The Dark Horse, Part 10
Title: The Dark Horse, part 10
Pairing: George/Ringo
Warnings: Underrage prostitution
Previous Parts: Here
Summary: Richard, an ambitious seventeen-year-old, has his life turned upside down by the wickedly devious, yet deeply endearing, street urchins- George Harrison and Paul McCartney. (AU)
Authors notes 1: Long chapter alert. Sorry folks.
Authors notes 2: A huge thank you to picture_poet for doing these beautiful backgrounds. They're amazing. ♥
Life is funny in the way where one can look and search for something until he has travelled all ends of the Earth… and never find it. And it’s funny in that, ultimately it is fate that makes these decisions for him. That thing he has searched for could fade into the dastardly arms of obscurity, until the very moment he is not ready for it.
Night time has washed over the Liverpool streets fast. The orange streetlights light small patches of cobbles into a musty glow, and moths flutter silently around the smoky mog of illumination. The whole city is spookily quiet. Curtains are drawn, pubs closed. Richard didn’t realise he’d been at Johns’ house for so very long. He’s tired, fatigued, and walks dazedly through the darkness, not looking where he’s going; his feet moving on auto-pilot. A dog barks somewhere in the distance, and the nearby gate creaks in the gentle breeze. Other than that, its’ like the whole universe is settled in cosy solitude.
And, as is the way with the winding turns of fate, Richard isn’t even looking for the boy, when that lurking shadow graces the streets with its presence. He’s not concentrating, he’s not thinking, just walking. And yet as he moves past that darkened corner of road, it’s like his senses tingle. He knows George is there, before he even sees him. His nerves are heightened. He steps into the long shadow, and he just feels that it belongs to the streetboy.
He blinks; moving out of his daze. “George?” he whispers.
And there he is.
Silent as the moon, dark as the sky… George lingers in the blackened corner of the damp alleyway. He and Richard could well be the only people awake in the whole world. And yet George remains silent, with lips sealed and eyes watchful. The dark shadows on his face camouflage him into his familiar surroundings.
Richard feels breathless. It’s been eight days since he last saw George. Since he held his naked body, kissed his skin, sunk into the heat of his breath. It’s been four days since with trembling hands he took back the money. And now they stand close to each other, wrapped in night, considering each other silently. It is quite unreal to him, like a sensual dreamscape.
“What are you doing here?” he breathes
Very slightly, Georges’ mouth wavers open. His lips peel apart by chapped skin, his breath is about to utter an answer. Richard wants to hear his voice again. But then George reconsiders. His mouth closes, his eyes dart to the moist ground beneath him. His head hangs, unresponding, unanswering.
In that moment, Richard knows what George is doing here.
And when he swallows, it’s like his throat is filled with the sticky mucus of his heart.
“No George……” he whispers. “You’re not…… not now?”
Again, no answer. George glances upwards, and meets Richards’ eyes with freshly arranged defiance. The haunting orange streelight reflects in his stare, and wavers inside his pupils. He has nothing to say to Richard. Not now. Not in his nighttime-trance. He’s a different person now, for the few hours that he becomes the prowler of streets. Richard isn’t supposed to see him like this.
“Please don’t George.” Richard whispers. He says it quietly. Because he’s learnt it’s almost useless.
The soft sound of footsteps echo up the street behind them. George glances upwards, gazing over Richards’ shoulder for potential customer. Richard turns and sees a bulky man, holding briefcase and dressed in pinstripe suit. It doesn’t look like the type of man who would exploit underage prostitutes, and yet Georges’ eyes seem to light up in opportunity.
“George, no!” Richard hisses
“You need to go, Ringo. I’m busy.”
“No you’re not. No. Look………”
Richard takes hold of Georges’ elbow, and pulls him - perhaps a bit too roughly - out of sight into the darkness of the alleyway. Still George is unresponsive, and watches the older boy through glazed, almost unfeeling eyes. He allows himself to be pushed into the wall. He waits for Richards’ lecture with impartial manner.
“I’ll pay you.” Richard whispers. “Look, how much do you want? How much will stop you doing this tonight?”
“What have you got?”
Richard bites his lip, and Georges’ eyes follow as he rummages inside his jean pockets, and pulls out the few notes that are left after his night out with John. It doesn’t seem to be enough, and Richards’ heart hammers with regret.
“Five.” He mumbles.
George frowns, with eyebrows knitting together. “Five?”
“That’s all I have George. Please… I mean… will Brian accept… five?”
George opens his mouth again, about to answer, and then once again he changes his mind. He simply nods. His dark eyes are glimmering with a kind of puzzlement as Richard hands the money over, and pupils waver, as though crossing many thoughts inside his head. Richard wanders what he’s thinking. So many things he seems to think, all the time. Richard wishes he could tune in to some of it.
Eventually, George swallows, and breaks the silence.
“I have to go find Paul now.”
Richard nods, but with regret. “Are… you’re gonna go back to the Cavern then, yeah?”
“Well I have to go with Paul first. He needs to fuck someone tonight.”
Richard winces slightly at the blunt choice of words. And suddenly he LOATHES himself for buying those pints with John earlier. Just a few less drinks, and he’d have been able to save two bodies tonight from violation.
“I… I don’t have enough for Paul too.” He mumbles.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
George frowns. “What for? S’ okay.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
An unsettling silence formulates between them. The knowledge weighs them down; Richard isn’t supposed to be here with George. Not at this time. The atmosphere is tense, almost awkward as they acknowledge this. Finding George lurking in the alleyway is like finding a child eating chocolate before dinner, only with more of a nauseating after-taste. And while Richard is glad to have had the opportunity to stop him, he almost wishes he hadn’t seen it. Now, when he envisions Georges’ nighttime escapade, he’ll have a very clear image in his head of how that goes.
“Right…” Richard mutters quietly. “Um… are you goin’ this way?”
“Yeah.”
“Right, come on then.”
The quiet patter of their footsteps is the only noise, as they cross the cobbles. The direction of Richards’ house, and the direction of Paul McCartney. And there he is, abiding by his daily routine; sitting cross legged on the pavement as he waits for George to finish his business. His face falls into a frown when he sees Richard there.
“Oh…… Alright Rings?”
He too bares the same awkward expression of a boy caught by scornful eyes. He stands up, brushing himself down, and exchanges a confused, mysterious glance with his younger cohort.
“Ringo gave me money.” George says. “So I’m done.”
Paul frowns. “What, money and no shag? That doesn’t sound like you, Ringo.”
“Shut up Paul, I’m just tryin’ to help.”
“Yes I know. Ye don’t stop that, do you?”
Pauls’ eyes drill into his, and Richard can’t understand it. Surely Paul would be pleased?? Surely he doesn’t WANT George - who he apparently cares about so much - to be bending over for random perverts? They stand there for a moment, all three of them, consumed inside this uncomfortable silence. And though Richard knows he’s not wanted, and they’re waiting for him to leave, he just can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to leave them alone. He’d feel irresponsible. He’d feel cruel, to leave them to the hands of the paedophiles. And so, despite the piercing eyes and frowns and the confused expressions they keep shooting him, he walks along beside them. He’s going to stay with them. Until he’s sure they’re going back to the Cavern. And he’s going to do that whether they like it or not.
