Escape of the Nerk Twins

Chapter V

No, I don't have the Beatles locked in my tiny closet, fed only on soup and bread. But . . . er . . . thanks for asking? Also, I don't own "Accentuate the Positive."

A/N: Back to the Nerk Twins! Thanks so much to all my reviewers - FanFiction: omgringo, Macca's Little Teddy Bear, and the Mysterious Guest (the latter of whom really should get an account!); WattPad: Macca40, InmylifeIloveLennon, and Master of Fire. Thanks y'all!

"So, what now?" asked John, turning from the darkening green and brown hills to his travelling companion.

Paul shrugged. "What time is it?"

John squinted at his watch. "Eight o'clock." He looked back up at the road.

Paul guided the car around a sharp curve around a hill. He and John were startled to see that the road was no longer desolate; in fact, they appeared to be in a tiny village. About twenty stone buildings were jammed right next to each other on either side of the road.

Paul slowed down the Ford Anglia. He and John peered out the windows.

"This is a nice little village, isn't it?" asked Paul.

"'Ey, look! It's a pub!" exclaimed John, pointing to his left. Paul twisted in his seat to see the building John was pointing at. Sure enough, it was a pub: a wooden sign swinging slightly in the breeze above the door declared that it was "McIntyre's." Cozy yellow light poured out its latticed windows and pooled on the paving stones below, brightening the chilly October evening.

"Let's just drive through the town and park somewhere," suggested Paul. "Then we can walk back."

John grinned. "Sounds perfect, Macca."

They cruised down the rest of the narrow street and soon emerged into the empty countryside beyond the town.

Paul pulled the Ford Anglia over onto a patch of grass a few meters past the last buildings of the village. He and John leapt out of the car and strolled back into the town. The cold wind plucked at their suits and mussed their hair.

"Wonder what Brian's doing right now," mused Paul as he held open the dark, wooden door to the pub for John.

"Probably buying a toupee to make up for all the hair he's torn out," replied John with a straight face.

Paul smirked, following John into the warm pub. The two Beatles were enveloped in the comfortable, smoky atmosphere and hubbub of conversation.

John led the way to the bar. Paul looked around at the dark wood paneling, steamy windows and creamy plaster ceiling.

"I'd like a pint of whatever's best," requested John, leaning onto the bar.

The barman, a well-fed, bearded man in his late sixties or early seventies, nodded. "And you?" he asked Paul.

"Same for me," replied Paul, turning to look at the older man.

John and Paul both sat down at the bar. The barman grabbed a couple of glasses and filled them with dark beer from the tap. He slid them across the bar to the two Beatles.

After they finished their drinks, the barman returned from the opposite end of the bar, where he'd been talking to a couple of regulars.

"Where're you from, then?" asked the barman.

"Liverpool," replied Paul.

"D'you want another drink?" inquired the older man.

"Yes, please," requested John eagerly, sliding his empty glass back across the bar.

"No thanks, I'm driving," said Paul.

One hour later:

Paul sat at the upright piano in the back corner of the cozy pub, happily hammering away at the latest pub standard. The rest of the patrons had gathered around the Beatle, clutching their pints and singing along drunkenly. Paul led them through the chorus of "Knees Up, Mother Brown," grinning happily. John was leaning on the piano, a beer in hand.

Paul played a rather odd chord to end the song.

"Let me buy this man a drink!" slurred one of the patrons nearest the piano, straightening his tweed vest and flat cap.

A beer was handed through the crowd to Paul to sit beside several empty glasses on top of the piano.

"I should really be going now," said Paul, attempting to stand up from the worn piano bench.

"No!" yelled the rest of the pub's patrons.

"Are you sure?" asked Paul.

"Yes!" replied the pub.

"Yeth, we'd love to have you play thome mowe!" mocked John with a fake lisp.

"Alright, fine," said Paul with a grin. "I'll play one more number."

"I've heard that one before," snorted John under his breath as Paul slammed into "Accentuate the Positive."

"You've got to accentuate the positive,

Eliminate the negative,

Latch on to the affirmative,

Don't mess with Mister In-Between.

You've got to spread joy up to the maximum,

Bring gloom down to the minimum,

Have faith or pandemonium,

Liable to walk upon the scene."

Paul stopped hammering down on the piano to conduct the pub-goers through the chorus:

"To illustrate my last remark,

Jonah in the whale, Noah in the ark,

What did they do,

Just when everything looked so dark?

Man, they said we gotta, accentuate the positive,

Eliminate the negative,

Latch on to the affirmative,

Don't mess with Mister In-Between!"

Paul fell back down into his seat, grinning, and clanged down on the last chord.

"We should probably leave now," suggested John.

Paul nodded and stood up again, saying, "Okay, I'm done now."

"No!" complained the other patrons.

"Nope, really, hiccup, I'm really done now," said Paul. "Have a nice night, everybody."

John grabbed Paul's hand and pulled him out through the dense crowd. They were going rather more slowly than John would've liked, because Paul kept stopping to shake people's hands.

Finally, they pushed out of the pub into the frigid night. John shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. Paul seemed unable to walk in a completely straight line, drifting from side to side and humming some of the pub songs from earlier.

However, John didn't even see their car at first in the dark night. Paul was the one who noticed it and meandered across John's path to unlock the door and get in. John blinked fuzzily and shoved on his glasses. They were both drunk, but Paul was more drunk; John would need to keep his wits about him.

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