Late November, 1970.
Friar Park.

It was a Sunday morning. The sun was out and it was nice. The wind was starting to become cooler in the evenings, as autumn passed and winter began. But in the mornings, it was still warm and pleasant. The leaves had changed from yellow to orange and red, as he walked through the garden, the mulch crunching underneath his boots, a hose in hand. This week had been hectic for him. The release of the album. A single as well. Stressed and exhausted, all he wanted to do was sit in his garden for a while. Breathe in the air, cold and crisp, mixed with the sweetness of flowers and poignant stench of dirt. It was quiet at this time; refreshing and peaceful.

George lightly sprayed the water over the white gardenias and mini carnations. These flowers are best to flourish with minimal water, especially the carnations, which he had cut from his parent's garden last time he saw them. These particular flowers absolutely loved the sun - but in small bursts, sort of like us, which is why George liked to visit them each morning. The sun heated his cheeks, and he had to tie his long hair up in a bun so that the wind could relieve his sweaty neck. He moved next to the red roses, giving them an equal amount of water as the first bunch of flowers.

As George did this, he thought about grabbing a deck chair from inside the house and bringing it into the shade to sit by the flowers. It was such a lovely day. Harmonious and elegant, like Mozart's "Rondo alla turca (Turkish March)". The piece was so well crafted, like the twists of the trees and lushness of the greenery, that some mystical power must have had something to do with its wonder. As George took a rest in the deck chair, surrounded by the autumn leaves, he reminisced about the many times he listened to Mozart - and other classical pieces - with May. And for once he wasn't depressed by the fact she was absent from his life. Rather, he simply enjoyed the memories.

****

Late November, 1970.
May and Peter's Home.

May was chopping up fresh fruit in the kitchen - apples, oranges and pears. Her mother was over that morning, sorting through her wardrobe and valuables to see if there was anything to contribute to the local church's Christmas donations. Thus, she was left to prepare a light breakfast. The stereo was softly playing, mostly talk back radio, which May disliked but her mother did not. As she popped two slices of bread into the toaster, a specific, dulcet slide progression filtered from the radio. May cringed at the sound, the track had been playing non stop - it was to her knowledge that the single was released a few days ago.

I really want to see you,
Really want to be with you,
Really want to see you, Lord,
But it takes so long, my Lord.

May quickly turned off the radio, spreading jam onto the toast, and just as she was pouring a glass of orange juice, her mother called her from the bedroom.

"Do you still wear this?" Marie asked as May entered the room, the floor obscured by discarded shoes, clothing and boxes of objects. Her mother had practically rummaged through all of her personal belongings in her wardrobe, and she was not pleased about it.

"Mum, it's a mess in ere'! You've gone through all my stuff!" she whined, picking up a pink skirt off the ground.

"I'll put it all back, love. Now answer the question - do you still wear this?" her mother held up a blue shirt, that looked a few sizes too small.

May shook her head, and Marie added the piece to the piles of clothing to be given to the church. May collected the various coats and shoes, storing them back in her closet. Just as she was hanging up a blue, denim jacket, she heard her mother gasp, "Oh, look..."

May turned, confronted by Marie's weary, almost saddened smile, as she held a record in her hands. Let it Be. May hadn't listened to the album in days, weeks even. She didn't know what else to say except, "Yeah, that can go too," and resumed the task of placing clothes on the rack in her wardrobe.

"Are you sure?" Marie confirmed. "What about-

"I said it can go!" she snapped, both her and her mother startled by the raise of May's voice.

May immediately apologised for her temper, facing Marie and reminding her of the breakfast that was waiting for them on the kitchen counter. They ate it in the dining room, the curtains opened, letting in the lovely morning sun. As May finished off her slice of toast, Marie asked,

"Are you alright, dear?"

May reassured her with a steady, kind smile that she was fine and just "a little bummed out over not getting that waitressing job".

She had applied for a part time job at the local cafe, but was unsuccessful. That was playing on her mind a bit, but not as much as something else - a certain someone else for that matter. Marie sipped her tea, nodding.

"Yes, I see love. There will be other jobs though, honey." she squeezed her daughter's hand, before letting go. "Maybe you should catch up with some friends, forget about it for a bit."

"Yeah, okay." she agreed halfheartedly, lacking motivation to go out at the moment.

"What about George? Do you see him anymore?" Marie suddenly questioned, eating a slice of apple.

May didn't answer her mother, choosing to gaze out the window instead. Her forefinger circled around the white tea cup, as she remembered - and regretted - over the letter she had sent George months ago. Part of her was gradually moving on from that time in her life, finding enjoyment from being with Peter. Another part of her still ached for George however. He was such a presence in her life for such a short amount of time, that May was certain it would take a while to fully overcome the rich love for him.

"He's busy, Mum." she managed to respond with. "He's got a new record out, that's probably taking up his time now."

"You should get in contact with George and invite him over for dinner," Marie suggested, "Once everything's died down of course."

May stared at her mother, utter disbelief and anger at the statement. With his lack of reply to her letter and the tragic and hectic first few months of 1969 looming in her head, she said, "No. I don't think so."

****

February 25, 1969.
Tuesday Afternoon - Apple Dining Room.

