Chapter 10: Day in the Life
(London, November 26, 1962)
However, Mabel recognized them immediately. And simultaneously with her delighted gasp, the locater began to vibrate. Dipper pulled it out and it read FOLLOW THE 4.
"Come on," Dipper said. "I think we're supposed to follow those four guys who just went into the subway station."
"It's the Beatles!" Mabel said excitedly. "One of Grunkle Ford's favorite bands! Grandmother Pines had all their albums on vinyl! What do we do here?"
It took a bit of doing, but by observing other passengers, Dipper latched onto the basic idea of how to pay the fares. They saw the four young men down the platform, apparently jamming, one of them tapping his foot, two of them singing softly. As they approached, one of the singers said, "Yeh, just like that. That's how we'll do it."
A train rolled in, and Dipper and Mabel followed them into an uncrowded compartment. The four were talking as the train started forward again. The one with the prominent nose seemed a little nervous, because he was fiddling with something, but the others were at ease, and one of them smiled at the wide-eyed Mabel and said, "Hi."
"Oh, my gosh!" she said. "I know you guys! You're the Beatles!" She pointed. "Ringo! John! Paul! George!"
"That's us," the guy who had said "hi"—it was Paul—replied, laughing.
Ringo said, "Ta for giving me top billing! I'm always the least."
"Last, but not least," John said.
"Oh, my gosh, I'm so excited to meet you guys!" Mabel said. "I love your music!"
"Do you now?" Paul asked. "You mean you've heard us play? What's your name, luv?"
"Michelle!" Mabel exclaimed. "This is my twin brother, Chester!"
"You're a Yank, are you?" John asked. "How do you know us, then?"
"I'm, uh, French!" Mabel insisted. "Uh, ooh la la! Je t'adore! Ou est la plume de ma tante? Tres bien, n'est-ce pas?"
"We're American," Dipper said firmly. "She's just kidding. And our names aren't Chester and Michelle, either!"
"Oh, well, Yanks are cool too," Ringo said, smiling.
"Merci!" Mabel said, still on her French kick. Dipper nudged her. "Oh, fine! I've got a boring old name, Mabel, really."
Dipper grimaced—but then, this far back in history, he reflected, they probably wouldn't cause any stir by using their own names.
"But that's French as well, isn't it?" Paul asked. "Mabel, ma belle—my beauty, that means."
"Yes!" Mabel said with an air punch. "Michelle ma belle! That's me, all right!"
"Are you guys heading to a performance?" Dipper asked, trying to see what the drummer was twirling in his fingers.
"Recording," George said. "Trying to get it right this time."
"Yeh, that's my fault," Ringo said. "Our first try, they even took me off the drums, right, and put me on the bleedin' marimbas! I'm the new guy in the group, just joined in August."
"Where did you hear us?" John asked. "We're not exactly world famous, are we?"
"We are in Germany," Paul said.
John chuckled. "Yeh, world-famous in Germany, give you that one, mate!"
"I don't remember where—" Dipper began.
But Mabel piped up: "Liverpool! That's where! The Cavern!"
"Really?" Paul asked, looking bemused. "Last month, was that?"
Dipper started to speak, but Mabel shot him an I-got-this look. "August!" she said.
Ringo stopped twirling the little doodad he held in his fingers, and Dipper caught his breath. "Yeh," Ringo said. "They didn't like me so well. They started chanting 'Pete Forever, Ringo Never.'"
"'Cause our drummer Pete Best had just left," John said.
"Never mind," Mabel said. "You wound up with the best, anyhow!"
"Ooh," Ringo said. "I think I'm in love!"
"Uh—what have you got there?" Dipper asked.
"This? Dunno. Found it left in a hotel room. Looks like a whistle, but—" he blew into it—"if it is, it's a dud."
"Maybe dogs can hear it," Paul suggested.
"May I see it?"
"Sure." Ringo handed it over.
Dipper had been right in his first guess. It was, of all things, a usb memory stick—but it was about forty years too early. The locater in his pocket was practically buzzing.
"Don't worry," Mabel assured Ringo. "This recording session, you're gonna nail it. I have a sixth sense about these things!"
"Do you, now?" he asked, his smile bright but a little self-conscious. "That's nice to hear, anyway."
"Our stop's coming up," Paul said. "We're for Abbey Road. Hey, Mabel, could we give you our autographs?"
"Ooh!" Mabel got the pocket notebook and ballpoint from Dipper and they all signed, John even adding a little sketch of Mabel with her grin.
"And you as well?" Ringo asked Dipper.
