You Really Got A Hold On Me

And In The End...

3 YEARS LATER...

"Michelle love, could you put the kettle on?" I hear Paul's voice from the bedroom. His morning voice. Even though its the afternoon. His throat is still a bit sore from the demanding recording session him and the boys had the night before. He's just woken up from a nap, still tired from a non-stop day of singing and playing and had caught a morning train from London and arrived about an hour ago. 

"Sure" I call back. I finish washing a couple of plates and dry my hands on the towel before slipping on my engagement ring, restoring it to its rightful place. 

As I wait for the water to boil I lean against the counter in the tiny kitchen which Abby and I are proud to call our own and fiddle with the ring on my fourth finger. I admire the beauty of it, how the delicate diamond catches the rays of an afternoon winter sun as it streams through the kitchen blinds. It's small yet radiant and compliments my slender fingers. 

A minute later the kettle sounds and I grab two mugs from the cupboard ready to make the tea. I then hear footsteps and see Paul enter the room, rubbing the back of his head and yawning, his hair a tousled mess and wearing nothing but a plan white t-shirt and boxers. He comes over to me and hugs me from behind, his hands wrapping around my waist before he kisses my cheek. I smile as I continue to pour the water. "Afternoon sleepyhead." 

I can feel him smiling even from behind me. 

"Hey" he exhales. I feel his chin rest on my shoulder, feel his breath on my skin. 

The next thing I know his hands unwrap themselves and his fingers start tickling my sides. I shriek as I spill some milk on the counter accidentally-he knows how ticklish I am. 

"Paul!" I cry, "stop!" I can't help laughing hysterically, twisting and turning in an attempt to wriggle away from his skilful hands. But he is relentless and the pair of us end up on the floor in a giggling heap like we are teenagers again. As he turns to me his chestnut eyes on mine with that indescribable look I reach up and tidy his hair a bit, combing it forward with my fingers. Gone is the Brylcreem-laden rock and roll quiff he proudly sported in the fifties when I first met him - replaced now by a smooth comb-over, his raven black hair pushed forwards onto his forehead. 

A lot had happened in three years. And I thank God everyday that I did not, how long ago it now seems, hold Paul's past against him. Looking back, our little arguments and confrontations if anything made our relationship stronger. We have become acute to each aspect of the other's character. In love our problems disappear. 

"I've a good feeling about this record Michelle" he exhales referring to the album he and the boys had spent hours recording yesterday. It's their first one. "And then when we get rich and famous I can buy a giant house, a proper one, and I can take you away from here." He's verbally gesturing to the tiny flat in which the kitchen we are currently sat in. You're probably wondering 'what flat'? And to tell you the truth it's mine. Well, mine and Abby's. That's right, having gained a certain age and yearning for the experience of independence I had left home and Abby and I had got a flat together. It is small and isn't exactly lavish but we get by. And we have a laugh living together, me and Abby, Abby and I. The first night that we spent here, sitting on the kitchen floor eating fish and chips out of newspaper Abby confessed that she finally 'felt free of her parents' shackles.' Trust Abby to add a touch of drama. 

The flat is situated on the top floor of a block of flats which means we have to climb three flights of stairs everyday as the elevator is broken and the chances of it getting fixed in the near future are slim. But despite everything, including the patch of grotty mould Abby and I discovered in her bedroom I suppose we can't complain as the rent is cheap. And the best part about it is that there are two flats on each floor and in the one across the hall from us is occupied by none other than Paul and George. As the two were already living in their flat and Abby and I had just started looking we jumped at the chance when they called us up, notifying us that the flat opposite had just opened up. This arrangement has proved to be advantageous as it means that we can go between the flats as we please. The general agreement is that Abby and I live together and the two boys live together but if we want to spend the night with our significant others- if you know what I mean- then Paul comes over to ours and Abby goes to theirs to be with George.