Lots of drink, lots of food and lots of balloons. That's what Apple's dining room had become that afternoon for George's twenty sixth birthday party. May, Mal Evans, Neil Aspinall, and one of May's high school friend's, Gina, had worked all morning to set up for the big day. Whilst Steve and Steffie prepared a delicious vegetarian curry for the birthday boy, Sam and Louie helped decorate the tables and walls with streamers. May - with the guidance of Steffie - baked the caramel mud cake for her lover. That week, the Beatles began recording at Abbey Road studios for their next album, so time was of the essence in terms of celebratory preparations before the four returned to Apple.

The reason for the attendance of May's friend, Gina, was simple. She had brought Gina along to shop for George's birthday present, and since she had practically begged May to reveal who it was for, the teenager found herself trusting her best friend. Once doing so, Gina persuaded May for an invite to the party. May relented as Gina was good for a laugh, and that's what Apple was desperate for. Plus, Gina had lent her an extra five dollars to pay for George's present, so she felt a responsibility to repay her friend in one way or another - and what better way to pay back then accompanying her to a Beatles bash!

Gradually guests arrived, including George himself, who immediately hugged May and thanked her for the party. The remaining Beatles followed, with Linda and Yoko accompanying their partners. It was soon a lively atmosphere, with the likes of Derek Taylor, Peter Asher and Chris O'Dell attending - the latter with whom May had recently met and got on well with. Some of the other artists on the Apple label, such as Mary Hopkin, James Taylor, and of course Billy Preston, were present.

George was grateful that everyone had come and were enjoying themselves. But if he was to be honest with himself, the only person he wanted to have a good time on his birthday with, was the young woman that had planned the party for him. Everybody else could disappear as far as George was concerned.

They played Chuck Berry, Eddie Cochran, Lonnie Donegan, Elvis, and Carl Perkins records - sounds that George listened to when he was May's age, younger even. It was because of her; he immediately transformed into his seventeen year old self when with May. It wasn't difficult to really, he was the same boy in some ways, only physically - and in a few aspects, psychologically - had he matured. However with her - the silly, insecure, impulsive, stubborn, sarcastic, lustful teenager inside of him was amplified.

When the sun began to set, May carried the cake out to George, as everyone sung a cheerful, slightly slurred and boisterous "Happy Birthday". She placed the cake in front of George, and he immediately scooted over, making room for her to sit beside him. "For he's a jolly good fellow!" was chanted as he blew out the candles, a big smile on May's face as she watched. He cut the cake, the knife hitting the bottom of the plate. George turned to her, grinning like mad - it was the one of when he's a bit tipsy - and before she could register his happy expression, he kissed her in front of everyone. The kiss was passionate and warm, numerous cat calls and shrieks erupted at the intimate scene, causing her to giggle, their eyes dazzled as George drew back. May was surprised - even more so when he guided her in for another, his hand on the back of her neck, never getting bored of the pleasure of her soft lips on his. They'd all had a bit to drink and therefore weren't thinking straight. Someone yelled out, "Oi! Get a room!", for which John quipped back "more like a bathroom stall..." Afterwards, May shared a look with Gina from across the room, her best friend wore an amused and cheeky look - one that said "we are definitely talking about that later". May shook her head, overwhelmed with the passion of George and chaos of the party.

Following the affectionate display, Linda took a few photographs of George, May and the Beatles, as well as other staff members and party goers. Although everyone was smiling in the photos, it would never match the bliss of George and May at that particular moment.

May gave George his birthday present in private, wanting it to be a personal moment between the two. While the remainder of the guests played a game of netball with the balloons, May guided George into the kitchen, and upon entering the room, his lips were on hers, in another surprising - yet loving and tender - kiss. She smiled, pulling away.

"What was that for?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You were just too tempting."

May pursed her lips. "Well, you might feel differently once I give you..." she trailed off, opening the top drawer, "...this." and presented George with an envelope.

"And what could this be, June?" he grinned, causing her heart to pound rapidly.

George carefully opened the envelope, revealing the card May had handmade herself. It had taken all night, but she wanted to make an effort for George. There was an array of drawn, coloured flowers, love hearts and swirls on the cover.

"What a sight this is." George commented, and she swelled with delight.

Deciding what to write on the card had been a struggle for May. There were so many things to say. It was always easy to write a few words on a birthday card for her high school friends. However, this was George. He would always be considered more than a friend to her. In the end, she settled for her favourite lines of poetry:

"Did my heart love till' now?

For swear it sight. For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Happy birthday George!"

She signed it "Your June x".

It was Shakespeare - romantic and cliché. Perhaps George would get a kick out of it; a compliment as he inevitably aged another year. If it made him smile, then she would be satisfied. George seemed impressed enough, because he hugged her, tight and proper.

"I love it, June. You ave' quite a way with words, don't yer?" he joked, squeezing her sides, and she never felt such joy in her life.

"There's more," she said, and walked to the cupboards, bending down, to place on top of the bench top, a pot plant.

"They're gardenias, George. I know it's not much, since you always get me gifts," she admitted bashfully. "But, I thought you could have a bit of me in your garden..."

May and Gina purchased the flowers a few days ago. The gardenias had a tranquil and harmonious quality to them; she thought they were just what George needed. Although there were loving intentions behind the gift, there was a memory continually surfacing in May's head - it was of a few weeks back, when George met her parents, and he had mentioned his wife's assistance in the garden.

"They're gorgeous!" George beamed, gently touching the white petals. "I know just where to put them..." he muttered, before turning to May. "God, you're such a doll, aren't yer?" he lightly pinched her cheek, pecking her lips softly.

