Get It Straight, Or Say Good Night

Gertie's Firstborn

Paul sat on the edge of the lounge, the tension that ran through the room was akin to when he lost his lolly with Pete Best. That time when Pete had 'accidentally' (but Paul knew it was on purpose)  smashed his guitar in Hamburg. 

John was watching the telly, his legs in that funny position, the one where his foot was at a horrid angle to his knee which looked dislocated if you were to walk in the room and not know he just sat like that, normal like.

Louise was asleep, as too, was the baby. Paul looked at the clock- nearly ten.

"Hey, we better get going" Paul stood and stretched, grabbing his coat, the studio was booked from 10.30 onwards. John ignored him and crossed his arms "What's the problem John"

"Other than you shagging my wife and acting like you're the baby's father..... nothing"

Here we go again Paul mused. Lou was adamant not to out and tell John that she and he hadn't been shagging for ages, well months, well eight weeks, yea that's two months with four weeks per. It was more me laying there, he thought, letting Lou get her rocks off if truth be told. Oh it was a grand shag alright, and it was really oddly sexually gratifying and was definitely a turn on watching her work her stress off with that huge gorgeous belly so soft and tight lingering over him, but he'd much prefer to bang a non-eight-month pregnant Lou any day. Hang on, not Lou, I mean a non-pregnant girl.

"What the fuck are you mumbling about Macca" John looked up from his position with a bored scowl. Paul looked back at him in horror, had he just said all that, out loud ..

"Just ..... it's time, that's all" Paul recovered his mettle and slipped his leather coat on, the rain had appeared and the day sat gloomy and dull outside the window.

"Alright alright, bloody slave driver. I'll tell Louise" John struggled to his feet. Paul stood with his hand on the doorknob of the front door and an addled grin on his dial watching as John clumsily slivered off the lounge suite.

John looked tired, probably not as tired as Lou and babe though. No, John was probably tired cause he were out shagging some dollybird from the club til all hours. Paul also picked up on Johns choice of words.....John calling her Louise meant; either they'd had a blue or he was winding him up because of the Paul-Lou shag-a-thon.

"Should you?"

"What? Talk to my wife, Paul?"

"Why do you start with all this my this and my that then? You don't give two flying fucks about her any other day, make up your mind would ya" Paul steamed back, John was a right prat. Like a kid not sharing a toy with another kid then discarding it when he was alone "And I'm not just saying it because me and 'er shagged months ago, either!"

"Well thanks for the heads up on the shagging calendar but mind your mouth on the other" John threw his coat on "We have a deal. I'm her husband, she's my wife"

Paul rolled his eyes, John was a flaming drongo how he was acting. Lou would be surely sick of his crap soon. "Well go on then, say goodbye to Missus Lennon" Paul tittered as he gestured with a wave towards Lou's room "I'll be warming the motor" John watched McNoying jump over the gate then walked towards Lou's door.

The door pushed open and the bed dipped under his weight. 

Paul, much to Johns annoyance, was right, again.

Lou rolled over, her face a little less puffy than earlier. John grabbed her diary from the bedside table, still she didn't hide it- she never learnt. He flipped it open. 

Pages that should be full of her scribbled words were clear, days slipped through his fingers as he turned page after empty page, he frowned, Lou's diary was her outlet. If she wasn't laying all her fears, wants, joys in these pages, what was she doing with them.