And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 94: Daniel

The whole thing was like a drug exchange, but it wasn't in a shifty part of Liverpool, no, it was in the library. In the library after dark. In the library after midnight. But I had to know. It drove me crazy, sitting in Neil's van on our way home and then sitting through dessert and reading with John until we both fell asleep, and then I had finally given in and went into the hall and dialed Martin's home number.

    "Does Martin know you took his keys?" I asked.

    Danny shrugged, his green eyes squinting in the dark as he fumbled with one key and then another. "No."

    "Well, if you've broke his trust, there goes your room and board," I said.

    "I won't be around for much longer." The door swung open. We walked the walk past the checkout desk and I stepped into a patch of light on the floor, brought in by the huge windows. "I've walked this walk so many times, and at this time of night too," I murmured, looking at the dust particles in the moonlight, remembering coming here with Martin, and then John.

    Danny walked over to stand beside me and we both stood there in the patch of light. I felt nervousness bubbling up inside of me, anxiety, stress, so much that I hoped I wouldn't have to visit the toilet. "Shall we sit?" I pointed out. He nodded.

    "Looking a little pale," he remarked quietly. "Are you all right?"

    "Shut it," I snapped. "I could be losing John. And you're not looking like Miss America's healthy skin tone yourself."

    It was true. He did look a little pale, and I noticed all the signs of his anxiety: the constant pressing of his lips together, the way he kept brushing the hair from his eyes.

    "Shall we sit?" I said, pulling out one of the reading chairs. He sat across from me and removed his messenger bag, putting it on the table. There was silence and after a while he spoke. "You really like him, huh?"

    "Yes," I said. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Mm."

    "I do, Danny," I said.

    "It may sound... biased," he said, searching for words. "But I just want to help you—"

    "By taking him away from me?" I said. "Danny, you are the worst person anyone could have picked for this. If this is Michael's plan, oh, he doesn't know me at all."

    "Michael?" Danny asked, his brow wrinkling. "Who's Michael?"

    "He's in charge of this whole thing," I said. "The first time I saw him was back in Germany. He, erm, looks like came from the eighties. He says that this is all supposed to happen, that I'm meant to be with John. Although he's taken a bit of a turn lately. Sent me a nasty letter saying I'd better break up with him."

    "Michael?" Danny said again. "He didn't send that letter. I did."

    "Yeah, you've heard of him?" I asked, absentmindedly fiddling with one of my dark strands of hair, the butterflies inside making my foot repeatedly tap against the marble floor.

    "I have no idea who you're talking about," Danny said, looking concerned.

    "Forget about it," I told him shortly. "I'm feeling awful, and I'm just..." my fists clenched on the tabletop. "It hurts. I know that John and I should be together, and everyone wants it, but you, and I know that I can't blame you for it, because you're the only one on the other side of the problem, and I know by reason I have to listen to you. But I hate it so."

    "What do you think you should do?" Danny said. I raised my eyebrows, but I couldn't read his tone; I couldn't tell what his motives were.

    "I'll quit the band," I said evenly. "Paul suggested it and it makes sense. Someone else can step in on bass—Paul ideally—and Brian will just have to suck it up." It seemed a small sacrifice to losing them all. I would miss playing bass with the boys, but Danny was right, I thought. The Beatles would have to go on without me. Of course. I frowned; my mind had taken a sudden shift. It was like what being a horse must be like, I thought suddenly, once the blinders are taken off and you see the right and left sides of the world. I now saw the future and the path the boys would travel down. They wouldn't always be the teenage boys on the brink of their twenties, but they would grow into men and experience joys, pain, and grief beyond their knowledge.