After the celebrations had died down to an extent, the kitchen staff - including May - began to clean up. There was talk of the party continuing at Mal's place, but the tea girl was occupied with tidying up - the party had been her idea, therefore she had the duty to get Apple back to its prior, proper conditions.

As May was washing up, George entered the kitchen. She was about to say hello, when Ringo joined them, followed by John and Paul. Ringo explained that the four of them wished to help with the cleaning! May could only respond with, "Then grab a tea towel each, boys!" She continued washing up, George and John dried the dishes, and Paul received the task of putting everything away in their correct drawer or cupboard. Linda participated by photographing the scene, which she found quite comical, as well as cling wrapping the cake and food to store in the fridge.

May greatly appreciated their generosity - their help wasn't necessary, they could have easily continued relaxing or joined the party at Mal's. Nevertheless, the boys had a lot to thank May for. She always tended to their needs, showed support - and she had managed to get all the Beatles together and have a laugh, something that had missed, and yet didn't realise until the teenager had created the situation for them. The air was full of nostalgia - they were giddy from it (perhaps that was the wine, but who could be sure?) - and it was because of May.

George wasn't fully aware of May's influence on the rest of the Beatles until he had an exchange with Paul after the cleaning up.

"Thank you for coming." George rested his hand on Paul's shoulder, the act genuine.

Despite Paul returning a bright smile, he lowered his voice for only George to hear, "I'm flattered that you think so, mate, cause' I didn't come for you...I did this for May."

****

February 26, 1969.
Wednesday Evening - May's Parents Apartment.

It had become an almost daily ritual that George drove May home of an evening. He was happy to do it, she was always good company. He would manage to have a quick chat with Marie or Robert whenever he dropped her off at the front door, and they were such lovely people. However, on that particular night, George was in for a treat.

"Say, George, I've just finished cooking dinner - why don't you come and join us?" Marie offered, a friendly smile on her face.

"Oh, yeah. Please, G!" May exclaimed, clearly animated at the idea.

He pondered the invitation, his mind already convinced once he saw that glimmer in her eyes, "Oh, I suppose a bite to eat won't hurt. Thanks, Marie."

As the three entered the apartment, they saw Robert in the green armchair, reading a novel.

"Robby, we have a guest!" Marie announced excitedly, heading to the kitchen to serve dinner.

Robert set his novel down on the coffee table, making his way to George, immediately shaking the younger man's hand. "How have you been, son? Good?"

"Not bad. Yourself?" George asked, as May wandered off to her room to place her school bag down.

The men made brief conversation on the lounge, while May assisted her mother dishing up the plates. George could smell the food from the living area; that familiar combination of oil, rosemary and onion, along with what he predicted was a roast meat. Marie had prepared such a scrumptious meal, that he didn't wish to disappoint her by revealing he was vegetarian.

Robert and George sat at the table, as May poured glasses of red wine for the adults - her parents - mostly her mother - were strict on alcohol, and thus she was stuck with lemonade. She sat opposite from George, and was leaning across the table to show him something, as Marie entered the room with plates in each hand. She gave the males their portions first, steam rising onto George's cheeks as his plate was set in front of him.

"May, sit in your seat properly, please," Marie sternly advised, and her daughter complied immediately. "And tie your hair back, it'll get in your food otherwise."

"Yes, Mum," the teenager uttered, hastily braiding her hair.

Marie returned with the remainder of the plates and a white gravy boat that she set in the middle of the table. Dinner was pork, with a side of beans and roasted pumpkin and potato. May wasn't a fan of the roast pork, but she ate it anyway. Conversation shifted from light topics such as the recent cold temperates, to controversial, regarding the attacks by the Viet Cong in that month. They were heavy issues, but everyone at the table seemed to agree on the end of the war as soon as possible. Robert had served in World War Two, when he was only sixteen - he had forged his age - and so he felt strongly on the matter.

It was quiet for a while, until Marie observed George's plate, "Oh, I hope the pork isn't too tough! You've hardly touched yours,"

George was about to explain, when Robert assured her, "It's fine, love, as always,"

Marie smiled, and it was then that May said quietly, "Mum, George doesn't eat meat."

Her mother felt absolutely horrible, "I can fix you something else, George. What would you like?"

"No, no, it's alright. That's really not necessary," he protested, though it was too late as Marie was already out of her seat and collecting his plate.

"Don't be so polite, boy. What would you like? I can make you tomato and cheese sandwiches," she suggested, and in that moment, George felt like he was back home in Liverpool and a teenager again. He was always so nostalgic when interacting with May or her family, and he was beginning to enjoy it.

"If it's not any bother, that would be great. Thank you."

Marie affectionately touched his shoulder on the way out, and it was such a warm and caring gesture, that it made him feel a lot more comfortable in their home.

"Can I be excused? I've had enough to eat," May said before her mother had left the dining room. It wasn't that she was full, it's that she disliked the food.

"Absolutely not! You finish what's on your plate, young lady." Marie instructed, then turning to George, "Won't be a minute, dear." she smiled.

As Robert sprinkled some salt on his pork, he said, "You know the rules, May. If you don't finish then it's for breakfast, now eat up."

