June 26, 1970 - Saturday Morning.
Peter and May's home.

Because you're sweet and lovely, girl,
I love you.
Because you're sweet and lovely, girl, it's true.
I love you more than ever girl, I do.

May listened to the album every afternoon for that week. Now falling in love with it, the memories that once pained her made her numb more than ever. It was a slowing ache, a dull shake to her bones. Listening to 'For You Blue' and May remembered the recording of that particular track. She didn't know the title of the song at the time. The first line of the song - "Because you're sweet and lovely..." - was how she identified it.

It was a stupid idea, but she wished to write to George. Even give him a call, something or other. But she knew it was a decision that was bound to end in misery. It wasn't worth the heartache. She'd rather replay the memories because they couldn't harm her as much as the ugly truth.

* * * *

January 25, 1969 - Saturday Morning.
May and Peter's Apartment

May steadied her hand, cursing as she made a small mistake with the eyeliner brush. She normally used a thicker black eyeliner, but her friend, Tracy, had recommended this expensive eyeliner by Rimmel, with a thinner brush for a more precise stroke. It was bullshit. And May was infuriated as she wished to look her best for George.

The displeasure of Peter, and her calming interactions with George, had caused her heart to grow quite fond of the guitarist. It was a small infatuation, and it may have been heightened by her immature, teenage fantasises, but that was what made it fun. May didn't wish to be the next 'Mrs. Harrison', or have a song written about her. She just wished to impress - make George do a double take next time she walks by him. Because in her eyes, it would be a hell of a lot more than what her fiancé showed her.

May was running late, so she skipped the blush, and applied a layer of Vaseline to her lips, making them glossy, which accentuated their fullness. She wet her hands, washing away the remnants of mascara, wiping them on her dark, maroon mini skirt. With a spray of perfume, she left her apartment in a hurry.

* * * *

9:30 am.
Apple Corps Building - Kitchen.

May cleared the dishes, pots and cups, as George waited until he could retire to his favourite spot - the kitchen bench top. Breakfast had ended, with May suffering its messy consequences. She rinsed the plates and glasses, George viewing her from his seat, his eyes scanning down her voluptuous hips and bottom. The mini skirt was working wonders for her slim figure...George was very impressed. Unfortunately for May, her meticulous application of eyeliner was overlooked by him. In fact, he preferred her without the makeup; her natural look, like she was on the weekdays having rushed to the studio from school, with her hair in her face and a hint of blush to her cheeks, lips cracked from the wind.

He had seen it too many times—too much makeup spoiled a woman's looks for him. His favourite time for viewing a woman would be in the morning, particularly just after a shower, when their face was fresh and pure, delicate and clean.

"Dig the skirt...it's nice," he casually said.

May froze, her hands buried in the soapy water, as she hid her face, the blush rising in her cheeks.

"Thanks," she muttered.

She continued to scrub the pan, scanning his body from the corner of her eye, so she could offer a compliment to him. But it was difficult because she found his entire aura fucking attractive. May didn't think of saying "you look nice today" and leaving it at that...no, it had to be specific. He sat there in a pair of jeans, and a blue denim long sleeve - the cuffs folded up slightly - and a white shirt underneath, which could faintly be viewed at the collar. The only quirky - and questionable (to her) - aspect of his fashion choice were the fluffy, flower patterned slippers on his feet. She tried to suppress the laughter at first sight of them. She failed to notice them when he had entered. They were oddly cute to her, so she complimented those.

"Dig the shoes, must be comfy,"

He hummed in response, and it was then that May realised he had picked up her copy of The Crucible, which she had left on the bench top from earlier.

"Ah, sorry, I was reading it before you came in," she explained, setting the soaking pan on the drying rack.

George flicked through the pages, regarding the numerous slabs of text highlighted and many annotations in her flowing, cursive penmanship. He reached the index of the book, running his eyes down the character list and smirked when he noticed she had added her own name to the listing of characters in the play. There were a few folded notes of paper inside the book, but George didn't open them. Instead, his eyes cast to the obverse opening of the book, where May had written 'The Beatles' in black marker, with a small drawing of a flower next to it. George set the book down on the bench top after the discovery.

"So, ya like it?" he asked, and the question caught her off guard.

