To Much Rain, Chapter 120
Mar. 20th, 2016 05:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yes_2dayWell, I finally finished this transitional chapter. Sorry, but while I was sick I could not write. I don't know why, but I have managed to complete this chapter now, and hope you will remember where we were in the story after such a long break!
In this chapter John and Paul make decisions about living arrangements, the family celebrates Christmas together along with Mary's 'package', John and Paul get an invitation, and Paul presents John with an amazing surprise.
WARNINGS: Nothing too slashy - just a little gentle stuff. :) THIS IS FICTION.
Chapter 120
December 24, 1998
London
James and Heather had travelled up from East Sussex the day before, ready to participate in the public launch of Wide Prairie. To say they were shocked to find the sitting room empty except for newly stained floors and a new paint job would be an understatement. Somehow, none of their various family members had mentioned the redecoration scheme to them. Neither of them was overly pleased with the overhaul. They both felt that things were moving too fast. It felt to them like their mother was being swept out of the house too soon.
Paul could read their minds when he saw their reactions to the changes. He hugged each of them in greeting - they were a very physical family - and said, “the carpet was kaput!” as a kind of a jokey explanation for the changes. Their return smiles were a bit anemic. But soon they were swept up in the greetings from their sisters and John, and once in the kitchen they could ignore the changes going on around them.
Because there was no furniture in the sitting room, the family had been forced over the last week to inhabit the more formal parlor, which was smaller than the sitting room, and a bit out of the way. John had finally settled on the basic furnishings and fabrics he wanted for the sitting room, but it would be weeks before the new furniture and drapes were delivered. While having that bright room to look forward to, John found inhabiting the other rooms, especially the old-fashioned dark parlor, to be almost more depressing than it had been before. And it really had to be said: the rest of the ground floor rooms looked drab compared to the bright look of the sitting room. John had managed to tamp down his urges to just go through all the rooms ripping off drapes and pulling up carpets. He had to be patient, and let Paul catch up with him. Now he could also plainly see that Heather and James too would be reluctant to see changes at Cavendish.
The occasion of the family’s reunion was the public release of Linda’s album, filled with all the songs that Linda had recorded privately over a twenty-six year period. They included cuts from the Wings days, both early and late, some stuff she had worked on in the ‘80s, and even a few things she had done in her last months on earth. The favorite was clearly Seaside Woman, which featured a reggae sensibility. James had performed lead electric guitar on The Light Comes From Within, and it was this song that always caused James to tear up. He could remember working on it with his mother just before she died. Could it really have been only nine months ago they had been together in the Sussex studio - before they left for Arizona on that last family trip? It seemed like a lifetime ago to James.
They had all dressed nicely and arrived at the press event, held in a swank hotel. John had stayed home. This had been the subject of much debate amongst the McCartney children, who felt he should be there, since he had been Linda’s close and loving friend and confidante during her battle with cancer. Paul had been open to John coming as well. But John was more aware of the level of scrutiny and gossip he was under than the McCartneys appeared to be. He didn’t want this event to be ruined by a lot of suggestive and intrusive questions. He knew if he showed up he would become the sinecure of all eyes, and the whole point of the evening as a testament to Linda would be lost. Paul had asked him privately why he wouldn’t come, and John had said succinctly,
“Do you want them asking about you and me, or do you want them asking about Linda?”
Paul had swallowed that comment and he knew immediately that John was right. Still, he felt very alone as he worked the room that night. He wanted very much to look up over everyone’s heads and see John across the room, making a face and clowning. He also felt guilty. He worried about John home alone in the house, upended by the sitting room remodeling. He had tried to encourage John to go out on the town with friends, but John had declined. How to explain to Paul that the headline ‘Macca honors his dead wife, while John goes clubbing with pals’ would be just as distracting as his appearance at the event itself?
After the event, Paul and his five children (he was including Alistair in the count) crowded into one Rolls limo, and headed back to Cavendish. He was quiet and thoughtful, staring out the window. Mary was squeezed in next to him, and she whispered to him, “Missing John?”
Paul turned to her in surprise and said, “I hope he’s okay.”
Mary smiled warmly at her father. “There’s something you could do that would mean the world to him.”
Paul’s expression invited her to continue.
Mary’s voice was hushed but emotional. “You need to let him make that house a home for both of you. And you have to let him share the master suite with you. Don’t leave him on the back shelf for an emergency; put him front and center now.”
Paul’s eyes clouded up, and he nodded in a kind of guilty surrender. “I know I should, but it would feel so disloyal,” was all he could say, before the tears came again.
Mary hugged him. “Then turn the guest suite into a new master until you feel better about it. How about that?” She whispered. “You both can stop living out of suitcases and boxes, dragging your things when needed from other rooms. That’s so disorienting.”
Paul’s tears did not stop but he nodded his head in a kind of resigned agreement.
The other kids thought he was crying about their mother again.
“Oh Jo-hn,” Paul trilled as he climbed into bed. This got John’s attention, and made him smile. “How did you spend your evening?” Paul asked, as he leaned over for a kiss. John had been sitting up in bed reading when Paul arrived home. He gracefully accepted the light kiss.
John said brightly, “I had some soup and a sandwich, I watched ‘Midsomer Murders’ - really, those people ought to just move out of that area - it’s teeming with murderers - and then I came to bed and began to read my book.”
Paul was feeling very sentimental about John at that moment. His heart had been filled with equal amounts of love and guilt during the car ride home, and now here was John waiting up for him - looking sane and cheerful - and this was very reassuring to Paul. It made him feel expansive and generous. After he had answered John’s questions about the evening’s event, Paul decided to surprise John.
“I had a thought on the ride back,” he said slowly, as if he weren’t about to make a huge concession.
“Oh? That’s dangerous: you and thoughts, I mean.”
