Beatlemania!

George and Pattie caught Paul and I kissing at lunch that very same day, and they were thoroughly surprised.

“What are you doing with that wanker, Alice?” George teased, earning a certain middle finger waving around in the air.

I shivered. Why was it so cold up here? All the books I had read said that India was unbeatably hot.

“Shut up, Harrison,” Paul tried to sound cross, but he was grinning like an idiot.

I kissed him again. I couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Ringo and Mo walked in shortly after, so they were clued into the situation, too. I was waiting with bated breath for John, but he never showed up to lunch.

The Maharishi gave us another long-winded lecture on people and how nobody’s truly honest. I had to cover up my yawns, and I could tell Paul was just as anxious to be alone as I was.

When the lecture was finally over, we were sent out to meditate again. This time, I decided to watch George and see how the hell he managed to get into in. He and Pattie sat cross-legged, with their eyes closed, and silent for almost half an hour, while Paul and I gaped rather stupidly at each other.

My mind was whirring, and I couldn’t get it to slow down. Every time I finally settled down, Paul would do something sweet or whisper “I love you” and I would lose it.

On the third day, we watched the sun go down and ate dinner alone. He had brought his guitar out for the first time in four days (which was like a decade for a Beatle.)He just fiddled around with it while I sat there, just happy to be able to look at him properly again.

He played one of his new songs, “I Will,” as he was calling it.

“What do you think?” he asked anxiously after he had finished playing it.

“Paul, it’s fantastic,” I assured him. “Your music always is.”

“But is it really?” he mumbled, strumming his guitar mindlessly.

I rolled my eyes and crawled over to kiss his lips gently. “It really is, McCartney, so don’t you dare doubt yourself.”

A smile spread across Paul’s face and he set down his guitar and pulled me into his lap.

“I missed this,” he murmured into my hair.

I closed my eyes and buried my face into his collar. “You have no idea.”

He titled my chin up and kissed me slowly and unsurely. I let myself melt into his arms as the hot Indian sun went down in the background.

“Oi! What’s all this then?” a famously sarcastic voice rang out.

Paul and I sprang apart and gaped up gormlessly.

“Er-hello, John,” Paul said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re tryin’ to court me Alice, then, boy?” John demanded gruffly.

I smothered my smile, just barely.

“Yessir,” Paul saluted.

“Well you best come with me then, sonny.” John nodded his head and they walked off,
leaving me alone, my heart pumping wildly.

Paul didn’t reappear until bedtime, as I climbed into my makeshift bed and settled in with a book.

“You were gone a while,” I remarked.

He climbed onto my bed, too. “Yeah, well, it was a long talk.”

My eyes widened. “What did he tell you?”

“Everything. About Spain, about what was going on in your head, and what was going on in his...and he essentially told me that if I fucked this up again then I’d have him to answer to.”

My thoughts wandered over to John fondly. My John.

“He’s sweet,” I smiled.

Paul pretended to pout. “Sweet, eh? And what about me?”

“You’re alright,” I shrugged.

With a playful growl, Paul pulled me close. “I’m the cute one!’

I grinned. “Then get over here and prove it to me.”

The next thing I knew, Paul’s lips were on mine, and the rest of the night hazed over and became a blur of kisses and love.
~

There was a rather large group of us in Rishikesh after a couple of weeks. Mia Farrow and her sister Prudence joined us, as well as Donovan and Mike Love. Needless to say, music became a big part of the atmosphere in India.

It was a lovely break from the rush and bustle of England. The boys were happy to take a break from being Beatles, too. Especially for George, who was completely in his element here.

“Got any new songs for me, George?” I teased one afternoon as we sat on the banks of the Ganges.

He strummed his sitar thoughtfully. “None for the Beatles, if that’s what you mean.”

I retreated. “I see.” Silently, I got up and left the brooding George alone.

John, who was also quite into the whole meditation thing, had been exchanging postcards with that Yoko woman.

“Who is she really, John?” I asked curiously.

“She’s Yoko,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain her.”

Personally, I didn’t understand his fascination over her since she seemed cool and unfriendly when I met her. I respected John’s decisions, however, mostly because I knew he would be furious with me if I tried to contradict him.

Ringo and Maureen were fed up with India after ten days, to be honest, but they stuck it out for three weeks before announcing they were off. The food was far too spicy for Ringo, and Maureen hated to be away from Zak.

“We’ll see you back in London,” she gave me a warm embrace before following Ringo into the cab that had been summoned.

Half of me wanted to go back with them that day. India was lovely, but it was all vegetarian, and I was seriously craving fish and chips. I could tell Paul was getting restless, too.

He was a Beatle – through and through – and first and foremost, he wanted to be making music. And to some extent, he was, even in India. He and John had written a song for Prudence Farrow, who had been hibernating in her room. Paul had written “I Will” as well as another song he called “Blackbird.”

On the other hand, John had penned a song “I’m So Tired,” which he sang for me, and also “Julia,” a song he dedicated to his mother.

He had pulled me into his room so I could hear it. It brought tears to my eyes.

“John,” I choked. “That’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, love,” he blushed, setting his guitar down bashfully.

“You should show it to everyone,” I advised on my way out. “They’d love it.”

That evening, John played it for everyone else and they loved it.
~
George kept to himself, still in a huff. He was sick of everything being about the Beatles. This trip was about meditation and relaxation. Couldn’t those two put down their guitars for one minute?

He sighed. Maybe this mood had to do something with the fact that he had felt rather uninspired lately. Grabbing his guitar rather grudgingly, he slipped away into his room and started playing the chords that just felt right to him.