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As usual, the Ship was smoky, loud, and crowded, with musicians and regular pub-goers packed in like sardines. The Honeybears plus manager had been lucky enough to grab a table that wasn't too close to the constantly-opening door but not too far away from the bar to make regular refills an impossibility. While Jamie, Sandy and Michael chattered away about the possibilities of the Chez Vrai booking, Annie, her back to the wall, sipped at her cider, half listening to the Ludlows' conversation, half watching the assortment of people coming and going through the door. As a rule, Annie didn't like crowded places; they made her feel even smaller and more vulnerable than normal. Jamie and Rory gave her grief about not wanting to come out with them more often, especially since she'd finally turned legal in August, but packed pubs were just not her scene. At least Sandy understood-- but that's what had made them best friends since Sandy and her family moved next door to the Kents back in 1960.

While it was not unusual for the overly-shy Annie to be so quiet, her normally chatty sister was uncharacteristically silent. Annie could tell Rory was in a mood-- she'd driven too fast and too carelessly on the way across town for a start-- but she knew her sister well enough to know that something had to be amiss. Usually, a quiet Rory meant a brooding Rory, or, even worse, an angry Rory. Unfortunately, Annie had no ability to deal with either. She wasn't the only one, however, who noticed.

"You're not saying much tonight, are you, Ror'?" Jamie nudged her friend with her elbow.

Rory looked up from her third Guinness of the evening and shrugged. "What's there to say? We got the gig and now we're in debt to a rat-faced twat for it." She shot a cold glance at Michael. "I meant Mr. Gribben, of course. With respect." Michael was too engrossed in conversation with Sandy to actually catch the slight.

"I wouldn't worry too much about him," Jamie replied. "He's just a pompous wanker. We'll give him what he wants but nothing more."

"If what he wants means having a fucking curfew or what clothes to wear, I ain't playing," Rory spat. "If I wanted someone tellin' me how to run my life, I'd still be living with my mum and dad, wouldn't I?"

"I'm sure it won't be that bad. We'll all just toe the line for a bit and then once we've won him over with our girlish charms, we'll be fine." Jamie gave her a cheerful grin, hoping to diffuse her friend's maudlin mood before it grew any worse.

"Easy for you to say, James. You ain't got much of a social life anyway." Rory flashed her a sardonic smile.

Jamie shrugged, hoping the insult was just the drink talking. "We can't all be like you, Rory and live in a mad social whirl."

The dark-haired girl drained her glass and set it down on the table with a thump. "Pah-- wait till I get my hands on that bastard, Del. I told him to tread softly with his fucking cousin. I told him to be subtle about it. I should have known he'd just bollox everything up."

"Is he really that bad?"

Rory shook her head. "Nah, he's all right, really. Just a bit soft in the head. I never should have trusted him to handle things. Of course, now he's going to take credit for getting us the gig and I'm going to have to pay up." She grimaced. "Oh well, better to be shagging a bloke with some money than one without, eh?"

"I suppose." Jamie had never been that intimately involved with anyone, rich or poor, and the thought of doling out sexual favours didn't sit very well with her in any case.

"Ah, he fancies me," Rory explained quickly, noting Jamie's discomfort. "Might as well go out with him a few times before letting the poor boy down. Don't want Cousin Nigel giving me grief about that, too."

Jamie laughed. "You never know-- it might score you points with him. I got the feeling he wasn't very fond of Del, anyroad."

"True enough." Ruefully, Rory looked at her empty glass. "I think it's time for another round. Who's up for it?"

Jamie and Michael raised their glasses in response. It was no great surprise that both Annie and Sandy were still nursing their first pints.

Michael waited until she'd retreated to the bar for refills before turning to his sister. "What's she all down and out about?" he asked sotto voce.

"I think she's cheesed off about Gribben giving her orders. Rory's never been very good with authority figures, has she?"

He let out a sigh of frustration and rubbed at his temples. "Mr. Gribben's just trying to set up a posh club with a nice atmosphere. I can't blame him for wanting to keep things under control."

"Yes, but you could have given her a bit of warning, brother dear. Well, all of us, really," Jamie said tersely. "It might have been easier had we known."

"I didn't want you to get your hopes up if it didn't come through," Michael replied indignantly. "She'd have raked me over the coals if nothing came of it."

Jamie finished off her pint before continuing. "Well, because she thought you weren't doing enough, she went ahead and did things her own way. If things had backfired because of that Del bloke, you'd be partly to blame."

He cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement. "How's that?"

"She might not have pushed so hard with him if she knew you'd actually gotten somewhere with his cousin. Rory's not completely stupid, you know. Maybe she goes about things the wrong way on occasion but it's more out of frustration than anything else. You know she wants this band to succeed more than anything in the world."

"Here we are," Rory broke into the conversation, carrying three more pints. "One for me," she said setting one down on the table. "One for James." She handed the glass to Jamie. "And one for our illustrious manager." Rory moved in close and leaned over Michael, making sure to give him a good glimpse of her cleavage as she placed the glass in front of him. "There you go, darling." She all but rubbed up against him as she returned to her seat, causing the young man to blush furiously.

Jamie had to control her giggles as she caught sight of Michael's flustered expression, while Sandy scowled, hating when the older girl tormented her beloved big brother like that. Annie just looked elsewhere, embarrassed by her sister's hijinks.

Trying to smooth things over before she did something else even more embarrassing, he leaned over and said, "Look, Rory, I'm sorry about giving you grief earlier. I was just in a dead panic that things had gone all pear-shaped and all my hard work was for naught."

"Well, it wasn't. I s'pose you want me to kiss your arse and tell you what a great job you're doing, don't you?"

"No, I don't." Michael gritted his teeth." I know you're doing your best-- I should have told you what I was doing so at least we could have coordinated our efforts."

"And what would we have coordinated?" she seethed. "You don't need to patronise me, Michael. It's bad enough that bastard Gribben did. He clearly wasn't going to talk to any of us about anything. You heard him-- just be a good little girl and smile and obey orders and everything will be fab. Well, bollocks to that is what I say."

"Rory, come on," Michael insisted. "It wouldn't matter if you were a boy or a girl. He's just dead set on having a posh club to attract wealthy punters and all that. All his rules apply to everyone-- there's even going to be a dress code for patrons-- no scruffs allowed."

"Christ, Michael, you're making him sound like Flo fucking Ziegfeld. What's next? Elocution lessons and charm school for us?" Rory scoffed.

"I thought you wanted in on this place. Or is it just because I managed to broker the deal and you didn't?" he countered.

At that point, Rory lost the tenuous hold over her temper." Go ahead and rub it in, you tosser. That's all you ever bloody do is lord your damned superior intellect and ability over us. Oh and of course the fuckin' LSE education too. It's so easy for you to forget that in the beginning you couldn't even get us past the threshold of a club, let alone get us gigs. If it hadn't been for me, we'd have been nowhere at all."

"It wasn't you. It wasn't ever you. It was those associates of your damned uncle Patrick-- although believe me, the last thing I wanted was having my sisters play in seedy little dives for a pack of gangsters and thieves like a pair of common tarts. It's all right for you if that's what you want to do, but not for Jamie and Sandy. They deserve better."

"Hey, don't bring me into this," Jamie demanded. "I didn't mind playing those places. I just wanted a regular gig."

Rory's chair threatened to topple over as she jumped to her feet. "Fine. Since I'm obviously so damned inefficient, why don't you just take my place in the fucking band and have done with it? Then you can be as posh as you like without any problems at all." She picked up her glass and flung the contents in his face. "Oh yeah, ta for the drink." With that, she grabbed up her jacket and stomped out of the pub.

"Now you've gone and done it," Jamie moaned. "Are you happy now?"

"He didn't do anything wrong!" Sandy handed a napkin to her flabbergasted and drenched brother. "Rory's the one who started all the trouble, didn't she, Annie?"

Annie looked stricken. The last thing she wanted to do was take sides in the ongoing battle for supremacy between Michael and Rory. "Does it really matter? All they ever do is row."

"However did a sensible girl like you manage to get such a mad woman for a sister?" Michael wiped the stout from his face and his hair. "Yeech."

"Do you want me to ask around for a towel?" Sandy inquired.

"No, don't trouble yourself, Sands. I'll just pop home and get cleaned up there. You lot want to stay here?"

"I'm staying," Jamie said resolutely. "I bet those two--" she waved a dismissive hand toward the two younger girls-- "would like to leave."

Annie opened her mouth to agree but Sandy broke in, frowning at her sister. "If you're staying, James, so am I."

"I guess that means I am, too," the little drummer sighed.

"Right, then. I'll be back in an hour or so." Michael stood and gave his damp trousers one last wipe before heading for the door.

