August 1969
Paul

John and Yoko's new house was much more imposing than the pictures he'd shown me. Four towering columns framed the white Georgian facade, which was surrounded by meticulous boxwood hedges. It looked like the sort of place a stodgy doctor and his society wife retired to in old age, not the sort of place that a pop star and avant-garde artist would dig.

The whole thing screamed old money bought with new money, but also isolation and vastness.

"Bloody hell," I muttered as I climbed out of the car and stretched my arms above my head. "It's a bit much, isn't it?"

Alice joined me a moment later with a sleeping Louise nestled against her. She had cried the entire drive and had only fallen asleep five minutes before we arrived, which was sadly predictable. We craned our necks to stare up at the ancient brickwork as I mentally prepared myself to be switched on for my bandmates.

"It dates back to the early 1700s," Alice said off-handedly like she was reciting a well-known fact. "But the current facade was built by Thomas Holloway... you know, the philanthropist who founded Holloway College and the sanatorium."

Without taking my eyes off the ivy winding toward a tall window, I shook my head. "How do you always know this stuff?"

She shrugged as if it were a daft question.

"Random historical facts about posh estates... it's not normal, Liss."

She shrugged again. "When I was little, my mum would send me out with my governess so I wouldn't be underfoot... so our driver would take us all over and we'd learn about-- well, posh estates, I suppose."

I turned to stare at her bemusedly. "Not normal, baby."

She gave me a crooked smile. "Maybe you're the one who isn't normal, have you ever considered that? Perhaps you should be positively mortified that you have such a lack of knowledge about posh estates."

The white door opened and John stuck his head out and waggled his eyebrows. Something about the gesture reminded me of all the times I'd visited him at Weybridge. Except now his hair was too fucking long and he always vaguely looked like he hadn't bathed.

"Whaddya think, Viscountess?" he drawled as he opened the door wider so we could walk through.

"A lovely home, John," she replied breezily as they did the perfunctory air kiss, somehow managing not to wake the sleeping baby. She eyed the outfit he'd chosen for the photoshoot.

"I've always wondered if the Le Chateau jumpsuits were comfortable," she said with a smirk.

He grinned and put a hand on his black velour-covered hip. "Like a second skin, babe."

"They're meant to be worn with knickers, you know," she noted drily. My eyes immediately went to his lower half where, indeed, it was plainly evident that he was only wearing the jumpsuit and nothing beneath it.

"But then it wouldn't feel like a second skin." He flashed a wicked grin before his expression softened as he peered down at Louise. He always had a soft spot for other people's kids, and I wished desperately that he had the same fondness for his own son.

"Didn't know it was going to be a family affair. Would've asked Ritch to bring his little ones."

I clapped him on the back as I passed by and pulled the door shut behind me. Every surface that I could see was painted an austere white, just like the exterior. John had told me that he and Yoko were in their white phase, but I hadn't realized it was meant to be so literal.

"The nanny quit this morning," I explained. "So it was either bring Lou or leave Alice behind -- and you specifically said to bring the chicklets, so here we all are."

"Why did she quit?"

Yoko appeared out of nowhere as she asked the question in her quiet voice, joining John to gaze at the baby. She wore a black jumper and loose jeans, alongside a headband that reminded me of American Indians.

I pointed at Alice. "It's her fault."

She rolled her eyes. "I assure you, I had nothing to do with it."

"Yes, well, Hayes wouldn't have been in the house if it were up to me. I've never known him to not make trouble. Practically his middle name. Lord Troublemouth."

John looked up like this was the first interesting thing he'd heard all day. "Hayes? That little fireball?"

"Hustler is more like it," I muttered as I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, anxious to get the photo shoot over with. I glanced down at my blue suit, wondering how it would photograph.

"What did he say that made her leave?" Yoko asked curiously.

"It was nothing," Alice replied breezily as she adjusted a pleat on her cream skirt.