She rolled her eyes, playing with a piece of pumpkin with her fork. Her parents grew up during the aftermath of World War One, when the rationing of food was dominant in society. They usually had 'bread drippings' for dinner, with Marie often sharing the story that when told by her mother to clean the cupboards, it would only take a minute because there was never any food in there. Compared to Marie and Robert's upbringing, they considered May's generation quite indulgent and spoilt; thus why they emphasised, since May was a child, to not waste a good meal.

She was misbehaving a bit tonight because George was over, and her parents could sense that. Normally May would eat her dinner without any trouble. However, her excitement due to George's presence was resulting in disobedience. Suddenly, May felt a kick to her leg underneath the table, and looking up, George gave her a wink and a grin - the same boyish, flirty one that made her cheeks blush.

After dinner, Robert and George smoked cigarettes in the lounge room, as May and Marie cleared the table. Marie popped by asking if they wanted a coffee. Robert agreed with, "I've love one," as he puffed on the end of his cigarette.

"Can I have a tea instead?" George requested politely.

"You're really having us bend over backwards, aren't you? First my wife makes you a separate dinner, and now you want tea instead of coffee," Robert said, his tone was light and playful however. He was only teasing the Beatle.

"Robby, be nice. Of course you can have a tea." Marie nodded, exiting the room.

George glanced at Robert, "I'm not normally this nit-picky. Must be showing my demanding side, comes from being a Beatle yer see?" he dryly remarked.

Robert reciprocated George's mischievous smile, clapping him on the back, "Yer alright, boy,"

The acceptance into their home made George feel at ease, and he managed to relax and escape from whatever tension had plagued him that day. May arrived with their drinks and a few biscuits, resting them on the wooden table.

"We should listen to something!" Robert proposed, and George agreed profusely, commenting on the extent of their record collection. "Yes, thank you, George. I've acquired it all myself." he teased proudly with a smirk on his face, and the younger man was soon fond of Robert's sarcastic humour.

"May, be a dear and put on Friday night's regular record, yes?" Robert asked, picking up one of the caramel biscuits from the plate.

She hesitated, "Really, Dad? Maybe we should listen to the radio instead." she suggested, to which Robert completely refused.

Friday nights were spent listening to Tchaikovsky's "The Nutcracker Suite, Op. 71a" in the Shepard household. May loved the record, but was a little shy to play it in front of George.

Regardless, May did as was told and put the Tchaikovsky record on, and sat next to George as they listened. As Marie got ready for bed, the remaining three stayed up and chatted, suddenly feeling much more sophisticated with the classical "Nutcracker" soundtrack in the background.

"See this is why I like to listen to this, it makes me have class," Robert commented, earning a smirk from the other two.

May adored the "Reed-Flutes" part of the suite, and she wasn't as timid to share this, as George seemed to appreciate the music just as much. Things turned fun, as George chose a record and drinks turned from tea to whiskey - May's father was feeling lenient that Friday night and allowed her a small shot of whiskey to sip on. George picked another instrumental record, one of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, which had "Spanish Flea" on it. The atmosphere was now upbeat with the sound of jumpy trumpets.

"So, George, how has Apple been lately? I ask May about work but she never seems to know what goes on half the time," Robert said, "Short attention span that one." he grinned at May, and she stuck her tongue at in response.

George reclined on the couch, "Eh, same shit, different day. You know how it is?" he felt he could be more down-to-earth and honest with Robert since he seemed to have a similar working class background to him, "We just signed this deal with Allen Klein - he'll be in charge of our finances for a bit."

"Yeah, I read about that in the papers,"

George shook his head, "It's exhausting, all of it. We started recording a new record too, don't know how that'll turn out."

"Oh, yeah. How was that today?" May piped up, and George mumbled an "okay".

"Are all of you with Allen, then?" Robert asked, finishing off his drink and sitting it on the coffee table.

"Nah. See, Paul didn't sign, he posed for the photos only. He's one for keeping up appearances, yer know the type Robert?" he replied nastily, and Robert assured George he most certainly did.

May was somewhat uncomfortable listening to George talk badly of Paul, but remained quiet nevertheless.

"So, he's on his own then?"

George shook his head, "That's what's causing hell, he wants Lee Eastman - his girlfriend's father. We tried to make a deal where Allen does the money side of things, and Lee Eastman and all that are the attorneys - to make everyone happy."

"That's bound to cause some strife, that is George. I can remember when we switched bosses at the printers a few years back. Half the guys left because they hated the changes."

He lightly laughed. "There's already strife, Robert. It's been like that for a year or two now."

Robert nodded, "I see, I see." his eyes darted to the floor, as May changed the music to a Glenn Miller Orchestra album. They refilled their glasses, one last drink before bed time.

"A shark." George suddenly spoke, and Robert smiled at him, thinking it was the start of a joke. George stared at the rusted wood of the table in front, May close to him, and he could feel her warmth against his side. "That's what Klein said we needed - a shark like him to fix our problems."

"He sounds like a real piece of work," Robert stated, amusement in his tone, as he propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"It's a circus there, at Apple. Isn't it May?" he smiled at the young girl next to him, and as his eyes met her's, he realised she was part of the madness. "After what seems like hours of signing this and that, all I want at the end of the day is a pint or two." he quipped, as he met Robert's stare, and the men shared a laugh.

"I know how yer feel." Robert sat up, raising his glass. "To Klein - let's hope he's the shark he says he is." and the three of them clinked their drinks, finishing the whiskey off, unaware of just how wrong (or right?) they would be.