Jamie looked around the room. "Say, I spot at least four different bands represented here. Fancy doing some braggin', then?"

The other girls exchanged glances. "I think we'll just sit here, if that's all right, Jamie," Sandy said.

"Suit yourself." Jamie grabbed her ale and disappeared into the crowd.

Sandy stared into her glass of cider. "You don't think Rory's so upset she'll blow things for us, do you?"

Annie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I'm not her keeper, Sands. I don't claim to know what goes on in her head."

"She seemed quite upset."

"I know. And that's surprises me. She's the first one to say we should do whatever it takes to get famous."

"You don't think she's being stubborn just because Michael did the most work on getting us the gig, do you?"

Annie pursed her lips. "Rory did do some good, you know-- if nothing else, her chatting up Mr. Gribben's cousin got us hired a day earlier than otherwise."

"I suppose." Sandy sighed. "Still, I don't want us all to be fighting. That doesn't present a very good image, does it? I mean, the Beatles don't fight in public, do they?"

"I wonder if they fight in private ever."

"Probably not." Sandy patted her friend's hand. "Hope you don't mind I said we'd stay. I could tell Jamie was going into one of those moods of hers, and I didn't want to face it. Not after everything else."

Annie shrugged. "You're right, of course, Sandy. Michael will be back soon, though, right?"

"You know him."

"I s'pose we can wait until then."

Jamie sidled up to the bar and called for another Bass. As she took the foamy glass in hand, she turned casually toward a slight, red-haired young man about her own age. "Say, Reg, how's things?"

Reg Stout, bassist with John Smith and the Common Man (a name nicked from a children's science fiction show, as her brother frequently pointed out), shrugged. "Getting by, Jamie, getting by. We had an audition last Friday for a new club that's opening up— Chez Vrai? 'Course, I don't s'pect you've heard of it, eh? Not like your band's getting much action, is it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Reg. We're starting at Chez Vrai on Wednesday." She casually took a drink, trying desperately not to smirk.

Reg looked surprised. "Really? I thought Gribben wasn't deciding until tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, he liked us so much he signed us early."

"Uh huh. Wednesdays, eh?" Reg was clearly annoyed by the disclosure." Surely not in the evening though."

"Lunchtime, actually. But more than just Wednesdays," she replied smugly. "Our manager's working out the final details tomorrow."

"Oh. Well good luck, Jamie." He raised his mug in a mock toast to her before drifting off towards the back of the room. Jamie soon spotted him in conversation with one of the Small Faces and smiled to herself. Everyone would know within the hour-- and that's exactly what she wanted. She looked around for another musician to rub in the good news to.

"I heard that tickets for the Christmas show go on sale next week," Sandy commented, trying to take both their minds off their surroundings and their siblings.

"By then we'll have a good idea of how often we'll be playing the club." Annie brightened at the topic. She'd had enough of fighting and bad feelings to last a lifetime. "And we can fit seeing them in with our gigs."

"Hey, we might be making enough to afford the expensive seats, even. Wouldn't that be something?"

"Ohhh I don't know if I could take being that close to George!" Annie giggled.

"He might give you a wink or a smile."

The petite drummer sighed wistfully at the thought. "Or Paulie might notice you!"

Sandy smiled dreamily. "That's almost more than I could hope for."

"Well, with this gig, p'raps--"

"Perhaps. I hope something good comes of it. I'm so very tired of rehearsing but not really playing," Sandy said wearily. "You know what I mean, in front of a crowd. One night stands aren't the same as a regular gig-- you can't get fans from one-offs."

"No, you can't. We need a regular crowd."

"Oi! A pub's for socialising, innit? If you want to talk girl talk, go home and do it." Tom Ellery, the dark-haired, mostly-drunk drummer for John Smith and the Common Man, flopped into the seat on the other side of Sandy. He plunked his pint on the table, nearly splashing the foamy liquid out. "I hear congratulations are in order." He leaned in toward Annie, leering. "Who'd your sister sleep with, eh, to get you the gig?"

Annie's mouth tightened even as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "We got the gig on our merits, Tom."

He let out an unconvinced laugh. "On Rory's merits, that's for sure. Or was that her back?"

"Not jealous, are you, Tom?" Sandy wondered.

"Not a bit of it, love, not a bit of it. We hear we're probably getting an evening slot. You know, when real bands play."

"You're a real band, then?"

Tom smiled condescendingly. "That's what I like about you, Susie. You're a keen wit."

