April 1969
Paul

That Allen Klein, eh?

He's a snake. A hustler. A thug. Not normally qualities that one looks for in one's business manager, but here we are. John, George, and even Ringo have used a combination of those words to describe him, but in a good way.

What a bloody crook! But he's our crook!

Thank Christ that Brian isn't here to see this. Klein is like the anti-Brian. He's the square in the suit that we always said we didn't want in charge of our affairs. Can you imagine Bri peering down from heaven and seeing not only what a mess of things we've made of things but that we've replaced him with him?

Fucking hell, man.

Four months ago, I'd never met Klein. Heard of him, yeah, but never laid eyes on him. Never spoken to him. He was the guy we'd occasionally wave in front of Eppy to motivate him to negotiate more fiercely for our royalties. How come the Stones got such a big fucking advance, Bri? Hmm? Hmm? Light a fire under our manager's arse, get some more cash, and then swear off the rumors in the press. Just a little playful competition, you know?

And wouldn't you know it, now Mick is saying that the million-pound advance wasn't even all it was cracked up to be. That the Stones never really saw the money in any meaningful way. Now he's saying that Klein is a fucking shark--and not in a good way.

Are you still listening? I'm fully aware that I'm ranting, mate. Yeah, I'm ranting and raving and knocking about my place in Scotland watching the sheep eat grass in the fields. Living the dream, the toppermost of the poppermost, all that bollocks. 

But you'll want to hear this next bit. Trust me.

The thing is, I'm convinced that Mick and Keith fobbed Klein off on us. They got sick of his creepy hustler shit and figured that if he was paying attention to The Beatles, then they could disentangle themselves more easily. Didn't help that John was mouthing off in the press that we were going broke within six months.

You know, I wouldn't put it past the Stones to make the introduction themselves, probably had Anita mention a well-timed something in John's ear. Everyone knows that he goes all in and he's always looking for a father figure, so it's not that hard of a sell, is it?

So four months ago I've never even met Klein and now he's basically our manager. Nothing's been signed, thank God, but I can only hold them off for so long since they fucking outvoted me.

Fuck that. Fuck him.

And, since we're making a shitlist, fuck Dick James. He knew we would have wanted to have control of Northern Star. It's our music. Our words. My blood, sweat, and tears -- but, no, please try to sell to ATV. Go ahead, Dick! Go behind our backs! Do whatever the fuck you like because things can't get worse.

Except they can.

Except they bloody can.

Because two days ago, we were all in a meeting -- the lads, Yoko, Klein, and the lawyer I'd hired to look after my interests since I don't trust Klein further than I can throw him, which isn't far because he's a portly little fuck.

So we're sitting there trying to decide on a strategy to get enough shares of Northern Songs so we have control. It was a friendly meeting, nothing out of the ordinary. Until Klein, that snake, makes a big production of the fact that I'd purchased a few extra shares of Northern Songs. It was like 200 shares, man. Anyone could've bought them -- they were traded publicly! I don't even remember telling anyone to buy them, except, yes -- I admit it! -- I did know I owned them and hadn't bothered to tell John.

And yet... did John make a habit of ringing to tell me about every minuscule financial investment he ever made? He didn't. We didn't. That wasn't a thing we'd ever done. So why would I bother when we had other things to deal with? Fuck, I'm chasing Alice all over the world and about to be a dad, and I'm supposed to be updating John on every financial move my accountant makes?

Klein knew John would fly off the handle -- and fly off the handle he did. Called me a deceitful bastard and said he'd hated Maxwell's Silver Hammer all along. It almost came to blows, though we'll try to keep that bit out of the papers. I tried to be logical and point out that I owned something like .02% more shares than he did -- and anyway, he was the one who had tied up a bunch of his shares in Julian's trust -- but he wasn't having it.

George decided he'd pile on, saying that I'd betrayed John's trust and asking how any of them could ever trust me again. All this is over 200 shares!  They weren't even worth that much. The company had millions of shares and we're talking about the tiniest percentage of them. Fucking hell.

