Thursday the 30th of September 1958

At first, I didn't know what to think once we reached a small old fashioned diner in Blackpool. After sitting on a bus for just over two hours with my back was aching and a dull, growing headache was terribly hard to do, but I'll admit it was sort of cool to look out the window and have only Paul McCartney seated beside you as your own personal tour guide and the two of you chatting away at ease.

When Paul pushed open the diner door, a little bell rung out and I could hear the music from the jukebox, "And he'll kiss your lips, and caress your waiting fingertips And your hearts will fly away. . ."

It felt like I was thrown back in time all over again but this time within an old classic movie like Grease — but then again Grease was set in 1958. There must have been that look of awe and wonder in my eyes, I think Paul saw that and he gave me that sweet, silly and boyish grin over his shoulder.

"Do ye have anything like this in Australia?" Paul spoke softly while sliding into a booth by the window. My shoes shuffled on the checkered floors as I slid into the opposite side, folding my arms in my lap.

"No, not really just a couple of pubs. I live in a rural town, middle of nowhere. Practically the heart of the country." I bit down on my lip to hide my laughter at my own inside joke.

Paul nodded along but his gaze somewhere else and I turned my head to follow his gaze only to see John Lennon and George Harrison walking through the door. Great.

"Do you want me to hide?" I whisper-yelled in a mumbled rush.

Paul turned his head sharply back at me, "No, of course not! Why would yer think such a thing!" I was taken aback and startled, I was terrible at predicting what Paul was thinking, all I could do was look out the window in annoyance.

"Not to worry, love," Paul winked his tone shifting to something much more assuring and I turned my gaze back over to meet his eyes, "It's just John and Geo. They're my best mates." I gave a small grin and a nod but the butterflies only grew, although I had sort of met John, I hadn't met George and the thought of sitting at the same table with three of the four Beatles almost made my poor heart go out. It was almost too much.

Paul called them over and I flinched, and before Paul could even say anything I dived under the table just in time. "What happened to yer bird, Paul?" George. I suddenly had the urge to ask George to say 'brackets.' I mentally sighed, I spent too much time around my grandmother.

"I bet she flew away." John. George chuckled at John's comment but somehow Paul remained silent.

"No. No. Shes here hiding under the table." Damn it, Paul! I reached and with all my strength I could muster from having a cramped neck and no leg room and punched his leg. Paul flinched in pain but didn't say anything. Serves him right. I knew there was no chance for me to run or magically teleport home, I knew I had no choice but to face them. At the worst attempt to be discreet (but totally struggling) I swivelled onto Paul's side of the booth, catching both the eye of John and George.

"If you are all wondering, I found my bobby pin." I reached into my trusty yellow raincoat pocket and pulled out a bobby pin and waved it in the air like a flag in the worst attempt to prove that I wasn't hiding from two future band members of the most influential and coolest bands of all time.

Paul gave me an annoyed look, probably for punching his leg and in return, I sweetly grinned, an innocent look washing over my face. I turned to face an amused George and annoyed John. "G'day, I'm Daisy."

George rolled his eyes but grinned nevertheless, "Oh we know. Paul wouldn't shut up about it on the bus. Wouldn't stop goin' on about how his dad's mates daughter from Australia had shown up—,"

What on earth was this story Paul was telling everyone? We hardly knew one another. I mean, well, he hardly knew me.

"—George," Paul cut in quickly, his voice sharper than I had ever heard it, "That's enough."

I laughed, somehow flattered that Paul McCartney was talking about me, "Please, go on George."

George and I made eye contact, and suddenly my heartfelt overwhelmed. George Harrison was alive and breathing with a playful glimmer in his eye. Paul gave me a stern and disapproving look, I rolled my eyes he was not my father or the boss of me.

It was odd, I had always assumed that John was the most quick-witted, that he would have said something hilarious but he was quiet, not uttering a word. Instead, he had a napkin at hand and was drawing what as I assumed as some of his infamous scribbles upon its surface. Before George could speak, Paul was handing out the menus at a rapid speed. I smiled at him for his quick thinking, of course, George would be distracted by food. Paul met my eye and when he handed over the menu our fingers brushed together and I instantly grew flustered and turned away from him.

"Fancy sharing a milkshake with yer girlfriend, Macca?" John grinned while glancing over at me.

"No thanks," I mumbled, "Who knows where Paul's mouth has been."

John glanced over at me from his menu, "I wasn't talkin' about ya Hawaii. Shut yer gob."

I wrinkled my face at John, but this was the John I sort of I was expecting. But despite this Paul grinned at John and I felt a sense of betrayal arise within me, "Oh that would be splendid wouldn't it, Geo?"

"Aye," George winked but rubbed his flat stomach, "Paulie, wanna share a meal too? I'm famished."

I noticed that they didn't miss a beat in their banter.

"Yes, dear, whatever pleases ya," Paul spoke, still running along with the joke.

Suddenly, Paul's attention turned back to me. Paul suddenly leant closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear and I could feel my face grow hot and when he placed a warm hand on my shoulder, "Order whatever the hell yer want John's paying."

I bit my lip to hide my grin, "Alright."

Paul and I were still grinning at one another when a blond waitress in her early twenties walked over. "Now what could I get y'all?" I noticed her southern American accent right off the bat.