"My name is Sandy. And you're a keen drunk."

"I'm also a keen goer. Fancy a quick duck out back?" He cocked his head toward the alley that ran along the Flaxman's Court side of the building.

Annie's jaw dropped, her eyes widening, while Sandy turned bright red. Tom's grin grew broader and he added with a wink, "We could make it a threesome if you'd like."

The blonde bassist inched away from Tom in disgust, searching the room frantically in the hopes of finding some help. Help chose that moment to walk through the door in the form of her big brother.

Michael immediately spotted the trouble at Sandy and Annie's table, and marched over. He grabbed Tom by the back of the neck and pulled him up. "Bugger off, you tosser."

"Oi, mate! I'm just chatting them up, that's all!" Tom squirmed out of Michael's grip and made a big show of smoothing his shirt out. "We'll see who gets more attention at Chez Vrai, us or you girls." He reclaimed his lager and strode back into the throngs.

Michael eased his tall frame into a chair, gazing after Tom in annoyance. "You two all right?"

"We are now," Sandy assured him.

The visibly distressed Annie merely nodded. Michael's brows drew together. "You sure?"

"Yes, quite," the little drummer squeaked, suddenly finding herself unable to meet his gaze. He was looking particularly handsome at the moment; the dark green turtleneck, grey slacks, and peacoat definitely suited his colouring-- and to have him come to her rescue again... well, sometimes she thought she'd be willing to give up her torch for George if Michael ever really noticed her as more than just an additional little sister.

"You're taking us home, right, Michael?" Sandy asked.

"Of course. Where's our sister?"

The tow-headed bassist waved a hand toward the crowd by the bar. "Somewhere in that mess, gloating-- oh, no, actually there she is."

Jamie staggered toward the table, a full pint in hand. "I'm pretty sure everyone in the place knows now-- oh, hello, Mike."

"How many of those have you had?"

"Well, I paid for two of them. The rest...." She wrinkled her nose at her brother's disapproving glare. "Oh, you're no fun at all. You going to escort us from this den of iniquity or not?"

"If you're ready to go?"

Annie and Sandy stood and shouldered their way into their coats. Jamie quaffed her ale quickly and slammed the glass on the counter. "I am now." She grabbed her jacket and struggled to get it around her shoulders.

The trip home was fraught with tension with Jamie wavering in and out of consciousness for the duration. She babbled incessantly about who she had told what to whilst in the Ship and then suddenly passed out in mid-sentence much to the consternation of her companions. She came to several minutes later and started chattering again. This scenario repeated itself several times. There wasn't much Michael could do from behind the wheel of the van other than mutter under his breath about irresponsible sisters while Annie and Sandy did their best to keep Jamie upright in her seat. Usually Sandy sat up front with her brother, but she'd hardly wanted to subject poor Annie to a drunken Jamie, even if it was less than a half an hour's drive.

They finally arrived on their street, Michael lucky enough to find a parking spot relatively close to the front of their building.

"Jamie, wake up." Sandy gave her sister a rough shake. "We're home."

Jamie gave an incoherent reply and pushed Sandy away.

"Michael, help!" Sandy pleaded, her sister a dead weight on the van seat. Annie grabbed one of Jamie's arms and tried to help pull her up but she barely budged.

"Oh, Christ." He came in through the side door and tried to rouse his sister. "Come on, Jamie. Time for bed."

"Ah, piss off, Michael." Jamie tried to curl up on the now-vacated seat.

"Jamie, don't be daft. You can't stay in the van all night. It's cold out and I've got to get home. I've got work in the morning." He tugged at her arm, managing to hook one arm around her back. "Come on, then."

"You never let me have any fun." Jamie complained, not quite resisting his attempts to get her out of the van and towards the front of their building. With some more coaxing, the trio managed to get her through the flat block's alcove, into the building, and up the narrow staircase to their second floor flat.

Annie fumbled with the key as Sandy and Michael held their sister up on the landing. She opened the door and was greeted by the sharp scent of acrid smoke and the blaring sound of a scratchy old blues album mingled with the twang of a guitar being played over it. It was all coming from the vicinity of Rory's room.

"Can you manage for yourself or do we have to pour you into bed?" Michael half carried, half dragged his sister into the living room.

"I'm not bloody tired and I don't need to go to bed. Geez," Jamie argued, shrugging off her siblings testily. "I'm as right as rain."

"Hardly," Sandy observed, noting her sister's feeble attempts to stay upright.