****

February 28, 1969.
Friday Night - May's Parents Apartment.

"So...what now?" George asked, as they settled on the red, plush couch in May's parents living room.

Marie and Robert were out at a dinner party, whilst Peter was living the high life with his mates at the pub and playing pool. Therefore, May and George chose to spend some much needed time together.

"Well, it's Friday and that's film night." May explained, turning on the T.V.

George was keen, "What's on?" as she read the television guide.

"Hmm...well, a romantic-comedy...a musical," she said, and George made a face at that, unsure. "The Sound of Music!" she beamed. "My favourite."

"Really?" his arm draped across her shoulders.

"Aw, of course! I love romance...if only I had some in my life," she teased, looking up at him, and they laughed.

Although George was reluctant to have a night of The Sound of Music, he gradually found some enjoyment from it. He was uncertain if it was the film itself or the fact he was watching it with May, that made it a greater experience. But he laughed and sang along - all with her by his side. Sometimes life was made better when accompanied by friends - in this case, his impeccable June. That was the case in the early Beatle days; when George wasn't in the mood for an interview or appearance, he could count on the other three to make the situation better by cracking jokes and taking the mickey. Change was a funny thing. This week George had realised how inevitable, scary and good change was. However, he also realised that if he could, a part of him would do anything to return back to that simple and carefree time once more.

During the "do-re-mi" sequence, May commented, "God, all the children in the Von Trapp family are beautiful. They're angels..."

Her head rested on his shoulder, and he kissed her hair.

"Well, that's Hollywood - no ugly people."

"Yeah, but ugly sometimes sells." May looked at him. "If ugly is what they want, then you're in."

George smiled, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I don't think you're ugly. You're just..." he paused, mesmerised by those hazel eyes of hers. "...ravishing,"

May smirked, kissing him gently, "I think this flick is getting to you, you're acting more soppy than usual,"

He chuckled, warm and loud, it made her heart swell. "Well, thank you Julie Andrews!" he joked.

Nonetheless, the merriment faded for May once the wedding for Maria and the Captain took place. Whilst May was burdened with the memory of herself in a wedding dress, similar to Maria's, her words said the opposite, "She looks so pretty," she muttered.

George didn't respond, and May glimpsed up to see him engrossed with the film.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she said.

"You sure?" his eyes met hers.

May nodded, about to stand, when George tightened his hold on her. He kissed her, and her cheeks flustered. "Don't be long," he mumbled against her mouth.

"I won't," she breathed, the chorus of "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" filtered from the T.V.

George continued to watch, becoming concerned when May hadn't returned after ten minutes. The film was soon to end, and as he checked the clock, his patience grew incredibly thin. He didn't wish to disturb May's privacy, Lord knows how many times his had been invaded upon over the years. George followed his instincts anyway, and walked to the bathroom, knocking on the closed door.

"Love, yer 'right?"

George heard a glassy clang, as if she had dropped something onto the tiled, bathroom floor.

"May?" he called.

"Y-yeah..." she replied, vacant and distracted. Her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'll be out soon."

"Are yer okay?"

"Fine." she sniffed. "Go back to the movie."

George smiled. "Luv, the picture's over - you were in there for ages." his hand rested on the doorknob. "Can I come in?"

"No, no. I'll be out in a minute."

He could hear movement, her feet pacing on the tiled floor.

"May," he lulled to her. "Is something wrong? Open up,"

"No! Everything's fine," May replied, in clear distress.

George persisted, twisting the door knob. "May, don't lie to me. I can tell something's up."

"I said I'll be out soon, George!" she snapped.

His hand withdrew from the door, lips pursed. "If I leave you to cool off, will you come out later and tell me what the hell's wrong then?"

After a minute or so, he heard a quiet, "Yeah."

George waited on the couch. He browsed through the T.V channels, but there was nothing good on, so he turned it off. He snooped the Shepard's liquor cabinet, pouring two glasses of whiskey, setting them on the wooden coffee table. As George took a sip of whiskey, May entered the living room.

"I made yer a drink," George said softly, while she joined him on the couch.

She nodded, thanking him. Once he caught a glimpse of her puffy, red eyes, he placed his glass on the table, leaning close to her.

"What is it, luv?" George asked, his tone soothing, as he held her hand. "You've been crying..." he observed, his other hand brushed her cheek.

"I didn't want to cry in front of you." May admitted.

She bowed her head, and George assumed it was because of shame, but when she looked up at him again, he noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

"What?" he muttered, in disbelief. "C'mere." George guided her into his arms, and she didn't resist, sobbing helplessly in his tight embrace.

May clutched onto his red button up shirt, his hands on her lower back, and they didn't speak as she cried. Once May had calmed down marginally - and taken a few mouthfuls of whiskey, as per George's instructions - they reclined on the couch. May cuddled up next to him, her head on his shoulder, near his chest, as her arms circled around his waist.

"Now, why the crying, my dear?" George asked, his hands rested on her upper arms. "Was it that Julie Andrews?" he drawled, and she smiled weakly. "Cause' I'll ave' a few words with her."

He witnessed her smile fade, and it was such a depressing sight. It was quiet for a while, as May's gaze scanned up his body, a particular focus on her arms wrapped around him.

She finally said, "Don't make me do it, George."

"Do what?"