“Him…?” Paul mumbles quietly to George, when they reach the railway.
He points to a man who waits for the train. He’s on his own, with a dog on a lead, cigarette between his lips. He’s obscured slightly behind the light cloud of nighttime mist, but George looks over at him, as though checking him out. And eventually he comes to some kind of decision.
“Yeah.” He whispers encouragingly. “He’s fine.”
“Yeah? Kay. Hold this.”
Paul passes George the can of coke he’s holding, brushes his fringe onto his face slightly. And then he moves forwards. And he’s not even looking back, and he doesn’t even look nervous. And Richard watches, utterly entranced, as Paul moves with usual nonchalance toward his victim. Richard watches as Paul approaches, as Paul sits down on the bench beside him. And his stomach churns with the grotesqueness of all this. Paul knows that within minutes he could well have that stranger inside him, using his body, maybe hurting him, undressing him and touching him. And Pauls this kid, with this fucking child bus fare, who likes pizza and cares about animal welfare and tells jokes and laughs all the time and doesn’t even like wearing shoes for fuck sake!! And he’s selling himself, discarding himself. And worse still, he’s doing it right before Richards’ eyes.
Richard is standing here, watching, as through this lingering midnight fog, Paul is touching up and down the mans chest, and lacing his tie between his fingertips. His mouth is moving… what is he saying? What does someone like Paul SAY to these people? How does he capture them the way he does? Richard knows, because he’s had it happen to him too. That first night he met George.
Now, his eyes move to the young boy that sits next to him. George isn’t watching the scene. He’s got his back turned to it, and is staring casually into the pitch black sky.
“So… what? You just wait here?” Richard mumbles
“Mm-hmm. You don’t ‘ave to stay.”
“No. I er… I want to.”
“S’ late though.”
“Yeah, but that’s okay.”
George doesn’t reply. He glances over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the escapade behind him. Briefly, Richards’ mind wanders. George is obviously here to stand guard, to watch Pauls’ back… but if this random man DID turn on Paul...... what would George do? They’re only young, and skinny, both of them. They can’t fight these people. And they put themselves in this danger day in day out, every day of their lives.
Now Richard turns, and Paul is kissing the older mans neck. And Richard feels his insides shrink in disgust. And he knows he can’t stand here and watch this. He can’t condone it. He can’t allow it to happen. And he’s marching. Not away, but towards the scene. And Georges’ voice is calling after him, “Ringo, what are you doing???”
Richard is moving closer, and he’s got Pauls’ attention, and Paul looks up with eyes wide with horror. The stranger doesn’t notice; he’s got his eyes shut, and is breathing deeply. Pauls’ hand is down his trousers.
“Get off.” Richard spits. “Get off, get off him.”
“Ringo, what the fuck???”
“Move!” Richard orders. And he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but he pushes Paul away from the man, shoving him off the bench.
The stranger opens his eyes and frowns. “Hey man, what’s going on?”
“Ringo! Piss - off.” Paul hisses.
“No.” Richard snaps. He turns to the stranger, and tried to ignore the wretched disgust that creeps up his stomach as he considers the pervert. “Sorry mate.” He croaks, “Not tonight, okay?”
George has caught up with them now. His eyes are wide with shock and he glances at Paul almost apologetically, before growling, “Ringo, stop it!”
“No. Come on George, Paul, we’re leaving.”
He takes hold of Pauls’ wrist, and exploits Pauls’ moment of utter bewilderment to drag him away from his prey.
“Hey, where are you going, baby?” the man calls after them.
“He’s not your baby!” Richard snaps over his shoulder. “You just catch your train now. Bye bye.”
“Ringo, what the FUCK is wrong with you?!” Paul hisses furiously
“You can both stay at my house tonight. I’m not letting you do this.”
“You can’t tell us to do ANYTHING, you wanker!”
“Paul…” George mumbles. His thumb is between his teeth, nervously biting down on his thumbnail as he jogs alongside the two of them.
“No George! He just lost me money, and I want it BACK!” Paul rages
“You don’t need it.” Richard breathes calmly. “I told you, you’re staying at mine. For free.”
“I don’t want to!”
“Paul, shut up.” George mutters. His eyes are fixated on Richards’ face, almost like he’s worried… worried about being in trouble, or about Richards’ anger, or… Richard doesn’t really know what.
“Fuckin’ ell George!” Paul rants. “He may be YOUR little boyfriend, but he can’t ruin my life n’all!!”
“Ruin your life???” Richard coughs incredulously. “Are you FOR REAL Paul??”
“Let go of me! What are you, a psycho or something??”
“I’m just tryin’ to help Paul.”
“Well I don’t need help. And I’m NOT goin’ back to your house.”
Just fifteen minutes later, and Paul and George are curled up together once again on Richards’ sofa.
Richard has fetched all the essentials; drinks, blankets, hot water bottles. Only this time around there is no need for the sick bucket. For their part, Paul and George pretty much ignore their host; preferring to giggle and make crude in-jokes amongst themselves. Richard doesn’t really mind; he’s tired, and just happy to know they’re safely indoors. He politely requests that they use the downstairs bathroom, so as not to wake his mother, and could Paul PERHAPS refrain from stealing everything this time around?
They pretty much ignore him then too. And in the end, he just goes to bed.
Twenty minutes later, the bedroom door creaks open. And somehow, Richard already knows that George is standing there. For the second time that evening, Richard can feel him nearby… feel the tingling of his skin. It’s like George has a presence, one that washes over Richards’ body and sizzles through his blood stream, and Richard can always sense him, feel him, smell him, before he can see him.
“Hello you.” he turns over and smiles to the silhouetted figure in the doorway.
“Wotcher doin’?” George mumbles.
And Richard chuckles gently. “I WAS sleepin’.”
“Oh.”
“Do you wanna get in?”
George shuffles hesitantly, his fingers twisting around each other, in a way Richard would believe to be nervousness, if he didn’t know better. “Um… okay.”
“Come on then.”
Richard shuffles up, and George crawls underneath the covers beside him, with his eyes flickering about the interior design of the bedroom.
“You have a double bed.” He points out the obvious.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
Richard laughs. “So that streetkids can crawl up in it.”
“Hmm. An’ did you draw that picture?”
George points over to a piece of art on the wall; the hastily scribbled drawing of a hunchback strewing over a pot of human limbs.
“You’re joking!!” Richard laughs. “Surely you can see John Lennon written all over that??”
“Oh. He did me a drawing like that once as well!”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, but someone stole it. It was good though.”
Richard nods. He plumps the pillow underneath his head and turns onto his side. In the soft confinement of the bedcovers, him and George lie face to face, shadowed by the dimness of the lampshade, wrapped in calm solitude and the peaceful quiet of night.
