justgeorgeharrisonfic

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

I think I’m going to create a separate blog for my Beatles fan fiction recommendations. Does that sound like a good idea? Meanwhile, until I have time to really sit down and figure out HOW to do that, I’m adding some more links to stories I’ve enjoyed.

Summary: As the Fab Four fly to Anchorage on Christmas Eve for their first Alaska concert, they are met with danger and a life-threatening situation. Only their courage, friendship and loyalty to one another can help them survive.

Remarks: Very recent story, involves all four Beatles and Mal Evans. George’s role is the most prominent but they’re all featured pretty evenly. Very exciting and suspenseful. I loved it.

Remarks: A really sweet story with George comforting Cynthia after an altercation with John

Summary: George comes back after a mysterious absence to say he's found his own writing partner and wants to quit The Beatles, but the others begin to suspect there's something more going on.

Remarks:

George is kidnapped by a stalker and the resulting mental and physical torment will have you on the edge of your seat. It’s not overly graphic but the implications are harrowing.

Chapter 1 of 4

Summary:

After a bitter disagreement with the other Beatles, George is desperate to make things right. But will he get the chance? (Links to the other three chapters below).

Summary: John, Paul, and George get their wish. (Humor)

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I’ve been trying rather unsuccessfully, to post more George Harrison fanfic recommendations. I’ll try to post more over the weekend. For now, here are a few that I found to be quite well written. Please REBLOG if you want more fics posted.

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George and pattie ~ °•

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I may be in the minority, but I think George and Paul's relationship is the most interesting one in The Beatles, so I appreciate the George/Paul posts recently. :)

I’m thrilled you do. :) I adore George and Paul’s relationship, and it intrigues me almost as much as John and Paul’s, If not just as. I have admittedly been in a bit of a mood lately; apparently it is still a disconcertingly prevalent notion amongst Beatles fans that Paul was nothing more than a condescending opportunistic bully to George and that George spent the majority of his life bitterly resenting Paul’s existence, and it’s a notion I don’t appreciate, to say the least. The press does inevitably do a lot to perpetuate these misconceptions, even if they weren’t necessarily out to accentuate the negative — additionally, George and Paul were hardly forthcoming about each other in the press to the extent that, say, John and Paul were, and had none of the iconic romanticism or mythic branding of a songwriting partnership, which probably only encouraged the assumption that they thought less than nothing of each other. Which to many is simpler and easier to believe, I suppose. But relationships are rarely simple or easy. If I recall, in a previous reply to an ask, I said that George and Paul’s relationship was the easiest to understand but the most difficult to explain, and indeed, it can be inexplicably difficult to describe the mutual entitlement and acceptance and imprinted complexes between family members, which they ostensibly were. I believe I’m not the only one in thinking that George and Paul had the most characteristically brotherly relationship amongst everyone in the band, right down to Paul’s admittedly patronising but chidingly forgiving manner, and George’s unassumingly blunt but sullenly attached implication, and ironically a lot of the things that exemplify this dynamic to some people are the same things that cast their relationship in an unremittingly negative light to other people. One case in point, since by multiple accounts all of the Beatles felt they were exclusively entitled to rag on one another and hated when anyone else did: Yes, George was blunt about Paul’s lack of consideration to him as a fellow musician in the band, but underlying the apparent anger and resentment is also hurt and disappointment that Paul didn’t do what George expected or wanted him to do, which was use his undeniably weightier say in the group in support of George’s talent and explicitly stand up for him. (Much as he did when he first strong-armed baby-faced George into a band of older unimpressed boys.) And while it’s been pointed out several times that George never publicly criticised John to the extent he did Paul, when by all accounts John was guilty of the same crimes — which has typically been given alternately as proof that George was either unreasonably ungrateful to Paul or that George had never liked Paul and was always closest to John — I’d say it actually proves George’s security in his relationship with Paul, i.e. that he knew he could cuss Paul out in the press all day and still at the end be forgiven and greeted with open arms, because for what it was worth, Paul saw him as cherished family, and George in his time (unconsciously or not) relied on it.

In contrast, George was probably never entirely certain of where he stood with John, who’d not only demonstrated his ability to sever ties with people he was close to (symbolically, if not actually), but also more or less saw the band in all its incarnations as his gang whose members could be changed out and replaced as it so suited him. (The only exception to this would have been Paul, possibly.) Add in George’s adolescent hero worship of John which he never quite let go of, along with John’s acute sensitivity to criticism in general, and you have George carefully refraining from insulting John in the press as long as there was a risk of setting John off and losing John’s confidence, because in spite of however John hurt him, it only defined the very qualities in John that he admired, and in any case, George preferred to be on good terms with him rather than bad. (Whereas there was never enough distance between George and Paul for Paul to ever have that kind of cool, untouchable credibility to George, although George was probably more aware than anybody of Paul’s talents.) Ultimately, it’s easier to forgive the cool and rebellious Brando art college figure who occasionally gives you the time of day than it is to forgive the crochety and smart arsed older brother who’s always there to lend a helping hand if you need it and chides you for not eating as much as a growing boy should, and you will listen to me, George, if you know what’s good for you. You don’t have to worry about being cool and aware and mature with your brother, though; you can’t. And that can be an important (and irreplaceable, and inexpressible) emotional comfort, at times.

