Were: I'm so happy about all the reviews and encouraging comments we got! You guys rock! I hope this second chapter satisfies your need for more but leaves you waiting for more. 83 BTW - we kind of bent the Love Me Do releasing to our will, but otherwise it sticks to history. ;)
Murph: Thanks for all the feedback, we're really enjoying writing this! :D

Chapter Two: Get Back

Wow. So I was truly set to see the Beatles tonight.

The thought set a smile on my face when I woke up on the morning of August 3rd, thankfully a Sunday. I flopped over in bed to sit upright and peered at my clock. 8:15am. Blinking blearily until the sleep slowly left my eyes, I looked around my room. My flat wasn't much, a modest little place with comfy furniture and posters dominating the walls. In my room there was little space, just enough room for a squashy double bed and a wardrobe crushed into the corner, shoes and clothes practically spilling out the doors which were currently jammed shut with a stack of books. Most of the other rooms were tidy to a certain extent, if you skipped over the desk covered in paper and pen lids, and the coffee table that seemed to always have at least one apple core or pile of rubbish every time I passed it.

Still feeling drowsy, I fumbled out of my room, grabbing clothes at random on my way, and made a beeline for the shower. Even although I was only there to watch them perform, I felt a bit pressured to look my best for the lads gig.

As I let the warm water trickle over me, shampooing my hair in clumps and swirls, I thought over my memories of the four of them.

John had no doubt always been the wolf pack leader. He was unquestionably flirty, rude, cheeky, obnoxious, and sometimes just plain mean. Yet I had always thought, in the time I'd known him, there was a gentler John beneath his harsh, over-confident exterior. He rarely showed him, but yet I knew he was there. I sometimes had to wonder at how much music had saved him. It had transformed a boy with little or no ambition to an incredibly talented musician.

George was definitely the quieter one that always seemed a bit of a mystery to me. He had always seemed so gentle and polite compared to the others, with a sweet word ready on his tongue. While John and Paul played up to any crowds they could get, Georgie always seemed absorbed in his guitar, as if still in a little back room practicing rather than in front of mountains of people.

Ringo, on the other hand, I had grown to know much better. He was an idiot at times - they all were - but like George, he meant well and was a loyal friend. There was no doubt he loved to play; out of the four, he was always the one with the biggest grin onstage as he slammed the beaters across the drum set. He'd always teased me when I hung out with them, since I could play no instrument and was so out of my depth in any conversation regarding music. I could see his point, I guess.

Paul... was the one who perhaps I had known best of all. He was an ever lingering thought at the back of my mind, the little memories I had of him forever twitching back and forth, replaying in my head. We'd always got along well - same sense of humour or just good friends who clicked, I wasn't really sure. He was a sweetie, with all his charms and adorable big eyes, although a complete flirt of course. I could remember gritting my teeth when girl after girl came onto him, but never really voicing my annoyance. Did I regret that? I wasn't sure. Perhaps seeing them at the performance tonight would answer that. Or at least, my own reactions would.

Rubbing myself dry with a towel, I pulled on the lazily chosen clothes I'd dropped on the floor, and peered in the mirror, hair dripping trails of water down the back of my neck. I was a fairly slender girl (or so I'd been told), with a semi-tall, sporty build from plenty of swimming and running. My nose was sharply bridged, my skin infuriatingly pale even in the heat of summer, and a dusting of freckles flecked across my cheeks. People tended to comment on my eyes, which were a deep green with long lashes. They were slightly obscured by my hair, which was determined to spring all over my face whenever not restrained by a thorough brush. It was a mousy brown with strands of bright gold blonde and darker brunette beneath. Naturally it was wavy, though when I attacked it during a heated session with my hairdryer, it generally lay pretty much straight.

