''Now, all you cave dwellers! Welcome to the best of cellars! And welcome to a very special guest in The Cavern today... Mr Brian Epstein of NEMS music store! Please make Mr Epstein welcome...'

It was crowded this lunchtime inside the Cavern. It was crowded every lunchtime. Della had left early to come here today, but there had still been a queue half way down Mathew Street when she'd arrived. It took a good forty-five minutes to get inside, by which time the Beatles were already on stage.

Della asked Paddy, the Cavern's doorman, if he would mind her bags and went to buy herself a coke from the snack bar at the back of the central tunnel. She would wait. There would be a break in the show sooner or later.

As she turned around to watch the band, she found herself trapped behind by a couple of men in suits. 'Excuse me,' she said, but the men, one dipping his head to speak to the other, didn't move.

Annoyed, she squeezed through them, apologising as she forced them to separate for her. She cast them a look back over her shoulder as she escaped down the right side tunnel. Suits, ties, bright white shirts. What would two fellas like them be doing down here?

Della squeezed through the audience to find a couple of inches of space under one of the arches, close to the front of the stage. 'Sorry, sorry,' she whispered as her fellow audience member scowled at her for forcing her way through. She stood by the wall on John's stage side, sipping her coke. Close to the front, but not close enough to be noticed. She craned her neck and raised herself onto her tiptoes in the hope she'd catch someone's eye - they'd let her go through to the back room then - but there wasn't a chance she would get to the front. It was rammed solidly, a wall of dolled up girls, all jostling for space to bat their eyelashes at their Beatle of choice.

Paul didn't like Della to stand on the front row, and to be honest, neither did Della. It was cutthroat down there. If anyone got an inkling that she was anything more to Paul than just a friend and acquaintance, there could be trouble. She was known here, but most people outside of their closest friends only thought of her as George's friend, and not his girlfriend either, because George had just started going out with a petite blonde girl called Bernadette.

Bernadette was here, as she was for most of the Cavern shows. She was standing on the other side of the stage, nearly opposite Della, under the arch next to George. Della raised her hand in a wave to her and although she was quite sure Bernadette was looking right at her, she didn't acknowledge her.

Della sighed, but to be truthful, she had bigger problems to deal with than another one of George's frosty girlfriends. Obviously he didn't feel he'd been going out with her long enough to clue her into the fact Della was Paul's girlfriend and not lusting after George. Maybe that was deliberate. Maybe he liked making her jealous.

The Beatles finished the song they were playing and George came towards the front of the stage. Girls shouted to him, but George ignored them, looking around, searching the crowd. He located Della and she waved to him. George pursed his lips and shook his head, guessing correctly why she'd come. He stepped back and nudged Paul, speaking in his ear. Paul looked over too, giving Della a warm, if questioning, smile.

Della raised her hand to point toward the back room, but hesitated. As they started the next song, she realised this may be the last time she'd have opportunity to watch a Beatles show. Instead, she stayed where she was and drank in the music. If she could memorise it all, she could call it up again when she was far away from here. She tried to remember every song. The records they covered were never quite the same as the originals and they included quite a few of their own tunes now too. She tried to remember the daft jokes and the banter. How John bobbed up and down on the spot in time to Pete's steady beat when he sang. How Paul's rendition of Beautiful Dreamer drew sighs from the girls that gazed at him from the front row. How handsome George looked when he took to the front to do his vocal, with his new-ish Gretsch guitar held high on his chest.

After today, it would be a long time before she heard them sing and play again. She was going to miss them all so very much.

'Excuse me, 'scuse me please. Thanks, sorry,' Della muttered as she shoved her way through the crowded Cavern Club, making her way frustratingly slowly towards the dressing room door to the right of the stage.

As usual, there was a congregation by the door waiting for the boys to emerge. At the front, half sitting on a brick ledge beside the entrance, was a doorman Della didn't recognise. A meathead of a bloke with dull, glazed eyes and a downturned mouth, thick arms folded over his chest. She smiled at him perfunctorily, raising her eyebrow and made to go past him.

He stuck his leg out and blocked her path. 'No one goes in there,' he said in a strong Scouse accent.

'I, uh, need to see... George,' she said. 'I'm Della, George's friend.'

The doorman nodded, knowingly. 'You and every other girl in here. Do I look like I was born yesterday?'

'It's true. You can ask Paddy.'

'Who's Paddy?'

'Paddy. Paddy Delaney.'

The doorman set his square jaw and shook his head.

Della huffed. She didn't have time for this game. She stepped forward to speak in his ear. 'I'm Paul's girlfriend,' she whispered, wondering briefly if that was the first time she'd ever described herself as such. 'I have to speak to him urgently. I haven't got much time. You can go and ask him yourself if you don't believe me.'

As Della stepped back, the doorman had a mirthless, rictus grin on his face. 'Pull the other one, love. It's got bells on it.'

'Look, ask anyone,' Della said, throwing her hands up, starting to lose her temper. 'Everyone knows me. I don't know you. I've never seen you here before.'

The doorman turned his head to a couple of girls standing and eavesdropping nearby. 'Do you know her?'

They did. Maybe not by name, but Della knew their faces so they must recognise her too.

The girls exchanged a glance. 'No,' said one, as the other looked away. 'I don't know her.'

'Oh, for fucks...'

'Baz, can you cover the street for a minute?' Paddy appeared next to Della, prompting the other doorman jumped to his feet like he'd been caught with his hand in the till.