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Pattie visiting George during the ‘Let It Be’ sessions

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Pattie and George kiss

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George & Pattie in the 60s

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A day after wedding interview I’ve never seen. Lifted from Instagram dailypattieboyd_

click for sound

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

An Unexpected Conversation

The date was the 29th November 2002, and the time was 1.30 in the afternoon. It was hot. Pattie had retreated into a patch of shade and had drawn a scarf over her head and arms to protect her from the heat of the sun. She would not normally have elected to sit on a mountainside in Peru in their summer in the heat of the day, but she had no choice today. The Concert for George was starting right now, a few thousand miles and six hours away, and this was how she had chosen to honour him. Not to sit in the crowded Royal Albert Hall, enduring all the glances of recognition and curiosity from friends and strangers alike, and not to attempt dry-eyed stoicism as each song being played up on the stage ripped at her heart. Here she was alone, and her grief was hers alone.

A sharp breeze riffled the chiffon scarf around her head and she drew it closer as she gazed across the panoramic view which spread out below her feet. She knew she was safe here, she’d chosen her spot well, but nevertheless sat still and careful, her back pressed against the rock behind her; she had never been good with heights. She remembered how George had giggled at her when they first boarded their boat in Tahiti and she’d hung on grimly for fear of falling. She’d got used to it after a day, or maybe two days to be honest, and was soon clambering around the beams like a pro.

The memory brought the familiar sharp stinging to her eyes. The tears were nearly always just below the surface, they came so easily now. As the breeze stroked her cheeks the tears, allowed to fall freely here, now, dried around the creases to the side of her nose and mouth. She embraced the complete luxury of being able to weep with no-one around to try to console her and no-one for whom she had to be brave. Pattie sat on her mountainside and cried and cried for George. She listened to her own sobbing and she cried some more.

The pain seemed unendurable. A year was too long. She wanted him back on this world.

“I am.”

The voice was unmistakable. She’d heard it nearly every night in her dreams. Millions knew that voice as well as their own. Near the end it had lost its quality, its timbre, and the words had rasped through pain. But this…

Her head whipped to one side towards the direction of the voice, with the result that she turned right into the scarf and her face was completely covered. Through the folds of chiffon though she thought she could see something. But she certainly could hear something. It was laughing. It was George laughing. It was George laughing at her.

She thrust the scarf out of the way and blinked at what looked for all the world like George Harrison, sitting next to her. Checked shirt. Hair brushed back. Not her George then…

What on earth…?

“What…?” She could do nothing but gawp. The thing that looked like George grinned.

“What are you laughing at?” She heard herself snap. She was apparently cross at something that wasn’t there. What was happening?

“You. You’re all snotty with a scarf over your face.”

“I’m…” This thing that wasn’t real was now insulting her.

“But you’re still gorgeous.” At that, the… whatever it was…stopped grinning at her and instead looked out over the view, hands clasped and arms wrapped around his upturned knees.

Pattie could do nothing but stare at him. At… it? It couldn’t be real. It obviously wasn’t real. But… what was this sitting and talking to her and looking like George?

And shouldn’t she be terrified? It was some kind of… ghost… sitting in front of her and talking to her.

“Not really.” He turned back to look at her, and said, “I’m not a ghost. I’m not haunting you.” He grinned again. “I’ve just come to see you.”

You’ve…” What could she say? Does she have a normal conversation with this…?

“You might as well,” the ghost who said he wasn’t a ghost interrupted. “Since I’m here.”

Pattie buried her face in her hands and sat for a while, all rational thoughts suspended. All that was going through what was left of her mind was that he sounded just like George. George’s common sense. George’s laugh.

He was right. She might as well. But all she could then think to say was, “You should be in London! It’s your concert.”

At that he burst out laughing again, but then turned once more to face her. “I am,” he said. “I’m there too. I can be in two places at once, you know.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. But I can.”

She looked at him, carefully. Fear, or the thought of fear, was gone. As he’d said, she might as well… “Are you alright? I mean…”

“I know what you mean.” The familiar dark eyes regarded her, the familiar piercing and penetrating gaze. The one that always used to make her feel as if he truly understood her. “And, yes. I am.” And he smiled again; she saw the dimple appear in his cheek, just like before.

There were so many questions she could, or should, ask someone who’d just turned up from beyond the grave after a year’s absence. Profound issues. The meaning of life. And death. So she thought, and pondered… and gave up. And simply asked instead, “Why did you come here? Just now? To me? “She searched his face, waited whilst he looked back at her.

“You needed me.”

“I’ve needed you before.”

“You mean since…?”

“Yes. Why here, and now?”

Again, he shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do. Here. And now. You were… upset.”

Then Pattie found her heart and her mind stabbed, pierced, by a thought which sounded in her head almost as a scream and the strength and pain of which made her gasp. She wrenched her gaze away from him and stared out at the stunning view which stretched out below her as she grappled with the emotional intensity. Yet, not surprisingly, as he seemed to have the ability to hear her thoughts as clearly as though she’d spoken them aloud, his voice, his dear familiar voice, brought her gaze back to meet his.

“Okay,” he said, his voice gentle. “Say it.” Then he waited.

It was a while before she could speak. All her instincts fought to prevent her from saying what she had thought, what she wanted to say. But that was stupid. She knew it was. Because, it seemed, he already knew it all. She blinked hard to fight back tears. She breathed deeply to give herself courage. He’d told her to say it. So, she said it.