“Ha-ha,” Paul sang. “But I’m serious - I had an idea. I was thinking maybe you would like to fix up this suite so we can stay here in more style. I mean, we can have our clothes in the closets and everything.”
John froze in his spot. He’d heard the words, but he wondered for a moment if he had dreamt them. His book had fallen down on to his lap and he turned his head slowly towards Paul. He met Paul’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds. “Did Mary and Stella put you up to this?” He asked.
“I think all they did was open my eyes,” Paul responded honestly. “I was so busy missing Linda, that I wasn’t feeling grateful for having you.”
“You don’t have to feel ‘grateful’, Paul. I mean, between me and you, we don’t need to say ‘thank you’ for just being there for each other.”
“No, I suppose we don’t,” Paul agreed, a slight gleam in his eye, “but I want to. I haven’t told you enough how much I’ve depended on you, how much you’ve come through for me. It’s a very confusing time for me - I guess for you too - and I think I should take some kind of concrete step towards showing you how much you mean to me.”
John was honestly surprised by Paul’s openness. He worried that it was a dramatic proposal that Paul would later regret, but he didn’t want to refuse the offer, either. “Well, if you want to make it official, and us move into this house properly together, then I’d be happy to oblige.”
“What will you do with your place?” Paul asked softly.
“I was thinking that as long as it is there, people won’t be able to say for sure that we are living together.”
Paul thought about what John said. “It seems like a waste. It is a beautiful house, and it is just sitting empty.”
“I keep it up. The maid keeps it spotless,” John said wryly. “It isn’t particularly difficult, though, since nobody lives there,” he added with a smirk.
“If you’re going to keep it, then I guess I won’t worry about it,” Paul said. “But I would like it if you would make this your home.”
John blinked away tears and said, “No argument from me!”
“You wanna fool around now?” Paul asked, twinkling. He let his eyebrows bop up and down several times.
Comically, John threw his book over his shoulder, and jumped enthusiastically on top of Paul. From underneath John’s chest Paul was heard to remark,
“I guess that means yes.”
It was a full house for the holidays, and one part of the house looked considerably different to the McCartney kids as they came home to Cavendish for the holidays. The sitting room in all its glory was done. With the lamps on, the walls seemed to glow a golden color, and the polished floors were covered by a 17’ x 17’ square Aubusson rug from the Directoire period in yellow and gold, woven with a large dominant floral shape outlined in light and dark blues and oranges. Amongst the floral and vine motifs one could see watering cans and scissors depicted in the carpet, apparently to represent the cutting of fresh flowers. The deep Persian blue custom-made sectional sofa was a cross between traditional and contemporary, with very deep seats, and extremely comfortable cushions. Orange and yellow accent pillows were strewn about. John had strategically placed flowers around the room, and the built-in wall unit housed stereo equipment, television, books, cds, dvds, and objets d’art - most of which were from Paul’s art collection. The paintings on the wall were modern, and were from Paul’s art collection as well. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated, mostly in whites and golds, but also some blues, and numerous gifts were piled up underneath.
“Oh, my!” Heather breathed as she stepped into the room. “It’s really beautiful in here!”
Stella said, “It’s all John’s doing. He chose everything.”
Heather looked at John and smiled. “I was feeling weird about changing it, but it really does look wonderful,” she admitted. John walked over to her and gave her a side hug.
“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable. The stuff may be new, but it is meant to be used,” he told her.
Soon the family had made itself totally at home, and Paul felt very relaxed, stretched out on his easy chair and watching all of his children interacting in their seats on the sofa. And this Christmas there was something extra special to celebrate. Mary had announced a month earlier that she was expecting a baby. This Christmas she was six months along, and looking very pregnant indeed. Everyone was catering to her, and she was amused by it. John, especially, was behaving like a hovering momma bear, and Mary found it very endearing.
John had felt very pressured about this Christmas. The last of Linda’s gifts were distributed to her family, and so he felt that this was still Linda’s family and her holiday. He was still the stand in for her. But then, he hoped the changes he was slowly bringing to Cavendish would have the effect of insuring that next year’s Christmas would be his Christmas.
After the meal, John went in to the kitchen mainly to leave the McCartney clan alone to admire the gifts they had received from Linda. John had received a gift from Linda too; touchingly, she had paid for Cordon Bleu lessons with a private chef. The chef would come to Cavendish, and Linda had paid for 14 lessons focusing on vegetarian cooking techniques and recipes. This had surprised John very much, and pleased him as well. It was one of the things - cooking - that he and Linda had in common. And now Linda’s less-than-subtle hint was a way of reminding John that if he was going to cook for Paul he had to focus on vegetarian meals. John made himself some herbal tea, and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy it. He was lost in his thoughts when they were interrupted.
“What’re you thinking about?” Mary asked, moving in to the room, and taking a seat across from John. John jumped up to pour her a cup of the tea. “You don’t have to do that,” Mary chided.
“Yes, I do,” John told her flatly, placing the cup down in front of her, and plopping back in his seat at the table. Mary giggled. She liked that John didn’t explain his answer. There was a lot she liked about John.
“So - your thoughts?” She repeated.
“Not very meritorious, I’m afraid,” John responded. “I was feeling a bit melancholy.”
“Why?” Mary asked gently.
“I guess I really feel the absence of your mother tonight. She’s here, but she’s not here, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s like that all the time for me,” Mary confessed. “I have dreams about her, and they’re stressful. I dream that she has left us - gone off without explanation. She’s still alive, but separated from us. I wake up feeling terrible.”
John considered what Mary said as he savored a hot mouthful of tea. He slowly swallowed and then said, “Your dad dreams about losing her, too. Sometimes his arms and legs are like the blades of a windmill while he’s sleeping. I have to shake him awake and he is usually covered with sweat.”
Mary nodded with understanding. “He and Mum were dependent upon one another. It was like losing half of himself.”
