Wednesday the 15th of October 1958

I watch in the rare decadent sunlight, the waves lull and crash back and forth. In the warm and light on an autumn day, I try to deny all that I must and focus on going home.

I force myself to think of my nana ⎯⎯ to the heartache and distress I would have given her in knowing that I was gone. I could've killed her for all I knew. If I can remember anything about my mum, I know that she would have been distraught just like the time nana had taken me to the movies and I had gotten spoilt rotten with all the jewels and gems and accused of wasting my nana's money. I think of mum with a more extreme version of that. Even with nana telling me gently that memories are worth all the money in the world. And plus, dad would be worrying sick too. I knew that he couldn't bear to lose me despite it all. I had been gone for weeks and I wasn't even an inkling closer to going home.

The sight of his cheery smile and dark-tousled hair makes my heart flutter as he looks at me whilst conversing with George and John. It was a simple look of all things, merely lasting for a few seconds.

John and Paul had sagged off school to go to Paul's house to write like they often did. It had worked out really well in their three hour songwriting session I believe and in their sudden need for a break to celebrate they decided to toddle off to Crosby Beach with me. John was the one who had insisted for me to come along was a major first. George came along soon after, bringing a pack of beer, a bag of salty potato crisps as they all called them and a picnic blanket.

I yearn for shadows, for escape. I wish to sink into the sand and never, ever resurface. The beach, this place, just merely makes me want to grab Paul by his collar and gently kiss him. Yet, that would be highly idiotic seeing that George and John are here. Plus, the last time didn't go well and even more than that I cannot kiss him for any reason.

Why was I so deeply afraid to let him know me? I was being so careful, I was doing everything I could to remain untouched by time itself. I was worried of the risks of changing things, disrupting their lives ⎯⎯ and my own. Yet, despite it all, in my heart I wished to never hurt them in any way. These boys held such a special place in my heart ever so more and more increasingly.

"Are you alright?" Asks a soft sweet voice beside me. I had never seen this lady in my life before. She wasn't much more older than me.

"Uh, yes, I am very well thank you. Is something the matter?" I ask, fidgeting upon the patterned picnic blanket.

"You must be Daisy. John has told me about you. I'm Thelma."

Who is Thelma? And why would John utter a word about me?

"I'm his girlfriend," She gently pushes, trying to soften my confusion. Her dark pin curls were perfect. No matter what I did I could never get them to look like that. I think my hair was too long partly to that.

Oh.

"Have a seat," I mumble trying to be polite, scooting over on the patterned blanket. I couldn't help but wonder where Cynthia was ⎯⎯ this girl in front of me I truthfully did not have a single clue of who she was. I know that Cynthia been with John for a while before she fell pregnant with their son Julian.

"Ta," She says gratefully and twists herself elegantly upon the blanket next to me. The boys are walking along the waves barefooted with beer bottles in hand, laughing and mucking around, and I try to pay great attention to that. I want to remember all the little things forever.

"Are ya Paul's Australian girl?"

The words startle me, surprise me. What was John telling this girl? What was everyone saying?

"No," I respond still at odds about the notion that I belonged to Paul. "A housemate and friend at most. I'm renting a room at his house until I can afford to go home."

"I see," Thelma admits, a smile upturning her lips. "He speaks fondly of you."

I want John here. I want him to come over here and tell me to bugger off and I can leave and go away to my own liking. But of course he doesn't. He mustn't be that keen on this girl if he isn't racing over to say hello.

"How do you know John?" I ask.

"I know Johnny from Art School. We've been going steady for a while."

"Ah, that's lovely. You're quite, uh, well suited."

"John!" I yell on the top of my lungs, George almost looses his beer bottle at the rasing of my voice and turns whilst the other two are attempting to push one another in the ocean.

"Hawaii shut yer gob!" John yells over his shoulder, much more focusing his attention of pushing Paul into the waves who is yelling and laughing and having a blast.

"THELMA IS HERE YOU IDIOT!" I yell back, George almost dropping his beer into the sand and tires to hide his grin. My face distorts knowing that I didn't mean for it to be that loud.

Paul is laughing and it is a beautiful sound. I find myself enraptured and in awe of him. These days its something that is happening more and more and more.

He turns once his laughter dies out and Thelma reaches John. George is unbothered by being a third wheel. He is finding much joy when John writes T+J forever with a stick in the sand and then gives her a good ol' smooch. I could've gone the rest of my life without him pucker lips with someone. But I suppose it was nice to see John be nice to someone. I don't think I was liked that much. It was taking an exceptionally long time for him to mellow down and act socially acceptable in front of me.

Paul has found himself next to me. He sinks next to me crossing his ankles over one another and uses his hand to support himself. There is an oddity in our relationship, a deep unsettling pull perhaps. I try to ignore it, fight it. The revelation that time is separating us, is a knowledge that only I know. I wish I could tell him who I was and that he would forever be more than a memory to me. If I could tell him anything it would be that.