May turned, and saw George gesturing to the play.

"Uh, yeah, guess so. Though I prefer learning about MacBeth. That was the first Shakespeare play I ever read, it was taught a few years ago,"

"Ah, I see. You're in your final year, then?"

May nodded. "Final year." she mumbled.

"Sad about leaving?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing..." she began, and retrieved the tea towel from beside her. "They tell you that you should be upset or making the best out of this year, and yet I feel nothing. No relief or joy or sadness."

May walked up to him. She wanted to be physically close to him when having a conversation, not a few steps away.

"There must be something wrong with me if I feel this way, isn't there?" she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

"No, no. There isn't. I felt nothing when I left school, as well. I mean, I still feel nothing now, so there must be something wrong with me," he smirked, and she finally could glance up at him, and smile.

"You'll probably start to feel the heaviness of it when you get down to the final days," George added, and rested his hand on top of her left one.

His skin was heavenly against hers, and it covered her engagement ring, which settled her nerves slightly. May found difficulty looking at her ring since meeting George. Nevertheless, May was the one to pull away, despite feeling comfortable in his hold, and continued the task of drying the dishes, an awkward silence briefly consuming the air.

"What are you guys recording today?" she asked, placing the glasses away in the cupboard.

"One of mine, for a change," George replied, a small grin lingering.

"Oh, that's great! Are you only recording the one?"

"For today? Uh, no, I think we'll probably get some other's down. Just depends what everyone feels like doing, y'know?"

"No, no." she shook her head. "I meant, your songs. You usually have at least two on a record, yeah?"

The comment stung George to a slight extent. It was a miracle just to get one of his songs on an album sometimes, and May's sweet ignorance of a complex situation was a bit too much for him. His eyes flicked to the floor, and he sighed.

"Uh, yeah. Well, we did record another one of mine at Twickenham," he explained. "John wasn't on it though," George added quietly.

"Oh," she breathed, and she realised she had crossed a sensitive nerve. "I'm sure it's brilliant anyway,"

George smiled, recognising some sincerity of her words.

"Yeah, I better get to it. I'll try and talk to you later, then?" he asked, and hopped off the bench top.

She nodded. "I'll be here."

* * * *

A few hours later.

Because you're sweet and lovely girl, I do
I love you more than ever girl, I do...

"That sounded pretty alright, then," George commented after the fifth take.

He scratched his nose, scanning the room, and lifted the guitar strap over his head, intending to walk to the control room for a listen. John agreed with his statement with a "mmm, yeah". George smiled.

"Let's do one more," Glyn Johns interrupted from the control room.

"Yeah, okay," George replied, putting the guitar strap over his head again, re-positioning the acoustic around his body. "Does this guitar sound in tune to you, Glyn?" he asked, and plucked a few strings.

Paul fiddled with a chord progression on the piano, whilst Ringo lit a cigarette. Once smelling the familiar nicotine, George craved a cigarette in an instant.

"Yeah, that sound's good enough for skiffle," Glyn replied.

George nodded. Good. That was the sound he wanted to achieve for this track. Compared to other days, the group was quite focused for this particular session, and George was thankful. He really didn't want a repeat of what happened at Twickenham. The atmosphere was really bad there...something in the water perhaps, George mused. His throat was very dry from continuous singing, and he briefly glanced around the table for his cup of tea, before discovering it was empty. Perfect.

"May around, Glyn?"

"Yeah, should be in the kitchen. Want something?"

"Just a water, thanks," George replied, strumming a few chords.

* * * *

No...no...nope...

May checked the last toilet cubicle. Another one...without toilet paper. Man, what is with this place and the lack of bog paper, May wondered with a grin. She raced to the kitchen, tripping over a few loose chords and bumps in the carpet along the way, which caused some to snigger at her clumsiness.

Upon arriving at the kitchen, May was out of breath. Sitting at the kitchen, munching on a Granny Smith apple, was Mal Evans, who smiled at the puffed out May.

"Well?" Louie, one of the assistant chefs, questioned, and picked up a pen.

May nodded. "Add toilet paper,"

Louie scribbled it onto the list of items to purchase from the grocery store. May pinned back a loose strand of hair with a bobby pin, before joining Louie's side.

