The rest of September was full of twists and turns.  John and Paul unfortunately went at it again, and Paul continued to come home annoyed and most of the time pissed off.  Yoko ended up having another miscarriage, and the ‘Paul is Dead’ rumors began making their way to popular talk again.  It was around 9pm, later than normal, when Paul arrived home.  I could tell he wasn’t in the best of moods.

            “Hey, how was your day?” I asked him and he threw his coat over the couch and kissed Mary hello.  He walked over and did the same to me.

            “Shitty,” he replied grabbing a beer from the fridge and sitting down.  I followed him and sat next to him.  I rubbed his head and he closed his eyes.

            “What happened?  Another fight with John?” I asked.  He laughed to himself and opened his eyes.

            “Surprisingly no,” he said taking a sip of his drink,

“What happened?”

            “Well, right when I checked in, Tony Barrow says to me ‘Paul we have to do something to scotch this.  Can you come down to the conference room and hold a press conference so people can see you?’” Paul laughed.  I was slightly confused.

            “What do you mean so people can see you?”

            “You know that whole ‘Paul is Dead’ rumors?” he asked and I nodded, “they’re starting up again,”

            “Are they really?” I asked annoyed.

            “Yeah, and you want to know the funny thing about it?” he said laughing to himself again and taking a drink.  Whenever he did that ‘laugh to himself’ I knew right away it wasn’t really funny—it was actually something that probably pissed him off to no end.

            “What’s that?” I asked.

            “Allen Klein, the fucker of a manager we’ve got now, is promoting the rumors,” he said.

            “He what?”

            “He’s promoting the rumors.  He’s in New York right now, but he’s going along and saying that all the bloody ridiculous clues are true, because it’s causing us to sell more records—you know our sales are higher.  All the little shits out there are buying our albums now just to see if there is a new clue about me being dead—so it’s not even about the damn music! This is what it’s all about—the music!”

            “I can’t believe he would do that, he’s your manager!” I said mad.  Paul nodded, his eyes big.

            “Exactly!  He’s a huge bastard and that’s what I’ve been trying to tell the guys for months now—but no, Paul’s wrong, like always,” Paul rolled his eyes and took a drink.

            “So did you do the conference then?  Get it done with?”

            “No, I told Tony I couldn’t be bothered.  I think it’s all just so silly, I don’t see why they won’t just leave me the hell alone,” Paul paused, “But you know Tony, he said ‘well Paul we’ve got to do something,’ so I told him to do whatever he thought was best,”

            “And?  What did he do?”

            “He did what he thought was best, but, it wasn’t really,” Paul laughed.

            “What did he do?”

            “Well, he seems to think that he can pull off a Paul McCartney, as in me voice, so right then, he leaves me, goes in and does a live interview with some radio station pretending to be me,”  my eyes grew big and Paul nodded, “Yeah, so he rings them up and says ‘This is Paul McCartney.  As you can hear, I’m alive and kicking.’ Then he hangs up,”

            “They knew it wasn’t you…” I started.

            “Too right you are, love.  That got shot through to every bloody radio station and then some Professor Oscar Tossey of Michigan State University, or something, called in and said that he just concluded that that voice was indeed not me.  A bit later another one calls up, one called Dr. Henry M. Truby, and he claims that he’s heard three McCartney’s,”

            “Oh my gosh,” I said hand to my head.  Paul nodded.

            “I know, so I went to Derek and he had already heard.  So I told him to go down and tell them that I said that ‘I am alive and well and concerned about the rumors of my death, but if I were dead, I would be the last to know,”

            “So did he?”

            “Yeah, but they didn’t believe him because I wasn’t there to say it,” Paul rolled his eyes, “But I’m trying to deal with that shit while trying to make a record, we’ve got a date coming up you know?  I didn’t have time to go down and issue a bloody statement,”

            “I understand hon, you don’t have to defend your actions to me,” I said playing with his hair and smiling.  He smiled and looked at me.

            “I know I don’t, but no body seems to understand.  I guess Derek said he told them ‘Paul refuses to say anything more than that.  Even if he appeared in public, it wouldn’t do any good.  If people want to believe he’s dead, then they’ll believe it.  The truth is not at all persuasive.’”

            “How’d they react to that one?”

            “Good actually, they seemed to make sense of it, and by 6ish it seemed to die down and the radio’s were back to normal, but I can’t stand it anymore,”

            “When’s your next break?” I asked him.

            “After tomorrow, we have a few days,” he said leaning his head on my shoulder.

