Time After Time

Chapter 30: Your Song

A few minutes later, The Beatles casually walked into the control room. John, Paul, George, and Ringo found their producer, George Martin, and their manager, Brian, deeply focused on the control board, listening to a playback of a song they hadn't recorded. As John settled into a chair against the wall, he could faintly hear a woman singing with piano accompaniment, but the voices around him made it hard to fully catch the song.

Everything felt normal. Almost.

Not suspecting a thing, John sank deeper into the chair, which cradled him as he half-listened to Paul and George chatting about a riff, sharing jokes, and laughing, their voices echoing through the room. Everything felt routine, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of Lauren's absence. She had slipped away quietly, leaving without anyone noticing, not even to say goodbye.

When things had settled, John filed the thought away—something to untangle later. 'Later. Sort it later.'

The door swung open, and Neil stumbled in, arms loaded with grease-stained paper bags that smelled like chips and vinegar. "Sorry I'm late, lads," he announced, dumping the food onto the side table, where salt and vinegar crisp packets and sandwiches wrapped in yesterday's Evening Standard lay. His eyes flicked to John with a mischievous grin. "Proper mob out there, Johnny. Reckon they've come to claim their shot at the newly single sensation."

No sooner had those words faded than George jumped to his feet, the enticing aroma of freshly prepared food brightening his mood. "Nell, did you get the butty with extra—"

"Brown sauce, no lettuce. Christ, Geo, I've only fetched it a hundred times." Neil plopped down into a chair, kicking his boots up on a monitor wedge. His grin widened as he gestured toward the boarded-up studio windows.

John snorted. "Suppose they've twigged I'm back on the market."

Despite their assumptions that the headlines about John's divorce might drive fans away, the news had only intensified the crowd outside. Now that John was single, it attracted an even larger group everywhere he went, eager to catch a glimpse of the newly available Beatle.

"Market?" Paul spun around, flashing a silly grin as he tossed a wrapped sandwich back at John. "More like a bloody fire sale."

Ringo snickered into his tea, but the playful banter began to fade as Lauren's absence hung in the air. John's gaze drifted to the stool where she usually sat. Meanwhile, Brian chuckled heartily as he sorted through divorce clippings under a lyric sheet.

"Right then," George Martin murmured, fingers dancing over the console. "Shall we listen to the playback?"

John reached for a sandwich, the bread squishing under his grip. 'Later,' he thought of Lauren, biting down hard. The mayo tasted like regret.

Paul shot up like a rocket, giving George a cheeky nudge as he dove into the food with the urgency of a kid on Christmas morning. "Come 'ead, you've buried mine under Geo's bleedin' butty." He popped back up, grinning as he finally fished out his sandwich from the depths of the grease-stained bag. "Ah! Here we go!" His grin widened, almost devilishly. "How's it feel, then? Free as a bird with half of London's skirts chasin' your scruffy arse? Or have ya made up your mind on a particular one?"

John exhaled a slow swirl of smoke from his cigarette and glanced at the tabloids Brian had scattered across the tables—each one blaring the latest news about the divorce. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he teased Paul, "Fuckin' hell. Thought divorce would scare 'em all off. Turns out they fancy a bastard with commitment issues." He paused, thinking of Lauren again, his gaze drifting to the tabloid headline screaming LENNON'S SPLIT! "Well, let's just say I'm not holding me breath. She's got better sense than to flock to a trainwreck."