“You didn’t care…” her voice wobbled, so she paused until she could steady it. “You didn’t care about me being upset when… you were alive.”

God, that sounded weird. When you were alive. This was crazy. What was she doing? What was happening? What…

“Go on.” The voice was still calm, still gentle. She looked up at him, something she had never never been able to do when having a harsh conversation before, but she did it and she continued because, unlike ever before, he was inviting her to do so.

“You didn’t care,” she kept her voice even and steady this time and was proud of herself. “You didn’t care when you brought her to the house. And kept her there. All those days.”

“Charlotte.”

“Yes!” And she lost the even and the steady, and heard her own voice shrill and snapping. “Have you any idea…?”

She couldn’t go on, but sat, exhausted now and limp and shaking. She’d never said this to him before.

Why had she never said this to him before?

“Why didn’t you?”

Tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, and she simply shook her head. But it seemed that he wasn’t going to let it go. Not this time.

“Pattie. Why didn’t you?”

She looked at him, vision blurred. She swallowed. Then said, “Did you come all the way back for me to be having a go at you?”

He smiled. “You’re changing the subject,” he said. “You often did that.”

She thought about that. “Yes. I suppose I did.” She thought some more. “You never picked me up on it. You never followed up.”

“I am now.”

“But…” And paused. He had asked her a question. A good question. Just difficult, as she’d never put the answer into words. Even though people had asked her. Jenny had asked her. Terry.

Eric.

“I was… scared. I didn’t know if I could face what would happen.” She thought a moment more. Waiting for memories of agony to clarify. “If… you’d chosen her. Or any of them. Or…” Now crowds of thoughts began to tumble into her brain and she worried they would overwhelm her, might…

“It’s fine.” The voice was just as gentle, just as reassuring. “Say it,” he said again.

“I didn’t know if I could face the answers.” She blurted it out, and then knew it to be true. She’d been afraid of pushing it, all of it, afraid, in case she’d lost. In case she hadn’t wanted to hear his answers. “I was just… fingers in my ears la la la, until it was all over and I was back with you again and you had your arms around…” And she couldn’t go on because the tears, the keening sobs, erupted with the force of Vesuvius and she could only put her head onto her upturned knees and cry and cry. The sobbing tore at her chest and her throat and her eyes and she wondered if she could bear it. “I loved you so much,” she tried to say but the words were as drowned as her eyes. Yet,

“I know.” He’d heard her. Astonishingly, because she wouldn’t have understood what she’d said, that’s for sure. They both waited for some calm. Eventually,

“Did you love me?”

“You know I did.”

She still couldn’t look up at him. “No I didn’t.”

“Pattie.” He paused, but still her face was buried in the folds of her skirt. “Please look at me.” She breathed deep, swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and fumbled in her bag for something resembling a tissue. Were there any leaves around…? “Look at me.”

She found that she could raise her head and turn towards him, though familiar fear clutched her heart.

“I should have let you know I loved you. I took you for granted. It wasn’t your fault.” He paused, waiting perhaps for her to reply but there were no words so he continued. “I was a shit.”

She, almost, smiled.” “You said that to me, then.”

“I’m saying it again now.”

“The cooking.”

If ghosts, or whatever he was, could look surprised, then he looked surprised. “Cooking??”

Pattie shifted her position so that she could face he more, be more emphatic. “I loved cooking for you. And, that was all you left me. You chanted all the time, you didn’t talk to me for days, but I could still give you food and that was important and then you got… him...that other man, to cook for you and there was nothing left for me to do and it was all gone…” Tears returned. Her head ached. Her eyes burned.

“Why didn’t you say?”

This time she was more ready with the answer; it was, after all, the same answer. “I didn’t want to start a row. I didn’t want to know what you’d say, you’d have said I was being silly, you’d have said I was making it all up, like with Krissie, and I wasn’t…” Now she was shouting.

He… it?...was quiet, still. It gave her time to calm a little and reflect. And a thought popped into her head so she voiced it; another novelty for her, a person whose custom had always been instead to crawl into her room and brood. “You were cross when you found me with Eric that night.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“Why was I cross?”

“Yes.”

“My wife with another man? Who wouldn’t be?”

She turned to him, as far as she dared on what felt like her precarious ledge. “He was going on and on. And you never spoke to me. You never tried to make it better. It ended up that I couldn’t see any reason not to. You weren’t there, and he was.”

“I know.”

“George!” Even at the distance of a year and a death, she still found herself becoming exasperated and confused. “Why?? Why didn’t you try to get me back? You’ve just said you did love me. So why didn’t you try? Why??”

He looked out over the view again, before turning back towards her. “I was a mess,” he offered.

“Too much coke.”

“Too much everything.”

“But…”

“Pattie, I’m not defending myself here. I’m not here to defend myself.” He smiled, faintly. You remember that song? You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone?”

She nodded.

“That was me. I took you for granted, I was full of what I thought I was at that time - Krishna with all his women – I thought I could get away with anything. And then, you weren’t there. And then, I knew how much I’d loved you all the time.”

“So…” She paused to assemble her words. “What would you have said, what would you have done, if… if I had said it all? If I’d told you to get Charlotte out. What would you have done if I’d said, get her out?”

