More From Hamburg

Cyn

"How's it been then, here?"

George glanced at her as they walked together towards the port. Cynthia's question was casual; her voice sounded tense. "It's been..." He paused. How do you start to describe the chaos and the intensity of their life out here? Not that George Harrison thought in terms of chaos or intensity, but he did find it hard to pick any words for it. "It's... pretty crazy," he ventured.

"Crazy?"

Nope, he shouldn't have used that word.

"You know, long hours, busy..." George felt anxious. He really did not want to be responsible for a row between Cynthia and John, not after all he'd done this morning. If she was going to have one anyway, well, okay, but not because of him making it sound...

"Why couldn't he come with us for breakfast?"

George felt on surer ground with that question. "He's asleep," he said.

"Well, I know that." Her tone was that of the responsible adult humouring the imbecile, and George stopped feeling anxious and started to feel irritated.

"So why did you ask me then?"

For a moment George and Cynthia glared at one another, and George found his pace quickening so that Cynthia had to hurry to keep up. They strode in silence down an alleyway and came out next to the Sailors Society. George collected himself sufficiently to open the door for her and usher her in ahead of him, and then guided her over to an empty table on the far side of the big room.

"What do you want?" The abrupt phrase was couched in a conciliatory tone, and Cynthia's small tight smile acknowledged it.

"What is there?"

"They do full breakfast."

"I'll have that then, ta."

"Won't be a minute." George walked off to the counter, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for his money as he went, and Cynthia untied her headscarf and fluffed up her hair a little, took off her coat and hung both over the back of her chair. She was waiting, a nervous half smile on her face, when George returned precariously balancing two plates piled high with fry-up. "Here you go, hope it's ok," he said as he plonked the plates thankfully onto the table and took his seat opposite her across the table.

"It looks great." It looked very ordinary, but Cynthia had decided that it was to her advantage to be nice to baby George. He was at present her only link to John. And she was pleased not to be sitting on her own any more in this alarming place. "Do you come here often?" she asked, and only then realised what she'd said and how stupid it sounded, and she and George burst out laughing at the same time.

It helped warm the mood.

"Actually we do," he nodded. "The food's cheap and normal." As if to demonstrate, he speared half a sausage on his fork and popped it into his mouth. "Where's Dot?"

"She's with Paul." Cynthia managed to emphasise the word 'she's', and George inwardly winced. Another mistake. It had occurred to him whilst standing at the counter waiting for the food that he'd never actually spent any time with Cynthia without John there. He was beginning to realise why.

"He'll be here soon," George said. "He... just takes a while to wake up. You know." And then he really did feel stupid, as perhaps Cynthia would know better than anyone, besides possibly Mimi, how long John took to wake up. He hoped John would be VERY grateful to him for getting him out of trouble. Why did it have to be him blundering out of the Bambi just as Cynthia turned up. She'd stayed over at Astrid's mum with Dot but obviously couldn't wait to see wait to see the love of her life. George had seen her coming and thought very quickly; he'd shouted back in, "Stu! Cyn's here. I'll take her away," and marched to meet her, friendly smile in place. "Hi Cyn! Didn't know you were coming over." Could they have heard him from inside? He hoped so. "Cyn," he exclaimed. "John's dead to the world and you know what he's like. You hungry? Let's go and have breakfast and meet him there!" She had very little chance to object. George had already whisked her away from the doorway and she would have had to fight to stop him. Surely Stu would have the wit to shake John awake and get rid of the two girls draped over him.

"Well... we could..."

"You wouldn't want to see it in there, you really wouldn't." That bit was true at least. "Think of Gambier Terrace and times it by ten." True as well. They'd all more or less got used to the stink. "We'll get some food and John'll be here in no time." So they walked, and now they sat, and ate. "How was your crossing?"

"Horrible! I was sick."

"So was John. You two make a right pair!"

"Weren't you?"

George shook his head and shrugged lightly. "Nah, I was okay, don't know why."

"D'you like it here?"

George looked up from his food, knife and fork in hand, and nodded emphatically. "It's great, it really is."

"But tiring," put in Cynthia, but George chose to ignore the sarcastic comment, and Cynthia thought that baby George hadn't picked up on it.

"Eight hours a night non stop."

"What???"

"Hasn't John told you?" George started to worry that he'd put his foot in it again.

"Well, yes, but..." She looked directly at him, for the first time since the conversation started. George met her gaze. "I...I didn't believe him."

George nodded again. "It's true," he replied, seriously. "Not always eight. Sometimes five or six. And we do have Mondays off."

She stared at him. He did sound serious. And, he sounded different. He sounded more confident. No, not confident, he'd always been confident, though goodness knows why. He was... more grown up?

That was it. He looked the same, though definitely thinner and paler than last time she'd seen him. Well, if they were doing eight hours a night that would be why. But his whole manner seemed different.

George regarded her steadily, which was also odd, because he'd never done that before. And then he smiled, and she wondered why.

"Look behind you," he said. And she did, and there was John.

Cynthia Powell hurled herself to her feet, nearly sending her plate flying, and flung her arms around John and wrapped herself all around him and squealed. "John!"

Over her shoulder, John met George's eyes and mouthed the words, "Thank you." George smiled again, and nodded. John grinned back. Stu had entered the Sailors Society with John, and he sat down next to George and lit a cigarette. "You eating?"

"Yeah," managed John through Cynthia's frantic embrace; then Cynthia drew back.

"John! You stink!"

"I told you you wouldn't want to go in there," said George quietly, and turned and exchanged a rueful grin with Stu.

"Stu, get us a brekkie," commanded John, and Stu predictably pushed himself to his feet and moved across towards the counter. John took a seat at the table and Cynthia sat back down, so close to him she may as well have been on his lap. The two began to eat each other in lieu of the expected fry-ups, and George lit another cigarette. A comparative silence reigned until Stu returned to the table with the food, and all four applied themselves to their meals.

"We've got to find more", John said indistinctly through a mouthful of fried egg. Cynthia didn't know what he was talking about, but the other boys clearly did, and the three launched themselves into a discussion about their repertoire. They didn't have enough songs for eight hours a night, John tried to explain to her, they needed to learn more. Cynthia nodded, not remotely interested but too pleased to be back with John to care, but what did intrigue her was two-fold: firstly, they were having this conversation without Paul being present, a situation which could never have arisen in the group she'd known back in Liverpool, and secondly, even more extraordinary, George was taking an equal part in the discussion. He was joining in, John was deferring to him now and then, and Stu, John's beloved favourite, was also according a degree of respect to George she'd never seen before. The pecking order which she'd taken for granted back home seemed to have dissolved.

Maybe this was what was different about baby George. Maybe, for some reason which she'd missed out on since they'd been away, he wasn't baby George any more.

She stared at him with interest. He felt her gaze, and stared back at her. With indifference.

Cynthia wondered what on earth had been going on, here in Hamburg, since they'd been away.