Chapter Text
22 August, 1962
“Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever, Ringo never. Pete forever…”
The chant droned on and on in Robin’s ears, the Cavern Club’s compact walls acting as a one way path for the crowd’s yelling to reach her self-confidence, wearing it away little by little. No one was nearly this awake at the horticultural society’s dance (her first proper Beatles gig), let alone engaged enough to care about the music that was playing. Robin was free to tap away as she pleased and the horticulturalists were blissfully oblivious to the fact that she’d recently replaced Pete Best, a face that was handsome and recognisable enough for young girls to latch onto. Their objection to her was simply a result of infatuation and delusional imagination. Well, that’s what she told herself as she ran through the numbers in her head, drumming along to the beat on her woolen skirt and cringing everytime a tap was out of place or time. There were only so many things that could go wrong in one performance, and Robin was certain that they would all happen to her tonight.
“Oi Binny, yeh ready?” John’s voice echoed from around the corner. “Jesus, yeh look like yer about to throw up. Wanna bucket?” He grinned cheekily after, abusing the fact that the girl had so little energy to do anything other than stress.
“If I vomit, it’ll be on the back of your jacket,” she paused to stand up and pull down her skirt. If her mother was going to be upset with her when she got home, she should do her best to minimise the damage. “and I’m not payin’ for a new one. Don’t tempt me.” John slung his arm over her shoulder and walked the small girl towards the side of the stage, as if she would’ve made a run for it otherwise. Unlikely, but still possible.
“‘Aight posho, whatever yeh’ say.” Despite being paid more in Hamburg, Robin garnered little fearful respect from the boys and was treated just like any other Beatle (see also: ridiculed). Her Scouse accent was washed away after working as a secretary in place of secondary school, and it stuck out drastically when talking to the other boys.
“Ringo, yeh ‘right? Lookin’ a bit worse for wear.” Paul said, checking his watch skeptically.
“I think if you had a whole club verbally abusing you, you’d be a bit worried too.” Robin began to rub up and down her arms, not for warmth, but because it gave her something to do.
“Verbal abuse is a bit strong, don’t yeh think? They’re just excited.” She didn’t and couldn’t bother deigning John’s ridiculous reply with an answer because, as soon as George’s head popped up beside her shoulder, they were walking on.
Her boots had never felt so heavy on her feet and the jacket on her shoulders could’ve been made out of lead for all she knew. In a moment of true terror, she wondered if her bra was showing through her white shirt, or if her jacket was forgiving enough to withstand drumming without splitting down the back, or if she’d remembered to pin back the parts of her hair that would fall in her face half way through the set. Before she had time to book it off the stage and hide under a moth eaten couch somewhere, her bum was on the drum stool and John was counting them in.
Subconsciously, as she was beating along to the rhythm of Some Other Guy, her eyes drifted away from angry girls staring her down to the back of George’s head. She couldn’t see his brown eyes or the fringe falling over them, or his lips drawn back to reveal his sharp canines or his fingers deftly changing between chords, but his presence on stage was enough to calm her nerves. In her Hurricane days, whenever Pete would miss shows, George would always be the one who was sent to talk Robin into playing, the older boys knowing that the two got along like a house on fire.
They met in Hamburg after the group had stayed around to watch her band play. John joked that George was just dying to see her drum, and the red that flushed on his cheeks only confirmed the fact. He bought her a few pints and they talked all night, cheap beer lubricating what would normally be an awkward conversation between near strangers. She even got wondering if he was gonna make a move on her, but then the pub was closing and they had to head back to the theatre. If there was one thing sure to put a damper on a blooming relationship, it was Bruno Kaschmider’s mouldy lodging rooms.
As she looked up from her drum-slash-George-fest and the song ended, cries of ‘we want Pete’ emerged from the audience. “Yeah?” John sarcastically replied to the protesters, before briefly turning around to face Robin. She lightly shook her head, telling the lead singer not to worry, although in her periphery she could see cogs whirring in George’s head as well. She knew that whatever they said would make things worse and she was always one to let things pass her by, not stirring up a fuss.