May shied away again. Her marriage was a somewhat elephant in the room in their relationship - more so than George's. She was uncertain if she should address the potentially sensitive topic. But she had built up the anticipation for him already, it wouldn't be fair not to share her worries.

"Marry."

May studied the Aztec-like design on the frame of the bookcase, as she heard George let out an "Oh."

He sighed, contemplating how to relieve her suffering. He soon discovered that as much as he wanted to help her, the position he was in hindered anything he said - he just wanted her too much.

George asked May, "What are you most scared of...about it?"

May faced him then, suddenly not so embarrassed to be honest with George, "I'll change too much. I'll lose everything I love."

Her lips were red and plump from the tears, her eyes worrisome and intoxicating. God, this isn't fucking good, George thought. She trusted him for advice, and when it came down to it, all he could distinguish was the desire he possessed for her.

He tucked strands of hair behind her ear, "Of course you'll change, May. That's life. But, it will be the change you need. You shouldn't be afraid of it-

"I don't want it."

George nodded, sighing, and as he fiddled with the fabric of her white blouse, he agreed with her, "I know you don't want it."

"I'm scared to lose you."

George was speechless at her confession - not at the kindness of it, more so on what the fuck he was supposed to respond with. He could come back with a sincere declaration of his love for her - but George couldn't when all the brief and sexual encounters he had, had in his life so far replayed in his mind. He didn't want to bullshit her, but then again he didn't want to reveal too much.

George gently pecked her forehead, rubbing her lower back. "Listen to me, June - listen good. I'm gonna tell you straight..." he paused, struggling with words. It was difficult to get his thoughts in order when she was looking up at him with those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers.

I want to tell you,
My head is filled with things to say.
When you're here,
All those words they seem to slip away.

Through all the internal debate in his head, George heard himself say, "I-I don't want to lose you either."

It wasn't that he didn't have feelings for her - no, that was a definite - it was that he wanted to remain realistic, in control. In spite of this, the more time he spent with her, the more George's reason and morals were ignored, and replaced with pleasing her.

"Y'know, just cause' you're getting married, doesn't mean we won't be able to see each other anymore." he pointed out.

May nodded, glancing from the whiskey to George. "I just won't be able to do this," she said, and kissed him. George smiled, his moustache tickling her mouth, as his hand cupped her cheek, pulling away.

"Oh, May..." he mused, fingers caressing her hair. "What am I gonna do with you, ey'?"

She shrugged, her grin mischievous and alluring.

"When's the wedding date?"

"April 11."

George smirked in satisfaction, "Well..." he leaned in. "...lucky for you, there's plenty of kisses to be had between now and April," and his lips met hers.

****

"George?"

He felt a pressure on his shoulder, as George slowly opened his eyes.

"George?" the voice startled him, and he responded with an incoherent, tired mumble.

He groggily acknowledged the source of the disturbance - it was Marie, peering down at him. He then glanced to the heaviness on top of his body - May's head on his chest, their bodies mingled together, hand on her back, as she slept soundly.

Following May's bout of crying, the pair finished their drinks, kissed some more, and watched a bit of telly. There were a few re-runs of "What's My Line?", but it was getting late and the television would be shutting off soon, so they listened to records instead. They lay together on the couch, May falling asleep halfway through the album "Time Out" by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. George can't remember shutting his eyes, but with the hectic studio schedule that week, he was surprised he didn't earlier in the evening.

George cleared his throat, brushing strands of hair from his eyes, "We must've nodded off," he said, voice croaky. He coughed to rid the phlegm, careful not to disturb May.

"No, no, we're sorry for being a tad late. I didn't know you were popping by, George," Marie replied, a weak smile on her face.

He wearily looked at the time on the clock, still dazed - 12:40 am. As he did, he noticed Robert busy in the background, fiddling with the record player.

George rubbed his eyes, "Oh, yeah..." flustered that he appeared at their home unannounced. "Well, May wanted to hang out after her shift, so..."

Marie smirked, gesturing to the sleeping May in his arms, "Hmm...yes, it certainly looks like you two have been hanging out."

"Oh..." he awkwardly laughed, only realising then how odd it must be to see their daughter so cosy with a man who wasn't her fiancé - especially a man so famous as a Beatle. George didn't want her parents to think that he was taking advantage of their daughter, or to get a hint of inappropriate behaviour - which there most certainly was.

Everything was apparently fine however, as Marie replied, "Gee, if you keep this up George, we might have to start paying you for babysitting!" and they smiled, and all was fine.

"C'mon, let's get her off you now." she touched May's shoulder. "Sweetheart?"

They watched May snuggle up closer to George - obviously awake, yet refusing to move.

He chuckled, but Marie gently shook her, "C'mon, now. George has to go, May."

Again, she didn't budge.

"I guess I'm her pillow for tonight," George quipped, mirth in his tone.

Marie regarded him with apologetic eyes, somewhat embarrassed that her daughter was being difficult.

"I'll carry her to bed," George offered, "Where's er' room?" he asked. Marie frantically protested, but he reassured with a kind and tender smile.

"Oh, are you sure? Robert! Come give George a hand, please!" she called to her husband, who was busy making a tea for himself and Marie in the kitchen.

Robert soon entered the living room, "Yeah - what is it?"

"No, no, it's fine." George interjected, before Marie could answer. "I've got er'."

George tried to straighten himself as best he could, whispering in May's ear, "Okay, I'm gonna lift you up now, luv."