I struggled to contain a scoff as her casualness belied the absolute strop she'd thrown when Lydia walked out. At least three plates ended up in shards on the floor. Hayes' new Creedence Clearwater Revival LP had been broken in two, which then caused him to fly into a rage because, even though he initially thought the song was a "repetitive drone," after 5 or 6 listenings, he'd admitted it was "reluctantly catchy".

"It must've been fucking something if your nanny quit," John replied bemusedly. "Keith Moon wandering into your house in the middle of the night completely starkers didn't bother her, but a 15-year-old child did? What could he have possibly said?"

At that moment, Louise opened one brown eye and then the other. I mentally counted down 3... 2... 1 before she started to scream bloody murder.

"Sorry," Alice apologized as she began to pat Louise on the back and make half-hearted shushing sounds. "She always wakes up a bit tetchy."

John clapped a hand on my back and began to guide us toward the rear of the house. "Takes after her dad, then."

When we arrived in the well-tended and overly formal garden, Ringo and George were sitting in wrought iron chairs in the garden. George appeared relaxed in fitted Levis and a tall black hat. Ringo looked slightly more tense, and a little drunk, as he leaned so far back in his chair that I feared it might topple over. Derek was speaking animatedly with the photographer while Mal was across the garden fiddling with the camera we'd given him during the '66 tour.

"Ah," George said, tipping his hat toward me. "The McCartneys finally made it."

The subtext was that I was always late--which, admittedly, I often was--and couldn't be arsed to show up when the group needed me. As if I wasn't the one carrying the weight of the entire band on my bloody back.

"Where are the girls?" I asked, looking around like Pattie and Mo might be hiding behind a topiary.

John nodded toward a small building adjacent to the main house. "I showed them my meditation hut and Pattie said she wanted to give it a go."

"Did you two rob Tommy Nutter's shop?" Alice asked, looking between George and Ringo, both of whom wore vaguely Edwardian coats from the tailor who had recently moved in down the street from Apple.

"It's the place to be," George said, holding his hands up in defense. "And anyway, we're at war with the other Savile Row arseholes."

"Stiff-necked shits," Derek said gleefully as he walked up to kiss Alice's cheek and playfully poke at Louise's nose, which, remarkably, she didn't seem to mind even though she minded most things. "Still can't believe they called the coppers on you."

"That was the best part of it!" I protested.

"Yeah, man, what a groove!" John deadpanned. "Let's go on tour!"

"I never said we should tour," I said, despite knowing that it was best not to engage. "I said a few gigs-- at the Roundhouse, like-- or, y'know maybe at--"

I could feel the others getting annoyed at me. It was palpable and yet I couldn't stop because it would be a groove to play a few gigs. None of them could deny it felt good to be playing live again up on the roof. It wasn't as if I was suggesting we play bloody Shea Stadium, but surely we could handle The Roundhouse or several clubs in Sweden or whatever.

"Alright, then," Derek said, clapping his hands loudly. "We're already a bit behind schedule--"

"So sorry," Alice murmured in apology. "Louise didn't want to get in the car, I'm afraid she gets a bit queasy--"

It had been absolute madness trying to get the three of us out of the house. Alice had been nearly in tears at the prospect of the nanny leaving and it was laundry day, so we'd run around trying to find clean clothes for Louise. She ended up in a prim forest green frock that Lady E had given us, which was far too formal and not at all hip.

"We're thrilled you're both here," Derek assured her. "So let's get on with the main event, shall we?"

Alice and Yoko made a big show of walking toward the meditation hut in search of the other girls. Something about it reminded me of 19th-century aristocracy, leaving the men to their brandy and cigars. It occurred to me that, out of all of us, Yoko and Alice were the ones who had grown up around lots of money. I wonder if there was a sense of shared comfort in that for them, the idea of being so well-off that you could choose to slum it for a few years while you went off to discover your joie de vivre.

George, John, Ringo, and I crowded around the photographer and made small talk about the lenses he'd chosen to use. It felt almost normal as we made pun after clever pun, but it was just muscle memory. Our hearts were no longer in it, and I didn't know how to bring back the joy of it all. One look at Mal told me that he too was keenly aware that something was askew as the photographer snapped image after image.

