John came into the kitchen and tossed his jacket on the chair nearest him.

 “Daddy! I didn’t hear you coming!” cried Julia, running to hug him. He caught her up and kissed her cheek soundly.

“Hello, baby,” he said, setting her down. Julia’s big ginger cat wound himself around John’s ankles as he dropped into his chair. He reached down and patted him absently. Julia scrambled back up into her fathers’ lap and laid her head against his chest; he kissed the top of her head and asked, “Where’s yer mum, love?” he asked.

“She’s in the laundry,” Julia replied, “She said she’ll be right back.”

Just then, Mary came into the kitchen carrying a big basket of laundry. Her face lit up when she saw her husband.

“John! You’re early today,” she said happily. She set the basket down and John slipped their daughter off his lap and stood up to take his wife into his arms. He kissed her and she drew back, looking into his face curiously. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look upset.”

“Everything’s fallin’ apart,” he sighed. “Paul walked out on th’ session today, and George went t’ talk t’ him, then th’ two of ‘em got into a fight. I tried talkin’ to ‘em, an’ I lost me temper, an’ then I left. We can’t even stay in th’ same room together long enough t’ do any work.”

He sat down and pulled Mary into his lap. The two of them sat there for a few moments, watching their five-year-old daughter play with her cat. Finally John said, “I thought everthin’ was gonna be okay back when we stopped th’ tourin’. For a while, it was, but now it’s just all goin’ t’ hell.”

“Baby, maybe you should quit,” said Mary. “I’ve been wanting to move into a smaller place, and we have enough money to last forever as it is, as long as we’re careful.”

“I’ve thought o’ that,” he said, toying with her hair. “More than once, over the past few years. I guess I was just waitin’ for things t’ get better, y’know? But I don’t think they’re gonna anymore. Maybe yer right, Mary. Maybe it is time to pack it in”

Mary kissed him lightly and got to her feet. “I’ll fix your supper, baby,” she told him. “I wasn’t expecting you so early. Why don’t you go and play with Julia for a while? She’s usually in bed by the time you get back home.”

Once John and Julia had gone off to the playroom, Mary got a chicken into the oven, then sat at the table with the basket of laundry beside her and began folding it absently. She would have been happier now than she had ever been before if only John didn’t seem so sad. The Beatles had been his life for the past ten years; now it was all falling apart and it hurt her to see how he was suffering. He tried to hide it most of the time, but she could see the pain in his eyes when he spoke of his friends and the way they all seemed to be at one another’s throats as of late.

She hoped that the news she’d learned today would make him feel a little happier -- she would tell him after they’d put Julia to bed that she’d been to the doctor that afternoon and had learned that they were expecting a baby. She listened to her daughter’s and husband’s voices coming down the hall; they were laughing about something and it sounded to Mary as though his problems with his friends were the last thing on his mind.

***

After Julia was tucked in for the night, Mary sat in the living room on the couch watching television; John was sitting at the piano across the room working out the melody for his latest composition. After a while, he gave up and came over to sit beside her.

“Anythin’ good on?” he asked, putting his arm around Mary’s shoulders. She snuggled close to him and shook her head.

“Not really,” she replied. “But I’m glad you came over. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

“What’s that?” he asked, sounding a bit apprehensive.

“Nothing terrible,” Mary told him, “It’s really good news; that is to say I hope it is.”

John sat back and peered down his nose at her curiously. “Ye’ve got me attention now,” he remarked, “So tell me, what’s th’ topic o’ discussion?”

She smiled at him and simply said, “You’re going to be a daddy again in eight more months.”

Mary watched as the realization of what she was saying came into his eyes.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” he said softly. Mary could tell that he was pleased.

“I don’t see why not,” she replied. “All that lovemaking had to have some result, didn’t it? I’m just surprised that it took five years for it to happen.”

John laughed and pulled her into his lap. He put his hand on her belly and looked into her face, his eyes shining. “So now yer gonna go an’ get all fat on me, are ye?” he asked.

“Well, temporarily,” she replied, putting her arms around his neck. “Think you can deal with that?”

“I think ye’ll make a fuckin’ beautiful fat lady, that’s what I think,” he told her. “Ye always know just what t’ say t’ make me feel better about a hideous day, Mrs. Lennon.”

“What do you think you’re going to do about the whole thing?” Mary asked. “Are you going to leave the group?”

“I think I am,” he replied. “I think I’m gonna march right into the studio an’ tell ‘em all tomorrow that I want a fuckin’ divorce.”

***

The following afternoon John came into the house and dropped into his chair in the kitchen as he had done so often lately. One look at his face and Mary knew that it was all over. He looked up at her where she sat peeling potatoes on a stool at the counter by the sink.

“Where’s Julia?” he asked.

“She’s taking a nap; Maureen and the kids were here today, and they played pretty hard. What is it, baby, tell me?”

John’s eyes flashed with anger and he slammed his fist down onto the table. Mary jumped a bit. His voice was tense with barely controlled fury.

“The fuckin’ bastard did it,” he told her.

Mary came over and knelt in front of him.

“Who did what, love? What’s happened?” she asked.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark and brimming with tears of anger and pain.

“Fuckin’ Paul,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “Th’ fuckin’ bastard beat me to it -- he walked out an’ quit. D’ye know what, though? Now he’s done it, I realize that quittin’s not really what I want at all. I wanna take some time off, but I wanna know that me group will still be there when I’m ready t’ work with ‘em again. A divorce isn’t really th’ answer, Mary, it’s a separation we need, some breathin’ room.”

Mary got up and sat in his lap, putting her arms around his neck. “I put me life inta th’ fuckin’ Beatles, Mary,” John continued.  “It took us so long to get t’ th’ top; how cn’ it all be over in one fuckin’ day? Besides, I was th’ one started it, why should McCartney get t’ say when it’s over?” He sighed and laid his head on Mary’s breast. “What a fuckin’ mess,” he added, pulling her closer. “What th’ hell do I do now?”

“Give him a little time,” Mary suggested. “Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he was just blowing off steam.”

“Ye dint see his face, Mary,” John said gloomily. “He meant it, alright, unless I miss me guess, an’ I doubt that. I know Paul, an’ I know when he’s serious. He’s really quit. He’s out, an’ he’s not comin’ back.”

“Maybe you can change his mind,” suggested Mary, “Maybe if you talk to him, he’ll listen to you.”

“Yeright,” he said bitterly. “Like I’m gonna go crawlin’ an beggin’ t’ him. Bugger that, I’d die first.”

“You probably would, what was I thinking,” replied Mary. “Why don’t you have Ritchie talk to him, then? He wouldn’t have to mention you.”

John drew his head back and smiled at her.

“Woman, I like th’ way ye think,” he declared. “I’ll go ring him. Get me supper on; I’m suddenly starvin’.”

***

Later that night, John got a fire going and pulled the couch over in front of the fireplace.

“Let me help you.” said Mary, “That thing is so heavy.”

“Nonsense -- ye can’t be doin’ such things -- in yer present -- condition,” replied John, as he yanked the couch into position. He was a bit winded, and he dropped onto it and lay there breathing hard.

“My hero,” said Mary, settling herself into his embrace. He grinned and ran his hands over her body.

“Yerknow,” he said, “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this. Kinda romantic, don’tcher think?”

“Very romantic,” she agreed. “You can be a very romantic man sometimes, John.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be lettin’ that get about,” he replied. “I’ve me reputation to protect. I like to project a certain image, y’see, an’ bein’ romantic doesn’t quite fit in with th’ rest of it, now, does it.”

“No, it doesn’t. Did I ever tell you how I felt about you when I first came to work for you?” asked Mary, settling closer.

John toyed with her hair with one hand.

“No,” he replied, “I don’t think ye did. Tell me, did ye ever think ye might have a chance with me?”

Mary turned in his arms and stared at him. “You are so stuck on yourself!” she said. Her apparent amazement seemed to surprise him.

“Whatever do ye mean?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“I couldn’t stand you!” Mary said emphatically. “I thought you were quite the nastiest man I had ever met! It didn’t even enter my mind to wonder if I had a chance with you, as you so nicely put it; in fact, I fervently hoped that I could just feed you and get the hell out of here every night!”

“Why, Mary, it’s very strange t’ hear ye say such things,” he told her, pulling her back into his arms. “An’ very disturbin’, too. It seems to me that I remember a certain mornin’ when I came inta th’ kitchen without me clothes on, y’know, t’ let ye see what ye were missin’, an’ it was just moments later that ye were declarin’ yer love for me!”

“First of all, it was far from ‘moments later’. Second of all, I was horrified when you did that,” she reminded him. “I covered my eyes.”

“T’ shield yerself from th’ glory,” he said in a sympathetic voice. “I understand. I used t’ get a lot o’ that.”

Mary pulled back to look into his face again. His mouth twitched at the corners, and his eyes were dancing. Mary smacked him with a throw pillow and let him gather her close again.

“And they say Ritchie is the actor out of the lot of you,” she said in an exasperated voice. “You had me believing you!”

“Ahr, none o’ that matters anymore,” said John, kissing her. “Ye love me now, don’tcher, Miss Mary?”