John was silent for a few moments. “Do you think he is dependent on me?” He asked. He knew he shouldn’t ask this of Linda’s daughter, but there were times when he forgot she was only twenty-nine.
Mary smiled sympathetically. “You would know better than me. But I always thought that you depended on him more than the other way ‘round, but he enjoyed being the one you could count on. Just lately, since Mum died, he seems to be depending on you more and more.”
“I’ve had the longest adolescence known to man,” John chortled. “I refused to grow up. I put your dad through a lot.”
“I don’t think he minded,” Mary said, chuckling also. “You are the apple of his eye.”
John looked up quickly to see if Mary was teasing him, but her expression was both empathetic and sincere. “’The apple of his eye...’” John repeated softly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that.”
“I mean that he is proud of you,” Mary said succinctly. “He is proud to be your closest friend, and proud to be your creative partner. It makes him feel good about himself, to be needed by you. Anyway, that’s the vibe I’ve always gotten.”
John listened intently to what Mary said, and was formulating a response when Paul stuck his head into the kitchen.
“Hey you two, what’s up? Why aren’t you out here with the rest of us?” Paul’s energy was much bouncier and energetic than John’s and Mary’s. But the two of them shrugged their shoulders at each other and exchanged knowing smiles, and then they got up, taking their teacups with them. They followed Paul back in to the sitting room.
They weren’t long back in the room before the phone rang. John went to answer it. He listened quietly to the man on the other end of the phone, and finally said,
“Well, we’ll have to think about that.” He hung up the phone and returned to the family.
John entered the bedroom to find Paul already sacked out. Stella and Mary had gone home, Heather had gone to bed, and John had spent some time with James chatting in the sitting room before the exhaustion finally overcame him. Now he smiled at Paul, who was already curled on his side but not quite asleep. After preparing for bed, he slipped in on his side. Paul roused himself enough to acknowledge John’s presence.
John said, “Before you go to sleep I have to tell you something.”
Paul’s eyes flew open, but it was an effort to keep them open. They wanted so badly to close.
“I had a call from Jann Wenner tonight,” John said flatly.
Paul’s face was covered in confusion. “Jann ... why?”
“He informed me that we were both nominated for the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. The ceremony is in a few months, in March.”
Paul was silent for a few moments. “He calls you on Christmas Eve to tell you that?” His voice was dripping with skepticism.
John sighed. “Jann thinks this museum thing is a big damn deal. He probably thought it was a nice Christmas present.”
Paul contemplated this remark. “It’s kind of spoiled by the way it all went down,” he finally remarked.
John nodded his head. “That whole thing four years ago - that was a mess.”
“So how do you feel about it?” Paul asked tentatively.
“At least we’d be together,” John pointed out.
Paul turned over on to his back and stared at the ceiling. “Why do I feel that they’re throwing me a crumb in order to get you to accept?”
“Paul, I told you last time that only Jann blackballed you - not the others. And Jann said then that you would be eligible 25 years after Band on the Run, which is in fact next year.”
Paul said, “What do you want to do?”
“I think we should accept the ‘honor’ and show ourselves to be good sports.”
“Whatever you want to do, that’s what I’ll do,” Paul decided.
Paul had been working on a classical piece for a few months as homage to Linda. He called the piece ‘Nova.’ The haunting chords and words continued to repeat in his head, even as he went about his daily routine. In a way he was obsessed with it. In the first part of the piece he questioned the existence of ‘god,’ and in the second part of the piece he had his answer. Already he was using his computer software to translate his chords into notes on a music sheet. The next step would be to seek assistance from Carl Davis or George Martin, to polish the result.
Several other classical composers had agreed to work on or contribute pieces in Linda’s honor as well. Paul - given his numerous forays into classical music in the last several years - had established many relationships with classical composers, arrangers and performers.
Down in the sitting room, where he spent most of his time these days, John was feeling philosophic about losing Paul to his music room. Between the classical music and the electronica, Paul was working out his grief and John supposed that it was for the best. Still, he was feeling the rumblings of creativity in his own inner ear, and had been scribbling lyrics, and plonking on the piano trying to capture some of the ideas before they floated away. He had finally accepted that Paul had meant what he said when he declared that he would not be doing any pop composing in the year after Linda’s death. Maybe by then - it was only three months away - John would have enough material stored up to make their new album’s recording process easier than the last one.
As if John’s thoughts had conjured him up, Paul suddenly appeared before him. John noted immediately that Paul appeared to be in an upbeat mood.
“I’ve got an idea, John!” He declared cheerfully.
John had to stifle the groan. Paul and his ideas. Exhausting. “Oh?” He asked, his face a study in irony.
“I think we should go back to that place we stayed...in Costa Rica... remember?”
John heard this idea as if a herald with a trumpet had introduced it. “Wha-what?” John looked suspiciously at Paul. “Are you high?” He asked. He was finding it hard to believe Paul’s ebullience.
“I’m not, no,” Paul laughed. He plopped down on the sofa next to John. “I’m just tired of all this grey and drizzle. Need to get away to the sunshine.”
“Do you think it is possible to rent that place?” John asked. “I seem to remember the owner didn’t normally rent it.”
“Well, I’m prepared to find out if you agree that you’d like to go,” Paul responded.
John snuffed and said, “Like I’d say no...”
“Good! Then I’ll make some calls!” Paul got up and sailed out of the room. John watched him go with a look of consternation on his face. One of the things that both delighted and annoyed John about Paul was his unpredictability. If Paul had been predictable John would have lost interest in him decades ago, he supposed, but it was still disorienting not to be able to know when Paul would suddenly stop dead in his tracks and change his direction by 180 degrees.