She complied, as George struggled to sit up. Eventually - with the help of Robert - he rose from the couch, May fitting in his arms in - ironically - bridal style. She seemed so comfortable with George, that it caused Marie and Robert to share a certain look. There was concern to some extent of the amount of time the pair were spending together. Marie tended to brush it off because George had charmed her with his lovely manners and care towards her daughter, she didn't really take into account his celebrity status. There was something about their relationship that Marie could detect, a beauty - fragile and loving and compassionate. The way her daughter clung onto George, the dependence on him to hold her like that; there was a level of vulnerability and craving which she had never seen May display before. They were like "The Fisherman and the Syren" by Frederic Leighton; intimate, inseparable...in love.

On the other hand, Robert was much more suspicious of what exactly George Harrison wanted from his daughter. Robert was aware of Marie's kind-hearted nature, it had been inherited by May to a particular degree. Which is why he was cautious of May's interactions with a star like George. You can't trust most people in society, let alone someone as famous as a Beatle. Apple's business troubles he was informing Robert of on Wednesday night proved his point; he didn't want May getting too close to that.

"The one on the left?" George confirmed, and Marie nodded, opening the door to May's bedroom.

Her mother turned the bedside lamp on, as George carefully lay May on the mattress, his fingers instinctively pushing a tendril of hair that had fallen in her eyes, behind her ear. Marie took her school shoes off, slipping the covers over her body. As Marie said goodnight, George lingered outside the bedroom door, careful not to disturb such a private moment. As Marie joined him, she whispered, "She wants to say goodnight to you."

George hesitated, wondering if it was okay. She nodded, "Just make it quick."

Marie watched from afar, leaning against the door frame, as George approached May, sitting on the edge of the bed. He held her hand, and they exchanged a few hushed words. She saw him nod, his thumb continually caressing the back of her hand, as he left the teenager, approaching Marie.

"She wants me to stay for a bit - is that alright?" George asked cautiously.

Marie checked the time on her watch, lips pressed together in thought. "Only for a bit. Robby and I will have our tea and get ready for bed, and then when that's done, you'll have to go, yeah?"

"Of course, Marie." he nodded, grateful for her liberality.

George returned to May's bedside, as her mother gradually left the pair alone, the door wide open.

"Lie with me..." May mumbled, her eyes closed.

He complied, with some reluctance, and rested behind her. "Only for a minute or so, luv," George whispered, as she turned so that they lay face to face. It was all so risky; he was slightly annoyed that May was making such a big fuss over him staying longer. It was immature and reminded him of that need of closeness demonstrated by young children to their mothers.

This didn't seem to affect May, as she leaned into his chest, grasping onto his sides. George stroked her hair for a while, and they made small chit chat. It was mostly him talking though, as she soon dozed off. Marie dropped by not long after that, and George gingerly left the bedroom.

"I'm sorry about that," he immediately said after Marie closed May's bedroom door.

"No, no, it's okay." she shook her head. "May seems to really like you."

George nodded, his eyes running over the long, blue and white nightie that Marie wore; it reminded him of something his mother would wear - and the thought of that filled him with incredible ease, as if he belonged in that apartment.

"I don't know if there's much to like, but...yeah," he chuckled, and Marie lightly patted his shoulder.

"I'm sure there's plenty to like." she smiled, and they walked down the hallway together. "How is she?" Marie asked.

"Um, a bit upset tonight, I think." he answered truthfully.

"Really?" her eyes full of concern. They had reached the kitchen, where Robert was still up and sitting at the small table, presumably waiting for Marie. "It's about the wedding, isn't it?"

George nodded.

"Oh, goodness, she's gonna make herself sick with all the worry! I told her it was normal to feel this way,"

Seeing his wife in distress caused Robert to pipe up, "Just because you say that love, doesn't mean it will go away for her."

Marie sighed, "I know." she then turned to George. "What exactly did she say? I feel that May keeps things from us."

George paused, wondering if it was right to share the information May had safeguarded him with. It had taken such courage for her to express her fears to him, so he wasn't sure if he had the authority to then spill them to her parents without her permission. As George opened his mouth to speak, Robert interrupted.

"God, woman - would you at least let him sit down? Get the poor boy a drink or something!"

Marie apologised, "Oh, right, yes. Do you want a tea, George?"

Although George should have been making his way home, he certainly couldn't pass down a cup of tea. He smiled graciously, "Why not? Yes, thank you."

George joined Robert at the table, and Marie quickly prepared the tea, refilling her and Robert's cup as well. The three of them drank and spoke in hushed voices, mindful not to wake up May and have her eavesdrop on their conversation.

"She's worried about change. I think-

"Change? But she was happy when she told us about the engagement," Marie intercept, as Robert sipped his tea.

"Well, she's worried about what will happen after,  I think." George chose his words carefully; he couldn't exactly reveal that May was to miss him and his kisses - could he?

"Is it to do with getting a house? Because we could help out-

"Are you mad, Marie? We're in a tight spot as it is!" Robert stressed, leaning back in his chair.

George furrowed his eyebrows at that, curious as to the underlying issue - perhaps money? Marie saw his expression, and moved closer, as if telling him a secret. "We've tried our best with her. I honestly think she's got a bit of cold feet - she seems close to you, George. Can you talk to her?"