“I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love another person,” she replied. “You’re my whole world, you and Julia.”

“There ye go, an’ I feel just th’ same,” he told her, “Yer me life, Mary, I don’t know if I could survive without ye. And at th’ moment,” he added, “I’m feelin’ moved t’ show ye just how much I love ye...right here, right now.”

“Oh, then show me, baby, by all means.”

He began kissing her, deeply and with rising insistence. He already had her dress off, and she was unbuttoning his shirt feverishly when he paused.

“Yer sure this won’t hurt anythin’?” he asked, “Ye know, with yer bein’ preggers an’ all? Cos I wouldn’t wanna --”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I asked Doctor Sullivan, and she said it’s fine, don’t worry.” Mary pushed his shirt off his shoulders and reached for the zipper on his jeans. He quickly removed the rest of her clothes and kicked off his jeans, stretching himself out upon her, pushing his hardness against her. She was more than ready, and she opened to receive him at once, moving to capture and enfold him. He moaned as he entered her, and she clung to him, moving feverishly with him, catching his rhythm at once. He seemed to move a little more gently than normally, and she whispered huskily into his hair, “Harder, baby, deeper!”

He gave it up then, losing himself in the faster pace, thrusting as deeply as he always had, driving her steadily to the edge and over, crying out her name as he poured his love into her welcoming softness. Mary was amazed at the feeling as always, loving the rush of his urgency and the sound of his satisfied, full-throated groan of pleasure. As she lay in his arms afterwards, he covered her neck and face with kisses and whispered that he loved her. She felt her heart swell with love for him until it was all she could do to breathe. She found herself hoping that Richie’s conversation with Paul would go well. She didn’t want to see this man she loved so much get hurt by anyone or anything. He snored gently in her ear, and she nudged him awake.

“Let’s go on to bed, baby,” she whispered. “We wouldn’t want Julia to find us like this in the morning.”

John got to his feet and trudged down the hall with Mary following closely; once she had him in bed and got in beside him, she realized just how sleepy she herself was. Mary pressed close against her husband. In his sleep, he encircled her with his arms and drew her closer still. She fell asleep to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat against her cheek.

***

The next day, John came home about an hour after he left.

“Paul didn’t listen to Ritchie?” asked Mary sympathetically, standing behind his chair, kneading his shoulders.

John sighed heavily and leaned back into her hands, looking up at her upside-down. “No,” he replied. “He told him to get stuffed, actually, if ye wanna know. Then someone asked George about it as he was pullin’ into th’ studio, an’ he lied to ‘em cool as could be -- ye should’ve seen him, Mary, he dint so much as turn a fuckin’ hair, just lied cool as ye please. ‘Everythin’ is fine,’ he says, ‘Ye must be mistaken.’“ John shook his head wonderingly. “I never would have believed that our young Mr. Harrison could be so dishonest so easy. I was that impressed. Then th’ guy asked me if what George said was true, an’ I just told him, ‘George wouldn’t lie. It’d be bad Karma.’ He went off an’ there was George standin’ there lookin’ all sheepish at me, blushin’ like a new bride. He said that there was no sense in stayin’ at the studio; he’d had a call from Ritch sayin’ he wasn’t gonna be comin’ in today. He’d talked t’ Paul an’ His Nibs told him that he was through with th’ lot of us an’ dint ever plan t’ work with us again under any circumstances. Then, like I told ye, he told Ritch t’ get stuffed. He’s in a terrible snit, Mary. I think it really is over.”

“I’m surprised you’re not more upset,” said Mary, coming around and seating herself in his lap with her arms around his neck.

John shrugged. “Maybe later I will be,” he replied, “But right now, I’ve decided that it’s not all that important. Maybe it’s time t’ just let go, Mary, an’ let th’ whole thing rest in peace. It may get up again, an’ it may not, but either way, it doesn’t mean that I have t’ stop workin’, right? I have a few things I’ve been workin’ on, an’ I c’n just concentrate on them for awhile an’ see if Paulie doesn’t come around to his fuckin’ senses.”

Julia came running into the kitchen just then, and hurled herself at her parents.

“Daddy!” she cried, “What are you doin’ here? You just left!”

John scooped her up and sat her on his other knee.

 ”Ah,” he said, “Me two best gurrls! Well, Puss, I got t’ work and I decided that I’d much rather come back home an’ play outside with ye on such a fine spring day. Whattaye think? Shall we go out inta th’ garden, me pretty little lass, an’ let Mummy do th’ things she does t’ take care of us?”

“Will you push me on the swing?” asked Julia, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck and planting a firm, wet kiss on his cheek’

“Course I will,” he replied. Mary stood up and John set Julia down and hoisted himself to his feet. “In fact, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

“Even workin’?” asked Julia, standing still so that Mary could put a sweater on her.

John winked at her. “Especially workin’,” he replied. “C’mon, let’s go. I bet I cn’ get there first!”

Julia shrieked and ran for the door; John let her pass and kissed his wife gently. “Don’t look so worried about me,” he said quietly. “I’m fine, really. Finish up what ye were doin’, whydontcher, then come on out an’ join us, It’ll be fun.”

Mary stood at the sink washing the breakfast dishes, watching John push their daughter on the swing in the back yard. He looked carefree and at peace, and he moved with the same easy grace as always when his mood was light. Maybe there really isn’t anything to worry about, thought Mary. Maybe everything is going to be fine, after all.

***

As the days turned into weeks, it became increasingly obvious that the Beatles had become a part of John’s past. George and Ringo still visited, but aside from a brief appearance one day when he knew John to be away, Paul would not come near. Mary had answered the door and there he stood, a sheepish look on his face.

“John’s not home, Paul,” she’d told him, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I saw him leave. I just wanted to drop this off.” He withdrew a small package from his pocket. “This is for Julia,” he added, handing it to Mary. “I felt really bad about not seein’ her for so long, but I didn’t think that John would want me around.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, then he looked past her into the house. “Is she around now? Maybe I could just say hello.”

“She’s down for a nap at the moment, Paul, I’m sorry. But you may be right. It might upset him if he comes home and finds you here.”

“He’s still pretty mad, huh?”

“He doesn’t talk about it, actually,” replied Mary. “When George or Ritchie come over and they mention the Beatles, he changes the subject. If one of them mentions you, he doesn’t say anything, but I can see in his eyes that he misses you.”

“I miss him, too,” said Paul, his deep brown eyes filling with tears. “It’s been hard staying away, but I’d rather just stay away than fight with him. I love that guy, Mary, you know I do, but we just can’t be in the same room without trying to hurt each other. I don’t know why that is. It never used to be like that. I know we didn’t agree on who we wanted to have take over after Brian -- ah, Mary, it can’t go all the way back to that, surely. That was so long ago.”

“You know John,” Mary said with a sigh, “He can hold on to a grudge like grim death if he gets a mind to. He loves you, though, Paul, he really does. You know that. He loves all of you. Someday he’ll be ready to forget about whatever it is, and he’ll just behave as though nothing has ever happened. I think he feels that you took the control away from him, and that’s going to take him a while to get over. But he will. Eventually, he will. Until then, it may be best if he doesn’t see you here, so you should really go; I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” he replied. “Look, maybe it’s best if you just tell him that the gift arrived in the mail.”

Mary handed the package back to him. “Send it to her in the mail,” she told him. “I won’t lie to him.”

“Fair enough,” Paul said. “I guess I’ll go, then. G’bye, Mary. Nice to see you again.”

Mary did not mention the visit, and when the gift, a small silver locket, arrived in the mail a few days later for Julia, John looked at it and simply muttered, “Yeah, that was nice of him.”

He helped Julia fasten it around her little neck.  “Have Mummy ring Uncle Paul so ye cn’ thank him,” John told his daughter.

While Julia was prattling away on the phone to Paul, Mary could see John standing just outside the kitchen door, listening. After she had finished and Mary hung the phone up, he drifted away to the piano and sat there quietly for a while. He didn’t mention the gift or the call again.

***

Weeks later, John and Mary were sitting in the kitchen having tea while Julia played in the back garden. Mary went to get the cream from the refrigerator, and John watched her fondly. She came back and he pulled her into his lap.

“C’mere,” he said in a silken growl, “Yer dead sexy, d’ye know that?”

“Right,” she replied, kissing him as he ran his hands across her swollen belly. “I’m sure I look just beautiful.”

“Ye do t’ me,” he said earnestly. “I think ye look a bit more beautiful every day.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” she told him, “Because for the next three months, it’s going to get bigger and bigger!”

“I can’t wait t’ see him,” declared John.

“Him? Do you know something I don’t know?” asked Mary, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Just a feelin’,” he replied. “Either way, it’s fine with me. Another girl would be nice as well. No pressure.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she laughed, smacking him playfully. “Anyway, whatever it is, girl or boy, it’s on you. It’s the man who determines the sex of the child. Didn’t you learn that in school?”

He snorted and replied, “I learned precious little there. Well, whatever it is, it’s all right as long as it’s healthy.”