'Paddy,' Della said, grabbing his arm at the elbow. 'Paddy, tell him I can go in the back. He doesn't believe that I'm George's friend.'

'She's alright,' Paddy said, off hand, trying to extract himself from Della. 'You can let her through.'

'They're having some sort of meeting in there,' the doorman Della currently hated more than any other man on the planet said. 'Not to be interrupted.'

'They'll be out in a minute, Della. Just wait, eh?' Paddy said, then jerked his head to the doorman. 'Come 'ed, la.'

The two doormen disappeared into the blackness that was the Cavern and Della took his place on the ledge so she could glare at the two girls until they shuffled off as well.

Della waited. She tapped her foot and folded her arms. Some of the people around her gave up and left. Lunchtime was over and they had to go back to work. Della checked her watch. What the hell could they be doing in there? She couldn't leave before she saw them, but it was getting late.

Putting her hand on the dressing room door handle, she glanced around furtively and then, when she was sure no one was looking directly at her, she opened the door and silently slipped inside.

The dressing room directly behind the Cavern stage was a small, square room, with coat pegs nailed to whitewashed walls and rows of gnarly wooden benches, reminiscent of the old school P.E. changing rooms. Usually it was a room of mess and noise, unventilated and hot, with a smell of sweaty socks and people shouting, getting changed or travelling through on their way to or from the stage.

But today it was uncommonly silent and still. Four Beatles stared at her, sitting in a row on one of the benches like four schoolboys receiving a lecture, or maybe a bollocking, for something. And their lecturer in this situation was one of the ignorant men from the snack bar. The one who hadn't moved when Della had asked him to. The odd looking one in the suit. Inside here, in the better light, Della recognised him as the fella who owned the record shop at the top of the street. Brian Epstein.

'Sorry,' Della said, almost as surprised as they all looked. 'Um, I was looking for...'

Paul frowned at her. George rolled his eyes. Even John tutted.

'George,' Della settled on.

'Five minutes, Del,' George said, abruptly. 'I'll see you outside.'

'Okay,' Della said, weakly, wishing the ground would swallow her. Brian Epstein was just staring at her, befuddled. 'I'm sorry for bursting in,' she said to him. 'I didn't know you were in here...'

'It's quite alright,' he said and Della backed out the way she came in.

Paul traced the inside of Della's thigh with two fingers, moving up, under the hem of her skirt. When he started to bunch the fabric up, she swatted him away. Undeterred, he did it again and again Della slapped his hand.

'Stop it, that tickles,' she said, lowering the top of the newspaper to look at him. Paul grinning cheekily back at her. 'I'm trying to read.'

'Well, what are you wasting time doing that for?' he asked, putting hand on the inside of her leg again.

'Because for one thing it's interesting,' Della said, rolling over to lie on her stomach. 'And for another, we're in your back garden.'

It had been an uncommonly warm and sunny bank holiday weekend. The boys had gigs every day - what else was new - but Sunday's was only an evening show. Paul and Della had the day to enjoy together. They'd made a picnic which they'd eaten in Paul's back garden, spread out on a red tartan blanket on the grass. They brought the little transistor radio from Paul's kitchen to listen to while they sipped homemade, slightly bitter lemonade - courtesy of one of Paul's aunties - and ate cheese and tomato sandwiches cut into triangles, pickled onions and hard boiled eggs. It would all be very Famous Five if it wasn't for the fact they'd laced the lemonade with gin and Paul was determined to get his hand up Della's skirt.

Paul leaned over her and pulled her hair back so he could plant delicious, tingly kisses on the side of her neck. 'No one's here,' he said in her ear. 'No one can see us.'

'No, just any of your neighbours who might be looking out of an upstairs window, or anyone who might be walking across that field at the back.'

'They can't see for the fence and the bushes, and no one's home next door. It's bank holiday weekend. They've gone to the seaside.'

'Not everyone. What about the housewives?'

'They're out doing the shopping.'

'On a Sunday?'

'They're at church, then. Or they're busy cleaning. No one's got time to be peeping through windows.'

He snaked his hand between her thighs again and despite herself, Della opened her legs a little wider for him.

It was nice, this. Unnecessary, really, because she was already a sure thing. When had she ever said no to him? But still, it was nice when he would try to coax her like this. Seduce her. He didn't just take it for granted. The other boys she'd been with had, a bit, or at least they'd tried to push her a lot more aggressively into doing things she wasn't comfortable with.

Except for George, but Della wasn't sure if she could count George.

Paul wasn't like that at all. She felt she could say no to Paul if she wanted to, but so far the only time she had was when they'd run out of the things. Rubbers. Paul, like most of the lads she'd known, appeared to have an aversion to wearing them - but Della wasn't going to be that girl. She'd told him she wasn't going to end up pushing a pram around Liverpool, so if he didn't bring anything to use, or if they ran out, then Paul would either have to take care of it or take a vow of chastity. His choice.

Della tilted her head and tapped her neck to tell Paul to resume kissing her there. He obliged, as his fingers found their way under the hem of her panties. Although she didn't take her eyes from her newspaper, she couldn't help but sigh with the sensation he produced in her.

'Della,' he murmured in her ear.

'Mmm?'

'Turn around...'

'Listen to this,' Della told him and read to him from the paper. '"The body of Miss Kathryn Cooke was found after she was reported missing by her employer in March. Police forced their way into her basement flat only to find her decomposing body lying on the bed, next to a copy of the Liverpool Echo dated tenth of February." Fucking hell, imagine finding that! Wouldn't you have thought the neighbours would have reported the smell?'

