Lovely Rita

George passed away peacefully on November 29th, 2001, surrounded by family, prayer and love, Olivia had told us. It had only been around a week since we visited him in the LA hospital, when he had begun declining rapidly and died as the cancer took its course. Liv had spared us the details, only telling us that in keeping with Hindu and Krishna, he was cremated hours after his death, and that she had scattered his ashes. She didn’t specify where; the Harrisons were a very private family and I hadn’t wanted to pry – George wouldn’t have wanted it. I think it was beautiful to preserve a little mystery about George’s passing after it had been so vilely broadcast to the world.
I cried for days, just as I did for John – though stunned silence was probably one of my main reactions to John’s death. I would cry alone, I would cry to Mary, I would cry to Stella or James, but mainly I would cry with Paul.

Of course when we had been told, there were reporters outside of Paul’s home within an hour wanting to know his feelings ‘due to past run ins with cancer’ and ‘when did you last see George’. I stayed by his side throughout, arm in arm, not wanting him to have to go through all of it alone.

December 2nd swung around soon enough, and Paul and I decided it was finally time to have our own little ceremony for George since the initial hopelessly sad feelings had subsided. We planted a tree in the garden in our London home (where we were currently living), with a little handmade sign which read: ‘tree for George’ and the date in Paul’s swirly handwriting. We made all of George’s favourite foods (which were in abundance – he loved his food. Vegetarian curries, pastries and good old fashioned sarnies were all on the menu) for our little family, and made a mix CD of his own music, and music he had loved, to play throughout the day. The house was lit warmly and decorations had begun for Christmas, which just added to the celebration of George’s life.

We called around any of the kids that could make it (which turned out to be all three of them, which was no surprise considering the person we were celebrating) and I was greeted by Paul & Linda’s, and my own grandchildren when they arrived.

“Have we all got our coats on then?” I said to the younger ones, before we made our way into the garden and the crisply cold, but mild winter air. We gathered around the tree in silence, standing in an almost meditative state for a few minutes as we thought about George. None of us really knew how to start...
Mary, Stella and James all delivered their feelings and memories of George and it made me tear up on so many occasions. I still wasn’t fully over John’s death (the 21st anniversary of which was in six days), let alone George’s, so I couldn’t help myself.

Eventually it was my turn, and I wiped away the tears rolling down my cheeks quickly before unfolding the scrappy piece of paper I had written on. Paul took my hand subtly and linked his warm fingers through mine. We didn’t look at each other; we just knew how hard this was on us both.

“George Harrison, you were the ultimate friend I could have ever asked for. Back home,” I started, glancing up at Paul with a meek smile on my face, mirrored by him in the fact that we both knew I meant the year 2012, not a place as such. “My family were uncommunicative, my friends were less than great, except one, and I really had nothing left. Coming to Liverpool in 1966, and meeting Paul by walking into his car and setting off the alarm was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Paul’s grip on my hand tightened. “Without those moments, I would never have met one of the biggest rocks in my life. I would never have met someone so brave, someone who never feared for anything even in his last throes of life. You were the first to know from me about my daughter’s paternal origins – believe me, something I had been waiting to offload forever.” I sniffed back more tears than were falling, feeling completely cried out as I glanced at my daughter and back to the tree.

“Yours was a life that lived to help and heal others, or you’d try all that you could. You saw beyond what others see, which always gave you this magical aura that was wonderful to be around. It seems...” I started, now improvising a little. “It seems that we’re all so invincible, but the truth is so harsh and so cold when it hits you like this, as we have all experienced in some way or another. I don’t know how I’m going to live without yet another person I loved - still love - because it seems like I’ve skipped past the best chapters in three books now that have been completely destroyed. I have so much to say, so much that I couldn’t think of the last time I saw you, and so much that I can’t think to say now, however much I planned and rewrote this.” I composed myself, getting back on track. “You were the most wonderful story left unfinished, and I will miss you eternally.” I said, walking over to the small tree and wedging my note in safely. I whispered ‘Thank you for everything you’ve taught me’ as I stood up and returned to my watery eyed family.

Paul wrapped his left arm over my shoulder and pulled me in tight to his side, warming me up with his touch. An overwhelming sensation of love and emotion came over me in that moment that I audibly sobbed, making all of the kids and grandchildren look at me. I knew it was George showing that he was near, that he was still there, so I just let it happen – he’d wanted me to embrace any love that I felt.

My human radiator cleared his throat and breathed in and out before speaking, as though he were nervous of talking about one of his adopted brothers. I smiled at the notion of the great Paul McCartney feeling nervous.