Then, to make matters even worse, Ringo got into it. Ringo! He never gets into anything, but he told me I'd fucked up and had to make it right. And if Ringo was saying that, then probably I had fucked up a bit, but not in the sense that I'd betrayed them all. It's not like I'd shagged one of the girls, for fuck's sake.

And all the while, Allen bloody Klein sat there in his ugly suit and his stupid pipe and watched us tear each other apart, which was the entire fucking point of him having brought it up in the first place.

So I left town. 

Which brings me to the present.

***

I wasn't expecting Mal to show up in Scotland.

I'd been there for just under 48 hours, during which I'd spent most of the time prowling around the property silently ranting about all the shit with the Beatles. I'd also spent a healthy chunk of my time looking at all the upgrades that Alice had arranged since the last time we'd visited. Apparently, her brother had a cottage (ha!) nearby, so she'd rung up the caretaker to "pop by and spruce up the place."

Sure, yeah, alright, it was nice to have all the lights working and the hole in the roof fixed and not have to worry that the whole place would burn down from faulty electrical wiring. But was it really necessary to install a bidet? A fucking bidet! The place in Scotland was meant to be for meditation and sheep and, y'know, outdoorsy stuff, and yet here we were with a French gadget that cleans your arse.

Definitely not a groove.

I was halfway through writing a song about the comedy of it all when I heard the tell-tale sounds of a car approaching the building. My ears perked up and then my shoulders tensed as I went through the possible scenarios:  it could be a reporter here to get the scoop on the Beatles... or a fan come to scream and try to get a lock of my hair... or maybe it was John, here to finish the row over Northern Star.

Creeping over to the door, I peered out to see what looked suspiciously like my Mini slowly approaching the house. It was covered in mud and the tires looked like they were about to give way, which is why one shouldn't drive city cars in the country. I peered through the front window trying to see who was in the driver's seat. I was about two seconds from storming out and giving whoever it was a piece of my mind when I realized it was Mal.

The engine cut off just as I burst through the door and Mal jumped out of the car. At well over six feet tall, he towered over us all but he tended to hunch his broad shoulders when he was stressed. And they were more hunched over than I'd ever seen them, his brow heavy and his deep-set eyes looking especially weary.

"Malcolm!" I called out and his head swiveled toward me. I hadn't shaved since I arrived, and there's no way I didn't look unruly.  "What're you doing here, man?"

"It's Alice," he called back, which I heard but didn't quite register.

"Hmm?"

"It's Alice."

"Alice?"

"Yes, Alice!"

I walked closer and leaned against the car, grinning in a joking sort of way. "You drove all the way here with a message from Alice?"

Rolling his eyes dramatically, he threw his hands up in frustration "You're phone's out, mate. No one could reach you."

The smile dimmed on my face. "Reach me about what?"

"It's here-- the baby, I mean. The baby's here."

Once again, I heard the words but it took me a moment to process it. "The baby's where?"

"Well... in London."

I shook my head. "Alice is in labor? Has the baby already arrived?"

He shrugged helplessly and pointed generally south towards England. "I dunno, Cynthia told me to come get you."

"Cyn?

"Yeah, Cyn. She rang."

And then I was marching around the driveway, ignoring the mud that was getting all over my wellies.

"Fuck... fuck. The doctor said it would be at least three weeks... I went to the appointment with her and he fucking said it... one of the Harley Street types, you know, so he sounded quite confident about it... I think he's the Queen's obstetrician... about a million years old, but Alice's mum insisted."

Before Mal could say anything else, I ran into the house and over to the telephone. Lifting the receiver to my ear, I cursed when there was no dial tone. The entire time I'd been here, I'd assumed that everyone was either cross with me or giving me space, not that I'd been bloody unreachable.

I looked wildly back at Mal, who was running a hand through his hair nervously. "Cynthia's with her?"

"Think so, yeah."

We shared a look because John would hate that. And, despite the circumstances, a frisson of glee ran through me. That is, until a sense of overwhelming dread hit me. Babies weren't meant to be born three weeks early, were they? What if he wasn't okay? What if Alice wasn't okay?