"Are you coming to the Isle of Wight or not? Mal's gotta arrange it all," George asked me as we trudged from one location to another. The photographer asked us to sit in the grass and look pensive, which led to a volley of did he ask us to look "expensive"? I heard "defensive". Well, I heard "apprehensive"!

I shook my head. "Can't go anywhere now that the nanny's left."

John shot me a knowing look because who was I fooling? I just didn't want to go. Probably none of them wanted me to go. None of us wanted to deal with any of this. I'd thought long and hard about how to describe the terrible strain between us but all I could identify was the tightness in my chest that sometimes threatened to overwhelm me.

"Shame, though," I continued. "Was excited to see the Moody Blues."

It went like that for another 30 minutes before four blokes in Hare Krishna garb came tumbling out of one of the small cottages on the outskirts of the property. John explained that they were helping him renovate, and it was decided that we'd worked long enough -- it was time to have a smoke and debate the finer points of the Bhagavad Gita.

I'd already smoked before we left -- standard practice for all Beatles meetings by that point because the tension was otherwise intolerable -- but when Mal produced two spliffs spilled with glorious grass from Isfahan, I decided why not.

We were sitting next to a huge, muddy hole in the ground -- soon to be a manmade lake -- when Alice walked up and handed Louise to me.

"Is she meant to be on the album cover?" I joked. "Seems a bit young to start her modeling career."

"I do hate that you're such a good-looking family," Ringo mused as he watched the three of us. "Doesn't seem right, does it?"

Alice flashed a real smile toward him before offering up a not-so-real smile to me. "I've got to leave for my meeting. She's been fed and changed so shouldn't be too much trouble."

I looked down at my daughter, who stared up at me with sleepy eyes. Then I looked up at my wife.

"Meeting?"

She blinked. "Yes, Paul. I have a meeting at Zarby."

"Oh, we're not quite finished, Alice," Derek said, managing to sound officious even though he'd left twice to do a line of something. "Could it wait an hour or so?"

"Zarby's your company," George said. "Surely they won't mind?"

"Yeah, you're the boss," John interjected. "Such such a lovely boss. Don't let them push you around. Fight the man, Viscountess."

Alice looked from Beatle to Beatle and then to Derek with an expression that could only be described as disdain before training her gaze on me.

"Can't you take her with you?" I asked. "Or, yeah, wait a few minutes until we're done. Why'd you schedule a meeting on the same day as our shoot? We're meant to stay for dinner afterward."

"Yoko's cooked up a miso-veg soup," John interjected.

"Macrobiotic?" George asked with interest. "I thought I read that foods couldn't be hot. Kills the enzymes or something."

"No, the food can be hot," Ringo replied. "It's just that you don't want to eat warming foods if you're already inflamed."

Alice ignored them and kept her eyes trained on me, shaking her head slightly. "Well, Paul, when the meeting was planned, we had a nanny. Lou wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, so it didn't really figure into my thinking."

"Couldn't Frances watch her?"

"Who's Frances?"

"Your assistant."

"Fiona? That's not her job, minding my child."

I ran a hand through my hair. "Well, it's not my fault that your "cousin" or whatever he is-- it's not my fault he was such a twat to the person whose job it was to mind our child. I mean, really, who criticizes someone over-- he's incorrigible, isn't he?-- and anyway, what am I supposed to do with the baby while I'm working?"

I was keenly aware that everyone was watching us, and Alice must have realized it too because she didn't reply and, instead, stared down at the weirdly green grass. It reminded me of her granny's lawn. I mean, really, what went on at these posh estates that made the grass look like a leprechaun took a shimmering green shit all over the place?

One of the Hare Krishna lads stumbled into me, which threw me off balance. I instinctively shoved Louise toward Alice as I put a hand backward and only nearly avoided falling into the giant pit of dirt. John began yelling at the bloke -- something about mud on my suit and one mustn't touch others without permission -- which then prompted me to defend the idiot who had pushed me. George joined the fray for no reason whatsoever, maybe he just wanted to blow off steam, while Ringo just sat there laughing at all of us.

