Lovely Rita

The new millennium and 2001 rolled around faster than expected, and a lot had happened in the three years since Linda’s passing.
I had turned 61, and Paul was now 59 (I had aged a little more when I returned to him the second time. It must be a time travel thing).
My divorce had been settled by a no-show on Duncan’s part – I’m glad he was embarrassed to show his face if I’m honest. It’s everything he deserved for what he did. Due to my status and notoriety the court seemed in my favour from the off anyway. His not showing up just sealed the deal for sure. I didn’t want to cause him anymore trouble, so my grounds for divorce were ‘irreconcilable differences’. That should keep the press at bay.

My daughter Mary had married Alistair in September of 1998 – it had been postponed after Linda’s death and her father and siblings’ mourning. She was now a professional photographer and mother to me and Paul’s first grandson, Arthur, who was a beautiful two-year-old. Paul was still in absolute wonderment.
Stella, the first child of Paul and Linda, was now into fashion and was creative director at Chloe, the Paris fashion house. She was a vegetarian, along with the rest of us, and had even designed Mary’s wedding dress.
James, Paul and Linda’s last child was 27, and he had contributed to a lot of Paul’s recent albums, including ‘Driving Rain’ this past year. He currently lives in Brighton and is working on his music, so Paul and I live alone together now.
I’d taken on Paul and Linda’s children as my own; I felt indebted, even though I knew she had forgiven me on her deathbed, even after all of these years... Luckily they had accepted me and Mary graciously into their circle, and I was thankful in no small degree.

After my divorce settlement in early 1999, I felt comfortable moving in with Paul – just as a roommate. Since I had sold my house in California (too many negative memories...) I had nowhere else in particular to live. He’d offered me a room wherever he was shortly after I’d mentioned I was selling my Hollywood apartment when the divorce was over with. I’d stayed with him ever since Linda’s passing; helping him get over his grief. It was the least I felt I could do after what she had asked of me – to look out for him and make sure he did nothing stupid. I’d seen the good days, and I’d seen the bad days; it was both heartbreaking and wonderful to be in his company at times.
I didn’t have much luck making female friends in Hollywood, and I’d kept myself to myself as much as possible, so flitting between Tucson, London, Scotland and LA wasn’t too strenuous (the multitude of houses was needed for wherever he was working on music at the time and who with of course). Paul had become probably my best, closest friend, and I couldn’t be happier that we were cooperating again.

Some days I’d make him breakfast and he’d stumble out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep dust from his eyes. He’d make me lunch on the days when he had nothing to do, or if he was writing or recording little snippets in his home studios I’d leave him be and read – I read whatever I could, simply because I wanted to learn everything there was to learn. This was something Paul found funny to watch, what with me being an actress and wanting to bother learning things I didn’t need to. Now that I was at retiring age, it was something I’d set out to do. Paul had helped me stock a room in each of his houses with books on just about any subject – shelves and shelves of them; they acted as mini libraries for me. We would walk the dogs (ancestors of lovely Martha) anywhere we could, and in the evenings we would sit on the porch and swing on the chair, if we were in Tucson or LA, just talking and embracing the warm nights. In either Arizona or LA it was never incredibly cold – even in November. I only ever needed a light jacket. England and Scotland were another story altogether, however...

We tried to keep in contact with our two good friends and their wives, and Yoko of course. Paul, George and Ringo, along with Mr. Martin had released The Beatles anthology five years prior to now, 2001, so everyone was on good terms – thankfully.

Back to the here and now, however.

Paul was sat at the table in our LA home, sorting out some financial hoo-ha that his accountant had left him with. I always left him to do that alone; I knew how much he hated doing it and with me hindering him it would take him twice as long. I was sat with Bruce, one of the dogs, in the living room, watching some documentary about farming in England on cable that I wasn’t paying much attention to particularly. Paul’s cell phone rang alarmingly loudly in comparison to the tranquillity of the airy house, and I almost jumped at its shrill tones.

“Could you get that, Reets?” Since Linda’s passing, Paul had reverted to using my old name – he said he preferred it to my stage name. I had no idea why it took him until now; Linda had known since 1969 on the night before they were married. Little did she know I was pregnant with his child at the time...
He sounded exasperated at the accounts he was sorting anyway, so I obliged.

“Yeah, sure.” I said, pushing myself up from the comfort of the sofa and swiping the phone from the table. I didn’t bother looking at the small screen, so I had no idea who I would be answering to.
“Hello?” I said, my rising intonation indicating that I was questioning who was calling – of course without being rude.

“Julie, is that you?” Olivia Harrison’s small voice mumbled.

“Call me Rita, darling, remember? Yes, that’s I. What’s up Liv?” I said, leaning against the wall opposite Paul, who was looking up from his papers in an attempt to understand why Olivia was calling.

“It’s... It’s George,” she started, and I cast my eyes down to Paul. He raised his eyebrows as I forgot he couldn’t hear what Olivia was saying.
I paused before saying anything, concerned about what she was going to say next.