I felt a bit sick and apparently looked it because Mal rushed toward me looking uncertain about what he was meant to do.

"We need to get to London," I said firmly.

To his credit, he nodded like I'd made a profound decision and not just stated the obvious.

"We could hire an airplane... or a helicopter... or a helicopter to take us to the airplane... you've already ruined me car, so that can stay here regardless... oh, fucking hell, I'm a father."

My eyes darted to the telephone and I remembered that it was still on the blink. We could go to my neighbor's place and use his phone, but he was at a trade show in Edinborough and I was hardly going to break into the place.

So no airplane, no helicopter. Besides, it would take hours to arrange either of those even if I had a working phone and by then we could be halfway to London.

"We should drive," I decided. Once again Mal nodded like I was making mind-blowing decisions, not doing what any sane person would do.

It was a fraught nine-hour drive through the night. We stopped in Campbeltown to send a telegram to the hospital so at least Liss would know I was on the way. If she was even conscious. Or alive. No, I couldn't think like that, everything was fine, I was maybe a dad, and it would all be great.

"Where were you when your son was born?" I asked, breaking the silence because I really couldn't sit here thinking that the love of my life wasn't anything but healthy. If anything, she was just annoyed that I wasn't there.

He glanced my way quickly, then trained his eyes back on the road as if sensing that I was in desperate need of small talk.

"Across the street in a pub."

"It was in Liverpool?"

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. "Yeah... Lil was in labor for at least 12 hours. Surprised she ever shagged me again, to be honest."

We had a little laugh and there was another long silence marred only by the incessant tapping of my shoe on the floorboard. I'd always been a glass-half-full sort of person, but being completely cut off from knowing what was happening made me feel more helpless than I'd ever felt.

Finally, I spoke. 

"Are they still pissed off?"

There was no question of the "they" in question, which meant that everyone at Apple must know about the row. Mal shrugged and glanced over his shoulder as he merged into the middle lane.

"Dunno," he replied.

Another long silence and then I let out half a laugh. "Two hundred shares, man. It's nothing."

He didn't reply, but I didn't expect him to. Mal had always been loyal to a fault and I figured he'd choose me if it came down to it, but it hadn't, so he hadn't.

I was 5 in the morning when we finally reached the hospital, a hulking sort of building that looked slightly sinister in the blue light of dawn. Mal dropped me at the curb and went to park the car while I ran into the building. The girl at the reception desk recognized me immediately and looked a bit like she might have a heart attack, but quickly pointed me toward the maternity wing.

Despite it being so early in the morning, the wing was bustling and I felt the familiar ripple of recognition as I ran up to the nearest nurse.

"I'm looking for Alice McCartney." I was panting slightly from the run up two flights of stairs and my voice was louder than I intended. So now everyone in the bloody room was staring.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at her clipboard and began flipping pages. I began to panic, worried that the expression on her face meant that something terrible had happened to my wife. Before it became a full-blown panic attack, I heard Cynthia's voice.

"There you are."

She walked toward me in a blouse and skirt that were rumpled in the way that clothes are when you've slept in them. The dark circles under her eyes were pronounced and she looked dead tired, but her eyes were sparkling.

"Cyn," I said, hearing my voice wobble a bit. "Is she alright?"

She nodded emphatically as she closed the distance between us and threw her arms around me. I felt the eyes of everyone in the room on us, but I didn't care because Liss was alright.

"She's brilliant," she murmured into my shoulder before she leaned back and flashed a glorious smile. "They're both brilliant."

"Yeah?" I'd never felt so relieved and it was all I could do to stay upright.

"Yeah," she said, motioning for me to follow her. She gave a pointed look at one of the younger nurses, which was the cue for everyone in the room to go back to minding their own business.

We walked down a short corridor and the anticipation was too much for me.

"How was it? The-- the delivery?"

Cynthia looked up at me with a smirk. "Alice had a bit too much of the laughing gas and was high as a kite the entire time. Said something about narrow hips and how her family has a low pain tolerance--"

"The doctor said she didn't have the best birthing hips," I replied with a grimace.

