Golden Lockets

And I Love Her

It was a baby. A living, breathing baby girl, lying on her back in the cardboard box. She looked so frightened and innocent that even Paul, who was madder than a pig stuck in a doorway, couldn't find it in himself to make a fuss. The baby squinted in the sudden light, blinking rapidly at her audience. She punched at the air with her tiny fists, making small wailing noises, like a baby whale. She kicked her little wrinkled heels, her toes wriggling, each one tipped with the tiniest slither of nail. She kicked a little too violently and sent the blanket that was covering her askew, revealing her bare pink bottom. The baby looked very bare and vulnerable lying there.

George set the blanket to rights, tucking it cautiously around the baby girl. She was snuffling a bit more softly now, mewing like a little kitten. He wrapped his hands around her tiny body and gently lifted her out of the box, clutching her to his chest. George felt her tense up inside the blanket.

"Don't worry, baby," he whispered, "I'll be very gentle and look after you."

"Okay." Paul stammered, finally finding his voice. "What's with the baby?"

George didn't know how to respond. He caught hold of one of the baby's dear little hands, pretending he hadn't heard Paul's question. On the outside he seemed perfectly calm, but on the inside George felt like the most dishonest person in the world. He swayed slowly from side to side in an attempt to lull the baby to sleep. He began to sing a song very softly into her tiny ears.

"All I've got to do is... to love you. All I've got to be is... be happy. All it's gonna take is a little bit of warmth to make it blow away, blow away, blow away..."

He took a deep breath to sing a second verse when he was rudely interrupted. Paul seized George's left arm. George tried to pull away but Paul had a grip like iron. Paul peered into the mass of blankets and took a proper look at the mysterious baby girl. She had fallen asleep despite all of the commotion and worry in the atmosphere. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink. She made soft gurgling noises as she slept, snuffling a little each time she breathed in.

Paul shook his head pityingly at George. "Let me guess," he said, arms folded, "That baby is yours."

"Maybe." George whispered, infuriatingly vague.

"I think I've figured out what all this is about." Paul gave a broad sweep of his arm, indicating the disheveled condition of the room. John put his arms around himself, gripping his elbows tightly. He was nibbling his lip in an extremely agitated fashion. Ringo didn't do or say anything; he just stood there and wondered what on earth Paul was going to say next.

"You're going to tell me your girlfriend had a baby," Paul began, "Got freaked out, and dumped it on you in sheer frustration, then she did a runner. And she could be halfway to Hong Kong for all we know." Paul stood up straight, his mouth a prim little slit.

"Um... not quite," said John, timidly emerging from his corner, "You're half-right, Paulie. Except for the whole girlfriend having the baby bit..."

"You mean that baby isn't hers?" Paul asked, his expression looking more hostile by the second.

John nodded. He expected Paul to cotton on and guess that the baby was George's. The evidence was all there, so why wasn't Paul freaking out and questioning George like a drill sergeant? Paul was freaking out but not in the way John had expected. It was more of a disgusted freak out than a confused freak out. 

"For God's sake! How could you do this?" Paul cried, his face horribly contorted, "What did you do? Kidnap an innocent child, bring it home, and shagged each other in front of it?!"

"No! It's nothing like that!" George shouted, getting really angry now. "Leave us alone, Paul! You don't have to right about everything! You don't know everything!"

"Oh really?" Paul sneered, "Then tell me, Geo. Whose baby is it?"

George took a deep breath then whispered, "It's mine..."

This caught Paul by surprise. "Beg pardon?"

"It's mine!" George repeated, shouting each word so furiously it sounded like he was firing bullets from a machine gun. "It's my baby! I gave birth to her less than an hour ago! I labored for nearly three hours and I could have fucking died! I pushed her out through my arse and it bloody well hurt! I kept this all a secret for nine entire months, and I didn't want to tell you because I thought you guys would flip out and call me a freak of nature! I'm sorry but I was so scared! She's my baby and if you guys want to judge me, then go ahead and fucking do it!"

Paul, Ringo, and even John froze, their eyes bulging in shock. They looked like George had poured a big bucket of cold water over them. No one spoke. George stood where he was, panting, quite out of breath from his sudden outburst. He looked furious for a moment, then his face crumpled and he burst into tears. George flopped onto the bed with the baby clutched to his chest. He waited for the jeers. He waited for the rage. He waited for the insults. 

He waited, but nothing came.