“I’ll be even more glad than you will be to see this baby,” declared Mary. “It’s getting pretty uncomfortable, and I still have almost another twelve weeks to go! I’m sure you’ll be glad to have me back the way I was before.”

“There’s never a day goes by,” he said earnestly, “that I’m not that thankful I didn’t lose ye, Mary. No matter what, I’ll always be glad yer here with me.”

Mary knew that this was true. When John had been impulsively unfaithful to her the year before, she had come close to leaving him. He had been truly penitent and had never stepped over the line again. She trusted him again now, but it had taken time for him to regain her confidence. It was only recently that there wasn’t a knot of uncertainty in her stomach when he was away from home for some reason. He had been in the studio from time to time, recording his own music, and his career was going well. When he had to go on the road to promote the new album, she and Julia had accompanied him so that he would not be too tempted. Over time, John’s fans became used to the sight of him with the little girl in his arms; one one of the trips, the little family had been joined by John’s older son, Julian, who was now, thankfully, getting to know his father at last.

Lately when George or Ringo came over and mentioned Paul or the Beatles, John was not so quick to change the subject. Now that he was working on his own, he seemed to be becoming able to look back on his life as a Beatle with some fondness. It was no longer the taboo subject it once had been.

***

Mary was sitting in the living room writing a letter to her brother in Ireland when someone rang the doorbell. Thinking that John had forgotten his key again, she hurried to let him in. She peeked through the window and saw a man holding a flower arrangement. She opened the door, smiling happily, thinking how like John it was to send flowers just before he was due to arrive home.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the flowers. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll be right back.” She went to get her purse from the table in the hall, setting the flowers on the table in the kitchen. The door closed, and, thinking that the man had gone, Mary went back to the kitchen. She heard footsteps behind her, and she turned, smiling, thinking that her husband had come in.

The smile died on her face when she saw the deliveryman standing there with a knife in his hand.

“Wh-what do you want?” she asked, backing away, panic rising in her breast. His leer left very little question as to what he wanted of her. “Do you want money?” she went on, “I don’t have a lot of money here, but I can get some, as much as you want.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. “Right now I’m interested in something else. Where’s your bedroom?”

“Please,” Mary said, “don’t do this. Look at me. I’m pregnant.”

“That don’t put me off,” he replied, waving his knife at her. “I don’t mind it. Where’s your bedroom?”

“My husband will be coming home any minute, and my daughter will be back soon too -- her uncle is going to be bringing her --”

“Shut up,” growled the man. He grabbed Mary, put the blade to her throat, and pulled her close to him. “No more talk. Get into the bedroom -- now! Go!”

He pushed her into the hall, and she began to run. The man swore and ran after her; she slammed the bedroom door and locked it.

Mary leaned against the door, breathing heavily. She was trembling; she could still feel the cold steel of the blade touching her neck, still hear the man’s rasping breath at her ear, still feel his excitement against her hip. She slid to the floor, sobbing. He was pounding and kicking at the door, screaming profanities at her.

Mary rose shakily to her feet; what if he got in? She had to get out of the house. She ran to the window and pushed it open; it was about seven feet to the ground. She thought she could make it.

She was halfway out the window when the door was kicked in and she was grabbed roughly from behind. He threw her onto the bed and her head hit the headboard; dazed, Mary shrank back against the headboard, watching with horror as her assailant pulled his belt off and dropped his pants. He got onto the bed and straddled her, his eyes burning into hers, his face twisted into a hateful leer. He pressed her down and leaned in close to her face.

“This is gonna be fun,” he told her in his oily voice. “Relax, baby. You’ll like this.”

“Please,” Mary whispered. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt my baby.”

“Shut up, lady, or I’ll cut that baby outta yer belly right now!” he growled. He reached for his knife, and Mary screamed and kicked it off the bed. The guy drew back his hand and clouted Mary on the side of her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw John come into the room and stop short. His face contorted  and he sprang forward with a wordless bellow of fury.  “Get th’ fuck offa me wife!” he screamed. “Fuckin’ bastard, I’ll kill ye!”

John grabbed Mary’s assailant by the throat and smashed his fist into the man’s astonished face. The intruder dropped to the floor and his hand snaked towards the knife.

“John, he’s getting the knife!” cried Mary. He had been moving towards his wife, but he turned and stomped the would-be rapists’ hand, grinding the heel of his boot into his splayed fingers. The man howled in pain and grabbed for John’s ankle. John drew his free foot back and kicked the attacker in the chin.

Reaching down, John hauled the guy to his feet and shoved him against the wall, smashing him in the face with his fist. his face was impassive, his mouth a thin, tight line, his eyes narrow and blazing with fury. The man landed a couple of punches to his face, but John would not slow down. He ignored the blood that was streaming from his cheek where the man’s ring had cut him and continued to smash his face and work his upper body over unmercifully. The man was unconscious and on the floor, and John was kneeling on his chest, still pummeling him, his knuckles bleeding, when Ringo came into the room. He ran across to him and pulled him back. John was breathing heavily, tears of rage running down his face to mix with the blood flowing from his cut cheek, but he allowed his friend to pull him away from the bleeding and unconscious man.

“John,” Ringo said gently. “Stop, mate. Stop before you kill him.”

“Ritchie,” cried Mary, “where’s Julia?”

“She’s at my house, Mary,” said Ringo, steering John over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I tried to phone, but no one answered, so I came over to see what was wrong. I had a bad feeling, so I left Julia with Mo and the boys. What the bloody hell happened, Mary?” He indicated the unconscious man on the floor. “And who the hell is this bloke?”

John turned and held his arms out to Mary. Her face crumpled and she threw herself into them. He looked at Ringo over Mary’s head.

“That bastard was gonna rape her,” he replied, his voice breaking. “ He was fuckin’ gonna rape Mary. Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathin’. D’ya know who he is, John?”

“No; I wish I’d killed him, though. Fuckin’ bastard.”

“Don’t be stupid, mate. If you’d killed him, you’d be arrested. I’ll call the police to come and get him out of here. Help me tie him up in case he wakes up.”

“You do it, Ritch. I can’t even look at the bastard. If I have t’ touch him, I’m gonna start beatin’ him again.”

Mary pressed her face into her husband’s shoulder, and his arms tightened around her. “Are ye alright, love? Is th’ baby okay? Mary, did he hurt ye at all? Yer dress is torn, an’ there’s a red mark on yer face.” He pulled back slightly and touched the side of her face gently. “Just there,” he said softly. “Does it hurt ye when I touch it?”

“No, John, I’m all right, he didn’t get a chance to -- do anything to me. I’m all right, and the baby is fine, but hold me, don’t let me go, please.”

“C’mere, baby, I won’t let ye go, “ he said softly, wrapping his arms tightly about her and kissing the top of her head fiercely. “I’ll never let ye go. Yer safe now. I’m here. Sssh, baby, s’okay, gurrl.”

She sobbed quietly, clinging to him.

Ringo came back into the room with some policemen, who dragged Mary’s assailant to his feet and carried him out of the room.

“The police need to talk to you and Mary, John,” Ringo told him. “Look, I’m going to go ahead and keep Julia overnight. I’ll get some clothes for her out of her room. You call me when you’re ready to have me bring her home, all right?”

“Yeah, great--thanks, mate. We appreciate it. I’ll call ye later, Ritch. Tell ‘em we’ll be out in a bit.”

***

To John’s horror, he was told that Mary’s attacker intended to press charges against him.

“Ye must be jokin’!” he cried. “Fuckin’ hell, that bastard broke inta me house an’ tried t’ rape me wife!”

“Well,” the officer replied, shuffling his feet nervously, “That’s not what he says.”

“What the fuck are ye talkin’ about? Of course that’s what happened! Ask her -- Mary, tell ‘im!”

“I took the lady’s statement already, Mr. Lennon, I know what she said. That’s not the problem. It’s just that the suspect told the other officer that the lady invited him in and that --” he slid his eyes over to Mary, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, white and trembling. “-- well, Mr. Lennon, he says that it was consensual.”

John was livid. “I don’t give a damn what the fuckin’ hell he says!” he yelled, and for a moment, it looked as if he might hit the policeman. “Are ye daft? Ye gotta know th’ bastard’s lyin’ -- Mary would never do such a thing!”

“Well, sir, calm down. I know it seems that way, and frankly, I believe the lady,” the officer told John. “It’s just that it’s the law. There has to be a hearing on the matter. You’ll be notified as to when that will be. And sir --”

John glared at him, slightly mollified by the officer’s admission that he, at least, believed Mary, but still outraged.

“And sir, what?” he asked, sitting beside Mary and placing his arm around her shaking shoulders.

“Well, there’s the matter of your assault upon the prisoner. He wants you arrested as well.”

“What?” he cried. “Me? I was doin’ nothin’ but defendin’ me wife! I can’t be arrested for that, that can’t be right! Ye can’t be serious!”

“I could arrest you,” the officer told him, “But I’m not going to. Frankly, I think you’ll be found innocent, and after we booked you, you would most likely be released anyhow. Besides, it’s not likely that you’ll run off, and even if you did, where on earth would you hide where you weren’t known? No, Mr. Lennon, I’m going to leave you here to take care of your wife. Just be sure you show up when you’re told to for court. Understand?”