“Do you always sleep with the light on?” George whispers softly.
“Um… yeah. I do.”
“Why?
Richard hesitates, smiles gingerly. “Okay, well don’t tell anyone okay? Specially not John, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Kay… What is it?”
Richard sighs. “I actually don’t like the dark very much. Freaks me out, you know? Not knowin’ what’s there. You know, not knowin’ what’s lurkin’ there. So I sleep with the light on. That’s all.”
George frowns. “You're scared of the dark?”
“Well……….yeah. I guess you could say that.”
The younger boy stares at Richard for a moment, as though trying to work out whether or not to believe this confession. And then, his face breaks into a smirk. Before he knows it, the younger boy is laughing, the mock-taking giggles rolling off his tongue in his usual carefree jauntiness.
“Hey, don’t laugh at me!! It’s okay being a bit wary of the dark!”
“Who told you that, your MUM??” George scoffs
“Oy! Don’t be a dick!” Richard chuckles. “I just told you one of my darkest secrets, and this is what I get??”
“So you have a nightlight??”
“It’s not a NIGHTLIGHT. It’s a lamp.”
“Which is on at night.”
“Oh, well I wish I hadn’t told ye now.” Richard smiles, rolling his eyes.
“It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Cos your seventeen.”
“So?”
But George merely giggles, shaking his head unbelievingly at this newest revelation. Not that Richard really minds. He loves Georges laugh; it’s so real and authentic, so unaffected. Richard will never tire of hearing it.
“Why are you scared of the dark anyway?” George asks eventually. “There’s a lot worse stuff out there then the sun going away, isn’t there? The dark is nice.”
“Hmm. It is nice. When you’re with somebody.”
“No. All the time.”
“Well, how would YOU know, eh?” Richard challenges. “You’re always with somebody! Have you ever been on your OWN in the dark? This house gets quiet, you know. It’s creepy.”
“Why? D’you believe in ghosts?”
Richard shrugs. “I dunno. I’d never say never.”
“I believe in them I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” George props himself up on his elbows. “Some guy in the Cavern once told us it was haunted. He’s gone now… he’s in prison. But he told us this really freaky story about this woman ghost who lives with us all, and Paul got freaked. I didn’t really though.”
“Hmm. That’s cos you’re brave.”
“Yeah. Not really.”
“I think you are.” Richard replies seriously. “I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be as brave as you. In your… you know. Doing what you’re doing.”
George swallows, and his eyes waver slightly. “I’m really not that brave.”
“Okay.” Richard chuckles gently. “We’ll just agree to disagree then.”
“Okay.”
A silence settles over them for a moment. Not awkward or uncomfortable like in the street… but safe and snug. They are snug in here, all wrapped up in the warmth of the duvet cover. Richard feels so at ease around George. Non-judgemental, easy-going George. Richard feels he could tell him anything, and it would be okay.
Except ‘I love you’ maybe.
“George……” he whispers, before he can stop himself.
George has his eyes closed, and lays relaxed against the pillows. “Mmm?”
“Why did you run away from me? Last week, in Strawberry Fields? Why did you leave?”
George opens his eyes. He looks at Ringo, and the older boy can recognise the early signs of defensiveness creeping back into his pupils.
“Don’t get angry.” He pleads. “It’s just…… I really wanted you to stay. You know? I thought it would be nice to……… talk about it… maybe. Or…”
“Why??”
“I… Because that’s what people do George! I mean… it was good, wasn’t it? I mean… It was for me anyway.”
George shrugs. “Yeah. It was.” he mutters quietly
“And it was special to me. That night. And… I dunno… I was hoping that it might be… special to you too?”
A dark frown crosses the young boys features. And Richard feels his heart drop in premature rejection.
“It was different.” George mumbles slowly.
“Yeah.”
“But we fucked. I don’t know why it was different, cos it’s just fucking.”
Richard closes his eyes, and the words pour from his lips before he can stop himself. “It’s different because I love you.”
And after that, the room is still. Richards’ words hang in the air like poison; intense and claustrophobic. And when George next speaks, his voice is small and unsure.
“It’s just fucking though.”
“Yeah.” Richard nods. “But that makes all the difference in the world, George. That I love you. And you know it does, cos you felt it.”
The younger boy is silent. He lays there, his eyes wavering uncertainly upon Ringos’ face. His fringe is slightly askew, showing the skin of his forehead, the tiny trail that links his eyebrows. He looks so young suddenly. So……… innocent.
“You do believe me don’t you?” Richard whispers. “You believe me when I say that I love you?”
“Um………… Paul says its just cos -”
“Ignore Paul. Paul hasn’t got a clue what he’s talkin’ about. I love you George. I do. I want you to believe me, cos it’s so true. You felt it! You said yourself, it was different!”
“Yeah.”
“So believe me.”
Richard moves his fingers, and trails them softly, sensually down the boys pointed cheekbone, tracing them up again and meeting his strands of hair.
“Believe me.” He whispers. “I love you.”
George swallows. “I………… I do.”
“You believe me?”
“Um…… yeah, okay.”
Richard chuckles. An excited sort of energy rushes through him; the giving and accepting of raw, human emotion. He feels elated… free. He feels the butterflies… the feelings of first dates and first kisses which he never got to have with George. But this is so much better. This makes up for everything. And he laughs. “How does it feel?”
“I dunno.”
“Does it feel good?”
George squirms. “I dunno Ringo.”
“It feels good for me.” The older boy smiles. And softly, consolingly, he presses a kiss to Georges’ nose. Because he knows this is hard for George to take. But he’ll get used to it. He’ll have to get used to Richards’ hard and fast love for him, whether he likes it or not.
“You can stay here more often.” He breathes excitedly, feeling the rush of affection and emotion, and the overpowering need to be with George all the time. Just like first dates. “You can stay here as much as you like. Then you won’t need to work. You won’t need to do that.”
“Hmm.” George mutters impassively. Giving away no promises, no emotions. But that’s okay.
“An… when I get more money, you know, cos I’m workin’ lots, I can take you places. Where’d you wanna go? I can take you abroad even, George! We can get the ferry. Like France. Or just the seaside, you know, down south. That won’t take as long to save for.”
“The seaside?”
“Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“You’ll love it.” Richard grins. “I know you will. It’s right up your street. All sand and water and that. Funfairs… and we’ll take more money this time. No more breakin’ in!”
“Have you been before?”
“Yeah, a few times. Once when I was a nipper, you know, me dad took me. An’ a couple of times after that.”
“With who?”
“Once with family. Once with John, and our girlfriends. And next time can just be me and you.” Richard shuffles up, pushing the fringe gently from Georges’ eyes, revealing more of his forehead. “And nobody knows you there. You can be whoever you want, you know. We both can.” He grins mischievously. “We can take top-hats and suits and be all upper class and that.”