By the time we all came up for air, I looked around and Alice was gone.

"Where'd she go?" I asked no one in particular.

"Mal's driving her into the city," the photographer replied. "Something about the board of directors."

As I ran a hand through my hair, it slowly came back to me that she had, in fact, mentioned that morning that she had an important meeting. In retrospect, she'd sounded uncharacteristically nervous, and, also in retrospect, perhaps that anxiety had been part of her big reaction when Lydia had walked out.

Fuck me, she was nervous about whatever this meeting was and now she had to show up with a shouty baby in tow.

"Bloody hell," I muttered as I leaned down to brush dirt off my trousers.

**

It was nearly 11 when I heard the gate birds' murmuring intensify outside the gate. I'd been going slightly out of my mind wondering where Alice was and had worked myself up into a minor rage about it all. What right did she have to take my child out so late without phoning home &tc &tc &tc. I'd rung Zarby several times but had been told she was at a meeting offsite and they didn't know any details.

I hurried across the driveway and flung open the gate just as the taxi began to drive off, its headlights illuminating me. The girls started to scream as I squinted in the bright light and tried to see what was going on. Autograph books and records were shoved my way and a gaggle of girls formed a circle around me, each of them vying for my attention.

"Yeah, hi... it's quite late to be out, isn't it?... ta, love... well, yes, Ringo's solo is quite good on that song... no, I'm home for the night, so there's no real reason to be hanging out much longer..."

My vision finally cleared enough to see Alice chatting animatedly with a gate bird. I squinted to see her in the half-light and finally determined that it was Ula, the Swedish girl who had asked me to sign a Revolver LP at least 7 times, which raised suspicions that she was selling them.

Next to her was Mike Caine wearing a posh suit and groovy specs, his blonde hair gleaming in the lamplight. I could help but notice he was carrying my sleeping daughter as he stopped slightly to hear what the gate bird was on about. Despite myself, I felt a rush of annoyance because they were here to see me, not this wife-stealing twat.

As if that wasn't surprising enough, Teagan was standing quietly next to both of them with a standard-issue stewardess smile on her face that radiated it's fine, it's all completely fine energy. She'd gained a bit of weight since having her baby and, while still quite fit, looked somehow more matronly. I said a silent prayer of thanks that the same hasn't happened to Liss, despite her worries about her figure.

"Alright, girls, it's late," I said, clapping my hands and trying to channel Derek's air of officiousness. "I'll come out and sign in the morning."

There was a collective groan of disappointment as I walked over and took Louise from Mike's arms. I swear to God, he smirked at me and I had the distinct urge to slap the stupid look on his face. But before I could consider the logistics, Alice took the baby from my arms and walked slightly unsteadily  through the gate.

I turned toward Teagan to usher her into the driveway, but she shook her head and leaned closer so her lips were next to my ear.

"You're a real fuck-up, you know that?"

"Hey!" I protested leaning back to glare at her. "What did I do?"

Her hand landed on my shoulder and pulled me closer so the gate birds couldn't hear.

"Go be the man that your wife needs you to be... if you can manage it, which I highly doubt."

With that, she pushed me lightly toward the gate and spun on her heel, trouncing down Cavendish Avenue toward the high street. Louise squawked in my arms as I reached out to pull Mike into the driveway. The gate door clanged behind us, causing the baby to startle in my arms.

"Why're you out with my wife, mate?" I asked.

He held up his hands in the air just like George had hours earlier. "I just wanted to see that she got home safely, man.  I ran into them in Chelsea at that place-- you know, the one with the speakeasy in the basement--"

I tilted my head, flummoxed. "Alice was at The Landmine? With Louise?"

He shrugged and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I dunno, man. Seems like she... didn't have the best day? But you'd know more about that than I would, mate, seeing that she's your wife."

"She's had a fine enough day," I replied with an air of confidence that I didn't feel.