"Anyway," she said as we approached a closed door that had a large red-and-white sign announcing that it was a private room. "She was high as a kite, but she did so well and--"

I pulled her to a stop just before we reached the room and reached for her hands, which I clasped tightly.

"Thank you, Cyn. For being there. For staying with her. I can't-- I can't thank you enough."

She smirked. "John'll bloody hate it."

Then she saw something in my face and her expression softened. "She's alright, Paul. So's the baby."

I shook my head, tightening my grasp on her hands. "No, it's... well, suppose I'm shit at this? Being a dad, I mean?"

Cynthia shook her head and laughed. "Oh, Paul," she said as she tore away a hand so she could reach for the door handle. "You were born to be a dad."

We crept into the room where Alice was propped up in a sterile hospital bed wearing a standard-issue hospital dressing gown. The door clicked as it closed behind us, but she was so focused on whatever she was contemplating that she didn't hear us. Cynthia reached down to squeeze my hand and urged me forward encouragingly before she slipped out of the room.

I took a few more steps into the room and paused.

"Lissy," I said softly.

She glanced up, looking exhausted but happy to see me. A smile slowly spread across her face as she took me in, all scruff and mud and country clothes.

"You made it," she said as I hurried across the room and perched on the side of the bed to pull her close.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," I murmured into her hair as she leaned into me like she was trying to siphon some of my energy for herself. I closed my eyes and let us re-center each other for a moment before I opened them and stared at the bassinet a few feet away.

"Is that...?"

I was on my feet before I knew it and walking over to stare down at the swaddled baby sleeping soundly.

"Is that him?" I asked in wonderment, staring down at the baby who had Alice's nose and my lips and my dad's eyebrows.

I looked back at my wife to see her smirk. "That's her."

"Her?" I asked, turning back to the sleeping baby. "So the mad fortune teller was wrong, eh?"

I stared down at the baby, who was pink and sort of wrinkly and had definitely been born on the early side. But she was perfect. I moved to pick her up, but Alice hissed at me to stop.

"Cynthia did some sort of magic trick to make her sleep just now, you can't wake her."

I looked back and noticed how shattered Alice looked. And this was a woman who regularly pulled all-nighters, so that was saying something. I furrowed my brow and turned away from my daughter.

"Has she not been sleeping?"

Alice shook her head and looked miserable. "I don't think she likes me. Every time I pick her up, she screams."

I grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. "Of course she likes you. You're her mum."

She shrugged and I vaguely remembered one of the wives telling me about the baby blues. Is that what this was?

"I'm so proud of you, Liss," I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "And I'm the one who was nine hours away in Scotland, so if anyone is the shit parent, it's me.... Have you decided on a name for her?"

We'd been so sure that it would be a boy that we'd only discussed male names. In retrospect, we'd put a bit too much faith in the fortune teller.

Alice shook her head. "I was waiting for you to get here."

"What does the bracelet on her arm say?"

She shrugged again. "Baby McCartney. They didn't have a private room when I arrived, so I was in the main ward. Apparently, I had a lot of the gas during labor, so I was saying all sorts of bollocks for the first bit. Anyway, the woman in the bed next to me said we should call her Barbara."

"Barbara?" I asked, saying 'Barbara McCartney' silently a few times. I shook my head.

"Yeah, it's no good," she agreed.

"Should we name her after your grandmother?" I asked. Alice's eyes softened and then she shook her head.

"Too old-fashioned."

"Oh, c'mon," I said good-naturedly. "You toffs have at least four middle names, surely your granny had one you like."

Alice thought about it for a moment.

"Julia?"

I grimaced. "John will think we named her after his song."

She rubbed her eyes tiredly and mouthed what I assumed was her grandmother's full name to herself before looking up at me.

"Louise?"

I thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "I like it."

"Louise McCartney," she said, trying it out for size.

"Lou."

She nodded. "Alright, but only if her middle name can be Allen, after your ne'er-do-well manager. Louise Allen Klein McCartney."