"Any cheese slices left?" Louie asked to no one in particular.

"Yeah, there's plenty for lunch today," Steve, the head chef, replied, as he sharpened the bread knife to slice into a fresh loaf.

Louie nodded and retrieved a few dollar bills from the front pocket of his pants.

"This should be enough," Louie said and placed the money in front of May on the bench top. "You okay to go on your own? There's quite a few things..."

Despite May insisting it was not a hassle, Mal piped up and offered his assistance...to May's surprise.

"I'll go with her," Mal said, and placed the apple core down. His attention turned to May. "Hey, if we leave soon, we could go down to that pastry shop on the corner," he smiled at her, and it was full of friendliness and welcome, which May appreciated. "We could get something for lunch...or a cake?"

May immediately thought of George and his appetite for desserts. "Yeah, that sounds good! They have some really tasty stuff there,"

May gave him a gorgeous, bright grin, and her enthusiasm was refreshing. Both were satisfied; May would be able to purchase something for the lead guitarist, and Mal was to be accompanied on the usually boring trip to the supermarket. The day was looking good for everybody.

"Oh, before I forget! May, check the crisper for those spinach leaves," Louie instructed, pointing to the fridge.

The kitchen staff at Apple were kind to May, and she was grateful for that, as she disliked being the newbie. It was also a pleasant turn from the staff at Olympic Studios, who could be nasty when they wanted to. Especially the other female staff. A couple of the 'helpers' at Olympic were teenage girls, close to May's age, and this unfortunately caused tension and arguments over which girl would distribute tea and snacks to a particular musician. Each girl was fighting for the attention, and it was annoying to May after a while, which is why she didn't protest when Glyn Johns recommended her to Apple.

Louie was hired for assistant chef months ago, and so far was greeted in warm arms by - mostly - everyone at Apple. Therefore, he ensured May received the same treatment. He did like May and recognised her efficiency in the hospitality industry. She would sing the song "Louie, Louie" to him...right in his ear as well...but he allowed it. It was strange, as usually he didn't...but with May, he somehow tolerated it. Louie could definitely see that she was creating a balance to the air...with her innocence and school uniform and sheepish smile. She was infectious.

"Yep! Enough spinach leaves here," May answered, closing the fridge door.

Just as the words left her lips, Sam entered the kitchen.

"George wants a glass of water ASAP, May," he calmly informed her, before abruptly returning to the studio.

She nodded, and retrieved a glass from the top cupboard, and poured water, adding a few ice cubes.

"Be back soon, then we can go," she said to Mal, and gave a small smile before leaving the kitchen.

* * * *

June 26, 1970 - Saturday Evening.
Peter and May's home.

May couldn't get back to sleep. She had tossed and turned for about an hour, before finally checking the clock. 3:40 am. May decided to just stay up. Peter had, had a long day a work, so he slept like a log, lightly snoring, lying on his back, his hand on his chest. He didn't really touch or cuddle her during the night, which May preferred since she was a light sleeper and any contact would definitely wake her up. But at times like this, when she was exhausted, yet stressed, the thought of affection was comforting to her.

All she could do was think of George. And listening to "Let it Be" every afternoon did not help her feelings one bit. It wasn't that her feelings heightened or she was in love with him. It was that she missed him. Truly fucking missed him. She had never really experienced a longing for someone before. She saw her parents and husband pretty much everyday, and her friend's were the same. She was stuck in the house for most of the day, so her close friend's and their boyfriend's were over all the time.

At Peter's insistence, May was unemployed at the moment. It wasn't permanent - in her eyes - and May figured she would have to get a job sooner or later because rent was bound to rise. She did miss having something to do, but she enjoyed getting to know the neighbours and going shopping with her friends. It was boring sometimes, but in those bursts of near cabin fever, she reminisced about her days at Apple.

May rested on her side, peering over at Peter, then glancing at her wedding ring. There was love there for Peter, she knew deep inside of her there was. But her thoughts were filled with George—even after all this time, and it worried her. She wondered what he was up to, who he was with...just how he was doing in general. She had tried to call him...she still had his number. But when she did try to ring, either George didn't pick up, or when he did, she got scared and quickly hung up. May had done the latter so many times, she figured he probably knew it was her by now. That is why writing a letter to him appealed to her. It was harder to talk, writing would be easier. She wouldn't have to see his face or hear his voice. All she'd have to do is grab a pen and paper and write. It seemed so simple.