And George grins too at that one, and he’s growing excited by the idea, Richard can tell. And it makes Richards’ stomach and chest swell in exhilaration.
“Soon.” He promises. “I’ll save. I’ll take you really soon.”
“Yeah.”
“And I might borrow some, you know. My mum will lend it. She really likes you.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. She said you were ‘sweet’, bless ye!” Richard sniggers
“Eurgh.”
“Well. You are quite sweet.”
“Shuttup.”
Richard laughs. “There’s nought wrong with it!”
“Just like there’s nought wrong with a night-light?!”
“Exactly!” Richard grins. Then he frowns. “Alright, so we’re both quite sweet.”
“We should grow some balls.”
“Maybe we should!”
They giggle slightly. The small, delighted sounds reverberate softly off the secure bedroom walls. When things die down again, Georges’ eyes are slowly closing, and he’s sinking into sleep. Richard can’t stop himself; he’s well and truly taken with this boy. He just wants to be near him all the time, and he wraps his arm around Georges’ shoulders, and lets George bury his head into the crook of his neck. They lie like that for a few moments, as the room closes in on them with warm silence and darkness. Richard thinks George must be asleep. Until he speaks again.
“I think my mum would like you, Ringo.” He breathes
Richard frowns. He presses his chin to the top of Georges’ head, and whispers back with soft confiding, the question which has been nagging at his insides for a very long time;
“Where is your mum, George?”
The younger boy is still for a moment. And silent. Richard doesn’t think he’ll answer, and he doesn’t really expect him to. But a quiet voice defies his predictions.
“She’s gone.” George whispers. “I dunno where she is. She left me when I was little. Cos she didn’t want me to be on the streets.”
Richard feels himself tense, and his limbs tighten. How could she do that? How could a mother do something like that to her little boy? And before he can stop himself, his bitter words tumble from him.
“What would you mum say, if she knew what her precious little boy was up to NOW?”
George stiffens. He can hear Richards’ harsh tone, and Richard already knows he’s crossed the line.
“She loves me Ringo! She did it cos she loves me.”
“Well George……… she should be lookin’ after you! She should be puttin’ a roof over your head an’ food on your plate. She shoudn’t be lettin’ this happen to you.”
“Ringo, I love my Mum, okay?”
“I know.” Richard sighs. “I know you do. And you must have great strength to do that. That’s all I’m sayin’. I wish she hadn’t……… it’s not fair. What’s happened.”
“I wanna find her again. Maybe. One day… I dunno though.”
“Hm?” Richard pulls the small body closer to him, pressing his nose against Georges’ head. “Why do you say that?”
“I hope she forgives me. You know…… for… stealin’ and that.”
“Of course she will. It’s not like you have much choice, is it?”
“I dunno.”
“No, you don’t. And of course she’ll forgive you. Y…you’re right……… she loves you.”
“Yeah, she does.” George smiles. “She could stand the sight of me. Not like your Dad.”
Richard flinches. The words were never intended to hurt, but a pain cuts through his stomach anyway. He knows George says these things with a simplistic breeziness, because it’s all he knows, but shit. He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply. Because he misses his Dad too. He loves his Dad too. He does, despite everything. And somehow, he finds that he can understand George, and his seemingly bizarre way of looking at life…… which, in this case, isn’t that bizarre at all.
“I have something for you.” Richard whispers.
And he’s climbing from the bed, reaching in his draw.
He picks out the bracelet. The small, handmade bracelet, which is constructed from seashells. And he pushes it into Georges’ hand.
“That’s from the seaside.” He smiles. “For you to keep until we go there.”
“For me?”
“For you to keep. But you have to promise you’ll wear it. You have to promise you’ll keep it on your wrist, and you know……think of me, n’ that.”
George sits up, the bracelet held hesitantly inside his palm.
“Ringo…… I don’t… I don’t really think this is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because……….. stuff gets stolen from the Cavern sometimes.”
“Not if you keep it on your wrist, it won’t.”
“Mm.” George licks his lips timidly. “But… Allen won’t like it.”
“Allen Klein?”
“Yeah.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll think we’re hidin’ money from him… if we come back with stuff like this. An’ he goes crazy over money, Ringo. It turns ‘im all mad. He hit Paul once. He properly hit him round the face… cos Paul wouldn’t give him all the money. Cos Paul had earned more, and Allen wanted ALL of it, and Paul didn’t think that was fair. And Allen got a stick and he smacked him for it. And he had a bruise for months. All over his face.”
“George…” Richard hushes him, ending the sudden spiel that has been so long withdrawn. “You can hide the bracelet from Allen. Please. I really want you to have it. Here…”
He takes the jewellery from Georges’ hand, and pushes it onto his wrist. The white little seashells rest perfectly ontop of the small bones, and snugly around Georges’ body, as though it was meant to be for him all along.
“You like it.” Richard whispers. “Don’t you? Hm?”
“Yeah but…”
“It’s seashells. Allen will know it doesn’t cost anything. It’s not about money. And look…”
Richard gently takes hold of Georges’ wrist, and lifts it to the young boys ear.
“Hear that?” he breathes, “You can hear the sea when you listen to the shells. D’you hear it?”
George sits up, with the bracelet still pressed to his ear, and his eyes widen.
“Is tha’…… is it really the sea?”
“Yeah.”
“HOW??”
“I dunno really.” Richard shrugs. “S’just what all seashells do. You’ll be able to hear it all the time.”
George is barely listening though; he’s entranced by this new phenomenon, with the bracelet against his ear, and his eyes sparkling and mouth slightly open in wonderment.
“I want to keep this.” He suddenly smiles
Richard laughs. “What a good idea!”
“Yeah. I’m gonna keep it. And I’m going downstairs now.”
Before Richard knows what’s happening, George is scrambling off the bed. The sudden fast movement is disorientating.
“Hey…George… you can stay here tonight, if you want. You can sleep with me.”
George stops, having already reached the doorway. “Um… no, I can’t really.” He mutters
“Are you sure? It’s much more comfy than the sofa.”
“Yeah…” the young boy licks his lips. “No, I really have to sleep downstairs.”
“Okay.” Richard sighs.
He relents, because downstairs is better than outside…… and he's happy to move just one step at a time.
“I’ll see you in the morning then, George.”
“Kay. Night.”
“Night night.”
George is closing the door, and Richard can hear his soft movement across the landing, before he calls back to him.
“George???”
The door opens. The familiar face peers once more through the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Does Paul read Shakespeare?”
George frowns. “What’s Shakespeare?”
“He’s… he’s a writer. A really famous one. And Paul said he reads him a lot.”
At that, Georges’ face breaks into a wild grin. “No he DOESN’T!! I’ve never HEARD of that man!!”
Richard grins too, shaking his head in disbelief. “That rotten LIAR!”
“Why did he tell you that??”
“It’s a long story. I KNEW he didn’t!”
George smiles. The familiar, lopsided smile that makes Richards’ heart swell.
“Night Ringo.”
“Night George.”
