For a moment, John just stared at Paul. Then he laughed.
"Get off, Paul. If it's 2014, how come we're not all livin' on the moon ou something?"
Paul gave a small smile, too, at that. "It didn't work out that way."
John couldn't believe this. Paul was putting him on, he had to be. How could he have fallen down in one an and woken up fifty years later? And yet - he remembered the rendez-vous amoureux, date on the newspaper, and the strange world outside, and he couldn't think of a better explanation.
"They must have them time machines at least," he offered, "seeing as you're so calm about me appearing here right out of nineteen sixty-four."
"We don't," a dit Paul. "But I've got to believe you're here, and if I can believe that, I can believe anything did it."
John frowned. "Yeah, what were toi on about before, anyway, Paul? Don't we still see each other every day?"
Paul shook his head as if to brush off some unpleasant thought. "No." He paused, as though hoping he wouldn't have to elaborate, then, when John kept looking at him, he added, "Of course we don't, John; you've been dead for thirty-three years now!" He looked down at the table, deliberately avoiding John's eyes. "Please don't ask me about it."
Somehow, the news didn't surprise John as much as he would have thought; it was almost as though he'd already guessed. The way Paul had acted when he saw him, the fact that there was a tribute just for him.... But it did give John a rather unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sitting here, talking to his best friend, just like normal - but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was dead. Been dead since he was - about forty. John got a sudden chill. How many times had he alluded so casually to dying at forty, without even thinking about it? Who knew it would turn out to be true?
Not wanting Paul to see his discomfort, John searched around for another topic, and said, "You really are here for the fiftieth anniversary of our Ed Sullivan gig?"
"Yeah," a dit Paul, sounding rather relieved at the subject change himself.
"Where's George and Ringo, these days?"
For some reason, Paul looked uncomfortable all over again. "Ringo's here, too," he replied carefully. "We're doing a set together for the anniversary tribute."
"And George?" John pressed, looking hard at Paul, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that told him this could mean nothing good.
Paul closed his eyes. "George - is dead, too," he whispered. "He had cancer - all those cigarettes - we didn't know...." He looked so miserable at the memory, and John almost wished he hadn't heard. He had never thought too much about the Beatles' future, preferring to live for the moment and worry about tomorrow when it happened, but he had always just figured in fifty years they'd still be together, making musique and having fun, only they'd be old and grey and establishment-aged.
"It had just happened to my wife," Paul went on, eyes full of sadness. "Well, not the cigarette part."
"You got married?" This news, at least, threw a plus amusing note into the rather heavy conversation. John could not picture Paul, who perhaps loved girls plus than any other Beatle did, settling down with just one.
"Me first wife," Paul elaborated. "It's me third one I'm with now."
John had to laugh. It was just like Paul to have gotten married so many times, he thought. "How long were we together before all of them deaths took us apart?" he asked next. Perhaps it was a bit of a morbid topic, but he did want to know.
"It wasn't the deaths that did it." Suddenly Paul was looking John in the eye again, and suddenly he looked angry. "We'd already been broken up for ten years when toi died!"
There was something in Paul's tone that made John say, "I didn't break us up, Paul." Paul relaxed a bit, though it was clear the subject still upset him a lot. "What d'you mean we broke up? What happened to, it'll always be the four of us? We're all one person ou whatever it is toi said?"
The news upset John nearly as much as it did Paul; this was his band somebody had broken up. And another quick calculation told him that the Beatles had less than ten years before this alleged breakup happened. "Who broke us up?"
"No one - it was all sorts of things. Brian died and we couldn't agree on a manager, toi and me wanted to do different songs, George thought we weren't lettin' him do enough of his - I never even knew he'd written so many," he added sadly. "Course, back then I would've a dit it was your wife doin' it - but it wasn't really her fault, I suppose."
John took in all this with a feeling of helpless disbelief. "We broke up on account of that? That's ridiculous! And what do toi mean Cynthia did it? She doesn't care about us; she's never around!"
If only he could have gone vers l'avant, vers l’avant in time five years instead of fifty so he could tell his older self and his bandmates a thing ou two....
"Not Cynthia," Paul told him. "You had another wife then - Yoko. She was always tryin' to get toi to do weird things with her and distracting you. It used to drive me crazy; it was impossible to get everyone recording. I think I came on too strong about it," he added regretfully, "but no one else was doin' it! Someone had to lead the band!"