* * * *

May was stationary outside the studio door, the ice slowly dissolving in the glass of water clutched in her hand. The Beatles were running through a track, and she didn't wish to disturb them. It was so loud; the drums and guitar, very bluesy, and May had the pleasure of hearing George's strained, yet melodic, voice. And those words...Because you're sweet and lovely...I love you...they were such kind words to say about someone. The music gradually ceased, John had made a mistake or something, from what May could gather.

George noticed May waiting patiently at the door, and he beckoned her inside. She pushed open the door, the smell of coffee, cigarettes, sweat and musky cologne hitting her right in the face, that she had to clear her throat. Making her way past the various cords snaking on the floor, she greeted each of the Beatles with a shy hello. Different instruments—such as a guiro and tambourines—bags, sheets of paper - some with writing, some without - and dirt covered the carpet. God, it's such a fucking dump, May thought, as she squeezed past a music stand to pass the glass of water to George.

"Thanks, May," George smiled, and immediately took a big gulp of water.

"Okay, well," she breathed out, her hands together. "Does anybody need anything else?"

"Somethin' for me hand, May? They're splittin' from this steel guitar," John complained, his voice a bit croaky, and showed the nasty callouses on the ends of his fingers.

She nodded. "Should be some bandages somewhere, I'll check. Everyone else okay?"

"A cup of tea for me, love," Paul interjected softly, giving her a sweet smile as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, sure," May replied, before turning to the drum kit. "Ringo, you're cool?"

"Ice cold, sweet," he joked. "Nothing for me, thanks May,"

"Anything for you?" May asked Yoko, as she reached for George's now empty glass.

Yoko shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you."

May sighed and quickly returned to the kitchen.

* * * *

1:35 pm.

"Here...let me, Mal. I'll carry them," May offered, gently slipping the box of delicious pastries out from his hands.

"Thanks, love," he nodded with a smile, and retrieved the remainder of the grocery bags from the boot of his car.

The trip to the supermarket had been...eventful. Mal couldn't keep count of how many men - mostly middle aged and old - who checked out May in her mini skirt, which didn't leave much to the imagination, and face looking beautiful, with her eyes fresh and full of wonder. Mal soon slipped into the role of a protective older sibling, giving every single pervert an aggressive look, almost to say, "you touch her, and you're dead,"...and this swell of emotion was so unexpected, that it was odd. But you couldn't help but feel some sort of protection over May, because she was so naive. She was completely clueless as to how much skin she was showing, I mean, the fabric just covers her arse...perhaps she did understand it, but Mal guessed she had no idea. Mal began theorising that her efforts in her appearance was to impress someone at Apple. And if that was true, he was hoping it wasn't a Beatle, because heartache was bound to be on the horizon...perhaps for both participants...

Mal and Louie stored away the groceries into the cupboards and fridge, as May assorted numerous sweets and cakes onto a large plate for the Beatles and the Apple staff. The boys were still recording, so she assumed that they had skipped lunch. If so, May wanted to at least treat them to a tasty dessert...which would probably be better than nothing or making them a snack, which she deemed wouldn't be as good.

Shortbread biscuits...scones with flour peppered on them and strawberry jam in the centre...and...Jaffa cakes, which were secretly May's favourites. She quickly ate one before bringing the Beatles the tray of delights. Upon reaching the studio door, she noticed Paul and John singing, grins on their faces, the same phrase repeated...on our way home, we're on our way home...we're goin' home...

She watched for a minute or two, the tray getting heavy in her palm, but she enjoyed seeing them so amused. May knocked on the studio door, which was an obvious mistake because the noise and laughter dominated everything. Luckily one of the cameramen spotted her, and opened the door. May presented the tray to the man, and he smiled, before grabbing a shortbread biscuit.

Paul and John adopted a German accent, continuing to sing, and May giggled softly, as she moved past the numerous cameras...ve're on our vay home, vee going home...

