He's So Fine [Beatles / George Harrison FanFiction]

Chapter Six: 7th June 1961

A/N: Strong sexual content in this chapter! It gets a bit graphic!!

George lit a rolled cigarette and held it between his teeth. Extracting the crumpled envelope from his pocket, he leaned on the station wall to read Della's letter again. The bricks were cold against his back, even through the leather of his jacket. It was the start of summer, but there was still a cold wind blowing through Hamburg's central railway station.

He turned the small, blue envelope over and checked the post mark. She'd sent it eight days ago but it'd only reached him yesterday. Lucky, really, otherwise he wouldn't be here now. The letter inside was short, a few lines scrawled quickly on a torn A4 page, headed with E. Rex Makin & Co, Solicitors, Whitechapel, Liverpool.

Dear Georgie,

I want to come and visit you. Don't ask me why, I just do. I miss you and I want to see you. It's been weeks.

I've booked a boat ticket and bought a train ticket and I'll be on the 1:30pm train into Hamburg on the 7th June. Be there to meet me, will you? That's all I know. The rest I'm making up as I go along.

See you soon.

Love,

Della xx

It's not what the letter said so much as what it didn't say. There was something wrong. She was practically shouting it from the page.

He shoved it back into his pocket and smoked his cigarette to wake himself up. He hadn't got to bed until gone five o'clock this morning. Usual routine in Hamburg, but being up and dressed before lunchtime definitely wasn't. He had a sick feeling in his stomach, the result of undigested alcohol and lack of sleep.

Precisely on time, the train pulled into the station. It was long, at least seven or more carriages and people poured from the doors before it had come to a standstill. George pushed himself off the wall and craned his neck over the crowds, using the extra couple of inches the Cuban heels of his boots had to offer to search for Della.

He didn't need to worry about missing her, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Even if he didn't know her, he would have recognised her as a Scouse girl on her first trip outside of England. Her face was like that of a porcelain doll, clean and clear and deathly white, but it was her hair, hidden under an old fashioned red dotty scarf tied around her head that gave her away. She had a frightened, lost expression as she searched the station for him, not seeing him as she passed twenty feet wide of him.