“Yeah. Okay,” replied John. He looked past the officer at the bleeding man in the back of the police car; the man was glaring at him. John sneered at him and said to the officer, “Get that fuckin’ bastard outta me sight.”

After the police had gone,  John went into the kitchen. Mary followed him closely, unwilling to let him out of her sight. He indicated the flower arrangement, which was still sitting on the table.

“Where’d this come from, then?” he asked. “Did he bring it? Is this why you opened the door for him?”

“Yes,” she replied, averting her eyes. “Please, John, get rid of them. I can’t look at them.”

John picked the basket of flowers and stood there looking down at it in his hands. His throat worked, and he felt it seem to close, making it hard for him to breathe. He twisted the basket in his hands, and the water in the basin inside began to spill onto his feet. He turned and began to tear the flowers to pieces, dropping the torn bits onto the floor as he methodically destroyed the arrangement. Tears were running down his face, and when he dropped the basket onto the floor amid the broken flowers, his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. He felt that he had failed his wife, had failed to protect her and keep her safe. What if I hadn’t come home when I did? he thought. What if the rapist had managed to -- good God, what if Julia had been here? He heaved a deep sigh.

“Mary,” he said aloud, “That’s the end of it. I’m retirin’. From now on, I’m gonna be here t’ protect ye. Nobody’s gonna hurt ye again, nor Julia an’ th’ baby. No more workin’ for me; I’m done with it.”

***

Mary could not bear to enter the bedroom again, so while she was in the bath, John got her clothes out of there and carried them by the armload into the blue room. It was the furthest guest room from the one where the attack had taken place.

He was just closing the broken door to their bedroom when Mary emerged from the bath. A billow of steam flowed into the hall as she came out and went into John’s arms once again.  “I can’t make myself feel clean,” she whispered against his chest. “I can’t get clean.”

“Whist, gurrl,” he whispered into her hair, “Yer clean, and safe as well. I’ve gotta clean meself up a bit. Go on and lie down. I’ll be with ye directly.”

He watched her go into the blue room and then went into the bathroom she’d vacated. The mirror was steamed, so he wiped it with a dry towel. He regarded his reflection solemnly. There was a cut and some dried blood where the man’s ring had connected with his cheekbone, and his left eye was swollen and bruised. He turned on the water and looked at his hands. His knuckles were bloody, but he was certain that most of the blood was not his own. When the basin was full, he washed his hands in the warm water, turning it brownish red with the blood of both men.

He looked at his hands again; there were some cuts from the man’s teeth, and his knuckles were throbbing from the pounding he’d administered, but the pain comforted him a bit. At least he’d done something. He watched the water swirl down the drain and filled the basin again.

He laid his glasses on the counter and dipped his hands into the clear water, scooping up several handfuls and splashing them onto his face, wincing at the stinging cuts. He soaped his hands again and rubbed the suds into the abrasions, relishing the fresh, bright pain it caused. Rinsing his face, he let the water drain again and patted himself dry with the towel. He put his glasses back on and examined his face again. His eye was swollen and purpling, and he had a couple abrasions and a pretty bad laceration above his cheekbone, but he looked a hell of a lot better than the bloody pulp that he’d beaten Mary’s attacker’s face into.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he muttered, and he spat into the water as it drained. With a final glance at his reflection, he turned out the light and went to join his wife in bed. Mary was lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling, her small, white hands resting protectively on her swollen belly. Her eyes shifted to John’s as he came into the room.

“The baby’s moving a lot tonight,” she said, managing a trembling smile. John nodded and shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots off; the one he’d kicked the man in the chin with had a splatter of blood on the toe. He looked at the boot in his hands, then let it drop to the floor. He lifted his hips and skinned his jeans down past his hips, leaning back to pull them off the rest of the way. He dropped them onto the boots and lay down, turning onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow to face Mary. He placed a hand on her belly; there was an answering movement, and he bent his head to kiss her there.

“I dunno what I’d’ve done if ye or the baby’d been hurt, Mary,” he said quietly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she told him, “How could you have known? Did you make sure the doors were locked?”

“I locked ‘em while ye were in th’ bath,” he replied. “C’mere, love, I need t’ hold ye.”

She moved into his arms and pressed her face into the hollow of his neck, breathing his comforting scent. He wanted to make love to her, but he hesitated, thinking that it might upset her. He thought it would be better to wait. He wrapped his arms more tightly about her and drew her yet closer, not moving at all. In a few moments her deep, regular breathing told him that she was asleep. John lay awake holding her for quite a while before he fell asleep as well.

Mary awoke with a scream, roughly pushing her astonished and confused husband away from her.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, “Don’t hurt me!”

“What? Mary! Stop!” cried John, taking hold of her and drawing her close to his body. She struggled briefly and looked up into his face, her eyes wild, dark, and frightened. She recognized him and allowed him to gather her close. John could feel her heart hammering in her chest, and he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head tenderly.

“Baby, it’s alright. Sshhh, don’t cry, love, it’s alright, I’ve got ye, I’m here.”

Mary sobbed brokenly. John was at a loss; he continued to murmur comfortingly, his lips in her hair, beside her ear. Little by little, Mary began to relax, and at length her sobbing trailed off. John held her close to him all night long, yet her sleep was fitful. As soon as she would moan or move, he was snapped awake and he comforted her until she slept again

***

The next day, John and Mary went out to look for another house. They chose a smaller home this time, close to the school district, but in a neighborhood populated by mostly company heads and bankers who would not pay attention to the former Beatle and his little family.

Mary begged John to get their things moved in at once, and he said that he would arrange it. She stayed with Maureen and Ringo for the rest of the afternoon while John oversaw the moving of whatever they would need in the new house. He would be damned if he would ever make Mary go back to the old house again.

While the movers carried the dressers from the bedroom out to their van, John sat on the edge of the bed in the master bedroom and looked at the blood spattered on the floor and wall. His face still hurt and so did his hands, which he flexed, wincing at the soreness in his fingers. He thought about how much damage he had done to the intruder. As much it had been, he decided, it was not enough. John hauled himself to his feet and left the room to tell the movers to bring the bed from the blue room.

By late evening, the move was complete, and the old house was up for sale. John drove over to Ringo’s house to pick up his wife and daughter. It was dark when John pulled into his friend’s driveway. He tapped the horn and climbed out of his car; the drummer appeared in the front doorway and came out to meet him.

“Jesus, John, look at your face,” said Ringo, a touch of admiration in his voice. “Looks as if you could’ve used stitches. That’s gonna leave ya with a bloody great scar, that is.”

“Yeah, well, ye saw what he looked like when I was through with him,” replied John, gingerly touching the cut on his face. Th’ cops told me I’d broken his jaw an’ his nose, as well as several o’ his ribs. He’ll not be messin’ with any other women any time soon, unless I miss me guess, an’ I sincerely doubt that, old son.”

John looked past his friend into the house; Julia was sitting at a folding table playing a board game with Zak and Jason. He let out a sharp whistle, and Julia’s head came up and turned in his direction.

“Daddy!” she cried, practically overturning her chair in her haste to run to him. “Daddy, you’re here!” The child flew through the door and hurtled into his open arms. She drew back and peered curiously at him. “Daddy, what happened to your face?” she asked, stroking his cheek gently. “Your eye is all purple and you have cuts! Do they hurt?”

John scooped his daughter up into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Don’t you worry about me, Puss, ‘twas just a little accident,” he told her, holding her with one arm and tickling her with his free hand. She screeched with laughter and he kissed her soft little cheek again.

“How’s yer Mummy, little lass?” he asked, setting her down just inside the door. “Is she about?”

“She and Auntie Mo are inna kitchen,” Julia informed him. “They’re havin’ a talk. Shall I tell her you’re here?”

“No, you go on back to yer game. Finish up, mind. We’re goin’ home real quick, like.”

Julia shook her head. “No, we’re not,” she told him, “Auntie Mo is makin’ supper, an’ we get to stay.”

“Oh, is that how it is? All right then, back t’ yer game, baby. I have t’ go see Mummy.”

John followed Ringo down the hall to the kitchen. The women looked up, and Mary got to her feet and put her arms around her husband. “I missed you,” she told him.

He sat in the chair she’d vacated and pulled her down into his lap. He caressed her cheek and gave her a tender kiss.

“Everythin’s all set,” he told her, wrapping his arms snugly around her. “We’re all moved in. We couldn’t fit all th’ furniture inta th’ new place, but I think we have everythin’ we’ll need. If there’s anythin’ else ye want, I’ll have it fetched tomorra.”

“You’re so good to me,” Mary said softly. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She felt safe just now, and she found herself wanting him. She wished that they were alone in their new home in their bed.

“Which bed did you move into the new house?” she asked suddenly.

“Th’ one from th’ blue room,” he replied. “I didn’t think ye’d want that other one anymore after --”

“You were right,” she replied with a little shudder. “Did you have them move my rocking chair?”

