sorry to drop by with such short notice."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "Julian and Roberto are just out learning to ride his bicycle... I tried teaching him, but I'm absolute rubbish at riding them myself, so wasn't of much use."

Roberto was Cynthia's Italian boyfriend whom she'd met on holiday whilst she was still married. In a plot twist that one couldn't make up, John had accused her of shagging Roberto and tried to sue for divorce on those grounds. Cynthia countered with the fact that Yoko was pregnant, won the case, and then fucked off to Italy and started shagging Roberto. Now he was living with her and they were happy as clams. Julian seemed to adore him, which made me like him even though he seemed a bit soppy.

"Cuppa?" she asked as we walked through the house to the kitchen. She'd kept all my furnishings, purchased at the same time I was planning the Zarby decor. They were all muted gem tones and unexpected textures that didn't work at all at Cavendish, so I'd left most of them here.

We settled on tall stools next to the kitchen counter and she offered me homemade Italian tea cookies, which were Roberto's grandmother's recipe. There was a slight pause, not long enough to be awkward but lengthy enough that we both noticed it. She likely suspected that everything was shit, but wasn't going to bring it up unless I did.

"I went to the hairdresser last week," she said, rubbing a long lock of blonde hair between her thumb and forefinger. "Do you see how damaged the ends are? She said there's nothing to do but let it grow out... or cut it all off, but do I have the facial features to make a pixie cut work?"