It felt like that night I slept for more hours than during all of the previous nights put together since I joined the tour. I lazily opened my eyes to see that George was still asleep beside me, then took a glance at my watch seated on the nightstand, and gasped.

"George," I leveled my face with his, hovering no more than an inch over him.

"Hmmm," his eyes twitched under his eyelids before he opened them and smiled after a moment of staring at my face blankly.

"You have to get out of bed," I half-whispered. "Now."

"But mum," he whined.

"Ew, George, don't be creepy," I planted a quick kiss on his lips, and, against his protests, started slowly pushing him out of the bed with my hands and feet against his side. "I'm not going to be the one to blame for your absence," I laughed as his fingers found their way to my ribs and started tickling me.

I didn't want George to go at all, I would have much rather kept him all to myself, but he absolutely had to go, even if it meant that I had a very boring day ahead of me. Him, Mal, and a man called Derek, who was the press officer for the Beatles, were scheduled for an interview at some local radio station.

When George left, I got dressed and went to the Beatles' suite with my walking stick in hand, hoping to find Brian there and ask if he needed me to do anything. I heard faint music as I was approaching the suite door, and when I walked in I saw Brian standing in the middle of the room, thoughtfully stroking his chin with one hand, and listening to John playing his guitar and singing a song I had heard bits of the previous day, while Paul was drumming his hands against the coffee table. I stopped at Brian's side and mindlessly mimed his body language.

"Yes, I like it this way more as well," Brian said after the mini-performance.

"Do you like it, Joanne?" Paul asked me cheerfully.

"Uh-huh," I nodded heartily. "You're a good influence on him," I pointed at John with my thumb while looking at Paul, referring to the song I called rubbish a couple of days before without realising it had been written by John.

John looked askance at me while Bria's eye were shooting back and forth between me and him.

"We should keep you permanently," Brian simply said, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth.

"Speaking of my enslavement," I smiled at him before snatching an apple from a fruit bowl sitting on a little table by the end of the sofa. "Could I be of any use?"

"Oh no, it's fine, love, you can relax for now," he gently squeezed my shoulder and turned towards the door to the corridor. "By the way," he glanced at the four of us over his shoulder (Ringo had just appeared from one of the bedrooms with his camera in his hands) just before walking out the door. "Neil will be rejoining us next week."

"How many rolls have you finished already?" I turned to Ringo. He swiftly lifted his camera to his face and snapped a picture of me, temporarily blinding me with the flash.

"Three," he gave me a toothy grin and grabbed a new sealed roll from a small pile of them next to the fruit bowl.

"I am bored out of my mind?" I sighed sitting down on the arm of the sofa that wasn't occupied by John and Paul. "Don't you ever consider jumping out the window and running away?"

"Last time George did that we ended up with you. Now that's a mistake you don't ever want to repeat," John said smugly.

"You know, funny you should mention that," I emitted a fake laugh, pointing at him. "Mal told me this hilarious joke the other day, he said you were the one who convinced everyone that I should be given this job."

John resisted a wince and narrowed his eyes putting down the guitar and leaning back.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, luv," he said with contained cheerfulness.

"So, on this jolly note, would anyone be interested in a game of poker?" Paul rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together, rubbing them.

I still had Ringo's cards in my back pocket since we were stuck in a lift, and the four of us began to play, but not before ringing up the kitchen to have lunch delivered to the suite as none of us had had breakfast. We only had some change in our pockets, so we anted up with that and then with food.

"I raise a slice of strawberry meringue pie," Paul pushed a plate with the dessert towards the middle of the coffee table.

John looked at what food he had left, and by the time we had already decided that only macaroons would amount to strawberry meringue, which he didn't have.

"Tough luck," I noted.

"That's not fair, that's the best of what I had," John franticly circled the pile of food in the middle with his hand, looking at Paul and Ringo as he did.

"What about your rudeness?" I raised my eyebrows, quite amused by the thought in my own head, and when all three looked at me inquiringly I continued. "I bet John being nice to everyone for a week would taste just as good, wouldn't it?"

"Agreed," Ringo quasi-exlaimed and chuckled. "I'd like to see that."

"That would be a jolly quiet time," Paul nodded, grinning.

"Wait, wait, what if I win?" John said after a moment of looking at our faces, as if to make sure we were being serious.

"Unlikely," Ringo remarked.

"Well, what would you like to get from us?" I asked.

"Only from one of you, actually. From you," John replied.

"Don't start," I exhaled air through my teeth.

"If I win, you don't speak to me for a week," he went on and I saw an evil smirk spread across his face. "Not a single tiny word, not even if I talk to you."

"So it's a win-win situation then," I pulled my lips into a smile, which was, to my own surprise, quite difficult to do. What he was saying really hurt me; it made me feel more unwelcome and unwanted than anything else that had happened during the tour, and I hoped with every fibre of my being that he wouldn't win.