"Uh, could I keep this instead? It's a circuit tester, but it won't work with British electricity systems, and anyway, it's burned out. I, um, I'm interested in electronics."
"Oh, sure, I just kept it in me pocket to keep me fingers busy," Ringo said with a shrug.
"Better than having a hole in your pocket!" Mabel said.
The train stopped at St. John's Wood, the musicians got out, and Mabel said, "I can't believe it! I met the Beatles! If we could go to one of their concerts, I'd scream like anything!"
"This must be what we're supposed to find," Dipper said. "But—how do we read it?"
"I'm too excited to think! Let's get off and have some lunch somewhere!"
In point of fact, one small alteration occurred in the time line as a result of the chance meeting. Paul, intrigued by a record by Chet Atkins ("Trambone") in which he simultaneously picked a melody and strummed a bass line, noodled about with a tune, remembered the phrase "Michelle ma belle"—though regrettably his brief meeting on the Tube with Mabel had slipped his memory by that time—and he and John created a Beatles standard that should not have existed.
However, the TPAES eventually decided that since the song was lovely, and since its appearance sparked no wars, influenced no politics, and did not disturb the gravitational force of the Earth, it was one of those little quirks that was better left alone. The time line would heal itself quietly.
Which makes one wonder—did Mabel already know about the song when she impulsively named herself "Michelle?" And if so, how so, since previous to her visit it did not officially exist in her time line?
The TPAES devoted a whole day of debate to this topic. They finally reached the only conclusion possible.
"It's Mabel," Time Baby proclaimed. "What are you gonna do?"
Dipper and Mabel rode to the next Tube station, got off, got back on a southbound train, and when Dipper recognized the name of Baker Street Station as having something to do with Sherlock Holmes, they disembarked. The drizzle had intensified, and though both of them were wearing anoraks, the weather had turned chilly. Dipper bought a newspaper and they found a little café tucked away down a short street. Its offerings were limited, but they had coffee and pastries and sat at a little round table away from the few other guests.
"Too early for teatime, I guess," Dipper said. He looked at the front page of his paper. "Huh. OK, today is Monday, November 26, 1962."
"Who's de Gaulle?" Mabel asked around a mouthful of strawberry tart as she eyed the front page. "Oh, wait! Snap! Wow, the Beatles were going to the Abbey Road studio to record 'Please Please Me!' The producer told them they'd just recorded their first number one hit!"
"How do you know all this?" Dipper asked.
"Because when Grandma Pines moved to Florida, she left all her Beatles records with Dad! He put them on digital files for me, remember? Our eleventh birthday?"
"I'd forgotten," Dipper said. "Wait a minute—this isn't your memory stick, is it? You didn't get a time tape from Blendin and come back—"
"Of course not!" Mabel said. "Not yet, anyway. I wouldn't have thought of it. Anyway, I became a Beatles expert!"
"Wait. What do you mean 'not yet?'"
"Don't we have more serious things to think of?"
"OK," Dipper said, twirling the usb stick in his fingers. "There's no tech available to read this. What if the next clue, or cipher, or whatever, is on this? I'm no Fiddleford. I couldn't, I don't know, invent a computer to read it. And I don't think my pocket's big enough to produce one, either."
"Is there a socket in the locater?"
"There's nothing in the locater," Dipper said. "Except it's flashing green, which tells us this is the thing we're meant to find, and, I guess, turn over to Blendin if we can ever get to him."
They finished, Dipper left a tip on the table, and they left the café, a waiter behind them calling out, "Oi! You forgot your money!"
Tipping customs are different in England.
They found a museum and went in just to get out of the rain. Mabel opened her coat and looked at herself. "Yes!" she said. "A Mary Quant!"
"A what in the who now?" Dipper asked.
"The outfit," she said, modeling. She was wearing a red dress, very short, with a broad shiny black belt over glittery stockings. "It's a Mary Quant mini-dress! Swinging Sixties, Brobro! Let's see what you have on."
It was a gray tweed jacket over black trousers, white shirt, narrow black tie. "Boring," he said.
"We can't all be fashionistas," Mabel said. "OK, what I suggest is we use the time zapper to travel back to the present, our present, read the usb with a computer—why are you shaking your head?"
"It won't work," Dipper said. "I already tried. We can't go forward in time, I think—jut back until we meet Blendin."
"Bummer," she said. "Did they say bummer back then?"
"I don't know," Dipper said, holding up the usb stick. "But how are we gonna read this thing?"
"Give it here."
"You can't read it."
"No," Mabel said. "But maybe Ringo had the right idea." She put the plug between her lips, like a whistle, and blew.