Paul responded by kissing her ear. He had her skirt around her waist now and was trying to tug the sides of her panties down. She didn't lift her hips to help him.

'"The next day officers arrested Miss Cooke's lodger, Mr Charles Kimberley. As they approached the docker at Albert Dock, he said, 'I know what this is about. It's for Miss Cooke. I can stop worrying now.' Mr Kimberley made a full confession to bludgeoning Miss Cooke to death with a flat iron after an argument over what he referred to as her 'licentious behaviour'. He'd continued to sleep next to her corpse every night until the gruesome discovery was made." Good grief, what is wrong with people?'

'Della,' Paul said, breaking away from her. 'This isn't exactly getting me in the mood, you know.'

'The mood for what?' she asked, twisting her neck to look at him. Paul raised his eyebrows at her. 'I'm not shagging you in your back garden for all and sundry to watch.' Although, as she said the words and Paul smiled at her salaciously, a shiver ran through her.

He laughed. 'There's no one here, honestly, but if you're that bothered, lets go inside.'

'I'm not that bothered,' she said, coyly and rolled over onto her back again, propping herself up on her elbows. Paul stretched out alongside her, leaning over so he could kiss her on her lips. A moment later Della lay down and Paul moved over her, putting his knee in between hers. He tugged the top two buttons of her shirt open and moved down, kissing her collarbone and the top of her breasts.

'Hang on,' Della said and Paul froze where he was, looking up at her. 'If he was the lodger, what was he doing sleeping next to the corpse of his landlady every night?'

'Della.'

'What?'

'Shut up about that bloody murder case.'

'Aren't you interested? It happened here, just down the road.'

'I thought it was in Everton.'

'It was.'

'This is Allerton.'

'I mean in it happened here in Liverpool. Our city. Our home. If this is what Liverpool is turning into, then I'm glad I'm going to London.'

Paul paused then rolled off her to lie on his side, leaning his head on his hand. 'You're not really going to London, are you?'

Della smiled and feeling suddenly exposed now he'd moved, pulled her skirt down and fastened one of the buttons on her blouse. 'Of course I am. As soon as I've found a job.'

Paul pulled his face, half-jokingly but also a definite grimace.

'Paul, I've told you that I was moving to London for as long as we've been going out together.'

'Yeah, I know, but... really, what are you going to do in London?'

'Work. Live. Find my dad.'

Paul sighed softly and shuffled closer to her again. Pushing the fabric of her shirt up, he started to doodle concentric circles on the flat of her stomach with his index finger. 'And this is all over a barney you had with your mum?'

'No.'

'That's what George says.'

'Is it,' she said, flatly. 'Well, it's not just because of that, actually, and I don't know if I like you and George colluding against me, behind my back.'

Paul smiled. 'We're not "colluding."'

It was nice to finally have a boyfriend who got along with George, but there were downsides too. Paul and George were best friends, just like she and George were. She didn't know how they talked about her between them when she wasn't there. She tried not to think about it. Sometimes one of them would say something and the other would laugh but neither would let Della in on the joke.

'You and George think that between you, you'll be able to convince me to stay here and not go to London.'

'We don't think anything of the sort.'

'I can't stay here, Paul. It's as simple as that.'

'Yeah, but still...' He shuffled closer to her again. 'You've been saying that since we came back from Germany and that was nearly two months ago.'

Della lay back flat on the blanket and watched the white fluffy clouds moving lazily across the brilliant blue sky. 'I'm going,' she said, in a small voice.

Paul moved and lay on his back next to her, folding his hands together over his chest. Neither spoke for a moment. The Billy Cotton band played Somebody Stole My Gal on the radio.

'You should make things up with your mum,' Paul said.

Della exhaled.

'You don't know what might happen in the future, Del. You shouldn't fall out with your mum.'

'Don't you think I've tried? I wouldn't have come back to Liverpool in the first place if it weren't to do that. She doesn't want to know.'

'That can't be true.'

'Well, it is.'

'You need to try again.'

'It's nothing to do with you, Paul, and you don't know the facts,' Della said, annoyed. 'You don't know what you think you do.'

The conversation dropped and Della regretted snapping at him.

'My mum died when I was fourteen. There are things I wish I could say to her now that I can't.'

Della turned her head to him. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

'And,' Paul continued, choosing his words carefully. 'There are things that I did say to her that I wish I hadn't.' He turned his face her. There was a sadness in his eyes that was rare coming from Paul. 'If I knew what was going to happen, I wouldn't have said those things.'

'You were a kid. I'm sure she knew you...'

He pursed his lips and gave her a small smile. 'Like, I would laugh at her sometimes for the way she spoke. She was always trying to get me and Mike to talk... you know, proper. And she'd say things like... instead of grass she said gr-arse. We'd laugh and take the piss. I wish I hadn't done that.'

'She would have known you were joking.'

'All the same. She was my mum.'

Della sat up. 'It's not the same. My mum... If you knew the full story, Paul, you wouldn't say this to me. I don't have anything to stay in Liverpool for anymore.'

'Thanks, love,' Paul said, dryly.

She smiled. 'I didn't mean that. You know I didn't.'

Paul nodded and sat up as well, pulling his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He looked so sorrowful now. Della couldn't think how to make it better.

'What was your mum's name?'

'Mary,' he said, raising his head. He smiled at her, sadly.

'I'm sorry, Paul.'