The roads had been even more rutted than they’d been almost 5 years earlier, when John and Paul had last visited this tropical paradise. Paul had found out when he called his travel agent that February was the height of the season in Costa Rica - the weather was ‘perfect.’ This had worried Paul; he was afraid the owner of the property would be using it himself. But the agent surprised him by telling him that the owner of the property had died 15 months earlier, and it was now an asset in a probate estate. The agent had done her magic, and had arranged for a six-week rental with the probate administrator. John and Paul had already decided they would decompress, relax, but also do some songwriting while gone. Paul also wanted to finish up his work on Nova, his classical piece for Linda. To that end, he had brought an electric keyboard with him.
As sometimes happens when one revisits a place one has idealized, the front of the property looked a little more rundown than John had remembered, and while the vegetation around the front patio was abundant, it was not well manicured. Still, what mattered most to John and Paul was what lay beyond the front door. John entered first, while Paul paid off the driver, and dealt with the luggage.
The large round room with the umbrella-like ceiling was still there, with its large 24” x 24” pale terra cotta tiles. The glass doors and windows that comprised one wall still opened out to the outdoor room under the shelter of the roof. And the pool and the surrounding patio were waiting for occupation - John noted that no one had removed the pool cover. While maids had come in to wipe away the cobwebs and air out the place, the house had a shuttered feel, as though it had been completely unoccupied for years. And perhaps it had been. John was still standing in the middle of the living area when Paul joined him.
“Is anything wrong?” Paul asked John, because it seemed that John was very pensive.
“No - it just feels like an echo of the past, doesn’t it?” John turned to Paul for reassurance.
“It feels like no one has been here in a long time,” Paul agreed. “But we’ll soon take care of that.” He turned towards the bedroom and began taking the luggage in. There was a lot of luggage, including their instruments and enough clothing and supplies for a six-week stay. Shaking off the spooky feeling, John went to the kitchen area and began checking out the fridge and the cupboards and was greatly relieved to discover the place had been well stocked. He figured an exotic drink would cure what ailed him, and so when Paul came out of the bedroom finished with his luggage carrying, John asked him to make some ‘colorful drinks.’
John wandered out on to the pool patio and wondered how to remove the pool cover. He hadn’t done it before - always Paul had been the one to worry about such things. But he shouldn’t have worried. Within a few minutes Paul came out with two turquoise rum drinks, and noticed the pool cover. He moved to a shed along the side and messed around with something, and soon the pool cover was retracting. Paul manhandled the cover, once it had been reeled in, and placed it in a long wooden cupboard, which seconded as bench seating. John, meanwhile, sat down on the side of the pool, his jeans legs pulled up, and his feet felt refreshed in the cool water after the dusty ride from the makeshift air strip up on the plateau above. Paul soon joined him.
“Ah, this is just what I need,” Paul sighed as he moved his feet around in the water and took a healthy sip of his drink. “I wonder if we’ll see a toucan this trip,” he said to John, elbowing him slightly to gain his attention. John was in a very contemplative mood, and it had begun to worry Paul a little. “Are you sorry we came?” Paul asked, noting John’s expression.
“No!” John answered quickly. “I just need to soak in the peace for a while, and then I’ll feel right again.”
“What’s making you feel wrong?” Paul asked tentatively.
John met Paul’s eyes and smiled. “It just felt kind of like déjà vu walking in to this place, only this time the place was not as well-kept or well-loved. I sense that in the last years before he died, the owner didn’t come here, and didn’t pay to keep the place up.”
Paul gave it some thought. “Perhaps his heirs weren’t interested in spending the money, since none of them wanted the property.”
“What heirs? And how do you know they don’t want the property?” John asked, intrigued.
“The owner - he was from Mexico, a wealthy man - had no wife or children. His only heirs were an aged sister and her grown sons, neither of whom want this place.”
John kept staring at Paul. He finally said, “The travel agent told you all of this?”
“No, actually it was the lawyer for the probate administrator,” Paul said, his voice exaggeratedly slow.
John was still staring at Paul. “And why did you speak with the probate administrator?” John asked.
“To negotiate the lease, of course,” Paul said logically.
John wasn’t satisfied. He was still staring at Paul. Finally, Paul couldn’t take it anymore.
“When I found out the owner had died,” he said, “I expressed an interest in purchasing the property.”
“Really?” John asked, excitement thrumming in his stomach. He’d known Paul was up to something!
“Yes, really, and we came to an agreement. Turns out that Costa Rica has very friendly foreign purchaser laws. I formed a corporation in which you and I own all the shares, and the corporation owns the property. The escrow will close in a few weeks. It will be ours. So, while you’re here you might want to think about how you want to spruce it up. And we really do need to hire a decent property manager to keep it up while we’re not here.”
John was filled with a mixture of joyful surprise and gratitude. “Paul!” Was all he could manage to blurt out. That was what had been bothering him since he got here, John now realized. He loved the place so much and had hated to see it rundown and uncared for. Paul had just given him this gift - this pearl of a property for him to take care of. He put his glass down and immediately grabbed Paul and pulled him into an intense hug. “Thank you!” He whispered in Paul’s ear.
“I did it for both of us,” Paul admitted. “I like that it is small - just the one bedroom. I think this should always be just ours - our hideaway. No one will ever stay here but us.”
John’s spirit had undergone an amazing transformation. He jumped up and cried, “I’m making dinner! Will you help?” And then he headed for the kitchen. Chuckling, Paul followed behind holding both drinks. Of course he would help. This place was magic, and it had a healing effect on both of them. It was just what they needed after the stressful weight of the last three years.
In this chapter John and Paul make decisions about living arrangements, the family celebrates Christmas together along with Mary's 'package', John and Paul get an invitation, and Paul presents John with an amazing surprise.
WARNINGS: Nothing too slashy - just a little gentle stuff. :) THIS IS FICTION.