“Y-yes, Olivia? What’s happened?” I stammered, taking a seat at the far end of the table and fiddling with the edge of the table anxiously, awaiting confirmation from that wonderful voice of Liv’s that out friend just wanted a catch up.

“I don’t really know how to put it, so I think you should bring Paul up to Blue Jay Way tonight. Where are you now?” Olivia said, smooth as anything.

“Um, yes, ah, we’re in LA too. I’m sure we can come over.” I lifted my eyelids to look at Paul, who still had an eyebrow raised in anticipation. I exchanged parting niceties with Olivia in just as clueless a state I was when I answered the phone.

“What was that about?” Paul’s beautifully inflected voice piped up after a moment of silence and furrowed eyebrows on my part.

“I don’t really know...” I said, leaving a ponderous pause between each word. “All I know is that it’s something to do with George. She didn’t sound crazy upset, but she didn’t want to say whatever it was over the phone – at least, she didn’t know how...” I left an inquisitive pause at the end, collecting my thoughts and trying to make sense of everything. It didn’t help.

“Are they in LA?” He asked, clicking the pen nib back into hiding.

“Oh, yes, from what I could gather they’re at Blue Jay, and we need to drive up there as soon as possible. I think.” I said, standing up. “I’ll go pack our stuff.” I said quietly as Paul raised a hand to scratch his shaven chin.

“Thanks. I’ll be through in a minute to help, Rita.”

The car journey to the Harrisons’ house was full of confused, ambiguous tension. We hardly spoke to each other about what we were expecting, because in our lives we had come to accept that bad things happen to the best people – however much we didn’t want to accept that fact.
“It’ll be nice to see them again I suppose. I haven’t seen Dhani in what seems like forever – he must be gigantic now!” I said, trying to make small talk with the man I could usually talk to about anything, even when I has nothing in particular to say. He grunted in reply; not angrily, just... nonplussed.
“Are you looking forward to seeing them again?” I asked, again making small talk.

“To be honest, Rita, I’m not. Whenever any of us gets an ambiguous phone call or letter, either one of our friends has been shot, stabbed by a mad burglar or...” He trailed off, remembering the letter he wrote to me regarding Linda’s illness. “I just can’t help wondering who might be next, and I don’t want to lose anyone else.” He said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. I think he was in the grip of a muddled, confused anger at nothing in particular - or maybe at breast cancer for taking his wife and mother, or Mark Chapman for stealing away the life of his best friend – his brother. I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking.

He turned off into a lengthy, narrow driveway hidden away, and I saw the dull glow of the Harrison home approaching. Gulp.

**********

“He has cancer!” Olivia cried out into the home that was empty but for us and the son who had a loving arm cradling his sobbing mother.
I was taken aback – George, the quiet Beatle; the man who was so calming and spiritual... How could something so tragic and horrible happen to him?

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you all sooner. Ringo’s at the hospital now with him. I’m so sorry.” She regretted, worrying that she had upset us. I moved closer to her and mirrored Dhani’s gesture.
He was 23 years old and the spitting image of his father in his youth - dark hair, deep brown eyes that hid millions of profound thoughts and of course that unmistakable Harrison aura. It was emotional to look at him now, knowing the real George was lying in a hospital bed. I touched his hand on his mother’s shoulder to let him know that he and his mother weren’t alone in this.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, Olivia. I just wish we could do something to help, though I know that’s impossible...” I said, looking down into my lap.

“There is one thing that he’s asked for countless times,” Olivia started to say as she composed herself. Dhani glanced across to Paul.

“What was that?” Paul piped up, the first thing he’d said since ‘hello’.

“He wants as many visitors as possible. He doesn’t want to lose touch. He doesn’t feel as though he is dying, however much pain he could be in.” Dhani replied, holding back the impending tears, trying to be strong for his mother. He was such a wonderful boy.

“That’s George through and through...” Paul whispered into his hands, the tears visibly streaming down his face now. I put a sympathetic hand on his knee.

“So he wants us all to visit him as much as possible?” I asked Olivia and Dhani.

“He asked specifically for you and Paul. He wanted to make sure everything was okay before...” She broke down into sobs again.

“Bless his heart.” I mumbled, cradling George’s wife. I felt like I was transferring all of my strength into her, so she didn’t have to cry anymore. George wouldn’t want that; he’d tell her ‘George is only a vessel, George isn’t me’ and that his soul will find a new home.

“So he’s at the hospital now, obviously,” I started. Paul glanced at me with those beautiful eyes brimming with droplets waiting to fall. Another brother was almost gone, plus his wife only 3 years ago and John 21 years ago – though it seemed like yesterday. I couldn’t help but feel completely and utterly sorry for him. “We better get moving then!” I whispered impatiently and determinedly. In that room, so loud with tension and anxiety, a whisper was all that was needed. Everyone nodded solemnly, and made their way to Paul’s car.

If I didn’t enjoy the car ride here, I knew that the car ride to the hospital would be no better.