Pairing: George/Ringo
Warnings: Underrage prostitution
Previous Parts: Here
Summary: Richard, an ambitious seventeen-year-old, has his life turned upside down by the wickedly devious, yet deeply endearing, street urchins- George Harrison and Paul McCartney. (AU)
Authors notes 1: Long chapter alert. Sorry folks.
Authors notes 2: A huge thank you to picture_poet for doing these beautiful backgrounds. They're amazing. ♥
Life is funny in the way where one can look and search for something until he has travelled all ends of the Earth… and never find it. And it’s funny in that, ultimately it is fate that makes these decisions for him. That thing he has searched for could fade into the dastardly arms of obscurity, until the very moment he is not ready for it.
Night time has washed over the Liverpool streets fast. The orange streetlights light small patches of cobbles into a musty glow, and moths flutter silently around the smoky mog of illumination. The whole city is spookily quiet. Curtains are drawn, pubs closed. Richard didn’t realise he’d been at Johns’ house for so very long. He’s tired, fatigued, and walks dazedly through the darkness, not looking where he’s going; his feet moving on auto-pilot. A dog barks somewhere in the distance, and the nearby gate creaks in the gentle breeze. Other than that, its’ like the whole universe is settled in cosy solitude.
And, as is the way with the winding turns of fate, Richard isn’t even looking for the boy, when that lurking shadow graces the streets with its presence. He’s not concentrating, he’s not thinking, just walking. And yet as he moves past that darkened corner of road, it’s like his senses tingle. He knows George is there, before he even sees him. His nerves are heightened. He steps into the long shadow, and he just feels that it belongs to the streetboy.
He blinks; moving out of his daze. “George?” he whispers.
And there he is.
Silent as the moon, dark as the sky… George lingers in the blackened corner of the damp alleyway. He and Richard could well be the only people awake in the whole world. And yet George remains silent, with lips sealed and eyes watchful. The dark shadows on his face camouflage him into his familiar surroundings.
Richard feels breathless. It’s been eight days since he last saw George. Since he held his naked body, kissed his skin, sunk into the heat of his breath. It’s been four days since with trembling hands he took back the money. And now they stand close to each other, wrapped in night, considering each other silently. It is quite unreal to him, like a sensual dreamscape.
“What are you doing here?” he breathes
Very slightly, Georges’ mouth wavers open. His lips peel apart by chapped skin, his breath is about to utter an answer. Richard wants to hear his voice again. But then George reconsiders. His mouth closes, his eyes dart to the moist ground beneath him. His head hangs, unresponding, unanswering.
In that moment, Richard knows what George is doing here.
And when he swallows, it’s like his throat is filled with the sticky mucus of his heart.
“No George……” he whispers. “You’re not…… not now?”
Again, no answer. George glances upwards, and meets Richards’ eyes with freshly arranged defiance. The haunting orange streelight reflects in his stare, and wavers inside his pupils. He has nothing to say to Richard. Not now. Not in his nighttime-trance. He’s a different person now, for the few hours that he becomes the prowler of streets. Richard isn’t supposed to see him like this.
“Please don’t George.” Richard whispers. He says it quietly. Because he’s learnt it’s almost useless.
The soft sound of footsteps echo up the street behind them. George glances upwards, gazing over Richards’ shoulder for potential customer. Richard turns and sees a bulky man, holding briefcase and dressed in pinstripe suit. It doesn’t look like the type of man who would exploit underage prostitutes, and yet Georges’ eyes seem to light up in opportunity.
“George, no!” Richard hisses
“You need to go, Ringo. I’m busy.”
“No you’re not. No. Look………”
Richard takes hold of Georges’ elbow, and pulls him - perhaps a bit too roughly - out of sight into the darkness of the alleyway. Still George is unresponsive, and watches the older boy through glazed, almost unfeeling eyes. He allows himself to be pushed into the wall. He waits for Richards’ lecture with impartial manner.
“I’ll pay you.” Richard whispers. “Look, how much do you want? How much will stop you doing this tonight?”
“What have you got?”
Richard bites his lip, and Georges’ eyes follow as he rummages inside his jean pockets, and pulls out the few notes that are left after his night out with John. It doesn’t seem to be enough, and Richards’ heart hammers with regret.
“Five.” He mumbles.
George frowns, with eyebrows knitting together. “Five?”
“That’s all I have George. Please… I mean… will Brian accept… five?”
George opens his mouth again, about to answer, and then once again he changes his mind. He simply nods. His dark eyes are glimmering with a kind of puzzlement as Richard hands the money over, and pupils waver, as though crossing many thoughts inside his head. Richard wanders what he’s thinking. So many things he seems to think, all the time. Richard wishes he could tune in to some of it.
Eventually, George swallows, and breaks the silence.
“I have to go find Paul now.”
Richard nods, but with regret. “Are… you’re gonna go back to the Cavern then, yeah?”
“Well I have to go with Paul first. He needs to fuck someone tonight.”
Richard winces slightly at the blunt choice of words. And suddenly he LOATHES himself for buying those pints with John earlier. Just a few less drinks, and he’d have been able to save two bodies tonight from violation.
“I… I don’t have enough for Paul too.” He mumbles.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
George frowns. “What for? S’ okay.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
An unsettling silence formulates between them. The knowledge weighs them down; Richard isn’t supposed to be here with George. Not at this time. The atmosphere is tense, almost awkward as they acknowledge this. Finding George lurking in the alleyway is like finding a child eating chocolate before dinner, only with more of a nauseating after-taste. And while Richard is glad to have had the opportunity to stop him, he almost wishes he hadn’t seen it. Now, when he envisions Georges’ nighttime escapade, he’ll have a very clear image in his head of how that goes.
“Right…” Richard mutters quietly. “Um… are you goin’ this way?”
“Yeah.”
“Right, come on then.”
The quiet patter of their footsteps is the only noise, as they cross the cobbles. The direction of Richards’ house, and the direction of Paul McCartney. And there he is, abiding by his daily routine; sitting cross legged on the pavement as he waits for George to finish his business. His face falls into a frown when he sees Richard there.
“Oh…… Alright Rings?”
He too bares the same awkward expression of a boy caught by scornful eyes. He stands up, brushing himself down, and exchanges a confused, mysterious glance with his younger cohort.
“Ringo gave me money.” George says. “So I’m done.”
Paul frowns. “What, money and no shag? That doesn’t sound like you, Ringo.”
“Shut up Paul, I’m just tryin’ to help.”
“Yes I know. Ye don’t stop that, do you?”
Pauls’ eyes drill into his, and Richard can’t understand it. Surely Paul would be pleased?? Surely he doesn’t WANT George - who he apparently cares about so much - to be bending over for random perverts? They stand there for a moment, all three of them, consumed inside this uncomfortable silence. And though Richard knows he’s not wanted, and they’re waiting for him to leave, he just can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t want to leave them alone. He’d feel irresponsible. He’d feel cruel, to leave them to the hands of the paedophiles. And so, despite the piercing eyes and frowns and the confused expressions they keep shooting him, he walks along beside them. He’s going to stay with them. Until he’s sure they’re going back to the Cavern. And he’s going to do that whether they like it or not.
