It was cold in the gloomy basement, and dark. And the Beatles were all so hungry, and thirsty, and bored. There was absolutely nothing in their little corner, save for the dripping end of a pipe that could prolong their lives a little bit, leaking a tiny amount of water into their prison. It wasn’t enough to satisfy any of them, though. And sooner or later, they were going to need food. And while there might be an accidental source of water in here, there was no way to get food.
How could they have been so wrong about their girlfriends? Now that the boys looked back on it, they could think of a hundred little signs that their relationships weren’t right. Had they really been so blinded by these four women, when they had thousands of girls they could have chosen from?
“That’s just it, though,” George reminded them. “They were the first girls we found who weren’t fans, what we were looking for.”
John made a face, curled up against the far wall. “And that plan went well, didn’t it?”
For about the hundredth time, Paul pushed against the chain-link fence. Just like every other time, the metal held firm. Paul didn’t even know how it was attached to the walls, but the women had known what they were doing when they built this prison. The fence wouldn’t budge. “We could have chosen any girl in town,” he said angrily. “How’d we end up with these four?!”
“We didn’t have that much choice, as we were looking for non-fans, did we?” John pointed out reasonably.
Ringo’s wide mouth sagged into a pout. “Wish we could do these last few days over again. I would have just chosen a fan. At least they don’t lock us up and try to starve us.” He sat against one of the walls, hugging his knees to his chest.
“Maybe I could go out with that pretty Karen girl.” George couldn’t help smiling just for a moment at the memory of how lovely she was. Then, frowning again: “She knew. She warned us about all this, remember? She even told us not to go looking for just any old girlfriend.”
John looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. But why should we have listened?” The ghost of his old smile returned for a brief moment, too. “I’d give that bird Emma a ring. The one who wrote me that letter telling me not to go out with her. She knows what she’s doing, that girl.”
“And me and Ringo wouldn’t have had any problem finding dates with fans,” Paul added. “There were fans everywhere when we got here. Like that bird in the boot of our car.”
Ringo nodded sadly. “Even that girl with the big dog would’ve been all right. Anything’s better than this.”
Paul sighed. “I’m bored,” he muttered, leaning listlessly against the chain-link fence.
“Me too,” sighed Ringo.
“I’m hungry,” George added.
Paul turned to John. “Want to write a song?”
John nodded. “Good idea. Write one last song before we go.”
“Don’t say that!” Paul flared up immediately. “We’ll get out of here; you’ll see!”
John just looked at him, unconvinced. “Figured a way out, have you?”
“We will!” insisted Paul. His mates were all looking at him, waiting – hoping – for him to give some evidence to back this up. Paul gesticulated wildly with his left hand, grasping for some solution. “Well – we’re the Beatles! Someone will notice when we don’t turn up anywhere.”
“How will they find us, though?” George reminded him. “Morag told me all about this house. No one lives round here, and there’s nothing around us but trees. No one ever passes by.”
Ringo was looking more and more upset at this exchange. John stepped in. “Thought we were writing a song, Paul,” he said smoothly, and the subject was dropped. George sat down beside Ringo, ever-so-subtly laying a reassuring hand on his arm, as they watched Paul and John toss ideas back and forth, humming bits of melody and making it work without any guitars around to use. The song became, very quickly, about the Beatles’ current disaster with their latest girlfriends, and more specifically, what they might say to any new girl – like the fans they had encountered on their first day in town – if they ever got out of here to pursue a relationship with them.
“If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and help me understand? ’Cause I’ve been in love before, and I found that love was more, than just holding hands....
“If I give my heart
To you
I must be sure from the very start
That you
Would love me more than her....”
It was a good song, one of their best yet. John, Paul, George and Ringo just hoped that they wouldn’t be the only ones who would ever hear it.