John counted them in once more and I Saw Her Standing There took off, reminding the audience of why they had come to the club in the first place. Just as the crowd was starting to back off her a bit and she could relax into the song, a large shape began hurtling towards the drum risers from the side of the stage, yelling profanities.
Before she knew what was happening, George and a much larger man were on the floor throwing punches. Well, it was more like one punch before a security guard pulled the intruder off and George’s face was blossoming a bruise over his right eye. Gasps and shrieks from the audience accompanied amplified static as the instruments on stage were hastily abandoned. “Oh my god, Georgie, I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have done that, I’m so so sor-”
“Hey, love it’s okay, we just need to get Hazza out of ‘ere, ‘right?” Paul’s arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders and the four were shepherded off the stage, George being supported by John’s left arm. Before Robin could even stop to think or breathe, they were out in the late summer air and then into the back of a taxi, Paul in the front seat and the boy with the black eye in the middle. He leant his head on Robin’s shoulder as his eyes blinked sleepily, her small, ringed hand running up and down his back not doing him any favours.
“Binny, we‘lmost there yet?” George asked, his head drooping further and further forward.
“Yeah, we are mate, you can’t fall asleep though mm, George?” As his neck lost support from Robin’s shoulder and dropped forward, as well as the sound of his name, the boy’s head shot straight up, hitting the back of the front seat in the process.
“Well, he’s definitely awake now, isn’t he?” John muttered, a tone of irritation layered in his voice. The girl knew if she replied with any poison it would only escalate unproportionately and probably give her a headache too. Eppy was the only reason he was angry, he was meant to stop shit like this from happening and he couldn’t, or didn’t, John was fuming either way. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t her fault, she told herself.
The rest of the car ride was void of conversation, the silence filled with occasional murmurings from George complaining about his head and the sound of the tyres on the bitchumen. As the car pulled up to Brian’s door, the man himself stepped out into the night. He looked shaken up, and warily switched his gaze between the four of them and a burly looking bloke in uniform.
“Are all of you okay? I’ve hired a security guard, my tyres were slashed and I just, I’m a bit shaken up, I mean, why would someone be so angry over a drummer who wasn’t even very good? Did anything happen to you lot?” Brian pushed through his jumbled words to get to his point, and, with some prompting from Robin, George stepped from behind John to reveal his blackened eye.
“Oh god, come inside, there should be some ice in the freezer, how did this happen, no you don’t talk, and don’t fall asleep either! Sit down here and just-”
“Brian, can I talk to yeh for a minute?” John said, his calm exterior a contrast to Brian’s frantic word vomit. The two headed into a seperate room closed the door, leaving Paul and Robin to sort out the half-conscious, possibly concussed guitarist.
“Yeh find some ice, like, I’ll make sure he stays awake. “ Paul said, sitting George down on a couch and leaning him back, the boy’s eyes falling shut before they were lighlty shaken awake again.
“When he starts talking he can have a sleep, it’s meant to be safe then.” Robin said with her head in a freezer, surfacing with a bag of frozen peas, followed by a tea towel from the cabinet. When she returned, George had placed his head on Paul’s lap, who was telling him a joke about two men in a bar that didn’t seem to be helping him stay conscious.
“Here, I’ll wrap this up and you can put it on your eye. How’re you feeling?” Robin lifted up George’s legs and positioned herself under them, gently resting the bag of peas on his face.
“Mm, better, still hurts like a fuckin’-” The boy’s muffled words were cut short by the sound of yelling from the room over. Robin knew John could get worked up, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking if this particular case was her own making. After all, the man at the club was clearly running towards her, the only reason she was okay was because of George. George.
“Oi, Georgie, thank you, you really didn’t have to do that for me.” The girl played with a loose thread on the boy’s trousers, too guilty to meet his eyeline.