“Him…?” Paul mumbles quietly to George, when they reach the railway.
He points to a man who waits for the train. He’s on his own, with a dog on a lead, cigarette between his lips. He’s obscured slightly behind the light cloud of nighttime mist, but George looks over at him, as though checking him out. And eventually he comes to some kind of decision.
“Yeah.” He whispers encouragingly. “He’s fine.”
“Yeah? Kay. Hold this.”
Paul passes George the can of coke he’s holding, brushes his fringe onto his face slightly. And then he moves forwards. And he’s not even looking back, and he doesn’t even look nervous. And Richard watches, utterly entranced, as Paul moves with usual nonchalance toward his victim. Richard watches as Paul approaches, as Paul sits down on the bench beside him. And his stomach churns with the grotesqueness of all this. Paul knows that within minutes he could well have that stranger inside him, using his body, maybe hurting him, undressing him and touching him. And Pauls this kid, with this fucking child bus fare, who likes pizza and cares about animal welfare and tells jokes and laughs all the time and doesn’t even like wearing shoes for fuck sake!! And he’s selling himself, discarding himself. And worse still, he’s doing it right before Richards’ eyes.
Richard is standing here, watching, as through this lingering midnight fog, Paul is touching up and down the mans chest, and lacing his tie between his fingertips. His mouth is moving… what is he saying? What does someone like Paul SAY to these people? How does he capture them the way he does? Richard knows, because he’s had it happen to him too. That first night he met George.
Now, his eyes move to the young boy that sits next to him. George isn’t watching the scene. He’s got his back turned to it, and is staring casually into the pitch black sky.
“So… what? You just wait here?” Richard mumbles
“Mm-hmm. You don’t ‘ave to stay.”
“No. I er… I want to.”
“S’ late though.”
“Yeah, but that’s okay.”
George doesn’t reply. He glances over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the escapade behind him. Briefly, Richards’ mind wanders. George is obviously here to stand guard, to watch Pauls’ back… but if this random man DID turn on Paul...... what would George do? They’re only young, and skinny, both of them. They can’t fight these people. And they put themselves in this danger day in day out, every day of their lives.
Now Richard turns, and Paul is kissing the older mans neck. And Richard feels his insides shrink in disgust. And he knows he can’t stand here and watch this. He can’t condone it. He can’t allow it to happen. And he’s marching. Not away, but towards the scene. And Georges’ voice is calling after him, “Ringo, what are you doing???”
Richard is moving closer, and he’s got Pauls’ attention, and Paul looks up with eyes wide with horror. The stranger doesn’t notice; he’s got his eyes shut, and is breathing deeply. Pauls’ hand is down his trousers.
“Get off.” Richard spits. “Get off, get off him.”
“Ringo, what the fuck???”
“Move!” Richard orders. And he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but he pushes Paul away from the man, shoving him off the bench.
The stranger opens his eyes and frowns. “Hey man, what’s going on?”
“Ringo! Piss - off.” Paul hisses.
“No.” Richard snaps. He turns to the stranger, and tried to ignore the wretched disgust that creeps up his stomach as he considers the pervert. “Sorry mate.” He croaks, “Not tonight, okay?”
George has caught up with them now. His eyes are wide with shock and he glances at Paul almost apologetically, before growling, “Ringo, stop it!”
“No. Come on George, Paul, we’re leaving.”
He takes hold of Pauls’ wrist, and exploits Pauls’ moment of utter bewilderment to drag him away from his prey.
“Hey, where are you going, baby?” the man calls after them.
“He’s not your baby!” Richard snaps over his shoulder. “You just catch your train now. Bye bye.”
“Ringo, what the FUCK is wrong with you?!” Paul hisses furiously
“You can both stay at my house tonight. I’m not letting you do this.”
“You can’t tell us to do ANYTHING, you wanker!”
“Paul…” George mumbles. His thumb is between his teeth, nervously biting down on his thumbnail as he jogs alongside the two of them.
“No George! He just lost me money, and I want it BACK!” Paul rages
“You don’t need it.” Richard breathes calmly. “I told you, you’re staying at mine. For free.”
“I don’t want to!”
“Paul, shut up.” George mutters. His eyes are fixated on Richards’ face, almost like he’s worried… worried about being in trouble, or about Richards’ anger, or… Richard doesn’t really know what.
“Fuckin’ ell George!” Paul rants. “He may be YOUR little boyfriend, but he can’t ruin my life n’all!!”
“Ruin your life???” Richard coughs incredulously. “Are you FOR REAL Paul??”
“Let go of me! What are you, a psycho or something??”
“I’m just tryin’ to help Paul.”
“Well I don’t need help. And I’m NOT goin’ back to your house.”
Just fifteen minutes later, and Paul and George are curled up together once again on Richards’ sofa.
Richard has fetched all the essentials; drinks, blankets, hot water bottles. Only this time around there is no need for the sick bucket. For their part, Paul and George pretty much ignore their host; preferring to giggle and make crude in-jokes amongst themselves. Richard doesn’t really mind; he’s tired, and just happy to know they’re safely indoors. He politely requests that they use the downstairs bathroom, so as not to wake his mother, and could Paul PERHAPS refrain from stealing everything this time around?
They pretty much ignore him then too. And in the end, he just goes to bed.
Twenty minutes later, the bedroom door creaks open. And somehow, Richard already knows that George is standing there. For the second time that evening, Richard can feel him nearby… feel the tingling of his skin. It’s like George has a presence, one that washes over Richards’ body and sizzles through his blood stream, and Richard can always sense him, feel him, smell him, before he can see him.
“Hello you.” he turns over and smiles to the silhouetted figure in the doorway.
“Wotcher doin’?” George mumbles.
And Richard chuckles gently. “I WAS sleepin’.”
“Oh.”
“Do you wanna get in?”
George shuffles hesitantly, his fingers twisting around each other, in a way Richard would believe to be nervousness, if he didn’t know better. “Um… okay.”
“Come on then.”
Richard shuffles up, and George crawls underneath the covers beside him, with his eyes flickering about the interior design of the bedroom.
“You have a double bed.” He points out the obvious.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
Richard laughs. “So that streetkids can crawl up in it.”
“Hmm. An’ did you draw that picture?”
George points over to a piece of art on the wall; the hastily scribbled drawing of a hunchback strewing over a pot of human limbs.
“You’re joking!!” Richard laughs. “Surely you can see John Lennon written all over that??”
“Oh. He did me a drawing like that once as well!”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, but someone stole it. It was good though.”
Richard nods. He plumps the pillow underneath his head and turns onto his side. In the soft confinement of the bedcovers, him and George lie face to face, shadowed by the dimness of the lampshade, wrapped in calm solitude and the peaceful quiet of night.