“George,” That beautifully warm voice said. “I’ll get onto your last wish in a minute, but I’m going to big y’up first.” He said, sounding a little more Scouse than he did typically nowadays. My face melted into his chest, feeling the vibrations of his voice resonate through the right side of it as he spoke.
“You were me brother, there’s no doubt there. You were a beautiful man and so committed to everything that it was wonderful to watch unfold. You gave me the best advice of anyone I have ever met, and I can only be thankful for everything you’ve introduced me to and taught me. You were an incredible strength to me through the times we spent together, and your devotion to Krishna was so inspiring, though I never got to tell you properly. I think Rita mirrored everything I wanted to tell you, so that moves me on to what you inspired me to finally do.” Paul left my grasp and knelt down before the tree, kissing his fingers and placing them on the pot. I pondered for a moment, thinking to myself, ‘that’s what George wanted him to do?’ He stayed there for a moment, visibly breathed in and out, before standing up and facing me.

I looked into the eyes I remembered looking into as we made love, those eyes that watched me play music, or that watched me practise lines or do a stupid dance around the kitchen while I cleaned. I felt myself slipping under Paul’s spell – a spell he didn’t ever mean to cast. I had tried to hide it ever since I returned to him when Linda was ill, partly down to respect for Linda’s memory, but also because I didn’t know where I stood with Paul. We didn’t really talk about that, because we were together pretty much all the time except when working (though I didn’t do too much of that anymore). The last time any kind of particularly affectionate moment was shared was just after Linda had passed, when Paul was a mess of emotions. We were sat out on the porch and I was comforting him, and he attempted to forget about everything in one of the only ways Mr McCartney knew how. Women. I had turned him down and knocked him back into reality though.
I brought myself back to the here and now, however, and Paul was still just... looking at me, his mouth a soft half smile and his trance inducing eyes giving me a warmth that made me smile.

“What are you doing? Carry on; it’s cold!” I mumbled, chuckling a little through the croakiness caused by the tears still moistening my eyes. He picked up my hands and covered them with his own. I revelled in the warmth they emitted briefly, before Paul started dropping to the ground in front of me. I looked across in bewilderment at my daughter, adopted children and grandchildren, wide eyes searching their faces for any sign that they had known about this, or if it was just Paul’s secret.

“This is what I’m doing, moaner. Before I left the hospital room that day, George called me back and told me something. He told me how the only thing you had ever asked for help with was not our child, not dealing with bereavement – you dealt with all of that alone and I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing back memories of John, as was I, as he knelt on the ground.

“He told me that all you had ever wanted was to know what would be best for me rather than yourself. Of course I’ve known how generous and selfless you are since 1966, but this idiot here never did anything about it. Then after that last Liverpool night together, I found only one other person who found more security in making me feel better over herself. But now that I’ve had you back for all these years, and considering how much you have done for us all, I think this is only right. Rita,” He breathed an unsteady breath while a concoction of sad and happy tears silently dropped onto the ice cold ground. It would definitely frost over tonight. “What George whispered to me that last time we saw him wasn’t a funny memory from Hamburg, it was a last request. He asked me to finally make a wife of you, and I think it’s about time, don’t you?” He chuckled, sniffing back tears to not sound soppy, though clearly having flashbacks of his last moments with George. I coughed out a giggle, covering my mouth with a free, cold hand.

“My lovely Rita, will you marry me and make me the husband I always needed to be?” He said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a box with the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. My eyes widened and my mouth formed the first proper smile it had in a while.
I threw my arms around the man in front of me and squeezed him tight.

“Of course I will, Paul. It’s only taken you 35 years!” I giggled, as did he, holding his face before kissing him to make up for all of those painful, abstinent years. Our children were clapping and I remembered to stop before things became weird for them, pulling back to look at my fiancé again.

“I love you, Rita. Always have, always will.” He whispered, his forehead on mine as our eyes met.

“I love you too, Paul. Future or non-future, always have, always will.” I smiled, kissing him again before he slid the ring onto my wedding finger.

“By the way, the only condition was that George wanted to be best man,” Paul said, and I bit my lip to stop crying even more. “But I thought our James might be the man to stand in for him while he’s away.” Paul said, looking at James, who seemed overjoyed to be a part of it.

As a university student in Liverpool, 2012, I had never expected any of this to happen. I’d never expected to meet Paul, let alone marry him! All of this was down to a fall on a street corner one night. I couldn’t remember much of my old life, but I knew it hadn’t been half as interesting, exciting or exhausting as this one. Without that fall, I would have never met my past, present and future, created my beautiful daughter, had such a wonderful career or experienced half as many of the wonderful people or things that I had done. I knew from this moment forward that Paul and I would live a beautiful life together, and I couldn’t wait for that to unfold as it should; naturally, lovingly and perfectly.