Kids

Dearest

18th August '60

Dearest Mol,

I know I've only been gone a day (depending on when you received this letter), but I thought I'd write to you to let you know how everything's going.

John and I started off a bit funny when we got on the boat, had an argument, that Paul soon got involved with and John stormed off with Pete. Paul and I started thinking about attaching different instruments to our bodies like those one man bands do and hoping for the best. But a few minutes later and he was back, much to our relief.

Everything was running quite smoothly when we arrived - the club was all clean and nice when we went to have a nosey at lunch time. They had a nice set up, and it had a buzzing atmosphere. The pay isn't too bad either.

Then night time hit.

It was scary, Mol. Just prostitutes and drunk angry men were in. To make matters worse, we didn't move from our positions for nearly 5 hours. They didn't respond to any of our songs, I'm not even sure they were listening. I wanted nothing more than to see your face sat in the crowd somewhere, even if you were the only one in the room.

I've stayed off the cigarettes though! In fact, the long working and practicing hours, and the No Smoking Policy on the stage, means I've only had two or three a day.

We finished the set and now we're sleeping in the back of a cinema somewhere (I wrote the address on a bit of paper and put it in the envelope, just in case you wanted to write back). And I'm starving. Shock. Sorry if my writing is a bit scruffy, I'm writing this at night with a candle as the only source of light.

I can't wait to come home, Mol. I miss you.

Lots of love,

Your Georgie

Her heart broke at the thought of George laying there, cold and hungry, or cowering away from the audience that gave him judgemental glares, if they even bothered looking.

As per usual, she had very little to tell him. She hadn't realised how boring her daily life was without him. She'd cleaned her room out, polished all of her hanging pictures (primarily of George and herself), even wiped down her windows. But she wasn't about to write down cleaning routine, he'd think she's gone mad.

••••

21st August 1960

Georgie,

It's so good to hear from you! I'm sorry you're not having a particularly nice time, but it's early days, don't forget,

I'm glad you went, and (as much as I wanted to join you) I'm glad I didn't, only because it's a great opportunity for you boys to bond, without me stepping on your toes. The first fight of many, it'll only make you all stronger in the long run.

Well, if you're stood stiff as a board whilst sheepishly humming a tune or if you're belting out the lyrics and destroying that guitar of yours, just know I'm incredibly proud of you. Always,

I know you're missing out on food and sleep, but do you think the cutting down on cigs have made a difference?

It'll all be worth it in the end, please don't give this up just yet. For me.

Love,

Your Mol

•••

August 25th - The Back of the Little Cinema, Hamburg

He heaved a sigh for the thousandth time that night, although a small smile crept onto the corner of his lip as he read the end of the letter.

Careful not to wake the sleeping Paul beside him, he slotted it into his guitar case, where many other past letters from Mollie resided.

He laid back on his side, hands tucked under his ear for some form of comfort.

He watched the candle, the same candle he mentioned in his last letter, flickering softly as wax spilt over the edge, before pooling on the cabinet and solidifying onto the wood.

It was a pathetically short stump now, and it was reaching the end of it's wick. The light emitted began to dim, his eyes softening as the flame did.

He prepared to blow it out, inhaling some oxygen and raising his head from his hands.

Then the words came back to him. The words from the letter, just before her signing off.

Resting his temple on his fingers, and releasing a slow breath, he left it to burn.

Slowly but surely, the light faded into darkness, but George was already asleep. Peacefully, this time.