“But of course; ye’ll need it soon enough for th’ new baby, an’ Julia’s not above gettin’ rocked t’ sleep from time t’ time if she’s feelin’ poorly.”

“So we don’t have to go back? We can stay in the new house tonight?”

“Just as soon as yer ready t’ leave here, me love,” he replied, giving her another kiss.

“Well, we’ve been invited to stay for supper, but right after I help Mo clean up, we can be off,” Mary told him.

“Say, John, how about coming downstairs and lettin’ me beat ya at a game o’ snooker?”

John released his wife and got to his feet. “Like ye’ve a prayer o’ doin’ that,” he said with a grin, “C’mon, son, let’s have at it.”

The two women smiled fondly at the men’s retreating backs.

“John is going to cheat, you know,” said Mary with a smile.

“Yes,” Maureen replied, “And Ritchie will let him.”

They laughed and then fell silent. The voices of the children floated down the hall and Mary waved in their direction. “I wish I could always protect Julia from ugly, violent things. I hate for her to grow up and have to find out what the world can be like.”

“I feel the same way about my boys,” Maureen told her, “I want to keep them innocent as long as possible, but you know we’re going to have to let them grow up eventually.” She smiled sadly and shook her head. “Not now, though,” she added, “Not for a while.”

***

Downstairs, Ringo racked the balls up on his billiards table and chose a cue from the rack on the wall. John picked one as well and chalked the tip of it deftly.

“Ye must realize, of course,” he said, “That ye do have me at a disadvantage with me eye bein’ nearly swollen shut an all...still, I’ll be trouncin’ ye, me lad.”

“Maybe not this time,” Ringo replied, “I’ve been practicin’.”

“Ah,” John answered with a nod. “Have ye, now. Well, no matter. Are ye ready, then?”

Ringo winked at him and smiled. “Let’s go,” he said.

Halfway through their game, John lit a cigarette and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

“Lemme ask ye summat, Ritch,” he said. “How long would ye think I should wait with Mary until she...until we...until she’ll be ready for me t’ express me marital affections towards her?”

Ringo lined up his shot and struck the cue ball; it clicked against the eight ball and nearly sank it along with the one he’d been going for. He sighed with relief and straightened up to face his friend.

“Well,” he said, “How does she seem?”

“She had a bad night,” John replied. “Dreams, y’know. I wanted her last night. I thought it might make her feel better...it would’ve made me feel better -- but I thought I’d best not try anythin’, y’know, because o’ what’d just happened to her.”

“Probably best to leave it alone for a while, then, unless she seems ready,” the drummer told him. “I guess she’ll let you know when that is. Just be patient with her, John. It’ll be okay. The two of you have a great relationship. You’ll get through this.”

John nodded and bent to shoot. He hit the cue ball hard, and it jumped off the table. Ringo bent over to pick it up, and John quickly moved a few balls around. When Ringo stood up again, his friend was standing back, regarding him innocently.

“Your turn,” he said. “I don’t see any good shots, though.”

***

Sliding into bed that night beside Mary, John reached to take her into his arms. She did not hesitate to come to him, laying her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Are ye all right, love?” asked John. “Last night, ye had such dreams...I don’t know what t’ do t’ make it better.”

“Just hold me,” she replied, pressing yet closer, “Just like you’re doing now.”

Deciding that she wanted no more than what she asked, John closed his eyes and tried his best to go to sleep. For her part, Mary wondered why he did not seem to want to make love to her. She hoped that he did not blame her for the attack in some way; after all, she had let her attacker into the house.

At length, she slept. He gently disentangled himself from her and went into the bathroom. He needed release badly; he was not used to going for more than a day without making love to Mary. He closed the door and masturbated quickly, feeling very sorry for himself as he did so. After he had finished, he went back to bed and she pressed close to him again in her sleep, settling herself into the hollow of his shoulder. He sighed and drew her close, hoping that she would be ready to be intimate with him soon.

***

Things continued in this fashion for a week. One evening John went out to get himself some cigarettes; the girl behind the counter smiled at him suggestively.

“Hello,” he said, “How much do I owe ye for these?”

“They’re yours for a kiss,” she told him.

“Ah, thank ye, love, but I’m a married man, as ye must know,” replied John, shifting his feet uncomfortably. Why the fuckin’ hell does this have to happen now, of all times? he asked himself.

“You don’t think I’m attractive?” the girl persisted. She unbuttoned her blouse and opened it to let him see her breasts. “I can lock the door. There’s nobody here right now but us. We can go into the storage room; no one will see us. Your wife will never know.”

John hesitated; the urge to take the girl into the back room and shag what little brains she probably had out was strong. He felt his body responding to the thought, and the girl leaned across the counter and reached for the zipper on his jeans, which did little to conceal his rapidly growing erection.

“Oooh,” cooed the girl, “Look at how ready you are! Come on, then, love, let’s have a bit of fun.”

John tossed some money onto the counter, snatched the cigarettes up, and hurried out of the shop before he did something he was sure to regret later. Once he got home, he went directly to the bathroom and stroked himself to orgasm frantically; he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold out if things like that began happening with any regularity. He got into the shower and scrubbed himself thoroughly, feeling guilty and soiled somehow even though he hadn’t really done anything wrong.

When he emerged from the shower, he realized that he hadn’t brought any clean clothes into the bathroom with him. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom to get dressed. Mary was sitting on the bed, talking on the telephone.

“Well, thank you for calling me, Mo,” she said. “I’m so happy to hear that.” She paused, then laughed. “Yes, I am, too. Thanks again; goodbye.”

She hung the phone up and smiled at John. “I heard about what happened,” she told him.

John hesitated with his hand on the knob of the dresser drawer. A cold worm of panic moved through his stomach.

“Whattaye mean?” he asked with exaggerated casualness. “What’d ye hear about?”

“About your encounter with the shopgirl. Mo went in there right after you left to get some milk, and she heard the girl talking about it on the phone with one of her girlfriends. She said that you ran away from her as though she had the plague.”

“Oh,” John replied. “Well...um, did she say anything else?”

“No,” she told him, “Nothing...” He relaxed visibly. “Nothing except that you were hard as a flagpole and ran away just the same,” she added. She looked into his face searchingly. “Baby,” she added, “Why is it that you haven’t wanted to be with me that way lately? It’s been over a week.”

“Mary,” he said fervently, “I’ve been wantin’ ye so bad it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy! It’s all I can do not to ravish ye every time I see ye, I’m that hungry after ye! It’s just that I thought I should give ye some time, y’know, t’ recover from -- from what almost happened t’ ye.”

“Well, I’ve been wanting you just as badly,” she told him, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I thought that you didn’t want me because you...blamed me somehow.”

He rushed to sit beside her, taking her into his arms.“Mary, no, I don’t blame ye; if anything, I blame meself, for not bein’ here t’ protect ye.” He stroked her hair gently, and she pressed close.

She raised her head and looked into his eyes, the same warm, brown eyes that she had fallen in love with. He could see her desire for him written all over her face, and he moaned softly and bent his head to kiss her hungrily. She responded with equal passion, and he pushed her gently back and stretched himself alongside her, pausing only to pull her nightgown up. It was a bit awkward with Mary being in an advanced stage of pregnancy, but John got in back of her and put his arms around her, slipping quickly into her from behind. She sighed with contentment as he entered her body and pushed back against him, reveling in the pleasure of being filled by him again. He was moving quickly, his desperate need entirely plain. His hands were running over her body, feverishy hot, setting little fires within her wherever he caressed her. He caught his breath and slowed, nearly stopping, and she made a small sound of dismay.

“Whist, gurrl,” he said raggedly, “Gotta stop for just a mo -- if I don’t I’m gonna spill right now.”

She moved against him encouragingly. “It’s okay, baby, I want you to. We can do it again later, for now, just don’t stop, please! I want you now.”

With a deep groan, he began thrusting again, fast, hard, and deep, not stopping until he had emptied himself into her welcoming body. Mary exulted in the pleasure she was causing him to feel, and his cry of release was all that was needed to send her tumbling over the edge as well.

Once they had finished and their breathing had returned to normal, Mary turned in his arms and began to kiss him once again. With his immediate need slaked, he was able to take it slower this time. He pulled Mary to the edge of the bed and positioned himself in front of her, sinking his hardness slowly into her yet again. He moved slowly, teasing her, taking her close several times. She writhed beneath him, her eyes luminous with joy and fixed upon his face. At last he had to give up; he could wait no longer. He moved within her with mad joy, his body finding the rhythm he needed to bring them both to a shuddering climax. After the last spasms had ebbed away, they climbed into the bed together and slept soundly for the first time in over a week.

***

A few days later, John and Mary sat in Magistrates Court with their lawyer. John requested that Mary’s attacker not be permitted to attend so that she would be spared the pain of seeing him again.

“She’s pregnant, sir,” said Thomas. “And her husband is the defendant. She wants to be there with him, but her husband is concerned that having to be in the vicinity of the plaintiff could cause her to become too upset.”

“I will see that when he is brought in he is seated as far from her as possible,” replied the court officer, “But he has a right to be there and cannot be excluded. You and your wife will sit in the front of the courtroom, and the plaintiff will be brought in through the main door at the back and will be held there. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Lennon, but that is the best that I can do.”