“Can’t have the prettiest one in the band getting roughed up now can we?” He joked, clearly not concussed and improving, although it definitely looked worse than how he seemed to be playing it off. Robin blushed at this comment, helping him sit up as he started reaching forward. Paul let out an exaggerated sigh, probably relieved to have George’s head off his bladder.
“Yeh callin’ me fat, Macca?” George quipped.
“No, just gotta pointy ‘ead is all.” The older boy replied, covering up his anxiety for John and Brian with a small smile, still keeping his eyes on the door. The argument was still continuing, but both parties had cooled off a bit. It still didn’t make the lack of conversation between the three any less uncomfortable, all worried about what was being said.
“Aye Binny, ‘owd ya know all that stuff about concussions?” George asked, turning his face to lean on her shoulder, noses just centimetres apart.
“God, Paul was right, you do have a pointy chin.” This comment earned her a pinch on the arm, but he still wasn’t settling for that answer.
“Well, you know, when my dad was a bit of a, you know, regular down at the pub, he’d get into some scuffles. Nothing terribly exciting, but sometimes he’d fall down and hit his head or get a bad blow. My mum would have to go ‘round to the neighbours for ice, we never had any, and I wasn’t allowed to let ‘im fall asleep until he could remember the rugby scores from the night before.” Robin had started playing with her fingers, but finished her story with a chuckle so that the boys would know she wasn’t upset. Whenever things like that came up the room always got a little bit more tense, and it never really seemed appropriate. She was over it, she could hardly remember her father and all they were were memories in the back of her head.
“Now I know who to call if I start making a habit of defending birds from attackers, don’t I?” George grinned at her, canines and all, just as Brian and John left the room. Both looked ready to go to bed more than anything, but Robin didn’t know how she was going to sleep after the evening’s events. It was a bit scary, knowing someone wants to hurt you, someone you don’t know. It’s worse when it’s the latter, because there’s no way for you to do anything about it.
“You lot should head home,” Eppy said, rubbing his hands over his eyes, “I’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah? Got practice at 3 and then we gotta go over some stuff for recording in a few weeks, sound good?” John muttered a goodbye, heading out the front door. Paul gave a proper farewell but made his exit swiftly, not wanting to be far behind his quasi-roomate. Brian headed upstairs after saying goodnight to the two left on the couch, obviously too shaken up to be of any more service to the pair.
George gingerly took the peas off his eye, passing the packet back to Robin. He didn’t even want to think about moving, but knew that it was the only way to get back home to his bed. He closed his eyes and sunk further down into the sofa, head lightly pounding and coaxing him into a state of sleep. Meanwhile, Robin shuffled around the kitchen around returned to a sleepy George, his head turned to the side and eyes closed. Even though the sight of his black eye made her wince, she couldn’t help but admire his face. He truly was handsome, and she felt her heart sink as she remembered him on the floor, protecting her from the attacker. One of her first real shows with The Beatles and she’d already indirectly injured one of her best friends.
“Up you get Harrison, we’ve got places to go, people to see.” She placed her hands in his as his eyes opened, helping lift him up onto his feet. Blinking slowly, he gave her a smile and lead her out the door, the pair strolling to the nearest bus stop. In the hazy moonlight, the quiet streets seemed like a movie set, street lamps periodically illuminating their faces as they walked in relaxed silence. Their hands were still entwined, but neither made a move to pull away and Robin’s rings felt soothing against George’s warm hands.
“Ringo?” The boy spoke quietly, almost afraid to tear a non-existent veil surrounding them. The girl nodded and looked up into his eyes, waiting for him to continue.
“Yeh know I would do it all over again, right? And if yeh think for a second tha’ this is yer fault, well, I know two other lads with some very compelling arguments to prove yeh wrong. Yer a Beatle now, we’ve gotta watch out fer each other.” He squeezed her hand tighter as he said the last sentence, pulling his hand away only to wrap it around her shoulders as they sat at the bus shelter. Her feet were left swinging off the seat and she leaned into him, happy to have a weight lifted off her shoulders.
