The Object of My Affection: My Band Mate's Sister

I Saw Her Standing There

Summer, 1960

 A leather-clad Paul McCartney pushed over the door of Baker's Corner Shop. The bell over the door began to ring, gaining the attention of the shop assistant, who was serving a customer. Brona Harrison raised her head up from looking down at the change in her hand to look at him, a cheerful smile tugging at her lips. 

The teddy girl turned around, put the money in the till and turned back to her customer. They bide friendly goodbyes and Paul held open the door for the old woman. 

"Hey, Paul," Brona said cheerfully. "Can I interest you in some out-of-date, but really cheap, fig rolls?" She gestured to the stack of biscuits beside her, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"THEY'RE NOT OUT-OF-DATE!" her boss' voice from the back room boomed.

The two chuckled.

"I'm good for out-of-date fig rolls actually." He rested his clasped hands on the counter, leaning forward. "But what I really need is a bird for this dance on tomorrow."

Brona leaned forward, like Paul, propping one of her elbows up while she rested her face in her had. Her fingers drummed against the side of her cheek as she thought. "You could try-"

"You?"

Brona's eyes popped wide open. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

Brona's head tilted sideways, her eyes scanning Paul's face for any signs of illness. "'ave you gone mad?" she asked softly, her fingers gently brushing against the guitarist’s right cheek. It was the only explanation, she thought. Why would he ask her when there were other girls out there who'd break their necks in order to be in her position?

Paul chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, I don't think so." He watched as she retracted a little. Uncertainty etched into her face. "It's not out of pity, doll," he explained, knowing that's what her biggest worry was.

She had been receiving a lot of unneeded and unwanted pity. The catalyst for it all was the end of her long relationship with the Dickhead of Liverpool - Billy Whitehall. The brunette didn't understand why people felt any sympathy for her. They all voiced that they had thought he was a prick at one time or another. Shouldn't they be glad that she broke up with him?

"It's just two mates goin' to a dance to save the bother of showin' up and askin' people for a dance," Paul explained, hoping to sound as convincing as possible. He leaned as far over the counter as he could, causing strain on his stomach, and reached out for her hand, which he used to tug Brona forward. "Alrigh'?"

They spent the next few seconds standing in silence. Brona wore her lips tight and her arms folded to her chest. Was it a good idea? It sounded good on paper and was appealing. 

Suddenly, she stepped on her tippy toes, leaned forward and took hold of Paul's shoulders for stability. She gave him a quick peck on his cheek. "I'd love to go with you, Paul," she said into his ear, her breath tickling her skin. A involuntary shudder ran down his spine but it wasn't provoked by anything unpleasant. Paul didn't have an explanation for it so he just ignored it.

"Great!" Paul's smile mirrored hers. It had been the first time he'd seen her smile like that for a long time. Genuine. "Your carriage will await you at eight sharp." He watched her eyebrows rise with curiosity. "Sharp," he repeated out of experience on waiting for her to get ready.

"Are you referrin' to your bike as a carriage?"

"Nope." Paul's eyes shifted from left to right.

Brona laughed and shook her head. "You're just goin' to 'ave to meet me there, actually. I promised to walk up with Jackie."

"That's okay, then. I'll see you there."