“Well, then, I s’pose it’ll have t’ do, won’t it,” John said. He put his arm protectively around his wife. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Due to John’s celebrity status, the courtroom was closed to spectators, and all members of the press were kept outside of the building. The magistrate entered the room and everyone was directed to stand; once they were seated again, the court was called to order and John was called forward.

“Please state your name,” the magistrate said, and the hearing was underway.

“The defendant has made submission that there is no case to answer,” said Thomas, and the magistrate looked down at John.

“The charges leveled against you are very serious, Mr. Lennon,” he remarked. “Attempted murder...a charge of this gravity is generally handled in Crown Court, but it has been suggested that in this case, an attempt should be made to handle the matter summarily. I will hear the statement of and consider the evidence presented by the plaintiff’s barrister, after which time your representative will state your case. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” John replied, “Only --”

“Only what, Mr. Lennon?”

“Only can’t I speak for meself as well? Will I be permitted t’ make a -- a statement on me own behalf?”

“If you wish, yes, you may. As soon as your representative has spoken. You may be seated, Mr. Lennon,” said the magistrate.

John sat and Mary laid her hand on his arm. He took it into his own and closed his eyes. He was scared to death. He was only too aware that if he were to be found guilty it would mean going to prison and being taken away from Mary and his family, and he knew that technically, he was guilty. He had intended to kill Mary’s attacker, blinded with rage as he had been. Now he was here to answer the charges leveled against him by the man who had assaulted and tried to rape his pregnant wife. Would the magistrate believe him, or would he be sent away from Mary to spend God knew how long in prison?

“The prosecution will show that on 6 September, 1973, the plaintiff was invited into the defendant’s home by his wife for the purpose of consensual sexual relations....”

John was livid, barely able to keep himself under control. He was itching to leap from his seat and run to the back of the courtroom and work Harold Lawson, as he had learned Mary’s attacker was called, over completely again, this time hopefully without anyone intervening until the scurvy bastard was dead. He was seething with rage, his heart pounding, a rushing sound thundering in his ears...

“Whereupon the defendant burst in, screamed obscenities at, stated his intention to kill, and proceeded to beat Mr. Lawson and kick him to the point of unconsciousness. It is our contention and belief that the defendant, who is known to have been extremely violent in the past, did intend to kill Mr. Lawson and would have done had he not been stopped by his friend, one Mr. Richard Starkey, more commonly known as Ringo Starr.....”

Mary poked John gently in his side, and he started, looking at her questioningly.  She whispered, “John, stand up,” and he got numbly to his feet, feeling unsteady and decidedly sick to his stomach.

Thomas put his hand on John’s shoulder to steady him and whispered, “Hang on, John. This will all be over soon. You’re in good shape.”

John thought that Thomas certainly seemed a lot more sure about that than he felt. He was pale and his hands trembled. I certainly could use a drink right about now, not to mention a smoke, he thought.

“Your honor,” Thomas began, “We intend to prove through testimony and evidence that there is no case to answer, and that the defendant ought to be discharged and allowed to go free.....”

“Go ahead, John, make your statement,” whispered Thomas, putting his hand on John’s shoulder once more.

John mentally shook himself; he had heard nearly nothing thus far, he was so angry and frightened. He looked up at the magistrate.

“You may speak, Mr. Lennon,” he said.

“Yerokay -- I mean, yes, sir,” John replied. “Well, yer honor, Mary has been me wife for over five years now, an’ I know her as well as I know meself. She knows me even better than that. There’s norra dishonest bone in her body, yer honor, sir; she’s th’ most honest person ye’d ever wanna meet. Ask anybody as knows her. If Mary says that she dint consent t’ -- do anythin’ with that scurvy bas -- with Mr. Lawson, then ye cn’ bank on that bein’ th’ truth. Mary would never lie, no matter what.” He shifted his feet uncomfortably, and looked behind himself at Mary, who smiled encouragingly. John took a deep breath and continued. “I’m gonna take a leaf from her book. I might have killed th’ -- Mr. Lawson -- if me mate hadn’t’ve stopped me beatin’ him. I can’t say I wouldn’t’ve. I was outta me head. I couldn’t even think straight, I was that angry. I came inta th’ room an’ that bastard--pardon me, yer honor, I meant t’ say th’ plaitiff (the way he said the word made it sound worse than anything else he could ever call him) was gettin’ ready t’ rape me wife. Thomas must’ve showed ye th’ photographs showin’ th’ mark on her sweet face where he’d struck her. She was cryin’ an’ beggin’ him not t’ hurt her an’ our baby, an’ he was on her --” John’s eyes filled with tears and he dashed them away with the back of his hand, muttering a curse. The magistrate coughed, and John muttered that he was sorry before going on. “I just snapped, yer honor, I won’t deny it,” he said. “An’ I don’t know if I would’ve stopped beatin’ him if Ritch hadn’t showed up when he did an’ pulled me away from him. But he’s lyin’, yer honor. He was tryin’ t’ rape me pregnant wife -- Mary never gave him the nod t’ do what he was gonna do t’ her -- an’ I was just tryin’ t’ protect them both, Mary an’ our baby. That’s all I have t’ say on th’ subject, yer honor. I’m tellin’ ye the truth. I didn’t do anythin’, I’m sure, that any other man in me position wouldn’t’ve done.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lennon,” the magistrate said. Now, if you will all give me a few moments, I am going to retire to my chambers and review the evidence and make my decision. We will reassemble in approximately thirty minutes from now.”

John started to rise, but Thomas told him to wait until Mary’s assailant had been removed from the courtroom and taken back to his cell. After he had been led away, John and Mary went out to sit in the lobby.

“What d’ye think is gonna happen?” John asked her, gathering her close. Mary could feel him trembling, and she was none too steady herself. She was terrified that John would be sent to jail, even though she was trying her best to be encouraging.

“I don’t know, baby,” she replied. “I’m scared, too. Just hold me, and don’t let me go.”

They clung together, both of them trembling and terrified, on the bare, wooden bench just outside of the courtroom door. Thomas came over and sat beside them, and a man came out of a nearby bathroom and walked over to stand in front of the couple huddled miserably together on the bench. Thomas started to ask him what it was he wanted, and the man quickly pulled a camera out of his jacket and snapped John and Mary’s picture. Thomas jumped up and knocked the camera out of the man’s hand. It broke when it hit the marble floor, and Thomas twisted the man’s arm behind his back and escorted him to the front door of the building and out.

At last the bailiff came out of the courtroom and called them back inside. John felt as if his feet were made of lead as he walked up the center aisle to his seat in the front of the room; he and Mary supported one another as they made their way forward. They sank into their seats, and in a moment the magistrate entered the room and they were instructed to stand. Once the magistrate had seated himself, everyone else sat down and watched as he shuffled through the papers he held and laid them aside.

“Will the accused please rise,” the magistrate intoned, and John got slowly to his feet and moved forward, feeling as though he were in a dream.

“I have considered the evidence and all of the statements made here today,” said the magistrate, “And I am ready to announce my decision.”

John swallowed; he felt sick and lightheaded. He put his hands on the table in front of him to steady himself, then straightened and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to calm down.

“After hearing and reviewing all evidence presented and statements made by both sides in this matter,” said the magistrate, “I have decided that there is no case to answer. The charges against you are hereby dropped, and you will be discharged of blame.”

John almost fainted with relief. Mary was crying behind him, and he turned to see her smiling through her tears. He moved towards her, and the magistrate rapped with his gavel to command attention. John turned back and mumbled that he was sorry.

“That’s all right, Mr. Lennon, I quite understand. I have something more to say to you, though. Please pay attention.”

“Yes sir,” John said, taking his place beside Thomas once more. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Although I do understand why you behaved as you did,” the magistrate told him, “I must warn you that this could have been a lot worse. If the plaintiff had died as a result of his injuries, you would have been brought up on murder charges. You must learn to control yourself better, Mr. Lennon, and I trust that the next time that you become...incensed at someone, you will remember what could have happened here today.”

John said that he certainly would, and the magistrate nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “You may go.”

As they left the courthouse, John was jubilant; he cheerfully rebuffed the reporters outside, declining to comment, but smiling graciously for the cameras. He felt as if his feet were not even touching the ground.

“Mr. Lennon, tell us what the magistrate’s decision was,” cried one of the reporters above the din. John looked at him and laughed.

“How soft cn’ ye be?” he asked. “Look at me face -- whattayer think his decision was? I’m goin’ home with me wife. “Go write anythin’ ye like; I couldn’t care less!” and with that, he guided Mary into the car waiting for them and got in beside her, closing the door to shut out the frantic reporters.

“Take us home, Max,” he said to the driver, and as the car pulled away from the curb, he pulled Mary close to him and sighed happily.

***

One afternoon a few months later, John sat and watched a couple of the Beatles’ old films with Julia, who was very amused to watch her father on the television.

“Daddy,” the child said in wonder, “I didn’t know you were in the movies! Are you famous?”

“You might say that,” he replied, trying hard not to laugh. “Anyroad, I once was.”

