If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 36 - April.1962 - June.1962

Chapter 36

Late April 1962 – Early June 1962

There were countless Lennon incidents throughout our stay in Hamburg. But John was coping and wasn't a complete arse every night. I was a calming influence, at least that was what he kept telling me, but only barely. It was enough to keep the boys from falling apart, to keep John from falling apart...and that was at least something.

I'd broken my damned thumb the night I'd gotten into the epic row with John. What I went through that night, punching the bastard and ending up with a broken thumb, shook John just enough to get him through the overwhelming grief without losing himself to the tragedy. Perhaps that was why he popped fewer prellies each night than he otherwise might have.

In early May, Brian met with record producer George Martin, who offered the Beatles a recording contract with EMI on the Parlophone label. Brian sent the boys a telegram: Congratulations, boys. EMI requests recording session. Please rehearse new material.

The boys promptly responded with their own telegrams back.

John: When are we going to be millionaires?

Paul: Please wire ten thousand pound advance royalties.

George: Please order four new guitars.

And Pete...well, Pete was off in his own world most days. The gaping divide between him and the other boys was growing larger by the day.

John and Paul interpreted Brian's message of 'please rehearse new material' as please write new material. So the two of them sat down, wasting no time, and their writing partnership was reborn. They huddled together as they strummed their guitars and scratched lyrics on pads of paper. John's chin rested on his hand when not playing, and he sat with his legs crossed. I attempted to snap photos of them, to try to capture the indescribable dynamic that existed between John and Paul, but John kept swatting at me each time I tried.

After endless hours of sitting in John's bunk, watching them create something from nothing, two new songs were written. But that wasn't good enough. No, they also rehearsed the hell out of the songs and had them ready to go. They hoped that at least one of the tunes would be good enough for Parlophone. John talked my ear off about the songs each night, his nervous energy coming through.

We set out for London on the fifth of June. This time there was no ruddy blizzard, no awful flu, no vomiting on the side of the road, and no ridiculous pregnancy accusations. There was, instead, a rare June heatwave. Seven scorching and sweaty hours later, we arrived at the Royal Court Hotel. We checked into two twin bedrooms for two nights, and then we set off to explore the city. Before long, all of us were drenched in sweat, looking like we'd taken a dip in the Thames.

The boys had explored London a bit back in December, but I'd been too ill to be anywhere other than the room or the van. With John's hand wrapped around mine, we wandered around Kensington, Chelsea, Soho, and especially Tin Pan Alley. London was wonderfully vivid and bright, and unlike anything I'd ever seen before. We were like fish out of water being Northerners in the South, so we stuck together. John held me tight against him, especially when he felt someone's eyes lingering on me for too long.

I stayed out of the boys' way as much as possible as we arrived at the recording studio just before seven the next evening. I had a laundry list of things to complete for Brian and was also meant to snap a few photos. We all helped lug the gear into the studio, and the boys settled into a massive room with incredibly high ceilings, no windows, and parquet flooring covered in places by rugs. The boys wore dark suits, looking awfully dishy, but the people who worked at the studio seemed a bit disconcerted by the boys. Maybe it was their northern accents or perhaps their long hair. They even gaped at me...maybe my foul mouth was too much for them, though I desperately tried to hold in every fuck, knobhead, arsehat, and bloody hell that formed on my tongue.