Ringo was happily playing the drums, with the mood quite light, which was a lovely change. May couldn't spot George, and it dampened her spirits so much, that she considered returning to the kitchen. Nevertheless, May carried on with serving the cakes and biscuits to the film crew, Yoko, and photographers. May figured George was upstairs, in Derek Taylor's office. May was aware that Derek's office was "the place to be", with cocktails often served when the day finished, which was usually long after May's shift ended.

Noticing the mouth watering scone that Yoko was eating, John stopped singing and immediately made his way to May and the array of biscuits. She smiled shyly and placed the tray on the piano, so that John, Paul and Ringo could eat.

"This is good blimey cake!" Paul exclaimed, taking another bite of the scone, a small hint of flour on his beard, which May smiled at.

This declaration of Paul's prompted John to shriek the exact phrase, but to a tune, which May was familiar with but couldn't distinguish. Paul laughed, as if remembering an old inside joke of theirs, and immediately sat at the piano, and began to play "12 Days of Christmas".

"Oh no, not this again," Ringo rolled his eyes, smirking.

Ringo moved next to May, grabbing himself a Jaffa cake, as John began to sing. May quickly noticed that John was making up the words, and she grinned.

"On the first day of Christmas my true love baked a cake!" John sung in a boisterous voice, and took a great, big bite out of a scone, which May laughed at.

"...and a parson in a pear tree," Paul finished off, before continuing, "On the second day of crimble my true dove sent to me..." a lovely melody line on the piano substituted words.

"And a parson in a pear tree," May sung, and the three Beatles cheered for her.

John nudged Ringo. "Come on, your go," he smirked.

"Aw, what?" he replied, gaiety in his voice.

Ringo paused for a few seconds as Paul continued to play the bright, Christmas tune on the piano.

"On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me...one bird a- humming...two sailors coming..." and the three Beatles erupted into uproarious laughter, with May and the film crew joining in the hysterics at the innuendo of the jokey lyrics.

May's lower stomach ached from cackling, and the sugar from the cakes from earlier certainly didn't help it. Nonetheless, the goofing around was a healthy sign that fun could be had in the studio at such a stressful time and that life was not so serious.

Following the fit of laughter, Paul resumed playing the piano, producing delicate chord changes which May was entranced with, as John re-joined Yoko at the stool she sat on. After ten minutes or so, George returned to the studio, and May noticed that three desserts - two Jaffa cakes and one shortbread biscuit - were left on the tray. She immediately brought them over to George. He sat on a black stool, near the fireplace, about to retrieve his custom-made rosewood Fender Telecaster, when May approached him quite suddenly.

"There's three sweets left and they all have your name on them," she said, and presented the tray to him, crumbs falling onto the floor.

George's eyes scanned up her long legs - her skin looking soft and tactile - before coming into view of her maroon skirt, which he was quickly loving, and her tight black top. He glanced into her eyes.

"And are you one of these sweets?" he teased, a grin spreading across his face, which May could only describe as cheeky and playful.

She blushed, beaming inside. May hastily picked up the shortbread biscuit, hiding it behind her back. "Well, now I am..." she joked, and George warmly chuckled. It was a sort've husky sound, his throat a little sore after singing for hours.

"Grab a chair and we can share em'?" George proposed, glimpsing down at the sweets, before gesturing to the other black stool a few feet away.

May did as instructed, and moved close to George. "I'll sit with you, but I've had too many cakes today," she said and placed the shortbread biscuit back on the tray before passing it to him. "I probably shouldn't have had any at all," she paused. "I'm still on the job, y'know?" she whispered, and gave a soft laugh.

George picked up a Jaffa cake. "Better make sure I don't tell the boss. Oh, wait, I'm one of the bosses," he grinned, and bit into the cake.

May rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Everybody was in a really good mood; May peeked at Paul, John and Yoko who were also sharing a laugh, while Ringo was having a cheerful conversation with the cameramen. She didn't want to question the reasoning behind the pleasant atmosphere, but it was strikingly different to the tense and vexed Beatle sessions she had been informed of from other staff.

"So, any plans for tonight? This weekend?" George asked, wiping crumbs from the side of his mouth with his thumb.

May's gaze focused on the floor, her hands wedged underneath her thighs, flat upon the wooden stool.