“You really mean that Georgie? I mean, what’s your mum gonna say when you get home. ‘Oh it’s okay ‘cos yeh did it for yeh mates?’” Robin giggled at her own impression as George stuck his tongue out, her mood returned to it’s normal, laid back default. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as her bus pulled up to the stop, making sure to avoid the blue marks scattered on his prominent cheekbones.
“See yeh tomorrow, yeah?” The boy said, reluctantly letting go of her shoulder. He knew it was irrational, but there was still a chance that something bad could happen on the way home when she was by herself. You never knew who was out there, especially not after tonight.
“See you then, Harrison.” Robin, ignorant to his worrying, gave him one last smile before turning her back on him and handing over change to the driver as the doors slid closed.
“Shouldn’t yeh lad be takin’ yeh home? It’s a bit late for a bird like you to be out an’ about, innit?” The driver said, making conversation with his sole passenger.
“Oh, well I ‘spose he’s not really my lad, just a friend.” Robin took a seat near the front as to continue her chat. Stupidly, her book still lay open on her desk at home, forgotten by past Robin rushing to get ready after waking up late, so she had nothing else for entertainment.
“Coulda fooled me love.” With that, she settled into her jacket for the ride home, smiling to herself at the thought of George.
------
The four sat in a small back room at the Cavern Club, positioned in a circle. An amp sat between Robin and George, the sound magnified as it bounced off the short, curved brick roof. One might say it paid a resemblance to a sewerage pipe sans the sewerage, but for the moment it was all they needed. The group had run through I Saw Her Standing There with John’s harmonica singing over the sound of the other instruments, as well as One After 909.
“Got that beginnin’ still?” John mused as the song drew to a close with a drum fill and Paul’s bass solo. Robin usually tuned out of these sorts of conversations, having never fancied herself a songwriter, but the other three loved to bounce ideas off each other and improve, so she was perfectly content to sit and daydream.
Her return home the night before had been met with her over protective mother woken up by the sound of a creaky front door. After being reassured that nothing bad had happened and she was only late because of bus delays, Elsie Starkey could return to bed in relative peace. If there was one thing that that woman did not need to know, it was that her daughter was nearly bashed in a nightclub. Absolutely not.
The next morning, Robin’s alarm went off at 10 and was immediately shut off, the girl sleeping in another 2 hours before finally waking up and putting on a dark knit jumper and some jeans. Her skirt, jacket and tights were shoved into a bag as to not cause too much of a delay when leaving the house.
“Those clothes are so small and so tight, how could you possibly wear those things?” Her mother exclaimed the first time Robin went to play a show with The Hurricanes, only being 16 at the time. “If you’re too young to drink, then I don’t see why that clothing should be any more appropriate than handing you a bottle of gin and saying, ‘have fun!’” Elsie could be dramatic when she needed to be.
She was jolted back to the present by John counting in, and made a lucky guess that they were starting One After 909 again. The placement of George’s chords in the opening had slightly changed, but other than that Robin couldn’t really spot a difference in either run through. She supposed if the boys were happy then it must sound better, and continued to play as she had done before. There was something about the stability of drumming that put her mind at ease. Without a steady tempo, a band falls apart, and even if she might not be the best singer or writer, she could at least find comfort in being aware of her importance.
George’s eye had significantly reduced in size since the night before, but was still a worrying mottled mixture of yellow, blue and purple. He didn’t seem to be in any pain and was just as concentrating as he normally would be, yet Robin, Paul and John couldn’t seem to stop sneaking glances at the youngest as if he would collapse any second.
“Can yeh all stop givin’ me those looks? My face feels fine, it’s like it never ‘appened.” George sighed as the song ended.
“Mate, we can’t exactly act as if nothin’ happened when yer eye looks like a Christmas pudding.” Paul interjected as he re-tuned his base.
“Yeh had us worried for a bit last night Hazza, Eppy nearly had a fit when ‘e saw yeh.” John added. George rolled his eyes, and Robin felt like it was a good time to bring up John and Brian’s...chat.