Jamie grabbed hold of the sofa arm to keep herself steady. "I'm fine, thank you very much."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?" Michael shouted above the din of the music.

"No, not really." She conceded. "Excuse me a mo'. I've got to go to the loo."

The other two Ludlows watched her carefully as she stumbled through the living room toward the bathroom.

Sandy waited until her sister was safely out of the room before saying, "Michael, you should know better than to deal with Jamie when she's in one of her moods. She's just being contrary to spite us."

He heaved his shoulders and let out a sigh of frustration. "Between her and Rory, I sometimes wonder why I bother."

"They were both born within a few days of each other. Perhaps there's something about being the same astrological sign that makes them so impossible," Sandy offered.

"I think they're both just rather tense about getting the Chez Vrai thingee." Annie finally spoke up, her quiet voice hardly audible over the noise coming from Rory's bedroom. "Everyone handles stressful situations in their own way."

"I should think they'd both be excited about this, not... well, whatever it is they're both doing right now," Michael replied testily. "What is that racket in there?" He glanced towards the locked door of Rory's bedroom. "Perhaps one of us ought to deal with Blind Lemon Kent so we can have some peace? Your neighbors will be livid."

Annie's face visibly paled at the thought of another confrontation with her sister.

"Do you want me to sort it out?" Sandy asked Annie, noticing her friend's discomfort.

"No," replied Annie miserably. "She's my sister. I'd best try to handle it. Besides, she'll only try to take Michael's head off and there's no reason you have to suffer for it. You've already had enough worry over Jamie tonight." With that, she resolutely walked towards her sister's bedroom and rapped lightly on the door. She could hear the strains of Big Mama Thornton growling "Hound Dog" from the other side, as well as some creative slide guitar work. "Rory?"

There was no answer but then again, the music was so loud that it was very possible her sister couldn't hear her. She took a deep breath, mustered up some courage and tried again, louder this time. "Rory?" She thought she heard a muffled "Come in." Nervously, she let herself in to the room.

As usual, Rory's bedroom was a chaotic mess, clothing and shoes draped on every available surface, piles of books and LP's littering the floor. In the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed, was Rory herself, cradling her acoustic guitar. She was coaxing amazing notes from it with a metal bottleneck slide, eyes closed in deep concentration. A smoky haze filled the room, the pungent scent of marijuana permeating everything. Annie began to cough violently as the cloud of smoke wafted towards her, burning her nose and throat.

"Oh. Hallo." The sound of coughing broke Rory out of her music-induced trance. She tilted her head back to view her visitor. Her eyes were glassy, not quite focused, a giddy smile playing on her lips.

"Are you okay?" Annie's eyes started to tear and burn from the smoke. She tried to ignore the fat joint smouldering away in an ashtray on top of Rory's cluttered nightstand.

"Wha'? Oh, erm, yeah." Rory shrugged and then leaned forward to turn down the volume on her record player. "Anything important happen after I buggered off?"

"Jamie got drunk and told everyone who'd listen that we got some gigs. Michael went home and changed. Tom from The Common Man tried to get fresh with Sandy and me."

"That randy bastard! Didja let 'im?"

Annie blushed, casting a bashful gaze to the floor. "No! He's awful."

Her response caused Rory to grin mischievously. "He's not that bad, actually." She gave her sister a broad wink and chuckled.

Horrified, Annie exclaimed, "Rory, you didn't!"

"Would it make you feel better if I said no?"

"Well...." The younger girl shuffled in place awkwardly.

"Ah, we just had a laugh. Nothing too serious. It was just a one-off thing."

Boys were just one of the many things the two Kent sisters didn't have in common. While Rory had had more than her share of boyfriends, dates and one-night stands over the past few years, Annie was a veritable neophyte in the dating department. Painfully shy and insecure, the younger girl could count the number of dates she'd had in her life on one hand. Sexual matters were out of the realm of her experience entirely.

"I don't understand how you can just." Annie's expression turned to one of deep embarrassment. She hated having these talks with her sister since they generally lead to Rory teasing her or putting her down for her lack of experience and her old fashioned notions of romance. "You don't even fancy him, do you?"

"No, not really," Rory smirked. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, little sister. If you weren't so intent on keeping your precious virginity intact, you might actually enjoy it some time."

