"Paul, might we have a word? Paul, a moment of your time please?"
The instant Paul steered the DB6 into the drive, a small group of reporters and cameramen sprang into action, surrounding the driver's window, wielding microphones and cameras, pushing ahead of a handful of fans.
"Bloody hell. What now," Paul muttered, fixing a pleasant look on his face as he rolled down the window. "All right lads?"
The questions came rapid fire as the cameras clicked and whirred. "Is it true you're living apart? Has Mrs. McCartney moved out? Are you married in name only?"
Paul pretended to consider the question. "That's a soft question. Have you seen my wife? Why would it be in name only?"
"The fans say Mrs. McCartney has moved out."
"No no no, everything's great. We've only been enjoying a little time in the country. As together as ever. There's no story here lads."
"Can we have a shot of the happy family, Paul?"
"Course you can. Contact Mr. Epstein to set something up. We're not having an ad hoc photo shoot on the pavement, if that's what you're asking. Now if you'll excuse us, we just got home you see, and we have a baby who needs looking after."
"How do you feel about Tara Browne's death?"
Paul huffed out a breath. "Tara was a friend of mine, how do you think I feel?"
He rolled up the window, muttering, "bloody press twats." Then he took his frustration out on the horn, startling everyone around the car, inside the car, and probably more than a few neighbors. Seconds later, the gate opened.
"Wait a sec," Marisol said, her hand covering Paul's on the gear shift. A petite blonde girl was rapping on the passenger window, a pleading expression on her face. Marisol rolled down the window halfway and the other girls crowded around, bending down and calling to Paul, reaching across Marisol and Melody to try and touch him. A half dozen worshippers in various stages of puberty, desperately searching for happiness in four boys from Liverpool who they didn't know, could never know, and who would never return the adoration.
Melody made a sound of distress and twisted around, stretching her arms out to her daddy. Paul pulled her onto his lap and the cameras flashed like heat lightning. "Paul! Look this way! Just one shot of the baby, Paul!"
"Please," cried the blonde fan Marisol had first noticed, now pressed up against the glass. "Can I give you something?"
Marisol nodded and the fan pushed a tissue wrapped package through the half-opened window. Marisol brushed aside the tissue to find three woven Christmas stockings, embroidered at the top with names. Each stocking had a different motif. Paul's was decorated with a guitar and musical notes. Marisol's had little cartoon dogs dressed in green and red vests, and Melody's featured a jack-in-the-box and colorful blocks.
"Sorry it's so late," the girl shouted over the melee. "They took me weeks to make."
"These are incredible! I love them!" Marisol held up one of the stockings for Paul to see. "Look, sweetheart. They're handmade."
Paul glanced at the stocking, smiled, and looked at the girl. "What's your name, love?"
"I'm called Bev," said the girl, breathless, wide-eyed and smitten.
Paul gave her a grin and thumbs up. "Ta, Bev. S'lovely."
Bev made a little yelp like a puppy that had its tail stepped on.
YOU ARE READING
Above Us Only Sky (Paul McCartney/Beatles Fan Fiction)
Fanfiction*sequel to In Your Atmosphere* 1966 was a year of seismic changes for the Beatles. By the end of the year, the last single Beatle, Paul McCartney, was on the verge of saying "I do" to his California sweetheart, Marisol Hemingway. And then life happe...
