Chapter Text
Friday 6th July 2007
St. Peter’s Church Hall, Woolton, Liverpool
An almost silent hum could be heard amongst those gathered in the sparsely decorated church hall, sitting on either side of an aisle which led diagonally across the room. Some of the attendees of this wedding had their inner-noses turned up at the venue, not understanding its importance to the happy couple. Others fortunately did, and found it their duty to inform the ones that didn’t. This was where they met, it was chosen for its symbolic nature. It was not, as some people liked to joke, the only place in Liverpool that would dare to host a gay marriage!
The hum had started because of the delay in the proceedings which had been announced in a quiet voice by one of the best men. He stood at the small stage at the top of the hall and with a couple of taps to the microphone with his fingers, he smiled nervously and coughed before he told them all that there was a small delay and not to worry. Naturally, everyone did.
“What’s happening?” The young man’s mother asked when he passed her in the crowd.
Before answering, he looked around to check that no one could see what he was gesturing about and quickly his mother nodded, following him to the side of the hall before he turned his back on the guests and said in no more than a whisper...
“Dad’s gone missing.”
Julia had no time to show her shock at such a statement, what with one of the grooms standing behind his son having turned white as a sheet with glaring eyes as soon as he heard Peter’s words.
“Paul’s gone? Paul’s missing?”
Peter turned around with wide eyes and tried to stop the explosion he knew would erupt from his father if he let his admission go without an explanation.
“What do you mean Paul’s missing!?” John sneered and glared at his son over the rim of his glasses.
“I...er...well...” Peter tried his best to think of something to say, but he knew it would all sound stupid with the situation now becoming something of an emergency. “You see the thing is...”
“I can’t believe this!” John shouted and turned around, being faced with his guests. He looked from one interested face to another and scowled at them, “What are you all looking at?” He snapped before he stormed off through a side door where he could go back to the room he’d been waiting in before. Now he knew why his eldest son and ex-wife had been so keen to keep him in there.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked once all five of them were back in the waiting room.
“We didn’t want you to worry, we wanted to figure out what could have happened-”
“I’ll tell you what bloody well happened!” John shouted and stopped his pacing across the floor. “He doesn’t want to do this, does he? He’s given up!”
“Don’t talk stupid!” Julian rolled his eyes and slouched as he sat down in one of the padded chairs which lined the walls. “I’m sure there’s a good reason for this...perhaps he just...forgot something...you know?”
John turned to his son and scoffed at what he had said, “That was weak, even for you.”
“Hey!” Peter called out and stood in front of his father to stop him from pacing again, fixing him with a frown that furrowed his McCartney-given brow, “Let’s not turn to insulting each other, yeah? Now, Dad’s out there somewhere, we just have to think where he could be and get him to come back!”
“What? And force him to get married?” John laughed at how unbelievable this was becoming and turned away from all of them, hating what he was thinking.
“John...” Now it was Cynthia’s turn, she walked up to him slowly and placed a soothing hand to his shoulder, making him turn around.
“He doesn’t love me anymore,” John said with a sad smile, not wanting to look up from the floor. “I get it.”
“No,” Cynthia shook her head and pulled John towards her into a safe embrace. “He’s probably just scared, you know more than anyone how these things can scare him. He probably just let his thoughts lead him to a place where he felt frightened and that’s why he left. A bit of firm explanation will bring him back to his senses and back to you to tell you that he loves you.”
“Where would he go?” Julia asked the more sensible question, looking to her son and nephew with expectations that they would know.
“Erm...” they both said together, looking from each other and shrugged.
“The church, maybe?” Peter volunteered, still shrugging.
Julian shook his head, “It’s a bit too close, isn’t it?”
“The city centre’s too far to walk and he hasn’t been gone all that long...”
“So, maybe somewhere nearer, but not as far as the city centre.”
“Mendips?” Julia said, thinking of the nearest place bar the church.
“Why would he go to soddin’ Mendips?” John asked and shook his head. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s gone home.”
“Surrey?” Peter asked, with a knitted brow.
“No!” John snorted and didn’t resist the urge to slap his son on the side of the head. “Forthlin Road, you know; home home!”