“Speaking of worrying, what were you and Brian talkin’ about anyway?” Robin asked John, wanting to know if she should be expecting anymore surprise visistors while on stage. Brian had left the room to go to the loo, and she didn’t think there would be another chance to ask.
“Oh, yeh know, just saying that we didn’t want yeh feelin’ worried like. Yer a part of the band and yeh shouldn’t feel like yer not wanted or anythin’.” John fiddled with his tuning pegs as he said this. “And I was right pissed about Georgie’s shiner, ‘though it does look pretty wicked.” The group laughed at this and jumped into the next song, all much more relaxed now that the previous night’s events were behind them. Robin had a smile on her face for the rest of the afternoon, only dropping when Paul decided to make a lewd comment about a woman cleaning up the bar for the night ahead.
“Paul, I hope you don’t say things like that to girls’ faces.” Robin scolded from her drums.
“‘Course not, gotta save something for the bedroom.” The boys all chuckled and Robin could only scoff.
“Not impressed Ringo?” John joked.
“Just not my cup of tea, really.” She replied, missing the looks shared between the three boys. George’s face had gone quite pink, but luckily for him they were called over to a table to discuss recording logistics with Brian. Robin followed the three and sat down next to Paul, crossing her legs on the seat and leaning forward, resting her chin on her palms. In that moment, she looked far too young and out of place to be sitting in a nightclub surrounded by boys in leather jackets, George thought to himself.
“So, Ringo, you know that some of the songs have extra percussion right, tambourines and such?” Brian asked.
“Well, yes, I-”
“You’ll be able to play those at the same time as your drumming?” Brian interrupted, looking anxious to read through a double sided sheet of paper with very fine print.
“I mean, maybe? I’ve never tried before, but I guess I could-”
“Okay, wonderful, then we’ve got to get you all..”
Robin half listened to the rest of what Brian had to say, mostly time restrictions, money, amps, things she really didn’t need to have an interest in or didn’t want to have one in. She knew she had nothing to stress about, it was out of her control, and, after all, Brian had hired her, but she wasn’t too sure how she was going to go about recording percussion and drums simultaneously. It would have to go well, there wasn’t another option. It would have to, and it would.
When Brian finished going through recording details, it was about 7’oclock and a few patrons began flocking in, pints and chips flowing from the bar like nothing else.
“We might get a bit to eat before 9, wanna head out Binny?” George said, the other two already headed down the road to a chip shop.
“Yeah sure, ‘ve been in this club for too long already.” Robin replied, grabbing the younger boy’s hand to help herself up. This time, he let go without hesitation, and she wondered if something had happened. Stop being stupid, she thought, it’s got nothing to do with you, the man has independent thought. Despite this, she couldn’t help but miss his callused fingers reminding her that he was there.
The show that night went much smoother, they were even able to make it through a whole set with minimal interruptions. John made a few snide comments towards anti-Ringo crowd members, but they were harmless enough to be brushed off by most. George gave her a few small grins throughout the show, and his smiling face helped to give her a focal point when it felt like the whole room of faces all blended into one mass. They bowed as the crowd cheered and a few girls even screamed out the boy’s names, the atmosphere of the room forcing Robin to break into a wide smile.
From the club, George and Robin could get on the same bus home, and as they sat talking about music and films and more music the girl had a small realisation. George was, well, quite nearly perfect, At least, perfect enough for her. With Paul and John, she felt like they were her brothers, annoying but loveable, not the best of friends yet closer than anyone else. With George, she felt like they were meant to be close. They could sit in absolute silence and still enjoy each other’s company, and Robin thought that that was the sign of a perfect friendship. Perfect enough for her, anyway.
As she left the bus, George was the one to give her a kiss on the cheek and for a brief spark of a moment, Robin felt like maybe his perfection stretched further than just friendship. A spark was all it was, and the thought vanished as soon as it appeared, leaving the girl feeling as light as a feather. Little did she know, George was sat in the bus seat behind her recovering from the same spark he couldn’t explain.