Lonely People

All Together Now

Dad's words still bounced around in my head. It was hard to tell if he were being truthful or not, he was a professional liar, but something told me I should believe him. That something could be the childlike hope that my father truly did want me back, or it could be raw intuition. I wasn't sure if I should believe that part of me or not.

The only solution to this problem was to talk to Paul. If we put both of our heads together, we could decide whether or not to believe Dad. I knew he wanted to believe Dad just as desperately as I did, but I also knew he was more logical than me. He wouldn't let his emotions prevail. Neither of us could handle this alone, but, luckily, we didn't have to. 

I decided to meet him at The Cavern Club just before their rehearsal. By now, they should know their numbers by heart, perhaps even being able to do them in their sleep, but Brian insisted that they needed practice. He told them that one can never have too much practice.

The Cavern Club rose into view. It was still five hours until the real show, but several fans had already lined up outside. I had never seen that before. It shocked me that they were willing to wait five hours, in the humid weather, just to get inside the most claustrophobic building in Liverpool.

I was going to go around the back entrance, but I was stopped by someone shouting, "Look, it's Amelia!"

A few girls rushed towards me. I was shocked still, frozen in the corner. They crowded around me, all smiling like excited teenage girls.

"Erm, hello?" I said, confused.

One girl clasped her hands together under her chin, "You're Paul's sister, aren't you?"

The fact that they knew my brother by his first name was baffling. True, John had introduced the band by name several times, but nobody ever expected them to remember. I thought they would remember the name The Beatles, not John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, "What're you-?"

"What's it like? Being able to see Paul every day?" one girl asked.

Another squealed, "Was he as cute as a baby as he is now?"

"Of course he was, Cindy," another spat, "He writes so many songs, I bet he's simply brilliant, isn't he?"

I wasn't sure how to reply. The girls had formed a tight circle around me to where I couldn't escape even if I wanted to. I had known the lads were popular around Liverpool, but I never expected this. I had only ever seen this sort of excitement around Elvis Presley.

"Um, it's nice, I s'pose," I replied, "I grew up with him, it's not anything special, really. I don't really remember him as a baby. His songs are nice and all, he loves every word he writes."

The girls squealed. It hurt my ears to listen to them. All at once, they began to pester me with even more questions. Only one question got repeated; can you take us to meet them?

"I can't do that, and you know it," I replied, "I'm just his sister."

The first girl shook her head, "You're more than that, you're their friend. You can convince them to meet us."

"They won't listen."

"If they won't listen to you, who will they listen to?"

I realized these girls were not going to stop until they got what they wanted. Unfortunately, I knew I couldn't give them that. The lads would love to meet fans, especially female fans, but they would do it on their own accord. I couldn't convince them to do anything, let alone step outside into this mob of fans.