He smiled at her again, another small and gentle smile. “I don’t know,” he offered eventually. “It never happened, did it. I don’t know.” He paused again. “It would have been good, to find out. What I’d have done. I think…” Another pause, and then, “I think, I’d have got her out.”

Pattie stared at him. “So I should have tried.”

“That’s up to you.”

Pattie sat next to whatever that image of George was and allowed the words and thoughts to absorb into her. She wondered whether she felt better or worse, and decided that it would be a while before she could know that. Yet one thing she knew she needed to say, and she turned towards him again. “Thank you. For coming to talk to me.”

She basked yet again in the beloved George grin. “Pattie, I’m always here.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“What, on this mountain?”

A peal of laughter. “No, silly! Wherever you are.”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes again, and she blinked back at him. She nodded. “That’s good. Good to know.”

Her gaze swept across the spectacular view once more, but then another question darted into her mind and she turned back to him. “But…”

She was alone on the mountainside. He’d gone, to wherever he’d come from. The Royal Albert Hall? She smiled to herself amidst the new tears. She wrapped herself more tightly in the folds of her scarf and leaned back against the rock and let her heart go out to him, wherever he was.

“Thanks, George,” she said aloud. And then waited until she felt ready to clamber to her feet and make her way down towards real people, and real life and, at last, some real peace of mind.

#George Harrison #Pattie Boyd #beatles fanfiction #fantasy #after death #beravement #grief

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

Such a lovely George and Pattie fic, so hot and so moving

How do you think Pattie remembers George?

Thinking back to when she first met him, She remembered the moment she fell in love with George. They’d been talking over lunch the first day they’d met on the set of the movie, A Hard Day’s Night, and suddenly he’d grinned at her. She didn’t remember what she’d said to make him laugh, but her heart was gone at that smile. Oh, he was charming and funny and handsome. But that smile. She didn’t really know him well and it would be many long weeks before she finally realized that smile was just for her.

It took George longer to fall in love. Oh, sure he liked her, wanted her, lusted after her, but it wasn’t until they had made love one night in Ireland that she knew he was smitten. Hot love. Kinky love. The deepest sweetest love that was his true nature. And as quiet as they could be. She knew it was serious when he murmured into her hair where her fringe started, “Let’s not let John and Cyn hear.” Her tummy had done a huge flip. His voice was low and husky, and his breath warm and close before his mouth found hers. They hadn’t needed practice from the very first kiss, but over time, the kissing had gotten so much better. So intense. The prelude to the real loving.

It was a challenge she hadn’t expected. She been thinking the words over and over as he thrilled her beyond any expectations or previous experience. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. That is when he said it, so softly she wondered if she had imagined it. She hoped she hadn’t said out loud first. “Pattie.” Her name was an almost silent moan. She was delirious with happiness even before he’d added, “I love you.” He held her while they slept. His arms around her waist, legs over hers. His chest and thighs up against her backside, making them one. Waking her up with his lips on her shoulder finally making his way up slowly and softly right behind her ear when his kisses paused, he whispered, “I love you, girl.” She shivered when he said girl, and turned in his arms and kissed him down his belly and gave him the best blow job she could. He must have liked it. Loved it , because, well she could tell. He hadn’t moaned or made any noise. And when he came, she swallowed it without even thinking, like Mary Bee had made her swear she would. It wasn’t awful, like she had imagined. Well, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. He pulled her over and they laid in bed kissing and kissing until the knock at the door let them know breakfast was ready.

Pattie noticed he didn’t eat eggs or want a sausage, just cups of hot tea and toast. Quite a bit of toast. Toast dripping with butter and jam.

From that morning he wooed her with a persistence that would have broken Brigette Bardot. He was kind, thoughtful, generous. Yes, he put his feet on the furniture, but otherwise he had good manners, when he chose to. It would be a few years to realize while they were both terribly moody, she had to go, and be busy. George just wanted to stay home or hole up inside of himself. He did love her, though. She knew, because it was almost 5 years before he cheated on her with that French bitch. She always worried that Charlotte wasn’t the first, but she never asked and he never told her and now she would never know.

That time he’d called and asked could he stop by, he had some things he wanted to give her. He’d been to see Ringo and as he was near by, would she mind. Of course not! She was thrilled to see him. Looking older but just as handsome and sexy as always. When he wondered if they could lie in bed and talk, she said sure, that familiar butterfly fluttering in her chest. But really, all he’d wanted to do was laugh and reminisce about the early days. And soon they were cuddled together only this time she spooned up against his back with her arms around him. It was then she noticed how thin he was and soon she just held him as he slept. His hair was shorter than she’d ever remembered. She moved the pillow so she could snuggle close to the crook of his neck without waking him. If she could hold him forever and breathe in the scent of sandalwood, she’d be content.

When he left, he told her he’d see her at Christmas. He and Liv were going on an extended trip. Had she known it was the last time she’d ever see him, she wouldn’t have been able to let him go, but off he went, spraying gravel as he took the turn onto the road, much too fast as usual. All alone she opened his gifts. The plant was new. The statue of Kamadeva and Madana made her smile at what she hoped was his real reason for giving it to her, but when she opened the shoebox and found the photos, the little reels of film, the Polaroids, and the Tiffany perfume bottle he’d given her on her 25th birthday which she’d thought she’d lost when she’d left him, her heart broke a little. But came November, it shattered into a million pieces and she wondered how she could go on living in a world without George.