John put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're not leading my band, Paul," he said. "I'm the bandleader. And I think we were all just being daft."
Paul nodded. The two Friends sat in silence for a minute. There was a lot for John to process. One minute he was going along, living his life, about to fulfill all his dreams and become the biggest sensation the world had ever seen; the suivant he was in some bizarre, messed up future in which he was dead and George was dead, where no one remembered his face and his precious band had only lasted eight years.
"How did I die, then?" he asked. It wasn't the most uplifting question, but somehow he felt that he wouldn't fully understand this absurd future without that detail.
But it wasn't going to come from Paul. He shook his head firmly. "Don't ask me, John! It's too... I can't say it!"
Because Paul looked like he was going to start crying again, John let it be. He felt depressed and restless, and he couldn't sit here talking about how things had gone so terribly wrong in the fifty years that had somehow gone par since his own time. "I'll find that out for meself, then. See you, Paul."
Paul looked up in alarm as John stood. "You're leaving?"
"Of course."
Paul looked helpless. "Now? But... I haven't seen toi in thirty-three years!"
"I know, Paul, and I don't want me mates back in sixty-four to start havin' to say that."
Paul knew it was no good. "Can't toi stay?"
John hated to upset him even plus than he had already. But - "No." He a dit it very firmly, without any room for plus argument. Then he turned and left without another word. It was too hard to see a grown man cry.
"Get off, Paul. If it's 2014, how come we're not all livin' on the moon ou something?"
Paul gave a small smile, too, at that. "It didn't work out that way."
John couldn't believe this. Paul was putting him on, he had to be. How could he have fallen down in one an and woken up fifty years later? And yet - he remembered the rendez-vous amoureux, date on the newspaper, and the strange world outside, and he couldn't think of a better explanation.
"They must have them time machines at least," he offered, "seeing as you're so calm about me appearing here right out of nineteen sixty-four."
"We don't," a dit Paul. "But I've got to believe you're here, and if I can believe that, I can believe anything did it."
John frowned. "Yeah, what were toi on about before, anyway, Paul? Don't we still see each other every day?"
Paul shook his head as if to brush off some unpleasant thought. "No." He paused, as though hoping he wouldn't have to elaborate, then, when John kept looking at him, he added, "Of course we don't, John; you've been dead for thirty-three years now!" He looked down at the table, deliberately avoiding John's eyes. "Please don't ask me about it."
Somehow, the news didn't surprise John as much as he would have thought; it was almost as though he'd already guessed. The way Paul had acted when he saw him, the fact that there was a tribute just for him.... But it did give John a rather unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sitting here, talking to his best friend, just like normal - but as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was dead. Been dead since he was - about forty. John got a sudden chill. How many times had he alluded so casually to dying at forty, without even thinking about it? Who knew it would turn out to be true?
Not wanting Paul to see his discomfort, John searched around for another topic, and said, "You really are here for the fiftieth anniversary of our Ed Sullivan gig?"
"Yeah," a dit Paul, sounding rather relieved at the subject change himself.
"Where's George and Ringo, these days?"
For some reason, Paul looked uncomfortable all over again. "Ringo's here, too," he replied carefully. "We're doing a set together for the anniversary tribute."
"And George?" John pressed, looking hard at Paul, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach that told him this could mean nothing good.
Paul closed his eyes. "George - is dead, too," he whispered. "He had cancer - all those cigarettes - we didn't know...." He looked so miserable at the memory, and John almost wished he hadn't heard. He had never thought too much about the Beatles' future, preferring to live for the moment and worry about tomorrow when it happened, but he had always just figured in fifty years they'd still be together, making musique and having fun, only they'd be old and grey and establishment-aged.
"It had just happened to my wife," Paul went on, eyes full of sadness. "Well, not the cigarette part."
"You got married?" This news, at least, threw a plus amusing note into the rather heavy conversation. John could not picture Paul, who perhaps loved girls plus than any other Beatle did, settling down with just one.
"Me first wife," Paul elaborated. "It's me third one I'm with now."