It was George that spoke first, "I'll have a cheese and lettuce sandwich please—and oh, an ice-cream sundae too."

Paul glanced over at my menu where I was pointing what I wanted and of course, I tried to find the cheapest foods in pricing, "Can I please have two milkshakes, one banana and the other chocolate and two hamburgers. Thanks, love."

The waitress smiled tiredly and I noticed that it must have been a long day for her. John cleared this throat and the waitress turned her head to John, "A burger and a vanilla milkshake, Susan." The waitress nodded her head and walked off yelling to her co-workers. Perhaps this was a family-owned diner.

John, Paul and George dived into the conversation regarding the gig on Saturday. Mainly John and Paul though. I felt a pang of empathy for George. It would only get worse later on.

"What do you play in the band George?" George furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and I hoped that I had come across genuinely interested and not too enthusiastic despite knowing what the answer would be.

"Guitar," George spoke with a smile that showed his pearly teeth but the look in his eyes was odd. Maybe, not many people were interested in musicians or bands these days or it could have been because I was a girl.

"That's pretty cool. I've always admired guitarists. If I could play any instrument it would be a guitar but when I was little I was forced to play piano cos' my grandma thought it was proper for a lady. My dad wanted me to learn how to play the drums but that never happened. . ."

"I could teach ye," George stammered quickly.

"Huh?" I whispered, astounded, I wasn't expecting this at all. George Harrison was one of the greatest guitarists of all time, ranked 11th in the world or something like that by Rollingstone. I could remember that Grandma Ruth had ranted about it for a good half an hour a couple of weeks ago then burst out crying for another fifteen minutes, then acted as it had never happed. I had come to realise that at this moment my five-year-old self would have ecstatic. I realised that I needed to say something back and I couldn't just stare gapping at George like some sort of fish, "That would be really nice."

I could see it from the corner of my eye, an agitated or even jealous look in Paul's hazel doe-like eyes and I almost laughed at his expression. I wasn't used to all this attention. "I didn't know yer could play the piano," Paul quipped butting in the conversation.

"Not very well," I mumbled growing uncomfortable. "I stopped playing when I was like ten or something."

Paul let out a soft humming noise of a melody I had never heard before and bounced his knee in deep thought. It surprised me that he said nothing. I was thinking of something to say but I was cut off by porcelain plates sliding against the surface of the table, then our milkshakes too.

"Enjoy kids, call me if you need anything," Susan spoke softy.

"Oi Susan!" John called out, calling the poor woman back. Internally I sighed knowing what was obviously coming, but I reached for my milkshake anyways. Long story short, John had handed the napkin to the waitress with an innocent look in his light brown eyes and after looking over the napkin she had hit him on the back of his head with the tray, then walked away to her spot behind the counter. I didn't know whether to snicker or laugh at him. I somehow managed to do both.

I ate my meal in silence, enjoying my food and it seemed that George was doing the same. George somehow met my gaze and grinned at me, suddenly pushing his ice cream sundae towards me. I tried to hide the look on my face, I knew that George Harrison never shared his food with anyone and he was offering some of his ice cream sundae. If I remember correctly, George called Yoko Ono a bitch for eating his biscuits. What was going on?!

Despite the fact that I hadn't even laid a finger on the icecream sundae, John looked towards me and George utterly flabbergasted, then to Paul who seemed to be just as surprised as he was.

"In all my days and experience, I had never bloody seen such a sight! The one and only George Harrison offering to share his food! Blimey!"

I pushed George's sundae back in his direction with a smile, "Thank you for offering George but I'm really full. And you honestly look like you are enjoying it. I couldn't deny you of your foody experience."

George smiled at me again, this time his eyes were softer than butter, his face slightly flushed and the tips of his ears a rosy red.

Paul stiffened beside me while making eye contact with John and grinned. I wondered what they were on about but I found myself saying nothing, instead, I looked outside examining the world around me. I wished I had my phone or even a camera.

"Alright, let's go," Paul spoke and my stomach dropped when John pulled Paul by the collar of his shirt in a rough and dominant way as if he was angry about something. It felt as my heart was in my throat. I panicked. My eyes darted across to George but he wasn't even phased by it. I scrambled out of my seat, adjusted my skirt. The truth was I didn't know why I did it, but I did it anyway. There was something in my heart that made me do it. And John's curled fist went flying into my face instead of Paul's.

I was practically thrown to the black, checkered floor by the force of the blow. My eyes began to water and I could taste the blood on my lips as my nose stung. John had got me a real beauty. It was an excellent punch.

"Dasiy," Paul spoke in outrage, crouching on the floor beside me with a paper napkin and pressing it too my nose while shooting a look as sharp as daggers in John's direction.

"Why in fookin' hell would yer do that?" I laughed, shaking my head as if I was surprised myself.

"I don't know. . . I-It's because you have a pretty face. You might need it one day," I was surprised at how shaky my voice was but it was true, Paul was labelled at the 'cute' one and he would need it one day. It was then that I noticed a slight blush across Paul's cheeks.

The look that John gave me was strange but he teased Paul nevertheless, "Hear that Macca? Yer got a pretty face."

"Sod off, Lennon."