Chapter 120
December 24, 1998
London
James and Heather had travelled up from East Sussex the day before, ready to participate in the public launch of Wide Prairie. To say they were shocked to find the sitting room empty except for newly stained floors and a new paint job would be an understatement. Somehow, none of their various family members had mentioned the redecoration scheme to them. Neither of them was overly pleased with the overhaul. They both felt that things were moving too fast. It felt to them like their mother was being swept out of the house too soon.
Paul could read their minds when he saw their reactions to the changes. He hugged each of them in greeting - they were a very physical family - and said, “the carpet was kaput!” as a kind of a jokey explanation for the changes. Their return smiles were a bit anemic. But soon they were swept up in the greetings from their sisters and John, and once in the kitchen they could ignore the changes going on around them.
Because there was no furniture in the sitting room, the family had been forced over the last week to inhabit the more formal parlor, which was smaller than the sitting room, and a bit out of the way. John had finally settled on the basic furnishings and fabrics he wanted for the sitting room, but it would be weeks before the new furniture and drapes were delivered. While having that bright room to look forward to, John found inhabiting the other rooms, especially the old-fashioned dark parlor, to be almost more depressing than it had been before. And it really had to be said: the rest of the ground floor rooms looked drab compared to the bright look of the sitting room. John had managed to tamp down his urges to just go through all the rooms ripping off drapes and pulling up carpets. He had to be patient, and let Paul catch up with him. Now he could also plainly see that Heather and James too would be reluctant to see changes at Cavendish.
*****
Two Days Later
Two Days Later
The occasion of the family’s reunion was the public release of Linda’s album, filled with all the songs that Linda had recorded privately over a twenty-six year period. They included cuts from the Wings days, both early and late, some stuff she had worked on in the ‘80s, and even a few things she had done in her last months on earth. The favorite was clearly Seaside Woman, which featured a reggae sensibility. James had performed lead electric guitar on The Light Comes From Within, and it was this song that always caused James to tear up. He could remember working on it with his mother just before she died. Could it really have been only nine months ago they had been together in the Sussex studio - before they left for Arizona on that last family trip? It seemed like a lifetime ago to James.
They had all dressed nicely and arrived at the press event, held in a swank hotel. John had stayed home. This had been the subject of much debate amongst the McCartney children, who felt he should be there, since he had been Linda’s close and loving friend and confidante during her battle with cancer. Paul had been open to John coming as well. But John was more aware of the level of scrutiny and gossip he was under than the McCartneys appeared to be. He didn’t want this event to be ruined by a lot of suggestive and intrusive questions. He knew if he showed up he would become the sinecure of all eyes, and the whole point of the evening as a testament to Linda would be lost. Paul had asked him privately why he wouldn’t come, and John had said succinctly,
“Do you want them asking about you and me, or do you want them asking about Linda?”
Paul had swallowed that comment and he knew immediately that John was right. Still, he felt very alone as he worked the room that night. He wanted very much to look up over everyone’s heads and see John across the room, making a face and clowning. He also felt guilty. He worried about John home alone in the house, upended by the sitting room remodeling. He had tried to encourage John to go out on the town with friends, but John had declined. How to explain to Paul that the headline ‘Macca honors his dead wife, while John goes clubbing with pals’ would be just as distracting as his appearance at the event itself?
After the event, Paul and his five children (he was including Alistair in the count) crowded into one Rolls limo, and headed back to Cavendish. He was quiet and thoughtful, staring out the window. Mary was squeezed in next to him, and she whispered to him, “Missing John?”
Paul turned to her in surprise and said, “I hope he’s okay.”
Mary smiled warmly at her father. “There’s something you could do that would mean the world to him.”
Paul’s expression invited her to continue.
Mary’s voice was hushed but emotional. “You need to let him make that house a home for both of you. And you have to let him share the master suite with you. Don’t leave him on the back shelf for an emergency; put him front and center now.”
Paul’s eyes clouded up, and he nodded in a kind of guilty surrender. “I know I should, but it would feel so disloyal,” was all he could say, before the tears came again.
Mary hugged him. “Then turn the guest suite into a new master until you feel better about it. How about that?” She whispered. “You both can stop living out of suitcases and boxes, dragging your things when needed from other rooms. That’s so disorienting.”
Paul’s tears did not stop but he nodded his head in a kind of resigned agreement.
The other kids thought he was crying about their mother again.
*****
“Oh Jo-hn,” Paul trilled as he climbed into bed. This got John’s attention, and made him smile. “How did you spend your evening?” Paul asked, as he leaned over for a kiss. John had been sitting up in bed reading when Paul arrived home. He gracefully accepted the light kiss.
John said brightly, “I had some soup and a sandwich, I watched ‘Midsomer Murders’ - really, those people ought to just move out of that area - it’s teeming with murderers - and then I came to bed and began to read my book.”
Paul was feeling very sentimental about John at that moment. His heart had been filled with equal amounts of love and guilt during the car ride home, and now here was John waiting up for him - looking sane and cheerful - and this was very reassuring to Paul. It made him feel expansive and generous. After he had answered John’s questions about the evening’s event, Paul decided to surprise John.
“I had a thought on the ride back,” he said slowly, as if he weren’t about to make a huge concession.
“Oh? That’s dangerous: you and thoughts, I mean.”
“Ha-ha,” Paul sang. “But I’m serious - I had an idea. I was thinking maybe you would like to fix up this suite so we can stay here in more style. I mean, we can have our clothes in the closets and everything.”
John froze in his spot. He’d heard the words, but he wondered for a moment if he had dreamt them. His book had fallen down on to his lap and he turned his head slowly towards Paul. He met Paul’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds. “Did Mary and Stella put you up to this?” He asked.
“I think all they did was open my eyes,” Paul responded honestly. “I was so busy missing Linda, that I wasn’t feeling grateful for having you.”