He looked back at the gate, where the girls were still chattering away excitedly. I was so used to it that it barely registered anymore.

"They stand out here all night?"

I nodded.

"For you?"

I shrugged. "For better or for worse."

"Bloody hell," he said. "I'm in the wrong business."

I watched him walk away and stared up at the night sky as the girls started to squeal as he left. "Now, now, ladies," he said in an exaggerated Cockney accent. "It's just me."

"What the fuck," I muttered as I spun on my heel and walked back across the driveway and into the house. Alice had left the door partially ajar and I could hear her singing to Louise in the nursery. She was off-tune and making up words that didn't go together at all, but our daughter didn't seem to mind.

I stomped across the living room and opened about 75 tiny drawers in cabinet, cursing Alice for never putting the grass back in the same one. Finally, I found a half-smoked spliff and lit it, sprawling across the sofa as a melody echoed through my brain in a not-entirely-welcome way. I'd had the idea to do a song around the phrase 'right as rain,' which Alice always said. It seemed ironic since nothing at the moment was going right, but maybe that would make for a good tune.

I must've dozed off because when I woke, Alice was sitting in an overstuffed chair across from me. She'd scrubbed the makeup off her face and pulled her hair back into a precarious ponytail. She wore a faded Bob Dylan t-shirt that threatened to envelop her, alongside wide-legged gaucho pants that had seen better days. She watched me with a curious expression on her face, startling slightly when I moved.

"Where were you?" I asked.

She stared down at the matchbook on the table. It was from Midnight Court, a new club in Soho where we'd recently gone to see a psychedelic light show.

"Liss," I said more loudly. "Why were you at a club with our 5-month-old daughter and Michael Caine? What the fuck?"

She looked up. "Why're you saying his name like that? I ran into him while I was out. It's not like we were shagging in a dark corner. I'm a mother, for God's sake."

I sighed and slumped back onto the settee. "He's always had a thing for you. It's not even remotely cute when you pretend like you don't know. And, for the record, you used to shag in dark corners."

She scoffed. "He's with Bianca."

I sat up and stared at her, wondering why she looked so weary. Like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"What happened at the meeting, Liss?"

She shrugged and looked down at the matchbook, turning it over and over in her hand.

"Alice. What happened at the meeting?"

It was almost like she was in a trance, so I leaned over to place a hand atop the matchbook cover. She blinked twice in succession as if startled and her shoulders slumped downwards.

"They're considering replacing me as creative director," she said so softly that I almost didn't hear her.

I furrowed my brow and leaned closer because surely I'd misheard.

"They're in 'preliminary talks' with Tom Atkinson," she continued, still not looking at me. "He's American and a man and doesn't have a baby, so the perfect replacement for me, I suppose.... For my bloody shop that I built from the bloody ground up."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

She glanced up and I winced at the misery in her eyes.

"They're not sure I'm up to the job."

"Who's not sure?"

"The board of directors."

I sighed heavily because part of the reason that a Zarby board of directors even existed was that I had reduced liquidity because of all the legal issues with ABKCO and EMI. Alice had a lot of money of her own, but a lot of it was tied up in Zarby so she'd decided to restructure so we had more day-to-day cash.

"Don't worry," she continued. "They won't sack me completely. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to use my name in perpetuity. Who wouldn't want Alice McCartney, the wife of a Beatle."

I leaned over and grabbed her hand to stop the trembling. "I don't understand, Liss. It's your company. You are Zarby. Zarby is you. They can't do this."

She shrugged.

"Is it because you had Lou with you?" I asked. "Because I swear I would've taken her, it just got-- y'know, chaotic all of a sudden, and George nearly got into a brawl with the Hare Krishna blokes. Anyway, by the time I resurfaced, you were gone."

She shook her head. "No, I fobbed her off on Fiona."

I couldn't help it. "Thought that wasn't her job."

"She's brilliant with babies."

Her voice broke on the last word and it was like a damn burst as the tears started to fall.