"Fuck off," I said with a grin, gathering her toward me.

"I love you," she replied softly.

**

Reporters stationed themselves outside the hospital for the two weeks that Alice and Lou were there. The Daily Mail dedicated a small space on the lower left of the front page for a "Papa Paul Update," which consisted of blurry photographs of me coming and going to the hospital each day. Some photos had me scowling at the camera, while in others I looked more genial.

It was such a fucking spectacle. All our visitors were photographed and hounded for interviews, as the papers wanted details. It was leaked early on that we had a girl, but the world wanted to know her name, her weight, which of us she resembled the most. Derek begged to release a statement to see if that would make everyone fuck off, but Alice and I were resolute in our right to privacy.

John and Yoko showed up several days after the birth, fresh off a plane from Toronto. They were both dressed in all white and brought a tape recorder to the room so they could play a demo of a song they'd written in Louise's honor. It was mostly recordings of their heartbeats and some whispering, but Alice smiled and thanked them profusely while I tried to pretend like it didn't kill me that John couldn't show up on his own, just this once.

Maureen and Ringo came through the back entrance to avoid the brouhaha, bringing her homemade huntsman pie. She swore it helped with postpartum recovery and it was fucking glorious regardless.

George and Pattie visited separately because they were rowing again.

"I'm worried they won't make it," Alice said later that night. She stared absent-mindedly at Lou sleeping in the bassinet next to the bed.

We'd finally discovered the trick to getting her to sleep, which involved hours of rocking and bouncing and me singing the same song to her over and over. But the moment the dummy fell out of her mouth, which was approximately every 35 minutes, she would wake up wailing and we'd have to start all over again.

I sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair that I'd spent more than a few nights in and hung my head, running a hand over my neck. I was fucking knackered, more so than at the height of Beatlemania when we played two shows a night and then legged it to the next city. I'd always thought I was one of those people who just didn't get tired, but apparently, it wasn't true. My tiny daughter had felled me.

"I'm worried we won't make it," I muttered, wondering if Alice had hired the nanny after I'd asked her not to. Because I'd love a nanny to take over right about now. All the nonsense about us raising our child single-handedly seemed like the daftest idea I'd ever had. What a fucking idiot I'd been.

"You're worried we won't make it?"

I looked up to see Alice was staring at me with wide eyes.

"You're just, I dunno, throwing out there that we might not make it?"

Groaning, I shook my head. "No, no, not us. I meant the band. The Beatles."

Alice looked slightly mollified, but as my words sunk in, she exhaled heavily.

"Oh, love."

She held out a hand for me and I joined her on the bed, lying alongside her and pressing my forehead against hers.

"You were meant to go to Scotland to sort out everything in your head," she said. "And then Lou showed up early and--"

I shook my head. "She came at the perfect time."

There was a shriek from below and Alice stiffened slightly. We were both quiet as we listened to the hubbub of fans and reporters below. The fact that they'd been there for two weeks was mad. What did they expect would happen? If we gave them what they wanted, would they leave?

With a sigh, Alice stood up and walked slowly over to the window, wincing slightly in pain. They'd had to rotate her hips in a certain way during the delivery and she'd ended up with a hip injury. I guess the Queen's dotty old doctor was right about her child-bearing hips, after all.

She glanced down at Lou to ensure she was still asleep and then shifted the blind the tiniest amount so that she could look out at the crowd below without the seeing her. I watched her in profile as she tilted her head in confusion and then her expression hardened. Not for the first time, I felt like shit that all this followed me around and we were like birds in a gilded cage.

There was a particularly loud shout "I love you, Paul!" paired with a car honking on the high street, and Lou startled awake. Alice whirled around and rushed to replace the dummy, but it was too late. Lou's brown eyes widened as she took in the light and her little brow scrunched for a moment -- the calm before the storm.

"I'll take her," I said, getting up and walking over to the bassinet just as the tiny but fierce cries began.

Alice shook her head. "No, it's my turn. I'll--"

Picking up Lou, I nestled her against me and began to sway my hips back and forth to find the rhythm that soothed her. I turned my head to look at my wife, who looked like she was about to drop dead of exhaustion.

