She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

My aunt was a wonderful lady, I thought to myself, as I dusted off yet another unmarked box in her untidy attic. But she was definitely not the neatest of people. I coughed, and tried to wave away the dust particles that swirled about me, visible in the late afternoon sun that filtered in through the tiny window. I’d have to stop soon, it was getting too dark to see the contents of the boxes, my aunt’s treasures that she had collected throughout her lifetime. I had faithfully promised her before she died, that I’d go through each and every one carefully…

I tentatively opened the flaps of the cardboard box, always wary of spiders or other imagined creepy-crawlies that might have taken up residence. Bugs, mice, beetles, I couldn’t stand any species of pest… I gingerly tilted the box towards the fading light, to see what it contained. A grinning picture of four young long-haired boys greeted me. I smiled. The Beatles.

My aunt was once a huge fan, I knew that, but she rarely talked about it. I never could figure out why… I used to think that maybe she had never gotten over their break-up. Or John’s death. My mother once told me how inconsolable she had been during that time. I was not yet born, then. I am not what you’d consider a Beatle person, though my mother, a true Beatlemaniac herself, had instilled in me an appreciation for them that I cannot quite explain. I was raised on Beatle songs, and taught little Beatle facts almost as diligently as my times tables, but somehow I was never bitten by the Beatlemania bug. A fan, yes, but obsessed? Not quite. However, my mother waits for the day. I catch her giving me knowing little smiles when she happens upon me absent-mindedly gazing at the framed photo of Paul McCartney on the living room wall, posing with my mother and my aunt outside his house in the mid Sixties. Or when I happen to be whistling Penny Lane or Let It Be. She waits. And watches. Sometime I think she’d be more thrilled if I decided to dedicate my time to being a ‘gatebird’, rather than study and finish college.

Evening had fallen outside, and I could only now just see the outline of the picture of an attractive young George I had found amongst the stacks of old fan magazines. (I’m not a Beatlemaniac, no, but… I must admit that he’s my favourite!) I scooped up the magazines that’d I’d strewn across the floor, and dumped them back in the box. I wondered how many of these boxes contained the remnants of her Beatle obsession? I surveyed the all the boxes that I had not already inspected, and sighed. My aunt never threw anything out. I couldn’t really criticise though, I am guilty of the same trait. in fact, I would probably end up keeping all of her things myself. I smiled to myself, thinking t of my great-great-grand-daughters, burdened with the inheritance of mountains of useless artefacts and papers, collected by previous generations of women in my family... and I thought sorting through this was bad! I shook my head and sighed, and resolved to at least get rid of some of her things. I grabbed a box at random, and lugged it down the stairs to the parlour, deciding to look at it after dinner.

I kept looking at the box on the coffee table in the parlour throughout my hurriedly-prepared dinner, itching to get back to discovering its contents. I scooped up the last mouthful of my pasta and scampered back to the unopened box.

I flipped the flaps and peered inside. More Beatle bits and pieces. Just more magazines, mostly… These would probably be worth something, I thought to myself. But I could never sell them… I think my aunt would turn over in her grave. And my mother would have a fit. Besides…

A corner of something silvery, hidden under other Beatley debris, caught my eye. I pulled it out from beneath the posters. A gilded frame. Containing a photo of Paul, and a blonde girl, in a garden somewhere… smiling and laughing as he had playfully grabbed her, lifting her up in a big bear hug. I squinted closely at the girl… It was Linda! Linda… My eyes began to mist over as I thought of her.. and poor Paul… she had died just a couple of months ago. So tragic… they seemed so in love. I blinked to clear my eyes of the threatening tears. Curious, I turned the frame over, carefully unlatching the catch, and slid the photo out. On the back was written in a messy ballpoint scribble, "Me and Lindy, New York, 1968." I freaked out. This actually belonged to Paul McCartney??

How on earth did my aunt get hold of this?

* * * * *

The next few days were spent continuing to go through my aunt’s things. It was taking considerably longer than I thought it would. Boy, those George pictures were distracting… but increasingly I couldn’t get Paul out of my head. I felt so bad… I couldn’t figure out why… yes, I felt terrible for him after losing Linda… and I missed my aunt so much. But I felt guilty somehow. About the picture. It was totally illogical… I don’t know how my aunt came upon it… anyway, he’s probably forgotten about it by now. But I couldn’t stop looking at it… and I still couldn’t believe it belonged to Paul. Belongs to Paul…

I realised what I had to do. Feeling a little tearful, I wrote a letter explaining the situation, addressed it to Sir McCartney, and sent it and the carefully packaged photo to his London office. I hoped my aunt wouldn’t mind, she must have treasured that photo. I still wondered how it fell into her hands. Surely he wouldn’t have given it to her… although she did get to know him quite well, in the end, being the dedicated Applescruff that she was. But, she left it to me… and I felt it was the right thing to do. I think she’d understand. And I hoped Paul would too.

It took me another three days in the end, to pack up my aunt’s house, a blur of boxes and Beatles. I had discovered her record collection, too, you see. The music filled her old house, and seemed to make it a little less empty. It was a distraction from the job at hand. It was so sad, packing up her life into boxes… moving bits and pieces back to my house, or to charity… dividing up her life, sorting it out, keeping it or tossing it away.

And then, the phone rang.

"Ah hello, is this Julia?" came the voice from the other end of the line. Familiar, yet…

"Yes, hello…" I stammered, not quite believing my ears.

"It’s Paul McCartney here…" I stopped breathing. "I… I just got the photo… I just had to ring and thank you, I looked up your number, I hope you don’t mind…"

"Er, no, not at all…"

"I can’t believe it. After all these years… she came in through the bathroom window, eh?" He gave a little chuckle. And a light bulb popped on above my head. Of course… but… my aunt stole it?

"Oh… ah… I didn’t realise… I’m so sorry… I mean, she…"

"Oh please, don’t worry. Too many years ago. I’m just glad I eventually got it back… I am sorry to hear of your aunt, though… I think I remember her, one of those girls… How did she..?" He paused.

I swallowed. "Breast cancer." I said sadly in a little voice.

"Oh… " He coughed strangely.

"I’m sorry, too…"

"Yes…. well… thankyou again… it really means a lot to me, y’know?" His voice cracked. "Thanks… ‘bye.."

"Bye…" I replied, and hung up the phone in a daze, sniffling. I sat on the chair by the phone, wringing my hands and crying a little, not quite knowing what to do. Eventually, I blew my nose, and resolved to finish off the last of the packing before tea, and then go home. I started to stand up... and froze.

I had just talked to Paul McCartney.

For two whole minutes.

Paul McCartney had just called me and we had a conversation that lasted for nearly three whole minutes!!!

I stopped sniffing and smiled. I grinned, and giggled. Then I screamed, buried my face in my hands, and started crying again.

I have a new favourite Beatle now. And my mother is over the moon.

[ b a c k to F a b F i c t i o n ] [ b a c k t o T h e B e a t l e s R e - G e n e r a t i o n ]
[ e m a i l m e ]