"Maybe they're right," she said between sobs. "It's August, which means that next month I should be going on a month-long scouting trip... an entire month flying around the world to find— I dunno, kaftans from Morocco and flowy tunics from Los Angeles... or whatever... but my brain feels like it's full of cotton, Paul... I can't bloody think... and I can't fly around the bloody world with Lou in tow."

I pulled her against me as she cried, wondering if there was anything I could do. If it were the good old days, I would've rung up Eppy and asked him to sort it. Figure out if we knew anyone to could call in a well-timed favor. But he wasn't here anymore and, besides, Alice would kill me for getting involved with her business.

"Babies are adaptable," I replied, knowing full well that ours certainly wasn't. "Maybe... maybe I could come with you for part of it... or maybe your mum could--"

She started to cry harder and slumped against me.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered.

"You're Alice," I replied, running a hand over the back of my head. "You're the love of my life... you're Lou's mum... "

The crying intensified and she burrowed her face into the crook of my neck, her body shaking with each sob. Then, like clockwork, Louise's walks drifted down the staircase. I'd been told that babies didn't have nightmares, but I wasn't convinced. Feeling like I might crack in two, I disentangled myself from Alice and went upstairs to give our daughter her dummy and sing her an in-tune song with words that rhymed properly.

When I returned, Alice was lying on the sofa staring at the telly. Suzie regularly sent us tapes of American programmes, including this episode of I Dream of Jeannie. We'd seen it a few times and usually Alice thought it was hilarious when Jeannie tried to blink her husband home from space, but instead blinked down the commander of the spaceship. This time, though, she stared at the screen as if she weren't processing a thing.

"Liss..." I asked after four more episodes, during which she showed no sign that she was even watching. "Should we go to bed? Sort this all out in the morning? You always tell me that things make more sense the next day."

She shook her head without taking her eyes off the screen, this time the final episode of Star Trek. Not knowing what else to do, I stumbled off to bed so at least one of us would be able to get up with Lou when she inevitably woke at 6am.

This went on for days.

Alice wore the same ratty clothes and watched hours of shitty American sitcoms all day long. She took short breaks to feed Louise and, with great urging on my part, to take a few bites of food. Then she would go back to watching the telly, and I'd go back to watching the baby.

After the fourth day, I told her that I was going to ask Mrs. Bennington to watch Louise.

"That's not her job," Alice replied disinterestedly.

"Well, we pay her wages, don't we? She can hoover less and babysit more, can't she?"

She shook her head as if I didn't understand anything and went back to whatever she was watching. I debated throwing out all the cassettes when she wasn't looking but, instead, went to ring her mum, who promised to contact a nanny agency that specialized in "our sort of people.". I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself when I walked back into the living room.

"Guess what, Liss-- I've just--"

I stopped cold in the doorway because Robert Fripp from King Crimson was seated on the sofa next to her, both of them watching The Dick Van Dyke Show. I'd briefly met him at the Stones' Hyde Park gig, which King Crimson opened for. I hadn't seen him since and had no idea why he was in my house.

"That's his wife?" Robert asked, pointing at the telly.

Alice shook her head. "No, that's the next-door neighbor's wife. His wife is the one who looks like Jackie Kennedy."

On the screen, Mary Tyler Moore walked into the room wearing black capris and a jumper.

Alice pointed to the telly. "See how she's wearing trousers? Ground-breaking, Robert. It was ground-breaking for a housewife to be dusting and cooking in trousers."

He looked at her with a furrowed brow. "Women don't wear trousers at home?"

"Oh, they do," she explained. "Just not television characters in 1965."

I cleared my throat to announce my presence, causing Robert to stand up nervously. Alice continued to watch Mary Tyler Moore deliver a well-timed quip to her on-screen husband.

"Oh, hey, man," he said. "Sorry for-- yeah, I didn't mean to just show up unannounced, but I have--"

He began to stammer a bit and shoved a vinyl into my hands. The title was handwritten on the small round blue label in the center: In The Court of the Crimson King.

"We just finished mixing it," he explained. "You said-- well, you said at the Hyde Park gig to let you know when we finished."