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[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

Meet The Parents

MEET THE PARENTS

 “It isn’t much here.”

“What isn’t?”

“Well,” Pattie waved a hand in the general direction of the street. “You know.”

George spared her a glance as he manoeuvred the Jag down the street between two rows of parked cars. “No,” he said. “I don’t. Which one are you?”

“Further along. Near the end. I mean, it’s not very special. Not posh.”

“Posh.” George’s voice seemed to drip derision even through his concentration. “Seems nice to me. What number?”

“Wha…? Oh – 59. That side.”

The car crept forward house by house, and Pattie became aware that the palms of her hands were clammy as she clasped them together between her knees. George seemed unaware of her nerves. “Oh yeah. There. There’s a space.” And he slowed even more as he edged forward, and then reversed into the space. “Ok,” he exclaimed. “Made it!” He turned to her with a smile. “Ok?” he said again, this time as a question. She looked at him with huge eyes. He frowned slightly. “Whatsup?”

Pattie sighed, and swallowed. “Well, you know.”

“Pattie, no I don’t!” He smiled, a smile which became a grin as her eyes seemed to grow even larger. “What is it?” He reached across and took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“Just…” She paused again and then pressed on, unsure herself why she was feeling so anxious. “Meeting them all, you know.”

George turned off the engine, and turned in his seat to face her, still clasping her hand. “Why, what’s wrong with them?”

“Oh, well, nothing. I…”

“Ok, what’s wrong with me then?”

This one was easy. “Nothing!” she exclaimed fervently and shook her head vigorously. “They’ll love you!”

George briefly squeezed her hand more tightly and reached with his other hand to the door handle. “I’m the one supposed to be scared. Meeting the parents and all that. Don’t be soft. Come on.” So saying, he opened the door and eased himself out of the low sports car and walked round to her side.

“Are you scared?” she asked as he opened the door for her. He held out his arm for her to lean on as she clambered out of the car. He shook his head as vigorously as she had and his brown locks swirled.

“Nah. Like you said, they’ll love me! C’mon.” George opened the car boot to retrieve the flowers which driver Alf had strongly suggested he take to meet the mother - Alf had even gone out and bought the flowers – and then reclaimed Pattie’s hand as the two walked together through the open gate and up to the front door. She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Her mouth was dry as a bone.

The door opened.

George moved his eyes downwards from where he’d expected to meet and greet an adult, and instead looked down at a small boy who stared up at him from just inside the door. “Mummy’s in the kitchen,” he said. “She said she’s stuck. Are you George Harrison?”

George nodded solemnly. “I am,” he said.

Before the visitors had the chance, or space, to move into the hall, the boy was joined by another boy who seemed much the same age, and a teenage girl, blonde and already clearly practising being flirtatious, and the three continued to block the doorway as they took a good look at the newcomers. “It’s nice to meet you, George,” said the girl, with a smile which was presumably designed to be inviting.

“Boo! Paula, can you get out of the way now!” The youthful reception committee had had the effect of banishing Pattie’s nerves completely, and now she just felt irritated. “What do you mean, Mummy’s stuck?”

“I’m coming,” called a voice from further into the house. “Please come in, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The three children backed away, but no further than along the hall wall, so George and Pattie still had to edge past them before they could get into the sitting room. ”George?” called another girl, older than the teenage vamp by the door. George looked across at her, and smiled and nodded.

“Jenny,” he said. This one he knew as he’d already met her at Pattie’s flat. “Alright?” She beamed and nodded.

“George, come and sit down.” Pattie chivvied them both to the sofa alongside the further wall and the two sat, but George shot to his feet again as the lady of the house hurried in, an apron tied around her and her face slightly flushed from the heat of the kitchen.

“I am sorry about that. Stirring. Pattie darling. And George, how lovely to meet you.”

George moved forward with a polite smile on his face and held out the hand that wasn’t clutching the flowers. “Hello Mrs Boyd. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Don’t be silly dear, call me Diana. And what lovely flowers, how kind of you! I’ll put them in water. Do make yourselves comfortable. Would you like a drink? Lunch will be ready in about half an hour. Pattie, could you do the honours? I must see to the sauce.” And so saying she surged back out again, leaving a familial silence in her wake. Pattie turned to George and shrugged.

“Drink?”

He smiled, and nodded. He then sat back down on the sofa, where he found himself surrounded by what seemed to him to be a tribe of children. Pattie returned with the drinks and sat with him and introduced him to them all, George scrabbling in his mind to remember all the names. As each one asked a question, Pattie hissed the name and he answered each enquiry with earnest charm and a broad smile. It was, he reflected to himself even as he assured the one called David that he wasn’t richer than the Queen, just like some audience with, well, the Queen. He wondered if he should bow.

“George. What’s it like on the stage with all the people looking at you? Is it fabulous?”

George looked consideringly at Paula. Thirteen years old, and wanting the world. He smiled at her, a real smile, and nodded. “It’s fab,” he said, and grinned his wide lopsided grin. “It is.”

“Lunch is ready!” called the lady called Diana, now divested of her apron and, Pattie noticed, make-up reapplied. “Do come through. George, would you like to sit here? Pattie, would… oh.” As Pattie ignored any direction her mother was going to make and sat firmly next to George, Diana quickly revised her previous seating plan. “Boo,” she frowned once the whole family plus George were clustered around the table. “Don’t grab the bread. It’s very rude. Jenny, could you pass George the meat? Boo! I told you! Pattie darling, are you eating enough?”