“Do you always sleep with the light on?” George whispers softly.
“Um… yeah. I do.”
“Why?
Richard hesitates, smiles gingerly. “Okay, well don’t tell anyone okay? Specially not John, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Kay… What is it?”
Richard sighs. “I actually don’t like the dark very much. Freaks me out, you know? Not knowin’ what’s there. You know, not knowin’ what’s lurkin’ there. So I sleep with the light on. That’s all.”
George frowns. “You're scared of the dark?”
“Well……….yeah. I guess you could say that.”
The younger boy stares at Richard for a moment, as though trying to work out whether or not to believe this confession. And then, his face breaks into a smirk. Before he knows it, the younger boy is laughing, the mock-taking giggles rolling off his tongue in his usual carefree jauntiness.
“Hey, don’t laugh at me!! It’s okay being a bit wary of the dark!”
“Who told you that, your MUM??” George scoffs
“Oy! Don’t be a dick!” Richard chuckles. “I just told you one of my darkest secrets, and this is what I get??”
“So you have a nightlight??”
“It’s not a NIGHTLIGHT. It’s a lamp.”
“Which is on at night.”
“Oh, well I wish I hadn’t told ye now.” Richard smiles, rolling his eyes.
“It’s just funny, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Cos your seventeen.”
“So?”
But George merely giggles, shaking his head unbelievingly at this newest revelation. Not that Richard really minds. He loves Georges laugh; it’s so real and authentic, so unaffected. Richard will never tire of hearing it.
“Why are you scared of the dark anyway?” George asks eventually. “There’s a lot worse stuff out there then the sun going away, isn’t there? The dark is nice.”
“Hmm. It is nice. When you’re with somebody.”
“No. All the time.”
“Well, how would YOU know, eh?” Richard challenges. “You’re always with somebody! Have you ever been on your OWN in the dark? This house gets quiet, you know. It’s creepy.”
“Why? D’you believe in ghosts?”
Richard shrugs. “I dunno. I’d never say never.”
“I believe in them I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” George props himself up on his elbows. “Some guy in the Cavern once told us it was haunted. He’s gone now… he’s in prison. But he told us this really freaky story about this woman ghost who lives with us all, and Paul got freaked. I didn’t really though.”
“Hmm. That’s cos you’re brave.”
“Yeah. Not really.”
“I think you are.” Richard replies seriously. “I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be as brave as you. In your… you know. Doing what you’re doing.”
George swallows, and his eyes waver slightly. “I’m really not that brave.”
“Okay.” Richard chuckles gently. “We’ll just agree to disagree then.”
“Okay.”
A silence settles over them for a moment. Not awkward or uncomfortable like in the street… but safe and snug. They are snug in here, all wrapped up in the warmth of the duvet cover. Richard feels so at ease around George. Non-judgemental, easy-going George. Richard feels he could tell him anything, and it would be okay.
Except ‘I love you’ maybe.
“George……” he whispers, before he can stop himself.
George has his eyes closed, and lays relaxed against the pillows. “Mmm?”
“Why did you run away from me? Last week, in Strawberry Fields? Why did you leave?”
George opens his eyes. He looks at Ringo, and the older boy can recognise the early signs of defensiveness creeping back into his pupils.
“Don’t get angry.” He pleads. “It’s just…… I really wanted you to stay. You know? I thought it would be nice to……… talk about it… maybe. Or…”
“Why??”
“I… Because that’s what people do George! I mean… it was good, wasn’t it? I mean… It was for me anyway.”
George shrugs. “Yeah. It was.” he mutters quietly
“And it was special to me. That night. And… I dunno… I was hoping that it might be… special to you too?”
A dark frown crosses the young boys features. And Richard feels his heart drop in premature rejection.
“It was different.” George mumbles slowly.
“Yeah.”
“But we fucked. I don’t know why it was different, cos it’s just fucking.”
Richard closes his eyes, and the words pour from his lips before he can stop himself. “It’s different because I love you.”
And after that, the room is still. Richards’ words hang in the air like poison; intense and claustrophobic. And when George next speaks, his voice is small and unsure.
“It’s just fucking though.”
“Yeah.” Richard nods. “But that makes all the difference in the world, George. That I love you. And you know it does, cos you felt it.”
The younger boy is silent. He lays there, his eyes wavering uncertainly upon Ringos’ face. His fringe is slightly askew, showing the skin of his forehead, the tiny trail that links his eyebrows. He looks so young suddenly. So……… innocent.
“You do believe me don’t you?” Richard whispers. “You believe me when I say that I love you?”
“Um………… Paul says its just cos -”
“Ignore Paul. Paul hasn’t got a clue what he’s talkin’ about. I love you George. I do. I want you to believe me, cos it’s so true. You felt it! You said yourself, it was different!”
“Yeah.”
“So believe me.”
Richard moves his fingers, and trails them softly, sensually down the boys pointed cheekbone, tracing them up again and meeting his strands of hair.
“Believe me.” He whispers. “I love you.”
George swallows. “I………… I do.”
“You believe me?”
“Um…… yeah, okay.”
Richard chuckles. An excited sort of energy rushes through him; the giving and accepting of raw, human emotion. He feels elated… free. He feels the butterflies… the feelings of first dates and first kisses which he never got to have with George. But this is so much better. This makes up for everything. And he laughs. “How does it feel?”
“I dunno.”
“Does it feel good?”
George squirms. “I dunno Ringo.”
“It feels good for me.” The older boy smiles. And softly, consolingly, he presses a kiss to Georges’ nose. Because he knows this is hard for George to take. But he’ll get used to it. He’ll have to get used to Richards’ hard and fast love for him, whether he likes it or not.
“You can stay here more often.” He breathes excitedly, feeling the rush of affection and emotion, and the overpowering need to be with George all the time. Just like first dates. “You can stay here as much as you like. Then you won’t need to work. You won’t need to do that.”
“Hmm.” George mutters impassively. Giving away no promises, no emotions. But that’s okay.
“An… when I get more money, you know, cos I’m workin’ lots, I can take you places. Where’d you wanna go? I can take you abroad even, George! We can get the ferry. Like France. Or just the seaside, you know, down south. That won’t take as long to save for.”
“The seaside?”
“Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“You’ll love it.” Richard grins. “I know you will. It’s right up your street. All sand and water and that. Funfairs… and we’ll take more money this time. No more breakin’ in!”
“Have you been before?”
“Yeah, a few times. Once when I was a nipper, you know, me dad took me. An’ a couple of times after that.”
“With who?”
“Once with family. Once with John, and our girlfriends. And next time can just be me and you.” Richard shuffles up, pushing the fringe gently from Georges’ eyes, revealing more of his forehead. “And nobody knows you there. You can be whoever you want, you know. We both can.” He grins mischievously. “We can take top-hats and suits and be all upper class and that.”
And George grins too at that one, and he’s growing excited by the idea, Richard can tell. And it makes Richards’ stomach and chest swell in exhilaration.