I had no recollection of saying anything of the sort, but I'm sure I had. I'd enjoyed their set, it was unlike anything I'd heard before. It was mellotron-heavy, which I always appreciated, and the music press had dubbed the trend "prog rock".

"And do you see that?" Alice said, pulling on Robert's arm and pointing to the television. "The neighbor's A-line skirt with the slight bell curve at the bottom? That started a trend-- stores couldn't keep that silhouette on the shelf in '65. Terribly out of date now, of course... but easy enough to update."

Robert shot me a look and I shrugged.

"Yeah, great," I said, turning the vinyl over in my hands. "I'll give it a listen."

"And do you see that hat, Robert?" Alice asked with a contented sigh. "A bloody delight, that hat."

I clapped a hand on his back and began to guide him toward the door, all the time making inconsequential small talk about the woodwinds on the record he'd given me. I still didn't understand how he'd made it past the gate birds without me hearing, much less how he'd ended up sitting next to my wife on my sofa.

We were nearly at the door when he turned toward the living room. "Great to meet you, Alice! See you soon."

"Bye, Robert!" she called, more cheerful than I'd heard her in days.

When I returned to the living room, she had turned off the telly and was laying on the floor rolling a red ball gently toward Louise, who squealed in delight as it approached her.

"Liss," I said, sitting cross-legged next to her. "Have you been watching all those shows because you've been... I dunno, reminiscing about the clothes?"

She looked up and paused for a moment, and then nodded.

"I suppose I was."

"Alright," I said, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Alice..."

I trailed off, trying to collect my thoughts. "Lissy... maybe consider taking a bath and, if you're really feeling crazy, let's light those clothes on fire and find you something else to wear..."

"How would you feel if you no longer had the Beatles?" she interrupted quietly. "If they said, actually, Paul, we don't need you anymore because you're not quite as good at your job as you used to be."

Louise shrieked happily and grabbed the ball, propelling it back to Alice with her chubby little fingers. The room was otherwise dead silent as I processed the question.

"That's not the same," I finally replied. And it wasn't. The four of us been together for years and gone through so much and it didn't make sense that it could ever be over. Sometimes I wished it could, sure, but it never actually seemed like a real possibility, for better or for worse.

"Isn't it?" she asked. "I've always had something to define me, Paul. Ever since I started working at Pan Am, I've had something to define me. Zarby is the only thing that got me through any of this. Being a Beatle wife. Being a mum. I always had something to ground me, to come back to, to keep me from losing myself."

"Liss," I said, my voice cracking because she sounded like she might shatter.

"Zarby for me is like the Beatles for you," she said. "And if it disappears, then I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. I... well, I wanted to do this so that Lou would grow up knowing that it was possible."

"We'll sort it out," I insisted. "And if it's not Zarby, then--"

"Maybe we've had it too easy," she replied, staring down at our hands. "Maybe this is karma. Pattie was saying--"

I waved a hand in the air like I was shooing away bad juju. "Don't listen to Pattie. She's always on about something."

Louise reached for the ball and, almost as if by accident, rolled onto her stomach. She paused for a moment -- startled -- and then looked at us curiously.

We turned toward each other simultaneously.

"Did she just roll?" I asked, staring at her.

"I think she just rolled!" Alice replied excitedly. "Oh, you darling girl, you just rolled!"

Louise studied my face and then Alice's before letting her head hit the floor like she had exhausted herself. Alice scooped her up just before she started to cry, leaning in to press a kiss on her nose. Lou blinked several times like she was deciding if she wanted to be her usual stroppy self but, instead, she broke out into a goofy grin.

"See," I said, putting my arm around Alice's shoulders and bending to kiss her shoulder. "She knows we'll figure it out even if you don't."

"I wish you were a bit less glass-half-full sometimes."

I rolled my eyes and leaned into her. "No, you don't."

She didn't reply, instead just watched Louise's attempts to get back onto her side.

"Liss?"

She looked up, her expression serious.

"Really, love, let's find you some new clothes."