“You don’t have to feel ‘grateful’, Paul. I mean, between me and you, we don’t need to say ‘thank you’ for just being there for each other.”
“No, I suppose we don’t,” Paul agreed, a slight gleam in his eye, “but I want to. I haven’t told you enough how much I’ve depended on you, how much you’ve come through for me. It’s a very confusing time for me - I guess for you too - and I think I should take some kind of concrete step towards showing you how much you mean to me.”
John was honestly surprised by Paul’s openness. He worried that it was a dramatic proposal that Paul would later regret, but he didn’t want to refuse the offer, either. “Well, if you want to make it official, and us move into this house properly together, then I’d be happy to oblige.”
“What will you do with your place?” Paul asked softly.
“I was thinking that as long as it is there, people won’t be able to say for sure that we are living together.”
Paul thought about what John said. “It seems like a waste. It is a beautiful house, and it is just sitting empty.”
“I keep it up. The maid keeps it spotless,” John said wryly. “It isn’t particularly difficult, though, since nobody lives there,” he added with a smirk.
“If you’re going to keep it, then I guess I won’t worry about it,” Paul said. “But I would like it if you would make this your home.”
John blinked away tears and said, “No argument from me!”
“You wanna fool around now?” Paul asked, twinkling. He let his eyebrows bop up and down several times.
Comically, John threw his book over his shoulder, and jumped enthusiastically on top of Paul. From underneath John’s chest Paul was heard to remark,
“I guess that means yes.”
*****
Christmas Eve, 1998
Cavendish
Christmas Eve, 1998
Cavendish
It was a full house for the holidays, and one part of the house looked considerably different to the McCartney kids as they came home to Cavendish for the holidays. The sitting room in all its glory was done. With the lamps on, the walls seemed to glow a golden color, and the polished floors were covered by a 17’ x 17’ square Aubusson rug from the Directoire period in yellow and gold, woven with a large dominant floral shape outlined in light and dark blues and oranges. Amongst the floral and vine motifs one could see watering cans and scissors depicted in the carpet, apparently to represent the cutting of fresh flowers. The deep Persian blue custom-made sectional sofa was a cross between traditional and contemporary, with very deep seats, and extremely comfortable cushions. Orange and yellow accent pillows were strewn about. John had strategically placed flowers around the room, and the built-in wall unit housed stereo equipment, television, books, cds, dvds, and objets d’art - most of which were from Paul’s art collection. The paintings on the wall were modern, and were from Paul’s art collection as well. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated, mostly in whites and golds, but also some blues, and numerous gifts were piled up underneath.
“Oh, my!” Heather breathed as she stepped into the room. “It’s really beautiful in here!”
Stella said, “It’s all John’s doing. He chose everything.”
Heather looked at John and smiled. “I was feeling weird about changing it, but it really does look wonderful,” she admitted. John walked over to her and gave her a side hug.
“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable. The stuff may be new, but it is meant to be used,” he told her.
Soon the family had made itself totally at home, and Paul felt very relaxed, stretched out on his easy chair and watching all of his children interacting in their seats on the sofa. And this Christmas there was something extra special to celebrate. Mary had announced a month earlier that she was expecting a baby. This Christmas she was six months along, and looking very pregnant indeed. Everyone was catering to her, and she was amused by it. John, especially, was behaving like a hovering momma bear, and Mary found it very endearing.
John had felt very pressured about this Christmas. The last of Linda’s gifts were distributed to her family, and so he felt that this was still Linda’s family and her holiday. He was still the stand in for her. But then, he hoped the changes he was slowly bringing to Cavendish would have the effect of insuring that next year’s Christmas would be his Christmas.
After the meal, John went in to the kitchen mainly to leave the McCartney clan alone to admire the gifts they had received from Linda. John had received a gift from Linda too; touchingly, she had paid for Cordon Bleu lessons with a private chef. The chef would come to Cavendish, and Linda had paid for 14 lessons focusing on vegetarian cooking techniques and recipes. This had surprised John very much, and pleased him as well. It was one of the things - cooking - that he and Linda had in common. And now Linda’s less-than-subtle hint was a way of reminding John that if he was going to cook for Paul he had to focus on vegetarian meals. John made himself some herbal tea, and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy it. He was lost in his thoughts when they were interrupted.
“What’re you thinking about?” Mary asked, moving in to the room, and taking a seat across from John. John jumped up to pour her a cup of the tea. “You don’t have to do that,” Mary chided.
“Yes, I do,” John told her flatly, placing the cup down in front of her, and plopping back in his seat at the table. Mary giggled. She liked that John didn’t explain his answer. There was a lot she liked about John.
“So - your thoughts?” She repeated.
“Not very meritorious, I’m afraid,” John responded. “I was feeling a bit melancholy.”
“Why?” Mary asked gently.
“I guess I really feel the absence of your mother tonight. She’s here, but she’s not here, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s like that all the time for me,” Mary confessed. “I have dreams about her, and they’re stressful. I dream that she has left us - gone off without explanation. She’s still alive, but separated from us. I wake up feeling terrible.”
John considered what Mary said as he savored a hot mouthful of tea. He slowly swallowed and then said, “Your dad dreams about losing her, too. Sometimes his arms and legs are like the blades of a windmill while he’s sleeping. I have to shake him awake and he is usually covered with sweat.”
Mary nodded with understanding. “He and Mum were dependent upon one another. It was like losing half of himself.”
John was silent for a few moments. “Do you think he is dependent on me?” He asked. He knew he shouldn’t ask this of Linda’s daughter, but there were times when he forgot she was only twenty-nine.
Mary smiled sympathetically. “You would know better than me. But I always thought that you depended on him more than the other way ‘round, but he enjoyed being the one you could count on. Just lately, since Mum died, he seems to be depending on you more and more.”
“I’ve had the longest adolescence known to man,” John chortled. “I refused to grow up. I put your dad through a lot.”