The meal progressed, comfortably and noisily. George continued to fend off questions until Pattie told them to hush up and let George eat his lunch in peace. Diana fluttered from table to kitchen and back to serve new courses, Jenny jumping up obediently to help. Pattie offered to help clear at the end, but Diana wouldn’t hear of it. “You keep George company in the lounge. I’ll bring coffee. Jenny, could you stack the plates or we’ll run out of room.”

George and Pattie sat together, obediently and yet very happily, whilst the family buzzed around them. He held her hand tightly, and both dealt with coffee cups one-handed rather than let each other go. Diana beamed, Paula and Colin stared, Boo and David argued. The afternoon passed placidly, although later, back in the car, they both agreed that they wouldn’t have noticed if a bomb had gone off next to the sofa, so completely engrossed were they both in their clasped hands and their thighs touching warmly as they sat so close and their eyes, their eyes. But it actually had seemed to go well.

“Of course it did”

“Why of course? You were terrified before we went in.”

“No I wasn’t!” protested Pattie, as George edged the car out of the space and moved off along the road. “I just wanted to make sure it went well.”

George grinned, his eyes still on the road. “Said they’d love me.”

“Bighead.”

“Well?”

The car slowed at the end of the street, and then turned left into the main road and drove back towards the flat.

   George drove in silence as he negotiated the one way systems and the heavy traffic converging on Liverpool. Until recently he’d have been able to do the drive almost on automatic, so familiar had he been with the route, but since his parents had been moved out of the hated Speke address he had to think about it. It afforded a distraction. It afforded an excuse for silence. Pattie, who had frequently had occasion to be driven by George through the heart of London’s West End without his needing to pause in talking or in singing along with the music from the car radio, was not fooled. She watched the unfamiliar streets slipping by outside the car, thought for a while and then made a judgement.

“Is there something wrong?” she ventured. And could then see that she’d mistimed her enquiry, as it coincided exactly with his getting into the wrong lane and having to cut across two lanes to get back to the correct route. She waited and then, when she judged it safe and the swearing had stopped, “George?”

He glanced across at her. “Hmmm?”

“I said, is anything wrong?”

“Why?”

”I just wondered… You seemed…” She tailed off, and returned her attention to the urban scenery. It was very different to anything she knew. She stared out of the window, he drove.

He was, to be honest, surprised at her perception.

He drove unthinkingly, while snatches of his visit to Pattie’s mother’s house forced their way back into his memory, little vignettes, bits of conversation. ‘Darling, do have another drink.’ ‘Lunch is served.’ ‘Jenny, could you hand round the coffee?’ And then he thought about his own home.

It wouldn’t even be quiet. He knew, he knew for sure, since he got home so seldom these days, that his mum would have invited them all over. She’d have invited Our Peter and Our Harry to see Our George. And Harry would probably bring his wife Irene, which was fine, he always got on with Irene, she’d let him skive off at hers when he sagged off school and never told his mum. Everyone would be there.

In a very small sitting room. Sitting room. Not lounge.

And not a matching bone china coffee set in sight.

And he was damn well sure his mum wouldn’t be serving boeuf en croute for lunch. She wouldn’t be serving lunch at all. It would be tea.

George had never told her much about his home.

It wasn’t that he’d deliberately avoided the subject. It had just never come up. And, after his grand luncheon at her mother’s house he’d meant to say something, to warn her but, again, the moment never arrived. Unfortunately, at this late hour, he still didn’t feel up to it.

It was daft. He’d been bringing girls home since he was fourteen, and he’d never worried. His mum had always been the same to everyone. But they, those girls, they’d all been like him. Came from the same kinds of families as he did.

And he’d never cared about any of them the way he cared about her. Never.

It was a very scary thought.

He was gripping the steering wheel as though afraid it would come off. This was ridiculous.

George swallowed hard, came to a decision, and brought the car to a halt by the kerb in a reasonably quiet residential street. He put the hand brake on and switched off the engine, and then stared grimly ahead of him at the not very interesting view out of the windscreen.

“Oh! Are we here?” Pattie looked around at the houses; George shook his head. He looked at her.

“I just want… to talk to you about something.”

Pattie frowned in consternation at his unsmiling expression, and then blurted out, “There WAS something wrong! I thought there…”

“Pattie.”

“What on earth is wrong? Has something happened? Are your parents…?”

“Pattie!” He waited until she’d paused in her stream of anxious enquiry, and then, after another deep breath, he shifted in his seat to face her a little more and took her hand. “I just need to… to…”

With immense restraint, she remained silent.

“My family are different to yours!” he blurted out.

She looked at him expectantly and waited for more. When none was forthcoming; “Yes. Well, I know. There are loads of kids there. And…”

“No!  I…”

Crazy. Just crazy. Never in his life had he felt the slightest need to explain himself, to justify himself. But, but – never in his life had he had the girl of his dreams with him when he walked through his parents’ front door.

“I just mean – they’re not posh.” And, having delivered this statement in a rush, he literally sat back in his seat and waited.

Her expectant expression hadn’t changed. Not one bit.

She didn’t get it. At all.