George grew silent, studying the couple in front of him - that blue and white polka-dot nightie triggering something within him. He thought of his mum, what she thought would be right. "How bout' I do you one better?" he suggested, taking a mouthful of tea. "If money is the issue, then I could help,"

"Oh, George, we couldn't-

"No, Marie, it wouldn't be any trouble." he assured them. "How much?"

Robert was skeptical about the idea. Although he had bonded with George on Wednesday, this money deal was a different story. "From what you told me the other night, it seems you have enough on your plate already."

George scoffed, "I think I can manage. Besides, Allen Klein's in charge of finances, I'll just tell him a certain about of money needs to be set aside."

"Yeah, because you painted me a fantastic picture of this 'shark' the other night-

"Robby! For Christ's sake - we need the bread. We won't have enough with the crummy pay we've got," Marie emphasised, swallowing her last bit of tea.

Robert was silent afterwards; like George, her parents would do anything for May's wellbeing. There was a tinge of uncertainty in the back of George's mind that this is what Marie and Robert wanted all along - they were aware of his fame, his money. Why not manipulate him into contributing some to the charity case that is the Shepard family? Regardless, he was too blinded by affection for May to see the consequences.

George quietly asked, "How much does she get now?"

"Last time she told me - 35 pounds, a week," Marie replied.

"The pay she's gettin' now is pretty bullshit," Robert bitterly commented. "I mean she works her ass off."

Marie regarded her husband with warning in her eyes, as if to say 'stop it now'. Exhaustion caused George to snap, "Think I don't know that? I'll have it increased by next week,"

"How would you explain to everyone else the sudden jump in May's pay?"

George grew tense at the challenge, "She's a good employee - is there much else?" should I mention the trips to the bathroom every lunch break?, he thought.

Robert sighed in exasperation, "I just don't trust you, George." he bluntly stated. "I know how this money thing works - I've been around the block, kid. You pay us and then we pay you, yeah?"

"Can you relax?" Marie murmured, "He's helping us."

"Helping us? Or ripping us off? Don't be so naive."

"I'm not!" she hissed. "You're just being a jerk."

George watched the quarrel unfold between May's parents, unable to intervene because his mind was elsewhere. Did he expect something in return? He could be a righteous man and assure them he did not. But then he thought of his June, and the idea that providing money to the family would increase his time with her. There was a slight contradiction because George would be aiding the wedding of May and Peter to occur, when deep down he despised her fiancé and yearned for her to be with him instead.

In addition, exposure of their affair would be higher, and George was unsure if he wanted to risk the chances of that happening - if May's father was worked up over the simple transfer of cash, then how would he react if he knew George was sleeping with his daughter?

The situation could be useful, an object of leverage in the future. It could strengthen the bond between George and her parents, or it could ruin it. All he knew was that he wanted May in his life, and if this was a way to keep her there, then he would do whatever it took to fulfil it.

"I can't talk about this anymore, I'm goin' to bed," Robert announced, standing up. "I'm voting against the money idea."

"Well, it's 2 against 1, Robert," Marie drawled, and turned to George. "Thank you so much, we appreciate you doing this." she smiled sweetly, and Robert rolled his eyes, leaving the kitchen.

Marie and George stayed up for another half hour, discussing the details of exactly how much the family needed. Although it took a while to agree on an amount, Marie was convinced about one thing, "I don't want May to find out. She doesn't need to know about all this, she's too young and sweet to be tangled up in all the money side - it's hard as it is already. Can you keep this just between us, George?"

His response was so instantaneous, he didn't even blink, "Of course."

****

November 30, 1970 - Monday Morning.
May and Peter's Home.

May woke up to a gentle shake of her shoulder, her eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light, which was beaming in from the windows. Peter was gazing down at her, his hand running up and down her arm.

"Hey, sweet," he whispered, and she smiled at him, responding with a husky, "Hey,"

Peter pressed a quick peck to her lips, and they were quite dry against his from sleep. She rubbed her eyes as he drew back, before combing her fingers through the ends of his blonde hair, which had grown to his shoulders.

"Happy birthday, May." he grinned, and she matched his happy expression as he leaned in for another kiss, this one much longer than the first.

Today she turned nineteen. Not really a milestone age in her eyes, but that didn't matter.

"I have to go to work soon. But don't worry, I have a surprise for you!"

"A surprise?!" she beamed, "Can't wait,"

They ate breakfast together, and May opened the card Peter had bought for her. Peter soon left for work at the butchers, while she started on the chores around the house. May had a few phone calls throughout the day, lots of friends and family wishing her a happy birthday and how they should catch up soon.

May had just poured herself a cold, glass of lemonade, planning to sit in the autumn sun and read a magazine, when there was a knock at the door. Although her first thought was of Peter's surprise, another feeling arose - one of déjà vu, and about a certain dream a month or so back that had started with a knock at the door. She hastily opened the screen door, a delivery man greeting her with a wonderful, healthy bunch of small, white and lilac flowers. They were arranged in a fancy, gold box. May thanked the man, before closing the door and bringing the flowers to the kitchen.

There was a label on the side of the wrapping they were in, that read, Epigaea (Mayflower). She wasn't aware that there was a flower after her name.

"You've really outdone yourself, Pete..." she chuckled, gently sliding out the white envelope that was attached to the front of the box.

Nonetheless, May's grin soon faded, as she read the first line of the card...To June...

****

"The Fisherman and the Syren" by Frederic Leighton