“I don’t think he minded,” Mary said, chuckling also. “You are the apple of his eye.”
John looked up quickly to see if Mary was teasing him, but her expression was both empathetic and sincere. “’The apple of his eye...’” John repeated softly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that.”
“I mean that he is proud of you,” Mary said succinctly. “He is proud to be your closest friend, and proud to be your creative partner. It makes him feel good about himself, to be needed by you. Anyway, that’s the vibe I’ve always gotten.”
John listened intently to what Mary said, and was formulating a response when Paul stuck his head into the kitchen.
“Hey you two, what’s up? Why aren’t you out here with the rest of us?” Paul’s energy was much bouncier and energetic than John’s and Mary’s. But the two of them shrugged their shoulders at each other and exchanged knowing smiles, and then they got up, taking their teacups with them. They followed Paul back in to the sitting room.
They weren’t long back in the room before the phone rang. John went to answer it. He listened quietly to the man on the other end of the phone, and finally said,
“Well, we’ll have to think about that.” He hung up the phone and returned to the family.
*****
John entered the bedroom to find Paul already sacked out. Stella and Mary had gone home, Heather had gone to bed, and John had spent some time with James chatting in the sitting room before the exhaustion finally overcame him. Now he smiled at Paul, who was already curled on his side but not quite asleep. After preparing for bed, he slipped in on his side. Paul roused himself enough to acknowledge John’s presence.
John said, “Before you go to sleep I have to tell you something.”
Paul’s eyes flew open, but it was an effort to keep them open. They wanted so badly to close.
“I had a call from Jann Wenner tonight,” John said flatly.
Paul’s face was covered in confusion. “Jann ... why?”
“He informed me that we were both nominated for the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame. The ceremony is in a few months, in March.”
Paul was silent for a few moments. “He calls you on Christmas Eve to tell you that?” His voice was dripping with skepticism.
John sighed. “Jann thinks this museum thing is a big damn deal. He probably thought it was a nice Christmas present.”
Paul contemplated this remark. “It’s kind of spoiled by the way it all went down,” he finally remarked.
John nodded his head. “That whole thing four years ago - that was a mess.”
“So how do you feel about it?” Paul asked tentatively.
“At least we’d be together,” John pointed out.
Paul turned over on to his back and stared at the ceiling. “Why do I feel that they’re throwing me a crumb in order to get you to accept?”
“Paul, I told you last time that only Jann blackballed you - not the others. And Jann said then that you would be eligible 25 years after Band on the Run, which is in fact next year.”
Paul said, “What do you want to do?”
“I think we should accept the ‘honor’ and show ourselves to be good sports.”
“Whatever you want to do, that’s what I’ll do,” Paul decided.
*****
January 1999
Cavendish
January 1999
Cavendish
Paul had been working on a classical piece for a few months as homage to Linda. He called the piece ‘Nova.’ The haunting chords and words continued to repeat in his head, even as he went about his daily routine. In a way he was obsessed with it. In the first part of the piece he questioned the existence of ‘god,’ and in the second part of the piece he had his answer. Already he was using his computer software to translate his chords into notes on a music sheet. The next step would be to seek assistance from Carl Davis or George Martin, to polish the result.
Several other classical composers had agreed to work on or contribute pieces in Linda’s honor as well. Paul - given his numerous forays into classical music in the last several years - had established many relationships with classical composers, arrangers and performers.
Down in the sitting room, where he spent most of his time these days, John was feeling philosophic about losing Paul to his music room. Between the classical music and the electronica, Paul was working out his grief and John supposed that it was for the best. Still, he was feeling the rumblings of creativity in his own inner ear, and had been scribbling lyrics, and plonking on the piano trying to capture some of the ideas before they floated away. He had finally accepted that Paul had meant what he said when he declared that he would not be doing any pop composing in the year after Linda’s death. Maybe by then - it was only three months away - John would have enough material stored up to make their new album’s recording process easier than the last one.
As if John’s thoughts had conjured him up, Paul suddenly appeared before him. John noted immediately that Paul appeared to be in an upbeat mood.
“I’ve got an idea, John!” He declared cheerfully.
John had to stifle the groan. Paul and his ideas. Exhausting. “Oh?” He asked, his face a study in irony.
“I think we should go back to that place we stayed...in Costa Rica... remember?”
John heard this idea as if a herald with a trumpet had introduced it. “Wha-what?” John looked suspiciously at Paul. “Are you high?” He asked. He was finding it hard to believe Paul’s ebullience.
“I’m not, no,” Paul laughed. He plopped down on the sofa next to John. “I’m just tired of all this grey and drizzle. Need to get away to the sunshine.”
“Do you think it is possible to rent that place?” John asked. “I seem to remember the owner didn’t normally rent it.”
“Well, I’m prepared to find out if you agree that you’d like to go,” Paul responded.
John snuffed and said, “Like I’d say no...”
“Good! Then I’ll make some calls!” Paul got up and sailed out of the room. John watched him go with a look of consternation on his face. One of the things that both delighted and annoyed John about Paul was his unpredictability. If Paul had been predictable John would have lost interest in him decades ago, he supposed, but it was still disorienting not to be able to know when Paul would suddenly stop dead in his tracks and change his direction by 180 degrees.
*****
A Hideaway in Costa Rica
February 1999
A Hideaway in Costa Rica
February 1999
The roads had been even more rutted than they’d been almost 5 years earlier, when John and Paul had last visited this tropical paradise. Paul had found out when he called his travel agent that February was the height of the season in Costa Rica - the weather was ‘perfect.’ This had worried Paul; he was afraid the owner of the property would be using it himself. But the agent surprised him by telling him that the owner of the property had died 15 months earlier, and it was now an asset in a probate estate. The agent had done her magic, and had arranged for a six-week rental with the probate administrator. John and Paul had already decided they would decompress, relax, but also do some songwriting while gone. Paul also wanted to finish up his work on Nova, his classical piece for Linda. To that end, he had brought an electric keyboard with him.