            “Maybe we should go to the farm for the time being, you know, get away from it all?” I suggested.  Paul nodded his head.

            “I like the way you think woman,” he smiled and looked up at me, giving me a kiss.

            “I’m sorry your day was so crappy,”

            “Ah don’t be, it’s all good now,” he said leaning his head back down and putting his arm around my waist, “The days suck, but the minute I’m here with you, everything seems to just disappear—and I forget about it,”

            Paul was extremely excited about leaving town to get some time on our own, and was I.

“Do you want me to bring that downstairs?” I asked pointing at the suitcase.

            “Uh, yeah, I can get it love, why don’t you get Mary ready,” Paul said picking up the bag and heading downstairs.  It was a nice drive to the farm, and lucky for us the weather was still holding out.  It was a bit chillier than the previous weeks, but not too bad.  We unpacked as soon as we got there, and Paul already had ideas,

            “Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

            “Alright, let me bundle Mary up,” I said putting a few more layers on her.  I could tell she was going to be like her dad, because she loved being out in the fresh air.  I liked it too, but not like Paul.  Ever since he was a kid, he loved being outside trekking on his own little adventures and just feeling free.  We walked outside and the sun shown down, making the water sparkle down on the beach.

            “Let’s go check out the garden,” Paul said taking my hand.  The last time we came up here, Paul had started a vegetable garden---tomatoes, carrots, etc.  I wasn’t sure on the state of them since it had been such a while, but with all the rain and the nice days to follow, I would imagine they wouldn’t be that bad.  The garden was about a 5 minute walk from the house so it wasn’t long until we were there.  Paul smiled as the plants were much bigger.

            “Hey, looks like they did well,” I said.  Paul nodded letting go of my hand and pulling up on a tomato plant.  The tomatoes were quite small yet, but healthy nonetheless.

            “Yeah, they’re doing pretty good,” he got up and walked through to look at the others, “They may need a bit of water though,” he observed turning on the hose and filling a bucket.  I looked around at the scenery when I noticed a figure approaching us.

            “Paul?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Who is that?” I asked placing a hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun.  Paul looked up and did the same.  He frowned.

            “I don’t know, but they’re carrying a camera,” he said walking over beside me, bucket in hand.

            “You think it’s a reporter?!” I asked looking at Paul.

            “No love, I know it’s a reporter, and the bastard is already taking pictures of us,” he said angry.  He began walking toward the reporter rather briskly.

            “Paul, what are you doing?”  Paul turned around with a face that he and John shared—the face that meant they were up to something.

            “I’m going to greet him,” he said and I knew he wasn’t.  I began to follow him a bit nervous to what he had up his sleeve but before I could do anything, Paul had dumped the entire bucket of water over the reporters head.  I gasped and ran towards them, Mary in hand.  Paul had stormed off into the house, leaving the reporter standing drenched in our yard.  I glared after him not believing he just did that and went to the man looking down at his wet clothes,

            “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said. The man laughed to himself.

            “I suppose I deserved that, coming unannounced and all,”

            “No you didn’t, he didn’t have to react that way,” I said, “He has a horrible temper sometimes--here, let me get a towel for you, come on,” I said as he followed me to the house.  He stood outside the door.

            “Thank you Mrs. McCartney,” he said and I smiled, “Don’t worry about it, and you can call me Olivia,” he smiled as I walked into the house.  My smile turned into a frown as I set Mary down in her pen and stared at Paul drinking a beer in the kitchen.

            “What?” he snapped.

            “I cannot believe you just did that!” I said, approaching him.

            “Why not?  The bloody idiot deserved it!” Paul said, “He has no right following us up to our farm, taking pictures of us!  This is my private life, my family!  If he wants to ring me up and ask me, then fine, but he has no bloody right doing it without letting me know!”

            “He may not have, but you shouldn’t have poured water all over him!  For heaven’s sake Paul, you of all people should know how stupid that was!  He’s a reporter!  For one, he has that all on film and two if he didn’t he’d still talk about ‘The Day Paul McCartney Lost His Temper’!”  Paul just looked at me.

            “Ah damn it,” he said realizing I was right.

            “Look I know you are fed up with stuff right now, and I can deal with your tempers—I understand that things are rough, and sweetheart I’m here for you,” I said walking over to him and taking the beer from his hand and hugging him.  He put his arms around me, “But you can’t go treating the reporters like crap, because if you do, it’s only going to make things worse ‘Paul McCartney has Temper Problem’.  You’re supposed to be the nice one—the PR man, remember?” he laughed slightly.