He swallowed and licked his lips. He realised he had to continue, since the only thing he was getting back from Pattie was a baffled frown. “I mean,” he said, “your family are posh.”

“Not really…”

“Yes, they are!” he interrupted. “They are posh. Your mum is posh. The house is posh.” He stared at her pleadingly, and then carried on, as he had to. “Mine aren’t like that.”

“Well, that’s ok…”

“I don’t think you’ve got any idea what my house is like. It’s small. And noisy. And they don’t eat posh food. And…” And he had to stop, because Pattie had burst out laughing.

“George!”

“What?” his voice was small.

“You’re being an idiot!”

“No I’m…”

“Yes, you are!” She squeezed the hand that was still clutching hers, and covered it with her other hand. “What on earth are you going on about? Your family sound lovely, from the bits you’ve said. And why should I care how big the rooms are or what she serves for lunch.”

“Tea,” he corrected, in an even smaller voice, and she shook his hand in hers in playful exasperation.

“Tea then. Come on. You put up with my lot. And…” She paused, looked away briefly and then turned back to him.

“And?”

“And, you love them.”

George opened his mouth to speak, and this time it was she who interrupted. “And I love you. And I’m not going to go off you because the rooms are too small.”

He opened his mouth again, but, “And you’re an idiot,” she concluded, and at last he smiled.

“Sorry. I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t want you wondering what you’d got yourself into.”

“Come on. Let’s just get there.”

George Harrison let go of her hand, straightened in his seat and started the engine. “We’re nearly there.” He turned the car back into the road, as Pattie chuckled to herself and grinned at him. They drove, only a few minutes, and then he stopped the car again.

“Are we there this time?”

He nodded ruefully. “Come on,” he said, and got out of the car, went round to her side and helped her out. They walked together towards the door, his guiding hand gently on the small of her back, but, unlike their arrival at Pattie’s mother’s home, there was no time to ring the bell. The front door flung open before they’d even got there, and a grey haired, plump and beaming lady rushed out to meet them.

“Geo!” she cried, and flung her arms around him in a bear hug. Pattie made to stand back, but got no chance. Louise Harrison released her son and turned immediately to her. “Pattie! How are you luv? How was your journey? Come on in, both of you. The kettle’s on.”

George and Pattie had just enough time to exchange glances before being swept in through the door. ‘You okay?’ said his glance. ‘I think so!’ came the silent reply; and then the front door shut behind them.

  Much later that night saw George and Pattie, snuggled together and trying to find the most comfortable positions in which to spend a night in a single bed. His mum had worried and fussed, but they assured her they would be fine; so now, they had to be fine. Pattie was on the inside by the wall, and George was finding that the novelty of Pattie’s laughter whenever he nearly fell out was beginning to wear a little thin.

“Well, if you’d keep still for a minute…”

“I am keeping still.”

“Ok, that’s fine now. I’ll just… Oh shit!!” And Pattie let out yet another peal of laughter, quickly doused when he grabbed hold of her to stop himself slipping and accidentally caught a clump of her hair. “Serves you right,” he muttered unsympathetically, and they shifted again.

“That’s okay now,” George said dubiously. “Just… don’t move.”

“What if you slept on the floor?”

”No.”

“Well, what if I did?”

“No.”

She snuggled back into him. “Ok.”

A silence fell, a contented silence despite all their recent struggling. George tightened his arm around her waist, as much for security against falling out again as for affection, and snuggled his face into her shoulder. “So,” he whispered. “What did you think?”

“What about?”

“Them.”

She chuckled again, quietly.  “You know what I think.”

And he did.

He thought back; his dad’s walking towards Pattie, hand held out for a handshake but changing it to a hug and an affectionate pat on the shoulder. His mum, jabbering cheerfully to them both and the sight of Pattie’s expression relaxing, before his erstwhile anxious gaze, into a surprised grin which lit her beautiful face. His brothers, arriving at the same time and talking over each other to her, Peter ushering her to the sofa next to him, Harry offering her a cigarette with one hand and offering a friendly and gentle squeeze on her arm with the other. All sitting around the table for tea – tea! – all the family offering her plates, bread, salad, tea, and Pattie in the middle of it all beaming, nodding, answering all their questions and asking some of her own which they all leapt to answer.

“They loved you.”

“I know.”

“Get you!”

Her elbow kicked back to get him in the ribs and he hung on to stay in the narrow bed. Then, she frowned slightly, unseen in the darkness and with her back to him as she spooned against him. “She didn’t mind about us, you know, in the same bed?”

George snorted quietly against her neck.

“Mummy would have.”

“Well, my mummy was pregnant when she got married.”

“Really??”

“Mmhmm.” The word tickled against her skin. “So, not much grounds to have a go at us.”

Silence fell. It had been a long long day, and at last they were beginning to feel sleepy. Pattie’s eyelids began to droop shut and she lay, tight within his encircling arm, her mind drifting pleasantly, her memory going back to earlier in the day, to something which she hadn’t yet told George; didn’t know if she would tell him, maybe sometime, but for a reason she didn’t know she wanted to keep it to herself for the time being. She had offered to help Louise with the washing up after “tea”, and, unlike in her own mother’s house, Louise had accepted with alacrity. It seemed to be understood that the men, the many men, were happy to sit down and chat and leave the women to it. So Pattie had washed and Louise had dried and put away. The conversation was chatty, easy, especially as Pattie was trying so hard, until Louise paused in the drying of a plate and turned to look directly at her.