"Uh, well I'm going to a party tonight,"

George looked her over once more. "In those clothes?"

She turned to face him, their eyes locking, before she glanced down at her outfit. "Y-yeah, yes," she replied in an unsure manner.

May watched his eyebrows lift and the shaking of his head as he picked up the last shortbread from the plate.

"What? What is it?" she questioned, the curiosity causing her mouth to curl into a smile.

George consumed the biscuit in two mouthfuls before explaining.

"The boys will go nuts over you...in that," His eyes briefly browsed her legs, which he couldn't help but fantasise about. Her innocence was endearing, but also startling to George, because she had so much yet to learn.

May's smiled dropped. "Peter's coming with me,"

His eyes flicked back to her's. "That won't stop them looking at you, sweetheart," George hesitated for a moment. "I mean, it hasn't stopped me yet..."

Her laugh came out as a bark. "Oh, stop it. You're full of it today," she gave him a wink.

"Ah, sorry, sorry. You must get compliments all the time, yeah?" George placed the empty on the floor, next to his stool.

Her smile gradually faded. Being an insecure teenager, May wanted to get off the topic of herself quite quickly, so she questioned George about his track they had been recording that morning. Words were exchanged, but soon May had to say farewell to George, as Peter was to be picking her up at 2:30pm outside the Apple building. It did dishearten George - he wasn't going to lie to himself - but the distraction of the studio gave him some relief. May left him with a pleasant smile, but George could sense a touch of sadness about her. His eyes scanned down her back as she made her way across to the studio door, and it was then that George noticed John also giving May a long, healthy once over. John's gaze then travelled to George, and his eyebrows raised, with slight approval, almost to say "she's quite alright". George couldn't agree more.

* * * *

11:40 pm

"Fuck, fuck...fuck," May muttered, rapidly flicking the pages of her address book.

Some guy was leaning against her a little too closely, and she quickly shoved him off, her throat burning, eyes red from emotional exhaustion of the night. May picked up the rotary telephone, rotating the wheel several times, hoping her Aunty would pick up. The party had been enough for her. She wished she never arrived to the shack of a place, with incense and dope around her, people tripping on LSD and fucking in virtually every corner of the room. Sure, she liked it sometimes, but tonight had been too much for her, and she was close to tears because of it.

After a minute, with no one picking up, May slammed the receiver down, a pressure in her upper cheeks and lump in the back of her throat intensifying. The need to cry was on the surface, with her head aching because of it. She rushed to the back of the address book, sighing deeply at her quick, cursive writing of the phone number in front of her. Did she want to call it or not? After short debate, she picked up the receiver, placed it on her ear, and began to rotate the wheel to dial the number. It rung a few times, her heart speeding up, until she heard another voice...his voice.

"Yes, hello?"

May didn't believe he would have picked up the phone, so the calming nature of his voice caused her breath to catch in her throat for a second or so, and she had to softly cough.

"It's May,"

"May? I didn't expect you to call," he replied calmly.

"I-I know, and I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry...but I had to," she quivered, and watched the sway of young couples in the living room, dancing to a beat of mostly guitar and bass.

She heard the murmur of his voice, but couldn't quite understand him due to the music. May covered her other ear so she could hear him a little better.

"What? I-I didn't hear you,"

May faintly distinguished the rough hum of his chuckle, and then, "Well, I can hardly hear you either. Where are you?"

"A party. I need...I need, God, I'm sorry for this, but no one..." she paused, trying to get her thoughts together. "I need you to pick me up, all my friends and everyone I know is either fucked or something. Please. I know it's a lot!"

May was pretty much screaming into the phone to dominate the music.

"What? May, I..." but he trailed off.

"God, fuckin hell. Please, George!" she begged, her voice cracking.

May wasn't proud of the pleading, but she just wanted to get out of the house, and this was her only option left. Her friend's had left, the whereabouts of Peter had been a mystery to May for about an hour and a half now, and she didn't feel comfortable leaving on her own. Her apartment was at least half an hour's drive away, and walking would be even longer. She really wasn't in her right frame of mind to walk.

"Okay, fine. I...I'll come with a driver, okay? Where is it?"

The vague drone of sirens and the flashing of lights briefly grabbed May's attention, before she hastily informed George of the address.