            “You’re right,” he said, “I just can’t control me self sometimes—I just get so bloody mad,”

            “I know you do, and it’s okay to get mad, but like I said, you have to remember which people you are allowed to get mad like that around, and reporters are not them,” Paul laughed to himself.

            “Where is the poor bloke?”

            “Outside, I came in to get him a towel,” I said grabbing one out of the drawer behind Paul.  He scrunched his nose and took the towel from me,

            “Here we go,” he said sighing.  I smiled,

            “Just use your charm, it seems to get you out of everything,” I laughed and he smiled.

            “We’ll see—those were the old days love,” he said.  I grabbed Mary and followed Paul out the door.  The reporter turned to us as we came out side and he stood up from the log he was sitting on.  He flinched back as Paul approached him.  Paul laughed awkwardly,

            “Don’t worry man, I’m not going to throw this towel at you,” he said and the reporter smiled hesitantly as Paul gave him the towel.  The man took it and dried himself off, “Look, I’m really sorry about that back there, I--”

            “It’s alright, really,” the man said.  Paul shook his head.

            “No it wasn’t—I shouldn’t have reacted that way.  I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and I just wanted some peace and quiet here with my family.  I shouldn’t have treated you that way,” Paul said.  The man smiled an actual smile.

            “Again, I understand it’s alright.  I should’ve called or knocked—coming unannounced was not the thing to do, so I’m sorry,” he said then held out his hand, “I’m Chris Drake, from Life magazine,”

            “I’m Paul, obviously, that’s me wife Olivia and our baby girl Mary,” Paul said looking back at us.  I gave him a smile and he motioned for me to come next to him, “So what is it you came up here for?” Paul asked putting an arm around me.

            “Honestly, I’m here hoping to set the record straight and have done with all these rumors concerning your death,” Paul seemed surprised, “I think it’s all rubbish and frankly, we’re sick of hearing it—would you mind having a word?” Chris asked hesitantly.  Paul smiled.

            “Of course not, I’ll even give you picture or two if you’d like,” Paul offered and Mr. Drake smiled,

            “Really?” he asked apparently getting more than he bargained for and happy for it.  Paul nodded.

            “Sure, but under one condition….” Paul began and Mr. Drake looked confused.

            “What’s that?”

            “You throw out that bit about me and the water?” Paul asked sheepishly and Mr. Drake laughed.

            “You’ve got a deal, Mr. McCartney,” he smiled and Paul nodded, “In fact, here” Chris said pulling out the film from the camera.  He handed it to Paul, “That way you won’t be worried I went against my word,” Paul smiled.

            “Wow, thanks a lot,” he said putting the film in his pocket.  He froze, “But if I have this, how are you going to get pictures?”  The man laughed.

            “I’m a reporter Mr. McCartney,” he said pulling out a film cartridge and putting in his camera, “We are prepared for the worst,”

            “Fab, and by the way, it’s Paul.  No need for the Mr.”

            “Alright Paul, well, shall we get started?” He asked.  Paul nodded and we made our way into the house, Paul and I on the couch and Chris on the chair in front of us, “Alright, as you know, the ‘Paul is Dead’ rumors seem to be getting out of hand—what with the no shoes on the ‘I Am the Walrus’ video, the black flower on Magical Mystery Tour as well as you dressed in black, the OPD badge on Sgt. Pepper, and even the most recent ‘Abbey Road’ cover—you walking barefoot opposed to the others in shoes, as well as the outfits seeming to express certain roles one would play in a person’s death,” Chris said.

            “Yeah, that’s right,” Paul responded.

            “It must seem so difficult for you to understand why exactly this rumor came out in the first place as well as the way the public have believed it so---so much to the point of making up clues, what is your reaction to all this?” Paul laughed,

            “Ah, well,” he started, “It is all bloody stupid. I picked up that OPD badge in Canada. It was a police badge. Perhaps it means Ontario Police Department or something. I was wearing a black flower because they ran out of red ones. It is John, not me, dressed in black on the cover and inside of Magical Mystery Tour. On Abbey Road, we were wearing our ordinary clothes. I was walking barefoot because it was a hot day. And the Volkswagen?--it just happened to be parked there." Paul finished. Chris nodded,

            “So why do you think the rumor started exactly?  Do you think it’s someone who just doesn’t like you? Or--?”