"At least I haven't just given it away like you did." Annie's retort came out more sharply than she'd meant it to. Her sister's involvement with boys had started at a fairly early age much to the irritation of their parents, who only had an inkling of what she'd gotten up to. They couldn't understand where their errant daughter had gotten her wanton ways-- they certainly hadn't raised her that way. Unfortunately, this meant poor Annie had been reminded not to behave as badly as her older sister for most of her adolescent life.

"Oh, that's right, I'm the rough, tough drug-taking tart Mum and Dad are so mortified by," Rory replied with a sneer. "Ah, I must remember to add Michael Ludlow to that list of disappointed people-- although honestly, I think he gets a secret thrill out of loose women. Otherwise he wouldn't be sniffing round my skirts all the time. Just think of it, Annie, if you just stopped being so bloody uptight, you might have Michael the way you want him. Which in your case is mostly likely missionary position."

Annie's cheeks grew crimson again. "Why do you have to be so disgusting? And I don't want Michael," she protested.

"Of course you don't. Which is why you can't even look him in the eye most of the time." Rory gave her sister a knowing look. "You shouldn't be so frightened of him-- he's just a boy and not a very clever one at that. You're never going to get anywhere if you keep at it that way. Men go for the sweet and innocent thing for a while but if you don't give them something, they'll go find someone who will."

"You know, I only came in here to make sure you were all right. I should have known you'd just start insulting me." Annie blinked back tears, biting her lower lip to keep from crying. "I really oughtn't to have bothered."

Rory's smug expression softened. "Oh come on, Annie. Don't cry."

"I'm not," she sniffled.

Rory set her guitar down, finally turning to fully face her sister. She patted her mattress. "C'mon, have a seat. Look, I'm sorry. I'm just tired and pissed off and frustrated. You're right. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"No, you shouldn't." Annie cautiously perched on the edge of the bed, absently smoothing out wrinkles in the crumpled blue blanket.

"It's just...." Rory threw up her hands in frustration. "I'm so bloody tired of everyone making decisions for me and telling me what to do. Especially clueless men. Nigel fuckin' Gribben, Michael bloody Ludlow, Dad, practically everyone. I do have a mind of my own, you know, and despite what Michael says, I know what I'm doing. I might not have a certificate from the London School of Economics but I'm not entirely thick. I do know how to deal with people."

"I know."

"So why do I never get any credit? I'm not some brainless dolly. None of us are. I just hate the fact that we've got to have a man fronting for us as if we're too stupid to do things for ourselves...."

"It's not that, Rory. Really, it's not. Even the Bea-- erm, the best bands have managers to do all that work for them so they can concentrate on making music. It's like Michael said-- it wouldn't matter if we were girls or boys. It's just the way things are." Annie hoped that at least some of her argument was getting through. "You've done so much already-- we wouldn't be a band without you. You write most of the songs, do most of the arranging, help people know about our gigs and the like. You shouldn't have to do everything. Michael is a manager. That's what they do... manage things so we can do the really important stuff like write songs and rehearse."

"You're probably right... but for fuck's sake, I feel like he's trying to clean us up and make us these posh little birds when we're not. At least I'm not. I just want to be me, not someone's fantasy of what a girl in a band should look or sound like."

Annie chewed on her lower lip. "You're the one who's always saying we should do whatever it takes to break in. Maybe this is one of those times."

"I didn't mean sell my fuckin' soul, though." Rory kicked her foot back and forth petulantly.

"You're not-- we're not. Jamie had the right of it earlier-- we just have to put on a good front for a bit until Mr. Gribben's lulled into a false sense of security. Then we do as we'll please. Well, you and Jamie anyway. Sandy and I are so boring that we couldn't get into trouble if we tried," Annie said with feigned gravity.

Rory burst into laughter. "Okay, okay, I give up. I'll do it your way, yeah?." She leaned over, picking up the joint from her ashtray along with a small silver lighter. "Michael still owes me an apology for behaving like a twat though. And you can tell him I said so."

"Do I really have to tell him that?" she asked uncomfortably. Unlike Rory, she rarely used swear words and even then sparingly.

Her older sister lit up the remains of the joint and took a long drag off it before answering. The smoke sent Annie into another fit of coughing. "You can use kinder language if you'd like." Automatically, she started to offer Annie the joint and then thought better of it. "And please don't start lecturing me on the evils of smoking marijuana. Nearly everyone's getting high these days. Even your precious Beatles, you know."