Selfishly I hope that he doesn't forget me and remembers me as the girl who had a funny accent, imperfect curls and convinced his younger brother that in Australia kangaroos infact delivered our mail to our letterboxes like pigeons. I want him to remember me from this time in his life in the most insignificant, ineffective way.

I sink my head into his shoulder, curling my hand around his arm and fight the tears. This was so so hard. These boys were all so young. John and George would lose their lives so young and the world would forever miss them. Was I so wrong in wanting to save them? Was I so ill-tempered if I found a way even in this insignificant year of 1958?

I would forever be changed. Once I was home I would never be the same. I would be frozen in a sense, forever reflective upon these few weeks that I spent with them.

"Aw love," Paul noticed, I could feel his hazel eyes glossing over me under his thick lashes. "Is the cold nipping you a bit?"

"Yes," I mumble but my voice breaks, clinging to him in a way I have never done. I can't say anymore. I can't bear this ridiculous crush. I can't bear knowing that I will have to let him go.

"Daisy c'mere," Paul offers, gently snaking his arm around me to pull me into him.

"Daisy-isn't-my-real-name!" I blurt, suddenly refusing. Paul needs to know me. He needs to know the most simplest of things. I cannot survive without it.

Paul looks to me attentively, gently. I cannot understand why he is so kind and understanding. "My real name is James after my dad. Paul is my middle name. I understand nicknames and such, love."

"I-want-to-know-you-too! I-want-us-to-know-one-another!"

Paul blushes, his eyes shifting over to the boys and then back to me. I thought he was embarrassed but from that steady, unfaltering look in his the deep hazel of his eyes, it mustn't have been the case.

"My name is Jude," I tell him.

Paul chews at his bottom lip, looking at me through his lashes before his voice grows to a whisper, "That's a very sweet name for a lass like you. From a musical of some sort yes?"

I nod gently, it was better to agree than to confuse him. And myself. We're both so captured looking into one another's eyes. He won't look away and I cannot help but feel like I'm stuck in cement.

"I fancy you," I breathe. "I really like you. I think you're wonderful."

Paul smiles sheepishly, a blush staining his cheeks, his rounded face slowly nearing my own. "I know. I fancy you as well."

"Can I kiss you please?" Paul asks softly.

"Now?" I ask, ignoring how my heart is racing, beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. I'm trying to blink myself out of this, I pinch at my wrist. I try to remember that there are people here. None of this should be happening but it is.

Paul frowns and looks at me, grabbing my wrist and kisses it. "Don't do that."

"I needed to know if this is real," I plea but the words come out wrong.

"It is real," he promises and closes the gap between us in a kiss. His lip are warm and real and really happening, his breath is hot and his warm lips slot and move against my own. It is thrilling and enrapturing. He likes me. Paul McCartney actually likes me.

Paul breaks away when John dumps chilled beer all over me and his laughter is loud. I cannot help but scream. I am nearing crying and I fight it with all the strength I can. My knitted jumper is soaked and seeping into the simple collared shirt and dark skirt. The knitted jumper was an old one of Paul's and I feel so embarrassed. I tried to feel pretty and have fun with this time ⎯⎯ a time where people dressed well and matched from the shoes to the dress and bag. I knew I looked like a scabby disgusting sewer rat. I probably even smelt like one.

"Fuck off John!" Paul shrieks, a blistering and burning blaze of brewing temper.

"It was just a bit of fun macca!" John applauds. "I couldn't help it. Sorry about that Hawaii."

"Oh no need for the applogy," I begin and John does not even seem an ounce of sorry, "it's not like you totally didn't choose to smother me in your beer on me or anything."

I cannot help but feel angry as I stand and turn, my clunky, worn second hand saddle shoes I brought with the little money I make sink into the cool, damp sand. Is John that possessive of Paul? Is John truely that childish and cruel?

Thelma looks away, ashamed. George looked out of place, I hoped he was trying to hide his humour over John and Paul and not me. I couldn't bear it nor look at him the same.

These were just young kids, like me, despite it all. I couldn't justify John's behaviour even if he had just lost his mother in July. I would just have to leave this. I can't cause any fights, any issues, I'll just have to suppress it with a smile.

"I'll take you home," Paul promises to me quietly.

"I'll be okay. John wants you to stay with him," I admit and try to smile and I feel my eyes grow glossy. "I'll be right. I'll take your bike okay?"

"Daisy⎯⎯," Paul begins.

"I'll be okay," I promise, cutting him off as quick as possible. I can't make this worse. Paul hesitates and I know he wants to go with me. It's better for both of us if he stays away. I refuse to look back despite the chill and I try not to shake and shiver and begin the journey home.