Paul shook his head and gave a small shrug. 'So, how many letters have you sent out this week?'

'Forty. It's costing me a small fortune in stamps.'

'According to George, it's costing him a small fortune in stamps.'

'That's just a loan. I'll pay him back.'

'How many replies have you had?'

'This week? Seven.'

'Job offers?'

'Rejections.'

Paul twisted his mouth and Della thought he was going to lecture her some more, but instead he leaned towards her and kissed her sweetly. 'I suppose we'd better make the most of what time we have before you scarper off to the big smoke then...' he said.

'Yes,' Della said. 'Not a minute to lose.' She kissed him then and grabbing the front of his shirt, pulled him towards her as she lay down again. Paul followed her down, hand underneath her top, already working on freeing her from her bra. 'We were going to go into town this afternoon,' she murmured, although she didn't know why because there was nowhere on Earth she'd rather be right now than lying on a picnic blanket with Paul.

'Don't often have the house to ourselves though,' Paul told her, in between kisses.

There was a low wolf whistle. Paul paused, but he didn't move. 'Piss off, Mike.'

'Dad's back.'

Paul twisted round to look, then sat up, getting off Della ungraciously with a curse muttered under his breath. He pulled his knees up, folding his hands in his lap unsubtly. Della pushed herself up and her skirt down, fastening the buttons he'd got open on her top already. Mike, Paul's younger brother, was standing by the back door of the house, a stupid grin on his face and Della felt her cheeks colour.

Paul cast her an apologetic glance. 'We could go upstairs?'

From the garden, Della could see people crowding into Paul's tiny L-shaped kitchen at the back of his house. It wasn't just his dad, Jim, but what looked like a couple of Paul's aunties and more people, more relatives probably, that Della hadn't met before.

Paul's house was always full of people. It's why Della liked coming here. Paul had a large extended family and there was always an auntie or uncle here, a couple of cousins, neighbours and friends filling the little terrace house. They had an upright piano in the living room that was played often and Mike had a drum kit in the dining room, which wasn't played quite as often, although Paul couldn't seem to walk past it without having a go. There was always music playing and noise and laughter and it felt like a real family home. It was so different from what had been Della's home.

'No, we can't,' Della said as Jim stepped out of the kitchen onto the small patio space, trying to light his pipe with a match. Purple-grey smoke escaped in puffs from the corner of his mouth.

'Paul, did you take that money to the paper shop?' Jim asked, still fiddling with his pipe.

Paul huffed. Della smiled at him.

'The newspaper bill, Paul?' Jim raised his head.

'Yeah, Dad. I did it.'

Jim nodded. 'Hello, Della.'

'Hello, Mr McCartney.'

He considered them for a moment, suspicious, and Della couldn't help but feel guilty. Whatever he was probably thinking, he was right.

'Bring that radio back in here,' Jim said, and stepped back inside the house.

Paul sighed. 'Shall we go into town?' he asked.

Della smiled. 'Lets.'

This was a rare afternoon off for Liverpool. August bank holiday weekend and the town was quiet. Most people might have gone to Southport or New Brighton for the day to make the most of the good weather. Della and Paul caught the bus into town and wandered around the city centre for a while, but it was Sunday and the shops were closed. They walked along the docks beside the Mersey river until it became too windy to hear each other speak, then they took a left up Duke Street hill.

Paul held her hand as they walked. It was nice to have him to herself. Also a rarity. The Beatles had been playing gigs every day through the summer, mostly at The Cavern Club, but a lot at Aintree Institute and a few nights arranged by Mona Best at St John's Hall in Tuebrook too.

The Cavern was closed today, but it was the Casbah tonight. Della liked the Casbah gigs better. Though he didn't say it, she felt Paul wasn't keen on her going to watch them at the Cavern. If she went, it was usually with George, like it always had been. Some of their fans could get a little... possessive. John's girlfriend, Cynthia rarely went to the shows now. Paul had told her how some girls would say nasty things or even follow her up the street, telling her to stay away from John. Paul's previous girlfriend, Dot had been treated the same. For this reason, few people knew about Paul and Della. They'd kept their relationship private and Della stayed away from him in public. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the arrangement, but she supposed it didn't matter. It kept everyone happy and Della was leaving Liverpool soon anyway.

The Zodiac was situated approximately halfway up Duke Street. Another of the many coffee bars that had sprung up in the streets of Liverpool. A deliciously rich coffee smell emitted from it, filling the street outside.

'Fancy a coffee?' Paul asked, as they stopped outside.

As they stepped into the dark and smokey little bar, an annoyingly familiar shout went up.

'Paul! It's Paul! Hi, Paul!'

Paul dropped Della's hand like it was suddenly red hot, stepping in front of her and towards the three girls waving to him from across the room.

'Hey,' Della hissed. 'Who are they?' She tugged him back to her by the sleeve of his jacket and then chastised herself inwardly for it. She sounded like Evelyn. She remembered her mother hanging onto her father's arm if he ever took her and Della anywhere, demanding 'Who is she?!' if he so much as looked at another woman. Della wasn't going to turn into a jealous shrew like her.

Paul smiled, innocently. 'Just some of the girls. You know, Beatles business,' he told her and went over.

'Shall I order the coffee?' Della asked behind him, but Paul either didn't hear her or pretended he didn't.

Della went over to the black brick counter. Like a lot of places, the Zodiac was a converted dock warehouse. It had arches instead of doorways and low ceilings. The walls had been painted white to give the illusion of space and light, with bricks picked out in black painted borders.