As sometimes happens when one revisits a place one has idealized, the front of the property looked a little more rundown than John had remembered, and while the vegetation around the front patio was abundant, it was not well manicured. Still, what mattered most to John and Paul was what lay beyond the front door. John entered first, while Paul paid off the driver, and dealt with the luggage.
The large round room with the umbrella-like ceiling was still there, with its large 24” x 24” pale terra cotta tiles. The glass doors and windows that comprised one wall still opened out to the outdoor room under the shelter of the roof. And the pool and the surrounding patio were waiting for occupation - John noted that no one had removed the pool cover. While maids had come in to wipe away the cobwebs and air out the place, the house had a shuttered feel, as though it had been completely unoccupied for years. And perhaps it had been. John was still standing in the middle of the living area when Paul joined him.
“Is anything wrong?” Paul asked John, because it seemed that John was very pensive.
“No - it just feels like an echo of the past, doesn’t it?” John turned to Paul for reassurance.
“It feels like no one has been here in a long time,” Paul agreed. “But we’ll soon take care of that.” He turned towards the bedroom and began taking the luggage in. There was a lot of luggage, including their instruments and enough clothing and supplies for a six-week stay. Shaking off the spooky feeling, John went to the kitchen area and began checking out the fridge and the cupboards and was greatly relieved to discover the place had been well stocked. He figured an exotic drink would cure what ailed him, and so when Paul came out of the bedroom finished with his luggage carrying, John asked him to make some ‘colorful drinks.’
John wandered out on to the pool patio and wondered how to remove the pool cover. He hadn’t done it before - always Paul had been the one to worry about such things. But he shouldn’t have worried. Within a few minutes Paul came out with two turquoise rum drinks, and noticed the pool cover. He moved to a shed along the side and messed around with something, and soon the pool cover was retracting. Paul manhandled the cover, once it had been reeled in, and placed it in a long wooden cupboard, which seconded as bench seating. John, meanwhile, sat down on the side of the pool, his jeans legs pulled up, and his feet felt refreshed in the cool water after the dusty ride from the makeshift air strip up on the plateau above. Paul soon joined him.
“Ah, this is just what I need,” Paul sighed as he moved his feet around in the water and took a healthy sip of his drink. “I wonder if we’ll see a toucan this trip,” he said to John, elbowing him slightly to gain his attention. John was in a very contemplative mood, and it had begun to worry Paul a little. “Are you sorry we came?” Paul asked, noting John’s expression.
“No!” John answered quickly. “I just need to soak in the peace for a while, and then I’ll feel right again.”
“What’s making you feel wrong?” Paul asked tentatively.
John met Paul’s eyes and smiled. “It just felt kind of like déjà vu walking in to this place, only this time the place was not as well-kept or well-loved. I sense that in the last years before he died, the owner didn’t come here, and didn’t pay to keep the place up.”
Paul gave it some thought. “Perhaps his heirs weren’t interested in spending the money, since none of them wanted the property.”
“What heirs? And how do you know they don’t want the property?” John asked, intrigued.
“The owner - he was from Mexico, a wealthy man - had no wife or children. His only heirs were an aged sister and her grown sons, neither of whom want this place.”
John kept staring at Paul. He finally said, “The travel agent told you all of this?”
“No, actually it was the lawyer for the probate administrator,” Paul said, his voice exaggeratedly slow.
John was still staring at Paul. “And why did you speak with the probate administrator?” John asked.
“To negotiate the lease, of course,” Paul said logically.
John wasn’t satisfied. He was still staring at Paul. Finally, Paul couldn’t take it anymore.
“When I found out the owner had died,” he said, “I expressed an interest in purchasing the property.”
“Really?” John asked, excitement thrumming in his stomach. He’d known Paul was up to something!
“Yes, really, and we came to an agreement. Turns out that Costa Rica has very friendly foreign purchaser laws. I formed a corporation in which you and I own all the shares, and the corporation owns the property. The escrow will close in a few weeks. It will be ours. So, while you’re here you might want to think about how you want to spruce it up. And we really do need to hire a decent property manager to keep it up while we’re not here.”
John was filled with a mixture of joyful surprise and gratitude. “Paul!” Was all he could manage to blurt out. That was what had been bothering him since he got here, John now realized. He loved the place so much and had hated to see it rundown and uncared for. Paul had just given him this gift - this pearl of a property for him to take care of. He put his glass down and immediately grabbed Paul and pulled him into an intense hug. “Thank you!” He whispered in Paul’s ear.
“I did it for both of us,” Paul admitted. “I like that it is small - just the one bedroom. I think this should always be just ours - our hideaway. No one will ever stay here but us.”
John’s spirit had undergone an amazing transformation. He jumped up and cried, “I’m making dinner! Will you help?” And then he headed for the kitchen. Chuckling, Paul followed behind holding both drinks. Of course he would help. This place was magic, and it had a healing effect on both of them. It was just what they needed after the stressful weight of the last three years.
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Date: 2016-03-22 08:18 am (UTC)I love every detail of this story!!
I just feel sad for John's house, in my mind it's a really luxuriuos white house and I can't imagine how happy John and Paul be when Mary's baby born.
I can't wait for the next chapter 😆
xx,
Pia
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Date: 2016-03-25 03:06 am (UTC)It ought to be cute when Mary's son is born. I look forward to being able to write about that!
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Date: 2016-03-24 04:02 am (UTC)Please include Heather Mills in your story. I need drama and retribution!
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Date: 2016-03-25 03:07 am (UTC)Not sure yet what I'll do, although I have a tiny idea about it... It is a fledgling idea.