I look down at my coffee again – cold as ice. Cold coffee is the worst thing you can drink, really. Tastes more like shit that coffee usually does. I drink it all up anyway, and place the empty cup on the floor beside me.

As I did that, another memory came to my mind. This one was not one of the best ones I'd had with John.

I was walking to our studio at Abbey Road with John.
"I wrote a song last night," I mumbled, and he stopped.
"You what?" he said, and looked at me.
"I wrote a song for you last night, darling," I repeated slowly, and sent him a little smile.
"Oh," he replied, and sighed. No smiles. No words. Just a little "oh" and a sigh. It'd been this way for days now, and I couldn't figure out what was wrong.
I quickly took a glance over my shoulder to see if anyone was there, and because the street was empty, I leaned in to kiss my love. He didn't respond. I leaned back, took his hand in mine, and started walking again.

The other guys were waiting for us in the studio, and so was Yoko.
"Where were you last night, Johnny?" she asked, and kissed his cheek. The same cheek as I'd kissed this morning. Technically, she'd just kissed me. A part of me cared, the other didn't.

"You should start with something you've played before," said George Martin, and I nodded quietly, "I Want To Hold Your Hand."
I looked at John, but he wasn't even paying attention.
"Oh, alrighty then," I started. The band began to play.
"Oh yeah I'll tell you something …"John played his guitar so lazily and slowly, he looked so uninterested it just wasn't like him.
"Stop," I said, and we stopped playing, everyone looking at me confusedly, "Get that woman out of here, now."
Yoko looked at me with wide eyes. Not fearful, not angry, just surprised and slightly annoyed. That was enough for me.
"Get her out," I repeated, and then George joined in.
"Yeah, get her out. That bitch took one of my biscuits last night without asking," he said, and Ringo nodded, "Annoying and disturbing."
John leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and she nodded, kissed him goodbye and walked out of the room.

I caught Ringo looking at me.
"Do you guys need some time to yourselves?" he mouthed, and I nodded, "George, wanna go out for a smoke?"
They left, leaving John and me alone.
"Johnny, is there something wrong?" I asked, my voice as soft as I could possibly make it. He nodded, and I walked over to sit beside him.
"YES, SOMETHING IS WRONG!" he yelled and then burst into tears. My boyfriend, best friend, hero and band mate, crying. I'd known him for 12 years, and I could still count the times I'd seen him cry on one hand. And now he was crying at work, so angry and upset.
I sighed, and stroked his long hair away from his brown eyes, but he just pushed me aside. It was slightly hurtful.
"What is it?"
"I'm such a horrible person," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. I wasn't quite sure if he were talking to himself or to me. Then he looked up, and right into my eyes with that kind of glance that made you wonder if the person who was looking at you could see right into your soul.
"Why do you think you're a horrible person?" I tried, but he just shook his head.
"I don't think I'm a horrible person."
"You just said-"
"I didn't say 'I think I'm a horrible person', I said, 'I am such a horrible person!"
I winced, not quite used to being around screaming people. I felt like I'd done something wrong, even though I knew I hadn't.

"Shhh, Johnny," I whispered, as I stroked his back, trying to comfort him. "Why are you such a horrible person?"
He sighed, and closed his eyes, now resting his head on my shoulder.
"I'm such a wimp."
"Please explain to me why you're such a wimp."
"I have this beautiful son, and as soon as I get some trouble with his mother, I run off. I have this perfect boyfriend, and because I'm not brave enough to tell anyone, I meet this totally fucked up Asian woman, who is both rude and tone-deaf."
I kept on stroking his back, smiling a little at his description of Yoko. I never knew he thought that way about her.
"I'm such a wimp. I wish I could just… I don't know. I hate keeping secrets from George and Ringo, sometimes I even hate being a Beatle. I don't know who I am anymore, Paulie. I just… can't be me without you."
He'd started crying, and so had I. His words were so honest, so sore. We both knew we'd have to get ourselves women; there was no way we could be together. It was against the law. We'd be put in jail or sent to a psychologist or something like that. Neither of us wanted anything more than we wanted to be together forever.

I didn't exactly know what to say, I didn't want to upset him any further.
"You know, John …" I started, "I love you more than anything in this world. When I hold your hand, I am the luckiest person in Britain. Maybe even the world. And I know it was my idea to find some women, and I don't regret it. But, I don't remember saying anything about bringing them with us to the studio."
I looked up at the older Beatle, who now rested his head against the wall, eyes closed while listening closely.
"Yes," he sighed and smiled weakly, my glance meeting his.
"Tonight, we take Julian to a football match, don't you think?" I suggested.
John shook his head.
"Uh…" I tried to think of something else to suggest. I wasn't that used to being around children. Surely I lived with Linda and Heather, but I didn't think horseback riding would do it for Julian and John. I could always recommend it anyways.
"Horseback riding? We could bring food and have a picnic somewhere in the forest." John shook his head again.
"Just the picnic," he mumbled, "And not today; we'll take him to Brighton for the weekend. Yoko'll understand my need for quality time with the kid."
I nodded, and sighed lowly. I didn't really want him to know, but I was sort of jealous when it came to Yoko. I mean, she saw him every day. She could hold his hand as they walked down the street. They could kiss in public, do silly couple things in the afternoon without anyone raising an eyebrow.

So we went to Brighton that day. We drove for about an hour – and by 'we', I meant me, 'cause I'd never let John drive a car as long as I was a passenger myself – south of London and parked our car somewhere. We bought ridiculous amounts of candy for all three of us, we went to the beach, and by the end of the day we all ate our fish and chips. I did it, even though I was – and am – freaking tired of fish and chips. It was my studio food. But I ate it all up that day, totally blinded by the love Julian and John began to share after a couple of hours. Julian looked like he didn't remember John and Cynthia fight, or John running off. They both looked happy. And then it hit me – Julian was an innocent, little child. He could help us. No kid was born with homophobia.
"Julian?" I asked, and he looked up at me, his chips hanging out of his upper lips like a walrus' teeth, just like John had taught him, "What is love?"
Julian dropped his chips down to the plate, thinking. I met John's eyes – now he looked kind of worried.
"Love is all." he answered in his little boy voice and made eye contact with me.
"So you won't tell anyone, and you won't get mad at me, if I tell you that I love your father more than anything?" I smiled. John smiled bashfully.
"No," he answered, and his mind went back to his food.

I smiled. Looking back at it now makee me realise that it was one of the good John-memories, taking Julian to Brighton that day. Julian was just a kid, and he didn't really care who his father loved or not. And he didn't care me kissing John's cheek, or holding both John and mine's hand, instead of the hands of his father and some other woman. I believe that was good for the kid.