"So you say." Annie found it hard to believe that any of the Fab Four indulged in anything stronger than drink. They were sensible boys-- they couldn't possibly do anything like that. At least, she hoped not. Then again, even Jamie's art school friends had been known to smoke pot and John Lennon had gone to art school. Still, until she witnessed it for herself, she wasn't going to take her sister's word for anything.

"Wouldn't hurt you to smoke a jazz cigarette every now and then. Might loosen ya up, make you a better drummer. All the great blues men did it." Rory took another hit but was careful to exhale the smoke away from Annie this time. She then set the joint back down in the ashtray.

"I don't want to be a great blues man," Annie replied. "Besides, didn't they all die from using heroin-- like Judy Holliday?"

Rory rolled her eyes. "You mean Billie Holiday. Judy Holliday's that actress from Born Yesterday, you dozy cow. And no, they didn't all die out. There are plenty of old geezers playing the blues in the States like Muddy Waters or Howlin' Wolf."

"Oh." Annie said glumly, suddenly feeling more ignorant in her sister's eyes than usual.

"Ah, buck up. You weren't to know. It's not really important anyway." Rory surprised her by giving her a spontaneous hug. "And don't worry 'bout me leaving the band either. I just threw a wobbly tonight cos of Michael. We'll have it all sorted before the big debut on Wednesday. I promise."

Annie nodded gravely. "I'm glad. I wouldn't want to work without you. I mean we couldn't, could we?"

"Probably not," Rory said with a smile. "Hey, did I tell you we got a postcard from Uncle Patrick? He's in Hong Kong."

"Really? Where is it?"

"Oh, erm, it's somewhere around here." Rory surveyed the piles of clutter in the room with dismay. "I'll show you in the morning. There was a letter for you in the post too. Who the hell do you know in Warrington?"

"Warrington?" Annie's eyes grew wide.

"Yeah, you know, up North?"

"Just-- just a pen friend. That's all." Annie said quickly. "You know, a girl from the Beatles Fan Club."

"Ah. Well, she's written you. Sandy also got a letter from New York. I'm assuming it's another love letter from that shrimp of hers. You might want to tell her. They're on the kitchen table."

Annie jumped to her feet, barely containing her excitement. "She'll want to know right away."

Before Rory could say another word, her younger sister had dashed out the door, making a beeline for the kitchen.

As promised, the day's mail sat in an untidy heap on the scratched wooden table. Most of the envelopes clearly contained bills or junk mail, but two were most definitely personal letters. Annie scooped up both and stuck them in her skirt pocket. Sandy and Michael were still trying to contend with Jamie so it wouldn't do to interrupt them right now. Sandy tried to keep her long distance relationship with her boyfriend low keyed to the rest of her family; only Annie knew how serious they really were about one another. Without another word, she disappeared into her bedroom. She deposited Sandy's letter on her pillow. No doubt her friend would want to read it later.

The other letter was addressed to her, Miss A. Kent, with a return address of Appleton, Warrington, Cheshire. Annie clutched the envelope to her chest, hands shaking. She was so excited she could barely breathe, let alone manage to read her letter. Finally after taking several deep breaths, she pulled a letter opener from her nightstand and very carefully slit open the envelope. The letter was on plain white paper, written by hand and dated October the 27th. It read:

"Dear Annie:

Thank you for all your kind words about the new LP. I'll make sure to let the Boys know just how much you and your friends enjoyed it. I'm sure they will appreciate having such loyal fans as yourselves.

As for Our George, he and Pattie are just good friends and will not be getting married any time soon. However, we think she's a lovely girl and is very special to all of us.

Best of luck with your band. It's lovely to hear that Our George has inspired you to play pop music. I'm certain that if you work hard enough, you'll get very far.

Best Wishes,

Louise Harrison"

She read it over and over, committing the words from George's mother to memory before putting it back in the envelope and placing it in the top drawer of her bureau for safekeeping.

Not a peep had issued forth from the other side of the bathroom door for at least five minutes-- no retching, no moaning, no water running or toilet flushing. Michael sighed finally. "I suppose it's safe enough to go in now."

Sandy pushed the door open gingerly and peeked around it. Jamie lay curled up in a ball on the tattered rug, fast asleep. Sandy opened the door the rest of the way. "Typical."

"Christ." Michael prodded Sandy out of the way and picked up his other sister, groaning slightly with the exertion. He carried her to her room and placed her gently on her bed. "I'll let you handle it from here, Sands."

"Just put the covers over her. That should do for tonight."

Michael looked surprised. "You're going to let her sleep in her clothes?"