“Soon.” He promises. “I’ll save. I’ll take you really soon.”
“Yeah.”
“And I might borrow some, you know. My mum will lend it. She really likes you.”
“Does she?”
“Yeah. She said you were ‘sweet’, bless ye!” Richard sniggers
“Eurgh.”
“Well. You are quite sweet.”
“Shuttup.”
Richard laughs. “There’s nought wrong with it!”
“Just like there’s nought wrong with a night-light?!”
“Exactly!” Richard grins. Then he frowns. “Alright, so we’re both quite sweet.”
“We should grow some balls.”
“Maybe we should!”
They giggle slightly. The small, delighted sounds reverberate softly off the secure bedroom walls. When things die down again, Georges’ eyes are slowly closing, and he’s sinking into sleep. Richard can’t stop himself; he’s well and truly taken with this boy. He just wants to be near him all the time, and he wraps his arm around Georges’ shoulders, and lets George bury his head into the crook of his neck. They lie like that for a few moments, as the room closes in on them with warm silence and darkness. Richard thinks George must be asleep. Until he speaks again.
“I think my mum would like you, Ringo.” He breathes
Richard frowns. He presses his chin to the top of Georges’ head, and whispers back with soft confiding, the question which has been nagging at his insides for a very long time;
“Where is your mum, George?”
The younger boy is still for a moment. And silent. Richard doesn’t think he’ll answer, and he doesn’t really expect him to. But a quiet voice defies his predictions.
“She’s gone.” George whispers. “I dunno where she is. She left me when I was little. Cos she didn’t want me to be on the streets.”
Richard feels himself tense, and his limbs tighten. How could she do that? How could a mother do something like that to her little boy? And before he can stop himself, his bitter words tumble from him.
“What would you mum say, if she knew what her precious little boy was up to NOW?”
George stiffens. He can hear Richards’ harsh tone, and Richard already knows he’s crossed the line.
“She loves me Ringo! She did it cos she loves me.”
“Well George……… she should be lookin’ after you! She should be puttin’ a roof over your head an’ food on your plate. She shoudn’t be lettin’ this happen to you.”
“Ringo, I love my Mum, okay?”
“I know.” Richard sighs. “I know you do. And you must have great strength to do that. That’s all I’m sayin’. I wish she hadn’t……… it’s not fair. What’s happened.”
“I wanna find her again. Maybe. One day… I dunno though.”
“Hm?” Richard pulls the small body closer to him, pressing his nose against Georges’ head. “Why do you say that?”
“I hope she forgives me. You know…… for… stealin’ and that.”
“Of course she will. It’s not like you have much choice, is it?”
“I dunno.”
“No, you don’t. And of course she’ll forgive you. Y…you’re right……… she loves you.”
“Yeah, she does.” George smiles. “She could stand the sight of me. Not like your Dad.”
Richard flinches. The words were never intended to hurt, but a pain cuts through his stomach anyway. He knows George says these things with a simplistic breeziness, because it’s all he knows, but shit. He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathes deeply. Because he misses his Dad too. He loves his Dad too. He does, despite everything. And somehow, he finds that he can understand George, and his seemingly bizarre way of looking at life…… which, in this case, isn’t that bizarre at all.
“I have something for you.” Richard whispers.
And he’s climbing from the bed, reaching in his draw.
He picks out the bracelet. The small, handmade bracelet, which is constructed from seashells. And he pushes it into Georges’ hand.
“That’s from the seaside.” He smiles. “For you to keep until we go there.”
“For me?”
“For you to keep. But you have to promise you’ll wear it. You have to promise you’ll keep it on your wrist, and you know……think of me, n’ that.”
George sits up, the bracelet held hesitantly inside his palm.
“Ringo…… I don’t… I don’t really think this is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because……….. stuff gets stolen from the Cavern sometimes.”
“Not if you keep it on your wrist, it won’t.”
“Mm.” George licks his lips timidly. “But… Allen won’t like it.”
“Allen Klein?”
“Yeah.”
“Why not?”
“He’ll think we’re hidin’ money from him… if we come back with stuff like this. An’ he goes crazy over money, Ringo. It turns ‘im all mad. He hit Paul once. He properly hit him round the face… cos Paul wouldn’t give him all the money. Cos Paul had earned more, and Allen wanted ALL of it, and Paul didn’t think that was fair. And Allen got a stick and he smacked him for it. And he had a bruise for months. All over his face.”
“George…” Richard hushes him, ending the sudden spiel that has been so long withdrawn. “You can hide the bracelet from Allen. Please. I really want you to have it. Here…”
He takes the jewellery from Georges’ hand, and pushes it onto his wrist. The white little seashells rest perfectly ontop of the small bones, and snugly around Georges’ body, as though it was meant to be for him all along.
“You like it.” Richard whispers. “Don’t you? Hm?”
“Yeah but…”
“It’s seashells. Allen will know it doesn’t cost anything. It’s not about money. And look…”
Richard gently takes hold of Georges’ wrist, and lifts it to the young boys ear.
“Hear that?” he breathes, “You can hear the sea when you listen to the shells. D’you hear it?”
George sits up, with the bracelet still pressed to his ear, and his eyes widen.
“Is tha’…… is it really the sea?”
“Yeah.”
“HOW??”
“I dunno really.” Richard shrugs. “S’just what all seashells do. You’ll be able to hear it all the time.”
George is barely listening though; he’s entranced by this new phenomenon, with the bracelet against his ear, and his eyes sparkling and mouth slightly open in wonderment.
“I want to keep this.” He suddenly smiles
Richard laughs. “What a good idea!”
“Yeah. I’m gonna keep it. And I’m going downstairs now.”
Before Richard knows what’s happening, George is scrambling off the bed. The sudden fast movement is disorientating.
“Hey…George… you can stay here tonight, if you want. You can sleep with me.”
George stops, having already reached the doorway. “Um… no, I can’t really.” He mutters
“Are you sure? It’s much more comfy than the sofa.”
“Yeah…” the young boy licks his lips. “No, I really have to sleep downstairs.”
“Okay.” Richard sighs.
He relents, because downstairs is better than outside…… and he's happy to move just one step at a time.
“I’ll see you in the morning then, George.”
“Kay. Night.”
“Night night.”
George is closing the door, and Richard can hear his soft movement across the landing, before he calls back to him.
“George???”
The door opens. The familiar face peers once more through the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Does Paul read Shakespeare?”
George frowns. “What’s Shakespeare?”
“He’s… he’s a writer. A really famous one. And Paul said he reads him a lot.”
At that, Georges’ face breaks into a wild grin. “No he DOESN’T!! I’ve never HEARD of that man!!”
Richard grins too, shaking his head in disbelief. “That rotten LIAR!”
“Why did he tell you that??”
“It’s a long story. I KNEW he didn’t!”
George smiles. The familiar, lopsided smile that makes Richards’ heart swell.
“Night Ringo.”
“Night George.”