'Coffee, Della?' Cilla asked, as Della sat on one of the stools in front of the counter. Cilla was a waitress here, but Della knew her from the Cavern where she was a cloakroom girl in the daytime. She sang at the Cavern sometimes too, with various different band. They billed her as 'Swinging Cilla'. She had a good voice.

'Ta,' Della nodded. 'I'd better get him one too.' She tipped her head towards Paul, his little gaggle of girls surrounding him now.

Cilla wiped the counter in front of her and turned away to make it, while Della tried not to watch Paul out of the corner of her eye. She failed. It looked like he was actually signing autographs for those daft birds. He was writing something for them, anyway. Who did they think he was? He was just Paul McCartney. The same as any other Scouse lad his age.

'You broke up with that Dot girl, didn't you?' Della heard one of the girls say, her voice a shrill Scouse whine.

'Dot?' Paul said. 'Yeah, that was weeks ago now. Months.'

'See,' said the girl to her friend. 'I told you he was single.'

Paul said nothing, but he glanced over at Della to see if she'd heard. She turned her head away and pretended she hadn't. She was beginning to understand why Mr Kimberly had bludgeoned Miss Cooke to death over her licentious behavior.

It was a lie anyway. Paul had finished with Dot, but not as long ago as he said. He'd told Della it was already over between them, done and dusted, when they were in Hamburg. When they got back to Liverpool, it appeared Dot was unaware of this fact.

Paul didn't know Della knew that. George had told her. He'd accidentally let it slip. It wasn't that Paul still had a girlfriend when he got together with Della. It was that he'd lied about it.

'Your fella was in here earlier,' Cilla said, as she set two coffee cups down in front of Della.

Della frowned. 'Was he?'

'Yeah. I haven't seen him in ages.'

'Oh. Right,' Della said, confused.

'Isn't he your fella anymore?' Cilla asked, picking up on her tone. 'I thought you were going out with him?'

'I don't know. Who are you talking about?'

'Uh, I don't know his name. I've seen him with you. He's tall. Talks posh, like.'

'Oh,' Della said, flatly. 'You mean Phil. No, we're not together anymore.'

Cilla rolled her eyes. 'Good, because he accused me of short changing him.'

She smiled, wryly. 'Sounds like Phil.'

'Yeah, he made a right fuss over it. He said I short changed him six shillings. I didn't, I showed him what he give me and what I gave him back but he wouldn't have it. In fact, he's coming back later because he wanted us to count the till takings to double check.'

Della sighed. 'Yeah, that sounds like Phil too.'

'In fact, he's coming back now,' Cilla said in a low voice, then added louder, 'Sorry, no. The till was right. If you want to speak to the manager about it, he'll be back in tomorrow.'

Della turned to find her old boyfriend standing right behind her.

'No, no, that's alright,' Phil said, a false smile on his face. 'If you say it was correct, I believe you. It was an honest mistake.' He moved his eyes to Della. 'Hello, Della.'

'Hi.'

'How are you?'

'Fine, thanks,' she said, stiffly. She hadn't seen Phil since the day before she left Liverpool for Hamburg. She flicked her eyes to Cilla and she gave her a tight smile before she left to gather empty cups from the tables by the door. 'How are you?'

'I'm doing great, thanks. Are you here alone?'

Della looked at the two cups of rapidly cooling coffee and then over Phil's shoulder at her errant boyfriend, still chatting up "the girls".

'At the moment.'

'So what happened?'

'What happened when?'

'You just quit your job like that and disappeared overnight. I didn't even know you were still in Liverpool. Everyone said you'd run away to Germany.'

Della straightened her back. 'I did go to Germany, but I wasn't running away. I went to see George. He was playing there. They're back in England again now.'

Phil wet his lips and leaned his back against the counter, next to her. 'Mr Makin wasn't very happy with you. The way you just slipped a note under the door.'

'No, I bet he wasn't,' Della said, ruefully and sipped her coffee.

'Have you got another job yet?'

'No, I'm... looking.'

'They haven't replaced you, yet. You might be able to get your old job back there.'

'Really?' Della asked, sitting up. She'd enjoyed working at the solicitors. Some of the people there were a pain, but she liked Rex Makin, the head of the firm and she'd been getting along quite well before it everything fell to pieces.

'I could probably put a good word in for you.'

Della glanced at Paul. If she got her old job back, maybe she could stay in Liverpool. She did have things to stay here for, whatever she said. 'Would you?' she asked Phil. 'I'd be very grateful.'

'Perhaps we could go out one night and talk about it?' Phil suggested, taking a small side step closer to her. 'Then you could... tell me how grateful you'd be.'

'Oh,' Della said. 'Um, no, I can't, I'm sorry. I have a boyfriend now.'

He blinked at her but otherwise didn't react. 'Yes, I know, but since when did that matter to you?'

Della frowned. She thought they'd been successful in keeping her and Paul a secret, but if even Phil knew about them, they'd clearly fallen quite short of that. But it was the second half of that statement that truely bothered her.

'What is that supposed to mean?'

'You always were carrying on with him behind my back, weren't you? I knew it. Everyone knew it.'

'Who are you talking about?'

'George. Who else?' He stepped closer again so he could speak even quieter. 'All the times you refused to do things with me, but you couldn't wait to get home to fuck him, could you?'

'Excuse me,' Della said.

