YOU'VE GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY

"This is the one. Grapes." 

Queenie stopped and took a step back from her husband to get a better look. Normally she would've walked right by such a place. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. It wasn't his sort of establishment either. Displaying the manners that were second nature to him, he held the door open. Queenie shook her head. "No, you go first."

The middle-aged couple stepped into the dimly lit pub, looking a touch out of place in their fine wool coats, she an heir to the Sheffield Veneering Company, he managing partner of the successful Walton's Furniture Store in the heart of downtown.

"I still don't understand why we couldn't have gone to our local," said Queenie. Harry spotted his son in the corner, waving. He too looked out of place in his tailored suit. "He said he wanted to have a sit-down."

Queenie gave Harry a look. "You know what that means."

Harry gently took his wife's elbow and led her across the room. "Let's just see what he says."

But Eppie, as he was known to those closely acquainted with him, could hardly wait until his parents sat down. "I'm leaving the business," he announced.

"I knew it!" said Queenie.

Harry patted his wife's hand to calm her down. "Let's just hold on now." He then looked at Eppie. "Son, if I haven't been clear, I'm real proud of what you've done with the new record shop. It's top-notch. We're both proud. Especially after all your troubles."

Eppie should have basked a second in his father's praise, scarce as it was, but when he got excited about an idea, he was barely aware of his surroundings. "I know I've had some false starts, but this time, it is really it!"

Queenie couldn't believe her ears. "False starts? Yes, I would say seven different schools qualifies. Then you wanted to design dresses. Then it had to be the Royal Academy to be an actor! So what is it this time?"

Eppie wasn't going to let her get him. "I'm going to manage a band," he ventured.

Risking the wrath of his wife, Harry nodded to his son with a glint in his eye. "What kind of band?"

Eppie shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Skiffle? Some call them a beat band or pop. But it's rock and roll."

Queenie clapped her hands and implored the ceiling, "What does it matter what sort of music it is?"

Typically, Eppie could be sunshine one second, thunder and lightning the next. Through clenched teeth, he growled, "These lads are going to the top! They're charming! And they're smart! And one day they'll be bigger than Elvis!"

"Oh, bloody bugger," snorted Queenie, finally taking off her coat. "I need a drink."

Wanting a breather himself, Eppie started to get up, but his mother yanked him down by his sleeve. "Your father can get it. Cherry brandy." She gave her husband a sharp look that meant You need to get lost for a bit.

"Queenie, in the middle of the day?" asked Harry. She didn't look over at him, so Harry dutifully trundled off. If he couldn't be a good father, the least he could be was a good husband.

Queenie waited, peeking back to make sure her husband was out of earshot. "You know this is a bad idea!"

Eppie calmly folded his arms. "I've never been so sure of something in my life."

Queenie leaned forward with as much serious intent as she was capable of. "Brian, dear, I know why you got kicked out of the army."

No she didn't, thought Brian, she couldn't. No one had said anything. In fact, no one ever had. "Mum, you don't know what you're talking about."

"I've watched every thought form in your mind before it came flying out of your mouth. A mother knows.

"If you go back to quietly selling records, at least you'll have a chance at love. I don't understand how it is with your type, but I do want you to be happy. That's all a mother really wants, is for her children to be happy.

"But if this plan of yours is half as successful as you say, you'll never have any privacy again." Queenie slid her hand on top of her son's. "You either do without love entirely, or keep it completely under wraps. And I'm not sure that's worth it."

To his surprise, Brian felt immediate relief. He no longer had to pretend around her. And he was surprised at his mother's perception; she was spot-on. He had misjudged her. But then something worse started to creep in: a feeling of being lonely. For years to come.

Seconds ago, he never wanted to talk about 'it', but now he craved to keep going. But suddenly Harry was back with the drinks, including a fresh one for Brian. "So, this smashing band of yours, what do they call themselves?"

Brian took a long pull on his fresh pint, "The Beatles."