“Yer know,” she began; Pattie’s stomach clenched nervously, wondering almost frantically what was coming, what kind of warning. However, “I’ve never seen George look at anyone like he looks at you.”

Pattie swallowed; her sharp attack of nerves a few seconds ago having had the effect of preventing her taking in what Louise was saying. “You haven’t…”

“Never,” Louise repeated, and then she smiled.

Pattie didn’t know what to say, what she should say, and simply stared. Louise went on.

“Harry noticed too. Well, he saw it first. We ‘aven’t seen him look like that.”

“I…”

“I don’t suppose you know that.”

“Well,” Pattie attempted, “no. I… haven’t seen him with anyone before.”

“Well, we ‘ave. And going on what he looks like with you,” Louise paused, possibly for effect while she put the plate she was holding into the cupboard, and then she turned again, and smiled again, as Pattie still stared, hands dripping and eyes wide, “I’d say you were the one. For him.”

Pattie stood moments more, leaning against the kitchen sink, and then, as the words started to sink in, she felt her own face break into a smile so wide it almost hurt. And Louise, watching the smile and the glowing blue eyes, reached out to the girl to give her a hug, and the two women clutched each other happily in the tiny kitchen.

“It’s been good,” was all she said, and George’s cheek dimpled in a satisfied, and relieved, smile.

They’d got it all over. They’d both met the parents. And they’d both survived. And now? Onwards, towards the rest of their lives together.

He grinned happily to himself against the back of her neck.

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

Somebody please explain to me how 2 people who look at each other like that couldn’t last? Don’t get me wrong. I love Olivia. But come on!!

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

[justgeorgeharrisonfic]

Part 2: The Situation With George

Maureen could hear George following her out into the garden. “Mo, I’m sorry,” she heard him say softly The red ember of her ciggie glowed brightly in the dark and she could sense when he was beside her. “Listen, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to freak you out, but I can’t help it. I’m as surprised as you are.” George took the cigarette from Maureen’s fingers and took a long drag. “Come back inside its freezing out here.” George took Maureen’s hand and when she didn’t pull away, he held it tighter interlacing his fingers with hers. “Here .” He handed her the cigarette and led her back to the house.

The sitting room was lit only by the fire in the fireplace and a small lamp on the piano. “Terry took Ringo home. No one’s here.” George sat on the richly colored rug that glowed in the firelight. He was still holding her hand and when he tugged, she knelt beside him on the floor.

“Why did you say that?” she asked him. “Is it the coke or the brandy that would make you say such a thing to me?” Maureen didn’t feel angry, just curious. She had never considered being loved by another man. She stared into the flames until George put his hands on her cheeks and turned her face until she was looking at him. His brown eyes glowed amber from the fire. It was very different searching his deep dark eyes than looking into Ritchie’s bright blue ones. She would have laughed if she had known George was thinking the same thing, that looking into Mo’s brown eyes, so like his own p, was a far different experience from Pattie’s sparkling blue. Maureen noticed George’s mouth. She wanted to kiss him. That little smirk looked luscious, and before she could stop herself she leaned forward and put her lips on his and she felt as if she were drowning.

Maureen felt her arms snake their way around George and her palms lay flat against his back. She wanted him closer. It scared her how much she wanted him. George. Ritchie’s best friend. Pattie’s husband. George, that sarcastic bastard who could turn sweet in the blink of an eye. George Harrison. Just a guy she’d known forever. God, she wanted him. She didn’t resist when he laid back and pulled her on top of him, their kiss never ending, desire and fear making her shake.

Maureen moaned when she felt George’s hand find the bottom of her tee shirt and when she felt his fingers on her skin it was if hot coals were burning her. She sat up, straddling George’s hips and she was mesmerized by his eyes as she pulled off her jumper and tee shirt then just placed her hands on his chest looking down at him. When he smiled her heart just about burst from her chest. His hands held her waist as she reached back and unhooked her bra.

“Jesus, Maureen.” George said. “Come here.” He pulled her back down and devoured her with another kiss. His fingers left her waist and became tangled in her unruly curls. She began to unbutton his flannel shirt, and then pushed his own tee shirt up until she could feel his skin against hers. She snuggled into him. Turning her head to catch her breath, then burying her face in the crook of his neck, pushing his own long, brown hair out of the way so that she could kiss his neck. “I meant what I said.” She felt his voice vibrate against her mouth. “I’m in love with you, Maureen. I think we should get married.”

She didn’t mean to, but she laughed. “George! You don’t love me. And we are both married.” She half rolled off him and propped on one elbow, looked down at him. Her finger traced his lips and then smoothed his mustache. “You’re darling to say such a thing.” She smiled then looked serious. “You know it’s impossible. I have three children. I still love Ritchie.”

She shivered when he grabbed all her hair and held it behind her head. “Nothing that two people want is impossible.” He didn’t smile. Dear Lord! He was serious! Or thought he was. He reached for her breasts. She knew they weren’t as big as Pattie’s but they were still perky, and soon she was lost in the sensation of his mouth as her sucked her nipples, teasing first one and then the others as she held his head, stroking his hair watching as his lips drove her to distraction. “Let me love you, Mo.” he looked up at her, the intensity of his gaze embarrassed her, and she had to look away.