"Do you really want to face her if she wakes?"

"You have a point there." Michael followed Sandy out of the room and over to the main entrance to the flat. "Um, how often does she, er--?"

The blonde shrugged. "Whenever someone else is buying-- which, given the lot she associates with, is once in a blue moon. Honestly, Michael, there's no need to worry. We've both seen her pissed before."

"Yes, but with the gig starting on Wednesday--"

"Just be glad we're the only witnesses to her urping. And stop fretting, Mike. We're not going to mess things up, none of us are-- not even Rory, I bet."

"If you say so, Sands. See you tomorrow evening for rehearsal, eh?"

"Righto." She locked up behind her brother, then leaned against the door for a moment. The flat had fallen mostly silent, with just the clank of the radiator and Rory's soft guitar work disturbing the peace. Now was a good a time as any to pack it in for the night.

Annie looked up from writing in her diary as her friend came into their shared room. "Everything under control?"

"So it seems. Jamie's passed out."

"That's a relief. I'd rather have her unconscious than belligerent."

"Me, too. So, how's Rory?"

Annie shrugged. "She's Rory. But she's not quitting, if that's what you mean."

Sandy smiled hopefully. "Well, that's good news. I just hope she and Michael can sort things out. I hate it when they row."

"Me too." Whatever else Annie was going to say was interrupted as Sandy spotted the small blue and red envelope on her pillow. She let out an involuntary squeal and dove for the envelope, tearing it open excitedly. She began to read the enclosed letter even before it had been fully unfolded.

Annie grinned at her friend's reaction and started to return to her writing-- but then Sandy gasped and all but fell to the ground. Tears welled up in her big brown eyes. Annie jumped to her feet. "Sands? What's wrong?"

"He's-- he's-- in hospital!"

"What?! What happened?"

"I-- I can't get past the first sentence." Sandy waved the thin paper up at her friend. "Could you read it to me, please?"

"All right--but if it starts getting mushy, I'm stopping. I don't want to intrude." The petite drummer took the paper and began reading aloud. "My dearest Sandra--" She paused, wrinkling her nose. "It's already a little slushy."

"Oh, please continue! Please!" Sandy begged.

"All right." Annie looked again at the letter. "I'm sorry I've taken so long to write back to you, but I have a good excuse: I'm in hospital. My appendix decided it wanted out, and I ended up with an emergency appendectomy. The good news is that I'm almost ready to check out. The doctor says I can leave tomorrow. I'll be staying with my friend Jeff Neal and his family during the rest of my convalescence, and after that I'll be joining the road company in Chicago. Although my stay here hasn't been bad, all things considered-- tons of telly viewing and nurse charming for me (none of them can hold a candle to you, of course, my love)-- I will be glad for some other scenery." She read a little farther on to herself, then, almost guiltily, handed the missive back to Sandy. "Sorry. It's gone mushy now."

"That's all right." Sandy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Thanks for reading as much as you did. Now I know how you felt when we heard George was so sick in New York last February." She picked herself off the floor and settled on her bed to read the rest of the letter.

Annie returned her attention to her diary. After awhile, Sandy folded the letter up and tucked it under her pillow. "Sands, I got a letter today, too."

Sandy screwed up her face in a grimace. "Not another one of those 'you can still quit the band and marry me' thingies from Norman, I hope."

"No, I haven't seen or heard from him in a month-- thank goodness. My letter today was from Warrington." The younger girl suppressed a giggle.

Sandy's eyes grew wide. "Warrington as in 'George's mum' Warrington?"

Annie nodded, a broad grin lighting up her pretty features.

"Can I see?"

"Sure." She reached over to her bureau for it. "Promise not to say anything to our sisters, though, all right? I told Rory the letter was from a pen-pal from the Beatles Fan Club."

"You know me-- mum's the word," Sandy said solemnly. "Now let me see it please!"

Annie passed the letter over. Sandy read it several times through, finally handing it back. "That was so sweet!"

Annie beamed. "I thought so. He's so lucky to have a mum like that." Her expression turned thoughtful. "I'm really glad to hear George isn't getting married soon. I'd just be heartbroken-- even though I do want him to be happy."

"I feel the same way about Paul and that Jane Asher," Sandy admitted. "Not that he'd ever care about my feelings on the matter."

"I'm sure he would if he knew you!"

Sandy laughed. "Well, maybe."

Annie nodded, then held her precious letter to her breast for a moment before tucking it back in its hiding place.

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