Stumbling out into the main room again, I chucked the towel in the washing basket and peered at the clock. Still a few hours to go. I looked restlessly round the room, knowing I wasn't going to be spending that amount of time on makeup or hair. In the armchair was a huge furry mound of long speckled brown hair. Proceeding cautiously, I knelt down and waved my fingers a safe distance from my cat's paws. "Poppyyy," I cooed, watching as her eyes opened and narrowed at me. She had a truly evil glare when I woke her up, not helped by the fact her fur was splayed out in all directions, giving her a lion-like look. Her tail was a small furry stump where she'd been operated on at the vets after being hit by a car, and there were patches in her coat where her fur had been cut off at the roots when I forgot to brush it through properly and it had gotten clumped together at the ends. People tended to remark she looked like I'd just scooped her off the streets and dumped her in an armchair.

Suddenly I felt a wet nose nudge my hand.

I turned to see Ginger, my small Terrier pup, bobbing up and down, trying to get my attention. Once he held my full attention, he raced to the door in a streak of light brown fur, and started to whine. It was clear what he wanted. I quickly finished pulling the brush through my hair, then followed him to the door.

Once I latched the leash onto my hyper dog, we made our way outside to be greeted by the summer sun and clear blue sky. It was such a beautiful day - perfect for the concert. I began to get lost in my thoughts as I walked down the side walk with Ginger pulling me along, I was barely concentrating on what I was doing.

I hadn't really thought much of my high school years since I had gotten out of high school and started my job editing the paper, but ever since the week before when I had won the ticket did I start to have small flashbacks of my earlier life.

Layla had been a friend of mine almost right after I moved to Liverpool from the US. (My pop had found work here, so we packed up when I was beginning high school in 1957.) We had started high school together, and soon after she got her first boyfriend - Paul McCartney. I'd seen him around a few times, never really talked to him. That was about when she invited me along to a gig of the band he was in, the Quarrymen. That night changed my life. They were just a skiffle group, but they surprised me - they were really good.

There was the leader of the group, John Lennon, then Paul, George Harrison, Stu Sutcliffe, and then different drummers almost every time they played - until they found Pete Best. They were easy to hang out with. Soon I was going to every one of their gigs, even after Layla broke up with Paul. The only time I didn't go to watch their gigs was when they went to Hamburg or when I was confined to my room by my parents (which was thankfully almost never).

Then Brian Epstein became their manager, and before I knew it, they had released Love Me Do, and Ringo became their drummer, and Paul took Stu's place after he unexpectedly died of cancer. I attended a few of those earlier performances, but by the beginning of this year (1963), it became hard to get a ticket to one. It seems silly that I'd forget all that, but these last few months have changed a lot of things - getting my own apartment and working at a new job, I'd been really busy.

But now I'd get my chance to see them again.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as I heard someone shouting my name.

"Abby! Hey Abby!" I turned in amazement to see Layla across the street from me, waving like her life depended on it. I planted a grin on my incredulous face, and crossed the street to meet her. "Layla! I didn't know you lived around here!"

"Oh, well I don't, but I was hoping to catch you. We haven't seen each other in a while." She crushed me with a bear hug.

"Well, I've been busy with work and all. What about you?"

"I've been working as usual. But listen! Guess what happened the other night? Sean proposed to me!" She proceeded to give me all the details. Then she caught her breath. "Do you think you could be a bridesmaid?" she asked me excitedly.

"Of course!" I accepted, grinning properly now. "I'm so happy for you."

As we walked together, we discussed almost everything we could think to talk about. Layla seemed the same as always, still flowing and pretty with that long curly blonde hair and thick eyelashes that had boys peering from across the street. She also had the same modesty, that made her think exactly the opposite. It was something I'd always liked about her - she had always been popular and crushed on, but it didn't go to her head. Now on one of her long, slender fingers, was a beautiful golden ring.

Looking at it, for some reason I suddenly remembered the concert. "I have to go. I have a ticket to the Beatles concert at the Cavern today in forty-five minutes."

She winked at me. "Ohh! Have fun." If she had any grudges against a particular member of the said band, she didn't show it.

I laughed. "I will!" Midway through me giving her a quick hug as we said our good-byes, Ginger began tugging at the leash and led me back to my apartment just in time to get ready.

Once inside, I grabbed a stick of lipstick and rolled it onto my lips. I applied a bit of mascara with careful flicks at my lashes, put on one of my better sweaters, grabbed my ticket off of my night stand and rushed out the door again. The last thing I wanted was to be late for this concert.