'No, excuse me,' Paul said, suddenly beside her. 'Is this mine, love?' He leaned over to reach his coffee cup, in between Della and Phil, forcing Phil to step back from her. Paul picked his coffee cup up and stepped back, leaving an arm around Della's back. 'Oh, hello,' he said to Phil as if only he'd just noticed him.

'Why don't you repeat that?' Della said.

Phil looked from Paul to Della and back again. 'Working your way through the band, are you?'

'Everything alright, love?' Paul asked, lightly.

'Phil's just saying nasty things, as usual.'

'Oh, ' Paul said. 'Are you, Phil?' He moved closer to Della and smoothed his hand over the small of her back. 'Well, whatever you have to say to my girlfriend, you better say to me first.'

Phil stared at them for a moment longer, then snorted and stomped out.

Paul turned to watch him go and then sat down on the still next to Della's. 'Bloody hell, Della. My backs turned for two minutes and you're flirting with your old boyfriend.'

'I was hardly flirting,' she said. 'Which is more than I can say about you.'

Paul's face was stony for a moment, then he smiled. 'I'm not doing anything you need to worry about. I've told you, that's just Beatles business. It's good for the band to keep the fans happy, isn't it? I might have a chat with them, but I'm always coming back to you after. You're my girl, Della.'

'Gosh, that's twice now,' Della said.

'What?'

'That you've called me your girlfriend.'

Paul leaned forward and planted a sweet but chaste kiss on her lips. 'What else would I call you?'

Della took a deep, sobering breath and exhaled it slowly. It hung like the mist in the cold November air. There had been a late summer, but it was definitely turning to winter. Weather forecasts said it was going to be bad. Snow on the way. One of the coldest since records began.

She didn't have to do this. She could just turn around and walk to the bus stop. Maybe it was foolish, but she kept thinking of the things Paul had said.

She rang the doorbell.

Beside her on the doorstep was her small, grey suitcase - well, not her's, George's small grey suitcase, borrowed of course. G. HARRISON was stencilled on the top. It was oddly comforting seeing it there. The black Imperial typewriter was next to it in its case. These were all her worldly possessions. She had more belongings, but they were imprisoned in her old bedroom at number 7 and even though that was currently just above her head, she wouldn't ask for them back.

Just as she was about to give up, the door was answered by Evelyn. Della knew she'd been watching her through the net curtains. She knew Alan was out. She'd waited until she saw him leave.

Evelyn looked surprised at first, then hopeful, but, as her eyes drifted down and she saw the suitcase next to Della, her expression finally settled on that brand of Scouse stoic hard-facedness that was so familiar.

'What do you want, Della?' Evelyn asked.

'I'm leaving. I thought you would want to know.'

Evelyn barely reacted. She gave a tiny shrug. 'You're going to London?'

'Yes.'

'Louise told me.'

'I know.'

'Right, well. Have a good journey.' Evelyn stepped back in the house.

'Mum,' Della said and Evelyn paused, her hand on the door, half way to closing it.

They stared at each other. No words would come, so Della stepped forward instead, putting her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her tightly. There was a moment of resistance and then Della felt her hug her back, even with a slight tremble.

'Oh, Della,' she murmured in her ear. 'How did it come to this?'

Della broke away from her. 'I'll... let you know where I am. I'll send you my address once I'm settled.'

'Where are you going to live?'

'I've got a room in a boarding house with some other girls. Near to Victoria coach station.'

'Will you be... safe?'

Della smiled. 'Yes, I promise you, I'll be safe. I'm not going to do anything stupid.'

Evelyn pressed her lips together and nodded.

'Okay. Well...' Della looked down at her bags. 'Take care, Mum.' She bent and picked up the suitcase in one hand, the heavy typewriter in her other.

'Della--'

She stopped. Evelyn's eyes were soft and Della felt terrible. This was much harder than she'd thought it would be. She'd half expected Evelyn would have shut the door in her face.

'Could... Could you have made a mistake?'

'A mistake about what?'

'Maybe... it was a misunderstanding. Maybe you thought Alan meant something he didn't? Or... Or maybe it was just a joke? A joke that you misunderstood?'

Della shook her head, sadly. 'No. I haven't made a mistake.'

Evelyn sighed. 'Please, Della. Don't ask me to choose between you and Alan. I can't...'

'I'm sorry, Mum. I... I don't think it should have been a choice in the first place.'

She picked up the suitcase and typewriter and walked away, quickly. As she neared the end of the garden, Evelyn called her back once more.

'You can always come home, Della. This will always be your home and... and you will always be my little girl.'

Della nodded, unable to reply. She turned and walked a briskly towards the bus stop on Little Heath Road, determined to not allow any tears to fall. She didn't want to travel all the way to London with smeared mascara.

*

Rain fell on Mathew Street. Fat, heavy raindrops, bouncing up off the deserted street. At least it'd cleared the smog that had been hanging around the city for the last few days.

Della stood just inside the door of the Cavern Club, finishing her cigarette. Her last cigarette. Once this was gone, so was she. She wasn't waiting any longer. It had been long past the five minutes George had promised when she interrupted their little tete a tete with Brian Epstein. She couldn't wait any longer. She had a ticket for the five o'clock bus to London, but she had to get over to Manchester first.

Except she still had to wait for Paddy to bring her suitcase and typewriter back. He'd gone down into the club ten minutes ago and failed to return. Della could guess what had waylaid him. She could hear his voice, floating up the stairs.

...Though April showers may come your way, they bring the flowers that bloom in May...

