The Life We Once Knew

A Drink To A Lost Friend

We weren't allowed to go to Brian's funeral. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were some of his closest friends and they weren't allowed at his funeral. It was messed up, but it made sense. They were asked not to come by Brian's brother specifically because they are them. The Epstein Family wanted a private and relaxed funeral, without the effects of Beatlemania. They couldn't have a private funeral if even one Beatle showed up, let alone four. So, the lads stayed home, left to wallow in their grief within the confines of their houses.

In theory, I could have gone without them, but I knew I shouldn't. I was known around the world and would attract a certain amount of fans. Not near the amount The Beatles would, but enough to disrupt the service. So, I was left at home, but I was far from alone.

"Thought you could use some company," Linda smiled.

She stood in my doorway with a bag and a toddler dressed in her pajamas. Heather instantly pushed past me and hurried to Vera. I glanced at Linda, "I would love some."

"Mind if we stay the night?" Linda asked, "It's almost Heather's bedtime."

"I would love it."

The last thing I wanted was to be alone. Linda was the perfect person to keep me company. Besides the lads, I considered her my best friend. She had I had grown close during our time with Revolution, and even closer after Molly died.

Heather slept in Vera's room on a cot on the floor. Once the two toddlers were put down, Linda and I retreated to the living room. She sat on the couch while I crouched in front of our liquor cabinet.

"I'm feelin' something hard," I grinned, "Somethin' that'll make me forget everything for a little bit."

Linda shook her head, "We have two children asleep upstairs."

"Exactly, they're asleep. We can have one drink."

"Just don't get too drunk," Linda sighed, "And get another glass, we've got one more coming."

I lifted an eyebrow, "We do?"

Linda didn't reply. As I poured the drinks, the doorbell rang. Linda answered it. Whenever she returned, she had Ellen in tow. 

The woman was a complete disaster. Ellen was the most organized person I knew, she never even let a single hair get out of line. Her clothes were always pressed without a wrinkle in sight, and she used the best hair products to force her hair into line. The woman that followed Linda into the house was unlike the Ellen I knew. Her hair was sticking up and tangled like she had been running her fingers through it. The dress she wore looked like it had gotten into a fight with the dryer and lost. For the first time since I met her, she wasn't wearing lipstick. 

"Elly, a pleasure as always," I grinned at her.

Ellen offered a weak smile, "You're too kind."

"Come ed, sit down, have a drink. I've got the good stuff."

I thrust a glass in her direction. I fully expected her to turn it down and stick to her prudeness, but she took it. Within seconds, she downed it, sighing deeply once she finished. Linda and I had barely gotten a sip in by the time Ellen had drained her glass. I stared at her in shock. It was as if I was looking at a new woman, not the Ellen I knew who turned down every drink offered to her.

"Bloody hell, Elly," I mumbled, "Thought you didn't drink."

Ellen cracked a smile, "Only behind closed doors."

"Why'd you stop us all those times?"

"Image, Amelia. I didn't want to make an impression."

I placed the bottle in the middle of the coffee table so anyone could get themselves a refill. Linda and Ellen both sat on the couch while I made a spot on the fuzzy rug beneath the table. We had our own little pow-wow of grief. Grieving with friends is often the greatest medicine of all.