Julia was suitably impressed, and solemnly asked her father to sign his autograph for her.

“Whattayer want that for?” he wanted to know.

“I’m gonna collect autographs from famous people,” she informed him. “I saw a show about it, an’ they’re valuable.”

Really,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, then, I guess I’ll do that too, if I see anyone else famous.”

“Uncle Paul, Uncle George, and Uncle Ritchie were in that movie too,” Julia reminded him. “Next time I see them, I’m gonna ask them for theirs.”

“Good thinkin’,” said John. “Ask ‘em t’ put those autographs on a blank check, whydontcher. They’re even more valuable that way.”

Julia looked at him, her little head cocked to one side, trying to decide whether he was being serious or not. Her face broke into a delighted grin when she saw how his eyes were sparkling.

“You’re foolin’ me,” she said in the tone one might use to scold a naughty child. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go out and play before supper.”

“Let me just go find Mummy an’ tell her where we’ll be.”

Mary was in their bedroom, placing clean clothes into the dressers. When she saw John, she put the basket of clothes on a chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “We’re done watchin’ th’ films,” John told her. “We’re goin’ out back for a bit before supper, if you don’t need me for anythin’ in here, that is, Miss Mary.” He sat beside her and pulled her against himself, putting his mouth against her ear, breathing into her hair. Her skin prickled and she shivered.

“Never you mind that right now, you dirty old man,” she replied, kissing his cheek and pushing herself up off the bed. “I have a few things to do before I finish getting supper on, and you have to go watch --” she winced and staggered a bit, and John leaped up to steady her.

“Mary! What’s wrong with ye, are ye all right?” he asked worriedly, and she looked up at him, her face white, and gave him a shaky smile.

“I think it’s the baby,” she said softly, “I think it’s starting.”

John stared at her, his eyes showing the beginnings of panic. “What do I do?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Shall I call th’ hospital?”

“No, not yet; it’s only one pain,” she said gently. “Relax, baby. Go on and watch Julia. I’ll be in the kitchen, and the window’s open. Just keep near enough the window that you can hear me if I call, and I’ll let you know if anything more happens.”

He nodded and let her go, but reluctantly.

***

After supper was done, they all sat in the living room. John was pretending to watch the television, but his eyes kept flickering towards Mary whenever she as much as shifted her position where she sat working on a bit of needlepoint. Julia was lying on her stomach, engrossed in the program, with Cressie, her big ginger cat, pressed close to her, sleeping.

A couple of times, Mary went a little white, and she looked over at John and caught the question in his eyes. She shook her head and smiled at him; she was touched by his loving concern. How could she ever have thought him cold and uncaring? He was obviously worried half to death about her, and knowing that made her love him even more.

Mary was tired, so after Julia had been tucked into bed, she told John that she was going to bed as well.

“Yerokay,” he said with an exaggerated yawn, “I’m knackered, too. I’ll join ye.”

For once, John did no more than gently hold her once they had gone to bed. Mary understood that this was because he was aware that she was not feeling well, and to tell the truth, she felt grateful. She didn’t want to have to turn down his advances, but she had been feeling crampy and uncomfortable all evening. A little while after John began to snore softly, she drifted off, secure in his warm embrace.

Mary was awakened a few hours later with a strong pain and a desperate need to urinate. She disengaged herself from John’s arms and got up quietly, crossing the room to the bathroom, bent over slightly from the force of the pain in her belly. It was increasing in strength; less actual pain than painful pressure. As soon as she left the bathroom and went back to bed, she felt a rush of warm wetness soak her thighs, and the pain returned. She looked at the clock; about five minutes had passed since she had been awakened.

Mary shook John gently by the shoulder.

“John,” she whispered, “John, wake up! I think we need to go to the hospital now.”

He was on his feet almost instantly. His voice shook as he asked Mary what he should do.

“Call Ritchie and ask him to come take Julia home with him,” she replied, “Then call the hospital and let them know we’re coming in. After that, wake Julia and explain to her so she won’t be scared.”

“That won’t be easy,” he told her, dialing Ringo’s number with shaking fingers, “Seein’ as I’m dead scared meself.”

Within half an hour, Julia was on her way home with a very sleepy uncle, and John was nervously pulling the car out of the driveway for the short drive to the hospital. He looked over at Mary, who was breathing shallowly, as she had been taught in the birthing classes she had attended. As much as John had wanted to attend, he had been asked to stay away because of the effect his presence had on some of the other expectant mothers, and even a few of the fathers to be. Mary had gotten all the books concerning the Lamaze method, as it was called, however, and told him all that she had learned, and he felt that he could handle being her birth coach. That was not to say that he wasn’t frightened at the prospect -- he was terrified, but he had decided that he would not be put out of the room when his beloved Mary was giving birth, no matter what he had to do to stay beside her.

For the next six hours in the labor room, John paced nervously between his wife’s contractions.

“I’m sorry, Mary, I feel so bad about doin’ this t’ ye,” he said quietly, sponging her face with cold water. “I feel completely responsible for all this fuckin’ pain yer in.”

“I wanted this baby as much as you did,” she replied, laying a hand on his arm. “I was beginning to wonder if we would ever be able to give Julia a little brother or sister, and then I found out we were going to have this baby. I was so happy! I still am. In a little while, this will all be over, and we’ll have a new little baby to love. It’s worth it, John. No matter how bad the pain gets, it’s worth it. I always wanted --” she stopped, and the pain gripped her again; it was no longer just strong discomfort; it was searing pain, and she cried out despite herself.

John cringed and went white, then he remembered his job and told her to breathe as she had been taught, breathing right along with her, each of them keeping their eyes fixed upon those of the other, alone in the world in the pain as they always were in the pleasure of their lovemaking. They did not hear the doctor come in. As soon as the spasm released its grip on Mary for the moment, the doctor asked John to leave the room so that he could check on her progress.

“Ye must be daft,” John said, sitting in the chair beside his wife’s bed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. How d’ye think th’ bloody kid got in there in th’ first place? I’ve seen everythin’ she’s got, an’ there’s no reason for me t’ leave just so ye cn’ take a look under th’ sheets. I’ll keep out of th’ way, but I’ll be fucked if I’ll leave her side! Go on about yer business, I’ll stay over here, but I’ll not be leavin’.”

The doctor, deciding against a real confrontation, examined Mary and informed her that she was ten centimeters dilated and ready to go to the labor room. He called some orderlies and they moved her onto a gurney and wheeled her down the hall, John keeping pace beside her, his face ashen, looking sick and terrified.

Mary cried out loudly; she had never felt anything like this before. It felt as though her body was being torn in two from the inside. The pain was excruciating; she forgot her breathing excercises in her agony, and John forgot them in his horror of what he felt he had done to her. It was close; the doctor was telling her not to push, to stop and try to relax, and she was weeping in frustration, she felt that she needed to push so badly, but she forced the need back. John did not even feel her nails digging into the palm of his hand. He stroked her sweat-dampened hair back from her face and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it fervently.

“That’s it, my dear,” said the doctor, “Here it comes; look at all that hair! All right, now, give me a big push.”

Mary was pushing for all she was worth; although the pain was still strong, it was overshadowed by the relief she felt in being allowed to push again. She groaned loudly with the effort, and John watched in the mirror with a mixture of fascination, horror and joy upon his face.

“Good, there’s a shoulder -- one more, dear. Push!”

Everything was spinning for Mary; she felt lightheaded and faint, and the pain tore through her until she had to scream. Then she felt the rest of the child’s body slip from her, and immediately a thin, trembling wail. She collapsed back, breathing hard, and looked up at John’s face. There were tears running down his cheeks, and he was smiling so broadly it looked as though he might split his face. His love was clear in his eyes, and he bent to kiss her, whispering, “Ye did it, gurrl, ye did it. He’s fuckin’ beautiful.”

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, and he clapped John on the shoulder and smiled down at Mary.

“You did just beautifully, my dear,” he added. “As soon as they get him cleaned up a bit, you can hold your son.” He went back to the foot of the table. “And now, just give me another push,” he said, “So we can get the rest of this stuff out of there, and I’ll be on my way. I have another young lady in the next room who is just about ready for me to attend to her.”

Once Mary was settled into a private room with her new son in her arms, she had all but forgotten the pain she had just experienced. He was perfect, just as Julia had been. He had a thick little mop of dark brown hair, and with his red face under that hair, he made Mary think of an Indian papoose. John was on the other side of the room, beaming at her as he talked to Mary’s brother in Ireland on the phone. Mimi and Ringo had been notified, and Ringo would inform George of the good news. John hung up the phone and came back to sit on the edge of Mary’s bed.

“Want to hold your new son, baby?” asked Mary, handing the infant to John. His arms trembled as he took the child from her and held him close to his body.

“Am I doin’ this right?” he asked softly. “Is this okay?”

“You’re doing just fine,” Mary said with a smile. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well, but when Julia came home, she wasn’t quite this new,” he replied.

“She was only five days old; you’ve just forgotten how little she was, I think.”