"Sleep, Liss. I'm alright. We're alright."

After a moment, she nodded and walked over to the bed, curling up in a ball and putting a pillow over her head to block out the light.

"Sleep pretty darling," I began to sing softly to my daughter, who stared up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "Do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby."

**

Two days later, we went home.

Liss wore a burgundy dress belted tight to make her look tiny, even though she complained that she was enormous. Teagan had sent her hairdresser to the hospital to do Alice's hair, so it was a tousled perfection. She held Lou in one arm and grasped my forearm tightly in the other as she tried to hide the pain she was in from descending the steps. We both tried to keep our gaze down, but the flash from the cameras blinded us both a bit.

Lou cried the entire time and, by the time Mal shuffled us into the waiting car, I thought Liss might too.

It was no better at Cavendish, except it was mostly teenage girls who wanted to catch a peek at Baby McCartney. They crowded around the gate so that Mal couldn't open it to get the car through, forcing me to get out of the car.

"Girls, you gotta move," I said, directing them to one side with my arms like a policeman. "We need to get through."

Somehow I ended up signing for a few moments and even let a few of the girls snap a photograph. They were finally mollified enough to move and Mal was able to get through the gate, which slammed close with a clank behind us.

I opened the door and hurried over to Alice's side, reaching down to take Lou so that Mal could help her.

"You alright, love?" I asked as we walked slowly into the house. Louise had finally fallen asleep in the car, but the ruckus from outside the gate startled her. She looked around and then started to wail.

"Me too, baby," Liss whispered to her as we walked into Cavendish. Mrs. Bennington was waiting in the foyer, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she watched Alice walk through the door holding Lou.

Just behind her was a twenty-something girl with strawberry blonde hair that was pulled back in a neat bun. She wore a gray uniform that was somewhere between a nurse and a housekeeper.

"Who's that?" I murmured to Alice as we watched Mrs. B coo over the baby while Mal brought in the suitcases and a pile of flowers that well-wishers had left at the gate.

"Lydia," she replied. "The nanny."

I nearly collapsed with relief and wanted to kiss my wife, but instead just murmured, "I fucking love you, Liss."

Lydia must've realized it was her cue because she walked forward and put her arms out for Louise. Alice handed her over and she immediately quieted down and stared curiously at the woman.

"See, she just doesn't like us," Alice joked and everyone laughed, except I wasn't entirely sure she was having a laugh.

Mrs. Bennington began to fuss over us both, ushering us into the living room so we could have a cuppa while Lydia took Louise upstairs. She told us that Alice's mum had taken charge of setting up the nursery, something that Liss and I had put off til the last minute... too late, apparently. I felt a moment of panic that Lou wasn't in the same room as us, but realized she'd already fallen asleep and wouldn't even notice.

"See," Alice said, nudging my arm with hers and looking at me with exhausted eyes. "I told you the nanny was a good idea."

I chuckled and pulled her against me. "I stand corrected with this one thing."

"But if you want me to ask her to leave... you know, so we can do it all on our own..."

"God no," I replied, prompting a little laugh from her. "I've no idea what I'm doing. Do you?"

She looked at me and shook her head, looking a bit dazed and a little scared. She'd said earlier that morning that she wanted to stay at the hospital forever, or at least they gave her a manual on how to take care of a baby.

Mrs. B brought in a pot of tea and two cups, giving us a small smile before heading back to the kitchen. We sat there for a moment staring at each other, and I realized it was the first time we'd been alone since I'd left for Scotland. How strange that it felt like Lou had been part of our family forever when we hadn't even known her two weeks before.

"It's weird, right?" Alice asked, apparently thinking something along the same lines. "It's all different now."

I nodded and put my cup down on the table to stretch out on the sofa. "Wanna watch Mister Ed?"

Alice closed her eyes for a brief second -- I think in relief that we could just do something normal -- and then opened them, nodding.

Ten minutes later, a talking horse was on the telly and both Alice and I were curled up on the sofa, fast asleep.