20 Forthlin Road, Allerton, Liverpool
John wasn’t one to answer the door whenever he heard the bell being rung. Nine times out of ten it would turn out to be a fan or tourist, who wanted to try and get in, thinking that that was all they had to do. He was truly sick and tired of having to explain that if you wanted to see the house, you had to book the tour...couldn’t these people read the signs outside?
He only opened it on this occasion because of two reasons, the first being because he was sorting out the cupboard in the hallway and so was right by it, and the second was because their ringing was quite incessant and he was getting pretty pissed off with it. He opened the door with a great urge to tell whoever it was to go fuck off.
The words died on his lips when he was greeted with the sight of a well-dressed Paul McCartney.
“Can I come in?”
John stood gobsmacked and let out a laugh at being asked this particular question by this particular individual. He wanted to say ‘of course you can, it’s your house!’ but what came out was a strange sound accompanied by a slow nod.
“Thanks,” Paul said shiftily and looked up and down the street before he stepped in with hands fixed firmly in the pockets of his grey trousers. “I er...I haven’t come on a tour day, have I?”
John shook his head this time. Indeed, Paul had not come on a day when the custodian of 20 Forthlin Road was expecting a tour. Friday was one of his very few days off. He was rather glad of this now, seeing as he had a much appreciated unexpected visitor.
“That’s good,” Paul chuckled and looked around, suddenly feeling excited and warm. “I didn’t want that sort of hassle...not today.”
“Oh!” John suddenly burst out and pointed at Paul who had ventured into the living room to see how it looked. He quickly poked his head back around to see what had caused the noise.
“What?”
John stumbled over his thoughts and quickly said, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting wed?”
Paul bit at his bottom lip and ducked back out of view, deciding not to answer that question. Of course, he knew that he was supposed to be, that didn’t actually mean that he had to...did it?
“I am er...forgoing that particular event at this moment,” he decided on saying as he walked on through to what used to be the dining room but was now a room filled with Beatles memorabilia.
“Why?”
“Wow, this place is great isn’t it?” Paul quickly changed the conversation and smiled, looking around the kitchen. “I know I saw it when it was first done and everything, but it’s nice to know it still looks as good.”
“I take care of it,” John nodded and felt pride well up in his chest.
“Can I...” Paul laughed with embarrassment as his request suddenly vanished from his lips. He found asking this particular question rather silly.
“Can you what?” John encouraged, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
“Can I go to my room?”
John, having understood the funny side of Paul asking him such a question, nodded and smiled widely, gesturing upstairs. He was about to instruct him on where it was exactly, but then he remembered who he was talking to and stopped himself.
Paul nodded in thanks and quickly went upstairs, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck as the familiarity of it washed over him. He sighed as he got to the top and loved the sound of his brand new shoes sticking to the lino flooring underneath his feet. It was bringing back so many memories.
Opening his bedroom door (which was the only door which wasn’t original), he found it laid out in the same way as he had it when he lived there. He gasped and walked over to the bed, not knowing whether he could pluck up the courage to sit on it or not. He did do it, but only after looking out of his bedroom window at the police training school beyond the garden and chuckling at that place’s familiarity too.
The reason why Paul had been reluctant to go near his bed was because it held many of the memories which were intrinsic with what was supposed to be happening on that day. He knew that as soon as he sat on there, or lay on there with his head cushioned on the flimsy pillow (which he went ahead and did without a moment’s hesitation), the memories would start to flood back and the only thing he’d be able to focus on was him and John and especially how it all began, unable to stop the giggle which sounded muffled against his pillow...
Sunday 28th July 1957
20 Forthlin Road, Allerton, Liverpool
John Lennon’s eyes couldn’t help but train in on a certain part of Paul McCartney’s body. He watched, completely transfixed by the way his nimble fingers worked on the strings of his beaten up guitar, plucking and plucking until he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what other things Paul did with that certain appendage.
It was the only reason that he could think of why he then asked what he did.
“Do you wipe your arse with your left hand?”
Paul stopped playing and looked up at his older friend with a small, confused frown on his smooth, baby face.
He tried to process what John had just asked, but when he found that it had no inherent or understandable reason for being asked, he answered with a simple... “Huh?”