“I guess yer right; I don’t remember her bein’ this small,” he said, smiling at Mary again. “He doesn’t feel as if he weighs anythin’.”

“What are we going to call him?” asked Mary. “We never really talked about that.”

“Well, then,” John replied, “Why don’t we just sit here an’ admire him an’ see what strikes us for a name.”

It was finally decided that the baby’s name would be George Morgan Lennon; George for John’s beloved uncle, and Raymond for Mary’s mother. No sooner had they decided upon the name than there was a hesitant knock at the door. A man came in with a huge bunch of flowers obscuring his face, but there was something familiar about him to John. He was just about to say something, when the man lowered the flowers, and John and Mary were surprised to see the shy, tentative smile of Paul McCartney.

“Hullo, John,” said his friend in a hesitant voice. “Ritchie told me about the baby; I hope that’s okay.”

John’s eyes shifted towards Mary, who smiled encouragingly. He took the baby from her arms and stood to face Paul, who laid the flowers at the foot of the bed and stepped closer, looking into the baby’s face.

“He’s bloody gorgeous,” breathed Paul. “Must take after Mary’s family -- may I?” John carefully transferred his son to Paul’s arms.

“Yerokay,” he said agreeably. “Get a closer look; ye’ll see that he looks just like me, actually.”

“Is that what they’ve been telling you? They’re lying, y’know.” Paul handed the child back to John and smiled at him. “I’ve missed you, John.”

“Yeah, well, ye know where I live,” John replied coolly, “Don’t be such a fuckin’ stranger, whydontcher. Ye should stop in an’ see Julia sometimes. Th’ little lass misses ye, God knows why, but she loves ye.”

Mary caught John’s eye; she was shaking her head ever so gently, but he got the message.

“It was nice of ye t’ send her that necklace,” he added. “Ye’ve always been thoughtful that way...it’s... one o’ th’ things I always liked about ye.”

Paul’s smile showed his relief, but he knew better than to ruin the moment by saying anything that John would consider “soft”. He laid a hand on his friends’ shoulder instead and just told him, “Well, I’d better go. The wife is waiting on me. You’ll have to meet her, John.”

“I saw ye both in th’ papers,” replied John. “Nice lookin’ woman. Linda, innit? An American, unless I’m mistaken. An’ ye’ve a kid o’ yer own, dontcher?”

“Right! Three, counting her Heather. I’ll bring them round soon, promise.”

“Yerokay. Oh, an’ Paulie -- I just wanted t’ tell ye -- I didn’t hate yer last record. It was all right.”

“Thanks, I liked yours too,” said Paul. He looked past John at Mary, who was smiling for all she was worth. “‘Bye, Mary,” he called. “Nice job; beautiful baby. Do you know what you’ll be calling him yet?”

“George, after John’s uncle, and Morgan for my mum,” she replied. “Thank you for the flowers, Paul. They’re beautiful. We’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“I guarantee it. Take it easy, John,” he added, and he left the room, closing the door quietly behind himself.

The next visitors were Ringo and Julia. The little girl came in shyly, looking uncertain. John picked her up and brought her to sit on the bed beside her mother, who was holding the baby.

“Look, it’s yer brother,” said John,  “No need t’ be shy; ye have to get familiar with him -- yer gonna have t’ help Mummy take care of him. Go on, love, ye cn’ touch him, it’s okay.”

Julia reached to touch the baby’s open hand tentatively, and he immediately closed his tiny fist around her finger. Her eyes grew even wider, and she looked up into her father’s face.

“Look, he’s holdin’ my hand!” she said in a voice filled with a mixture of awe and excitement. “Does he know who I am?”

“Why, ‘course he does,” replied John. “Mummy an’ I have been tellin’ him all about ye, an’ he’s been lookin’ forward t’ meetin’ his big sister

Julia managed to tear her eyes away from her brother for long enough to ask her mother what his name was.

“It’s George,” said Mary. “That’s a nice name, don’t you think?”

“Uncle George is very nice,” she replied, “So it’s a nice name. Hi, George, I’m Julia. Oh! Look, Daddy, he’s lookin’ at me!” she cried, delighted. “When’re we gonna be able to take him home?”

“How does tomorrow sound?” asked John, kissing his daughter’s soft, dark blonde hair.

“I can hardly wait,” she replied. “I hafta teach him how to talk.”

“You do that, but be patient, mind. It’s gonna take a while before he cn’ do that,” her father told her, gently loosening little George’s fist from Julia’s finger. “Now, whattayer say we let Uncle Ritchie hold yer brother for a bit?”

***

John and Mary lay on their bed with their new son between them. It would be dawn in a few more hours, but little George just wasn’t feeling as sleepy as his parents. Since they’d brought the baby home, they’d had to sleep in shifts most of the time; fortunately, Julia had begun school and was not home for a good portion of the day, leaving John and Mary with only the baby to deal with.

“Get some sleep, love,” John told his wife. “Ye’ve done yer bit; he’s been fed an’ all. I’m used t’ bein’ up this time o’ night. It’ll be mornin’ soon.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate that,” Mary told him gratefully. John picked up the baby and kissed her.

“G’night, Mummy,” he said, switching off the light and closing the door quietly behind himself. Mary smiled as she listened to him murmuring to the baby outside the door. His voice receded as he went down the hall to the living room, and she thought back on the five years they had been together. He had become part of her, and she could not imagine her life without him in it. He had gone from being her employer and a man she could barely tolerate to being the other half of her soul; she loved everything about him. Even his faults were endearing to her. She was still smiling, thinking of him, when she drifted off to sleep.

“Whattayer say, little man?” said John quietly, settling himself into the big reclining chair in front of the television. “Shall we see what’s on? Not much, I’ll wager. Probably have t’ settle for sheep herding or summat.” He found a news program and sat back with his feet up, his son propped up at a gentle angle between his upraised knees facing him. The baby regarded him solemnly, his wide, light brown eyes fixed upon his father’s face in that strange, unfocused fashion common to all newborns. John felt his heart swell with emotion as he looked into the face of his baby son. It was hard for him to believe that Mary had produced this beautiful child as a result of their love. It had been so long that they had just assumed that there would not be any children as a result of their union. Even though he knew she had been a bit disappointed, she hadn’t said a word, contenting herself with their adopted daughter, whom they both adored, and the occasional visits they enjoyed with Julian. Out of the blue, this child had been given to them after five years of marriage, and to John it seemed like a miracle.

When Mary got up in the morning, she found her husband asleep in the chair, their son sleeping peacefully in his arms, held close to his heart. She couldn’t resist taking a picture of the scene, and the flash startled John awake.

“Oh, hello, love,” he said sleepily. “I was just restin’ me eyes for a bit.”

“So I noticed,” she told him, bending to kiss him. “Do you need a little more sleep, or are you ready to face the day?”

“I’m okay for now,” he replied as Mary took the baby from him. “I’ll stay up, I guess. Is Julia up yet?”

“No; why don’t you go wake her, and I’ll see to the baby,” said Mary. “I feel like I’m going to burst. I need to nurse him.”

“Ooh, cn’ I watch?” he asked with a leering grin. “I think I like that as much as he does. Ye never fail t’ turn me on, Mrs. Lennon, yer that beautiful.”

“Get on with you,” she told him, giving the baby her breast. “After Julia is off to school and your son is down for a nap, I’ll play with you, I promise.”

“But I thought we couldn’t do that for six weeks,” he reminded her. “As hard as that’s gonna be, dontcher think we’d better --”

“Ah, but baby,” Mary said with a mischievous smile, “There are other things we can still do.”

“Like I always say, I like the way ye think, woman,” declared John, going off to get their daughter up and on her way.

Once Julia had been taken to school and the baby was down for his nap, John took Mary gently by the hand and led her back to their bedroom.

“I have to admit,” he said, dropping onto the edge of the bed and pulling her down onto his lap, “That I am very intrigued by what ye said earlier...just what kinds of “other things” were ye referrin’ to?”

“Well,” she said softly, reaching down to fondle his growing erection,  “How about this?” She unzipped his jeans and reached inside to free him. Sliding down from his lap to kneel on the floor in front of him, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. He moaned softly and tangled his hands in her hair. Mary swirled her tongue around the sensitive head of his throbbing organ and wrapped her hand around the iron-hard shaft. She began to work faster, knowing the pleasure she was giving him and exulting in it. He released her and supported himself so that he could lean backwards a bit. His hips moved convulsively, and he cried out wordlessly. Mary finished him off and climbed up beside him to let him take her into his arms. He sighed with contentment and kissed her gently.

“I was pretty worried about havin’ t’ go through a six week dry spell,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “But I must admit that things are lookin’ much less bleak just now.”

“Wait till you see what other things I’ve been thinking of,” Mary said in a prim voice. “You’ll hardly believe that it’s me.”

“Mary,” he told her, “Yer th’ gurrl o’ me dreams; tell me about some o’ those things, whydontcher.”

Little George began to cry, and she disentangled herself to go to him. “Zip yourself up and behave,” said Mary, getting to her feet. We have other matters to attend to at the moment. Come and help me with the baby. You have no idea how turned on I get watching you change a diaper.”

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