The End (Beatles Fanfiction)

Chapter 30

{so I think I am done with flashbacks/ pre-Let It Be scenes for now. This means that from now on all the chapters will take place during the Get Back/ Let it Be sessions, unless I change my mind, in which case I'll let you know. Enjoy!}

GEORGE

"Well," Ringo said, softly. "There you go."

I had walked back into the studio, and he and Paul were still standing in the same spots.

A bang came from the back. We turned to see Heather next to an overturned music stand. Her face was twisted in an apologetic cringe.

"It's alright, love," Paul said softly, walking over to her. "Come here." Heather shyly walked to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked squeakily.

Paul smiled and nodded. "Yeah, darling. Everyone is okay." He pulled her in for a hug.

I forgot that she had been here all this time. I thought of everything that had happened today: the discovery of my song in Paul's music sheets, John's smirk as he announced he put the song there, my outburst and confession about Pattie and Eric, finding Prudence in the rain...

Jesus, did all that happen today?

It didn't seem possible that so many things had happened before suppertime. I suddenly felt overwhelmed.

Paul had said everyone was okay. But that was a lie, a sweet guise for an innocent child's ears.

"Well, since we are missing a Beatle, why don't let's call it a day and pick up tomorrow?" Paul said, still hugging Heather. "I think we all need a bit of a break."

"Yeah," Ringo said. I just nodded.

The three of us and Heather collected our belongings and left the studio, first Paul and his girl, then me, then Ringo. We walked out the door, and without any goodbyes, turned to go our separate ways, back to our awaiting homes.

As I was walking I saw a cab driving close by. I waved to it and it pulled up to the curb. I opened the door and ducked into the car.

"Where to, sir?" The man had a jolly voice.

I rattled off my address hurriedly.

"Alright, sir." He started to drive. "Jesus, isn't this weather a wonder? Th'rain's peltin' like no one's business."

I looked out the window and nodded absentmindedly.

"Look at them clouds," he continued with a chortle. "I will never understand why people are dyin' to go to London."

I grunted a response. The driver, realizing that I was not the conversational type, instead turned on the radio.

"... just-released track by that hot n' heavy blues band, Cream, let's give White Room a spin."

In the white room, with black curtains, near the station.

Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings,

I had listened to this song when Eric's band was recording it, weeks ago. Eric had told me how excited he was about the band's new album. I had loved the song, and told him how good it was.

Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark eyes.

Dawnlight smiles on you leaving, my contentment.

He didn't write it, but he was proud of it nevertheless. I told him the public would dig it.

Pattie was with me in the studio at the time. She said she liked the music.