Paddy Delaney's Al Jolson impressions after every Cavern Club lunchtime session. Mathew Street when it was empty. The cold, drizzly Liverpool rain. It was the little things she'd miss the most.

'George,' Della said, as he ran up the stairs and bounced past her into the street, pulling the collar of his jacket up and missing her completely.

'There you are,' he said, stepping back to her. 'I thought I might have... I thought you might have gone.'

'Not yet.'

'It's raining, Del. Come and stand inside here.'

Della flicked the end of her cigarette away and followed George back into the Cavern's stairwell, a short, narrow landing at the top of the steps down into the club. They stood pressed against the wall so they weren't blocking the exit and George grinned at her. His smile was her favourite. No matter what, George's smile was always warm, always genuine. She felt a pang in her gut, but she steeled herself. She wouldn't get anywhere if she allowed herself to be that soft.

'Are you here for the reason I think you're here for?' George asked.

Four girls climbed up the steep stairs. George moved further into the side to let them pass. The girls - local secretaries, probably already late back from their lunch breaks - eyed Della enviously. She'd normally smile and try to be nice to quell their bitterness, but she wasn't in the mood for it today. She cast her eyes to the floor.

'Alright, girrrls,' George said, rolling the R as they drew level with George and Della. 'See you next time.'

They all giggled and clucked their greetings to him, a rabble of noise, quivering with excitement because they'd been thrown a crumb of attention by a Beatle.

'Have you met Della, eh?' he said, elbowing Della as they passed.

Della shot him a shut-the-hell-up look, but secretly, she liked this about George. He was never abashed to be seen with her, whereas Paul would probably prefer it if she always walked about three paces behind him.

The girls waved and laughed as they went out into the rain and disappeared from sight, their voices still echoing. George turned back to Della, his cheery, flirty facade dropping.

'I'm leaving,' Della said.

George's smile dimmed and then faded. 'Della...'

'I've got to, George. Please don't start.'

He huffed. 'You're not thinking this through. Where are you going to live?'

'I... don't know. I've rented a room for now, while I look for something better. I'll let you know where I am.'

'You're not taking much. Where's your luggage?'

'Paddy is looking after my suitcase.'

George sighed and lowered his voice. 'Does it have to be now?'

'Now is as good a time as any. I have to go before Christmas. I could stand being here for that with things as they are.'

'You could stay with us for Christmas.'

'I have been staying with you. Your mam and dad must be sick of the sight of me.'

He shook his head. 'They like having you there. After three lads living at home for twenty odd years, playing football in the lounge, breaking windows, walking mud all over the house, you're no trouble at all.'

Della smiled, weakly. 'Tell your mother thank you for me. I'm very grateful to her. I wrote her a note. She was out when I left.'

'Della, come on. Don't go.'

'Please don't ask me to stay.'

'I am asking you to stay. I'm asking you now. Stay here in Liverpool. Don't leave.'

'Georgie, I can't.'

'Of course you can.'

'It's not going to work. I've tried. I've tried talking to her, but... He's there all the bloody time, and she...' Della sucked in a deep breath to stop the tears she could feel filling her throat and mouth. She'd promised herself she could cry later. When she got to London. She wouldn't let herself cry now. 'She doesn't believe me. She still thinks I'm lying.'

'I'm not saying stay in Liverpool for her, I'm saying stay in Liverpool for me.'

'For you?'

George took a small step closer to her and nodded. 'Can't you do that? Stay here for me, Della. I want you to stay.'

He studied her, those dark, intense eyes and Della weakened. Then the lights flickered and went out.

George huffed and stepped back, putting his hands on his hips. The grey light from the street outside illuminating his face. 'Every time it bloody rains,' he muttered. 'I've fuckin' told them if they don't replace the switch, it gonna keep trippin' that fuse.'

'Come with me,' Della blurted before she knew she was going to say it. 'Come with me to London, George.'

George moved his gaze back to her. She smiled, weakly.

'Please, George. Come with me. Lets go to London together.' She stepped closer to him and grabbed the sides of his jacket, pulling him closer to her. 'Wouldn't it be great? It'd be fab. We'd have so much fun. We could get somewhere to live and be flatmates.'

'George?' someone shouted from the foot of the stairs. 'Ray says can you look at the fuse box again?'

George didn't say anything. He didn't even look round. He just stared at Della. Thirty seconds passed.

'George?' called the voice from the stairs again.

'Yeah, in a minute,' he shouted back, a little sharply.

'Come with me, Georgie?' Della asked, hopefully. 'Will you? It doesn't have to be right now, today. Come later if you want but... please come, George.'

He exhaled and stepped back from her. Della let go of him.

'Shouldn't you be asking Paul this?'

'No,' she said, quietly. 'Paul would never come to London, but anyway, you're the one I will miss the most. I'll miss Paul too, but we're... We've only been going out four months. I've known you almost all my life. I can't imagine not seeing you every day.'

George didn't say anything and the noise from the club below them suddenly dropped. All Della could hear was the patter of the rain on the stone street outside and the silence from George. She knew what she was asking him. She knew what she was asking him to give up. In a way, it was was surprise he hadn't said no outright, without hesitation.

'Brian Epstein wants to represent us,' George said. 'That's what he was telling us. He thinks he can get us a record deal.'

Della nodded and bit her bottom lip. 'That's... That's wonderful,' she said. 'He'd be good for the band, wouldn't he? Congratulations.'

She smiled. George didn't return it.

