A Bit More of You

Chapter Fourteen: Do You Want to Know a Secret?

(Photo from scrapbook: My dad (left) having lunch with a close friend, 1968)

I had crashed into Ringo, nearly knocking him flat on the floor. He took hold of me by my shoulders. I tried to pull myself free but his grip was like iron. For one terrifying moment, I thought he was going to shake me, yell in my face, tell me off for being such a crybaby.

But he didn't.

Ringo wrapped his arms all the way around me, pulling me close, and gave me a hug. I stayed as stiff as a plank of wood for several seconds, but found myself sort of hugging him back. Ringo rested his chin on the top of my head and began swaying back and forth as he held me. I cried even harder because Mum did the exact same thing at home whenever I was upset.

"Shush, Georgia, it's okay," Ringo said softly. His voice was surprisingly quiet and comforting, like one you would expect a teddy-bear to have. He was wearing a huge fluffy dressing gown which made him feel like a teddy-bear, too.

"Why aren't you cross at me?" I sobbed, still clinging to him.

"I may look rough and tough, darling, but I'm really not," Ringo replied. "I can't stand seeing a young girl cry, so it's difficult to find it in myself to be cross about it."

I didn't say anything. I just clung to the soft fabric of Ringo's dressing gown, breathing in his warm smell of musk and fresh laundering. He was being so comforting all of a sudden. It was like we'd never had an argument the entire time we had known each other. I wondered why that was.

"Why are you being kind to me now?" I mumbled.

"Because I care about you, kiddo," said Ringo unbelievably. "You're George's daughter, so if you're anything like him, you should be a lovely little girl."

I sniffled. "Thanks, Ringo. That's... that's kind of you to say."

Ringo gave me one last right squeeze and whispered, "I'm sorry for behaving so poorly. I really don't hate you - or your mum. I don't think I could ever properly hate anyone."

"Then why did you act like I was a complete wart?" I asked, gently pulling away from him.

Ringo ran a hand through his already tousled mop of hair. "I really don't know, sweetheart. I guess I was all tired and grumpy from everything that's been going on lately. George's tummy bug and all that."

"Not anymore, Rich," said George, strolling into the hall. He was fully dressed in jeans and a blue t-shirt that said "You're So Dull, I Have a Headache" on the front. He had washed his hair so it looked smooth and silky, bouncing on his bony shoulders, and he'd shaved his horrible moustache clean off.

"Georgie!" Ringo cried. "You shaved your moustache!"

George chuckled. "Yeah, I did. What do you think? Do I look awful?"

"You could never look awful, you twit. I think it suits you."

"Thanks, Ringo." George glanced at me. "I decided to clean myself up a bit, seeing as my stomach bug has died down a bit."

"That's good," I said, smiling. (I was actually kind of relieved that he'd gotten rid of his 'paedophile moustache', as I secretly referred to it as.)

"By the way," said George, "I heard Reeny storming up the stairs a few minutes ago. She sounded upset. Did something happen between you two girls?"

I hesitated. "No... not really. We kind of... We had a little disagreement, in a way."

"I see. Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we? I don't like seeing my favourite eldest daughter sad and gloomy." George reached out and playfully ruffled my hair.