(///hurry.weds.pencil – The Beatles Story, Liverpool, UK)
She was still an old romantic. Boy meets girl, boy weds girl, boy and girl live happily ever after. But the boys she met weren’t like that. “You can’t hurry love” the one who wouldn’t commit told her. “Love will tear us apart” advised the one who never smiled. “Nobody loves me but my mother” said the one who promptly ran away.
So now here she stood at a high table in a busy café, pencil furiously scribbling down her thoughts, when a handsome young man in a leather jacket with a walrus motif on the lapel came up to her. He smiled and swept his hand through his finely coiffed hair.
“Paperback writer?” he asked nervously, pointing at her notebook.
Even though she shook her head she had instantly warmed to him. “Step right this way,” she beckoned him.
He put down his coffee and passed her his slice of honey pie. “From me to you,” he said.
They fell easily into conversation. She told him about learning to make truffles at the Savoy. He told her about his run-in with the taxman and how he had got by with a little help from his friends. She told him about her singing bird. He told her about his holiday in a Norwegian wood.
He had to go. “Can we come together again soon?” she asked.
“It won’t be long,” he reassured her.
“Can I call you up?”
“You know my name, look up the number.”
As they stared at each other, she found herself irresistibly drawn towards him, gripped by an overwhelming desire to hold his hand.
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