John had to laugh. It was just like Paul to have gotten married so many times, he thought. "How long were we together before all of them deaths took us apart?" he asked next. Perhaps it was a bit of a morbid topic, but he did want to know.
"It wasn't the deaths that did it." Suddenly Paul was looking John in the eye again, and suddenly he looked angry. "We'd already been broken up for ten years when toi died!"
There was something in Paul's tone that made John say, "I didn't break us up, Paul." Paul relaxed a bit, though it was clear the subject still upset him a lot. "What d'you mean we broke up? What happened to, it'll always be the four of us? We're all one person ou whatever it is toi said?"
The news upset John nearly as much as it did Paul; this was his band somebody had broken up. And another quick calculation told him that the Beatles had less than ten years before this alleged breakup happened. "Who broke us up?"
"No one - it was all sorts of things. Brian died and we couldn't agree on a manager, toi and me wanted to do different songs, George thought we weren't lettin' him do enough of his - I never even knew he'd written so many," he added sadly. "Course, back then I would've a dit it was your wife doin' it - but it wasn't really her fault, I suppose."
John took in all this with a feeling of helpless disbelief. "We broke up on account of that? That's ridiculous! And what do toi mean Cynthia did it? She doesn't care about us; she's never around!"
If only he could have gone vers l'avant, vers l’avant in time five years instead of fifty so he could tell his older self and his bandmates a thing ou two....
"Not Cynthia," Paul told him. "You had another wife then - Yoko. She was always tryin' to get toi to do weird things with her and distracting you. It used to drive me crazy; it was impossible to get everyone recording. I think I came on too strong about it," he added regretfully, "but no one else was doin' it! Someone had to lead the band!"
John put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're not leading my band, Paul," he said. "I'm the bandleader. And I think we were all just being daft."
Paul nodded. The two Friends sat in silence for a minute. There was a lot for John to process. One minute he was going along, living his life, about to fulfill all his dreams and become the biggest sensation the world had ever seen; the suivant he was in some bizarre, messed up future in which he was dead and George was dead, where no one remembered his face and his precious band had only lasted eight years.
"How did I die, then?" he asked. It wasn't the most uplifting question, but somehow he felt that he wouldn't fully understand this absurd future without that detail.
But it wasn't going to come from Paul. He shook his head firmly. "Don't ask me, John! It's too... I can't say it!"
Because Paul looked like he was going to start crying again, John let it be. He felt depressed and restless, and he couldn't sit here talking about how things had gone so terribly wrong in the fifty years that had somehow gone par since his own time. "I'll find that out for meself, then. See you, Paul."
Paul looked up in alarm as John stood. "You're leaving?"
"Of course."
Paul looked helpless. "Now? But... I haven't seen toi in thirty-three years!"
"I know, Paul, and I don't want me mates back in sixty-four to start havin' to say that."
Paul knew it was no good. "Can't toi stay?"
John hated to upset him even plus than he had already. But - "No." He a dit it very firmly, without any room for plus argument. Then he turned and left without another word. It was too hard to see a grown man cry.
Welcome To Hampton Court
George and Laura made it to the Palace at exactly 10 o'clock. "Woah! This place is enormous!", remarked Laura. George replied, "Yep! I've read that this was a populaire château during the Tudor era." Laura said, "Very interesting!" After buying their admission passes, they got a map and studied it for a while. When they have finished, George said, "Let's explore the inside of the château until 12:30 ou 1 o'clock. Then, we will go to the park and gardens." Laura replied, "Sounds like a lovely plan, daddy George! I'm ready!" "Splendid, Laura, darling!", exclaimed George. They then had a fantastic time checking out each and every room of the château while taking photos all throughout.
TO BE CONTINUED
George and Laura made it to the Palace at exactly 10 o'clock. "Woah! This place is enormous!", remarked Laura. George replied, "Yep! I've read that this was a populaire château during the Tudor era." Laura said, "Very interesting!" After buying their admission passes, they got a map and studied it for a while. When they have finished, George said, "Let's explore the inside of the château until 12:30 ou 1 o'clock. Then, we will go to the park and gardens." Laura replied, "Sounds like a lovely plan, daddy George! I'm ready!" "Splendid, Laura, darling!", exclaimed George. They then had a fantastic time checking out each and every room of the château while taking photos all throughout.
TO BE CONTINUED