'Della...' he sighed. 'I--'

Paul appeared at the bottom of the steps and ran up them two at a time. 'Hey,' he said, bounding up to Della. 'I've been looking everywhere for you, love.'

'Have you?' Della managed before Paul smothered her with a kiss. He would never normally kiss her like that when they were at the Cavern. She was so surprised that she resisted at first, then let herself enjoy the kiss. Who knew when she'd kiss Paul again? Neither of them had said it aloud, but Della leaving for London could - and probably would - signal the end of their relationship.

When Paul finally released her, Della turned her head to give George a bashful, apologetic smile, but he had already gone. Paul looked for him at the same time. Della frowned. Had that been for his benefit?

'You're leaving,' Paul said. He stayed close to her, leaning his forearm on the bricks of the stairs wall.

Della nodded.

'Is that what you came to tell me? I'm sorry about that before. Brian Epstein came to watch the show and then he wanted to speak to us. We didn't know he was coming.'

'George said he wants to represent you.'

'He does. It could be good for us. He's got links to all the record companies. We have to go to his office next week to talk about it.'

'Yeah. I hope it works out for you. I'm sure you're going to be huge, Paul. The Beatles are going to be world famous.'

'You don't have to leave, you know.'

She smiled weakly. 'I know.'

'You could... Maybe you could stay with us?'

Della laughed. 'I'm sure your dad would be thrilled with that idea.'

'My dad thinks you're fantastic. I don't think he'd mind. Dot was going to live with us when we were... Well, at one time she was going to. I mean, I don't think he'd let us share a room, but I could move in with Mike and you could have my room...'

She put her hands flat on his chest and shook her head. 'I've got to go, Paul,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'

'What's George said about it?' Paul asked, an edge to his voice.

'He told me to stay.'

Paul pressed his lips together. 'Then maybe you should listen to him.'

Della hadn't thought Paul would be that bothered about her leaving. They'd talked about it before, and he'd said the same as George did, but really, Della leaving would solve a problem for Paul. She wasn't sure he wanted a girlfriend at the moment. They enjoyed being with each other - they enjoyed each other - but undoubtedly, having Della tagging along got in his way. They didn't tell people they were dating so the fans wouldn't be gunning for Della, but she'd always known it was because it suited him too.

Yet, here he was, kissing her goodbye on the stairs of the Cavern Club, a troubled and slightly sad look in his eyes.

'I will miss you very much,' she told him.

'Are you sure this is the right thing to do, love?'

Della nodded. 'You should be happy, you're free now,' she said. It was supposed to be a joke. Neither of them laughed.

'Della, don't talk soft. This doesn't change things for us.'

'Doesn't it?'

'No. Not unless you want rid of me?'

'Of course I don't. If there was one to keep me here, it'd be you...'

And George, but she didn't need to add that.

Paul kissed her softly. Perhaps it was the most tender kiss she'd ever received.

'We'll be alright, Del,' he said, when the kiss broke. 'I can come and visit you. You can visit me and we'll write and phone all the time.'

'Promise?'

'Yeah,' he nodded, firmly. 'Hey, maybe if Brian Epstein gets us a record deal, we'll be in London quite often. For recording and that.'

'That would be nice.'

He straightened his back. 'Are you on the bus or the train?'

'Bus. I need to save as much money as I can.'

'What are you going to do for money?'

'I've got a little bit saved to live on. I'm going to look for a job. The letter writing wasn't getting me anywhere. I think I'll have more of a chance if I can meet people face to face.'

'Well, you've got your dad there, haven't you? If everything goes wrong, he can help you.'

'Yeah,' Della said, bluntly. 'He'll help me.'

'And, um...' Paul felt in his back pocket and pressed two five pound notes into Della's hand. 'Just in case, there's that.'

She held it out to him. 'I don't want your money, Paul...'

Paul shook his head, putting his hands behind his back so she couldn't make him take it. 'Call me when you get there? Or tomorrow. We're playing across the water tonight.'

'Okay.' She sighed. 'I'd better go, or I'll miss my bus. I have to change at Manchester.'

'Want me to come to the station with you?'

Downstairs there was clapping. The lights still hadn't come back on, but Della could hear John's voice. 'Where's Paul got to? Anyone seen Paul?'

'I think your public is waiting for you,' Della told him.

Paul looked down the steps down then turned back to her. 'I'll miss you too, Della,' he said. 'You'll be alright, won't you?'

'Of course I will.'

'See you soon, then, love.'

'Bye, Paul. Will you tell George I said goodbye?'

'I will.' He lingered a moment longer, then kissed her again quickly and skipped off down the steps without looking back. Della watched until she couldn't see him anymore.

She leaned back against the wall. After a couple of minutes, acoustic guitars started playing downstairs. Paul and John entertaining the audience while the lights were off. The song was one they saved for such occasions, still a work in progress. Paul had shown it her only a week or so ago.

--When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now--

Finally, Paddy reappeared on the stairs, struggling with her suitcase and typewriter. 'Bloody hell,' he said, as he reached her. 'These weigh a ton. Will you be able to carry them, love?'

'I carried them down here.'

'I suppose you did.' Paddy nodded. 'See yer, then, Della. Mind how you go, eh?'

'See yer, Paddy,' Della said and stepped into the rain. 'Thanks.'

When Della reached the corner of Mathew Street, she turned for one last look back. Just as she did, the lights came on inside the Cavern Club.

A/N: 

Happy New Year everyone! xx