"Perhaps the rumor started because I haven't been much in the press lately. I have done enough press for a lifetime, and I don't have anything to say these days. I am happy to be with my family and I will work when I work. I was switched on for ten years and I never switched off. Now I am switching off whenever I can. I would rather be a little less famous these days."

“If you were to actually become less famous as you want to be, what would you rather be doing then in the time I’m sure you would gain?  Would it still involve music?  With the other Beatles?”

"Yeah, I would rather do what I began by doing, which is making music. We make good music and we want to go on making good music. But the Beatle thing is over,” when these words left Paul’s mouth I glanced at him and he seemed to ignore me.  I looked at Chris who didn’t seem to understand, but if anyone notices that, all hell will break lose.  The Beatles were indeed over, but as far as the public knew, they weren’t.  Paul continued, “It has been exploded, partly by what we have done, and partly by other people. We are individuals-- all different. John married Yoko, I married Olivia. We didn't marry the same girl."

“If you could say anything to the people making up these rumors, what would you tell them?” Chris asked. 

"To stop,” Paul laughed, “Um, no, but I think the people who are making up these rumors should look to themselves a little more. There is not enough time in life. They should worry about themselves instead of worrying whether I am dead or not."

“Is there anything else you’d like to say before we wrap this up?  Anything to your public?”

“Um, not really Chris,” Paul smiled, “What I have to say is all in the music. If I want to say anything I write a song. However, I do have a favor to ask of you,”

“What’s that Paul?”

“Can you spread it around that I am just an ordinary person and want to live in peace?” I smiled and so did Chris.

“Will do Paul.  Thank you so much for taking the time out to answer these questions,”

“No problem Chris,” Paul said standing up, Chris joining him.

“Thanks, hopefully that will resolve a few things,” Chris said walking to the door.  Paul followed him,

“It was no problem, I’m just glad I could help,” Paul smiled, “How about some pictures?” Chris nodded and I went outside with the two men.  Chris snapped a few three pictures and was on his way.  He seemed excited that he was the first to take a picture of Mary, as it would be the first time she had been photographed by a reporter. 

“I hope that helped,” Paul said coming back in the house after waving Chris goodbye.  I nodded.

“Say Paul?” I asked.

“Yes love,” he answered sitting down and I again put Mary in her crib and followed Paul.

“Why did you say that The Beatles were over?”

“Because they are,”

“Yes, but did you have to say that in the interview?  I mean, wasn’t it supposed to be a big secret until after ‘Let It Be’ is released?” I asked and Paul shrugged.

“I know it is, but he was asking about music stuff and it just sort of slipped out—he didn’t seem to notice anyway.”

“Maybe not, but what if he did and he just didn’t say anything?” I asked.  Paul laughed.

“Oh believe me love, if he noticed he would’ve done a double take and asked what I was talking about.  I’m sure he heard me, but he probably didn’t realize exactly what I meant.  It’ll be okay,”

“I hope so, the last thing you guys need now, are rumors about splitting up,” I said.  Paul looked at me seriously.

“They wouldn’t be rumors—it’s true.  Besides, we are already split up—emotionally and creatively, just not legally.  We’re all doing our own thing now, you know?” Paul said then seemed to brighten up, “Hey, speaking of our own thing—do you want to hear a few of the songs I’ve got for the album?”

“Sure, I was wondering when you were going to show me,” I said and he smiled grabbing a guitar.

“Well, I only have about four,”

“Four? Wow,” I said and he smiled strumming a bit,

“Well, actually, first, what do you think we should call the album?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied and he frowned.

“Come on love, this is our album—it’s not just me you know,”

“I know that, but I seriously don’t know.  I’m not creative with that sort of stuff—‘Rubber Soul’, ‘Revolver’—I can never think of anything.  For all I know I’d be unoriginal and just call it ‘McCartney’,” I said laughing at myself.  Paul just stared at me, “What?”

“That’s it,”

“What’s it?  You aren’t thinking of using that are you?” I asked and he nodded.

“Yeah!  It’s brilliant!   You know, it’s me and you, so McCartney works, you’re a McCartney, I’m a McCartney.  Plus, it’s me first solo album so again, just me, just McCartney.  I like how it’s nice a short—just one word,” Paul said nodding, “Great idea, love.”  I raised my eyebrows surprised he was that into something I suggested.

“Well, I try,” I said smiling.  He laughed.

“You don’t have to you know, you’re great naturally,”

“Ah, thanks,” I said leaning over to kiss him.  He laughed, “You should use that picture I love so much on it,”

“Which one is that?” he asked, “You’ve looked at so many bloody books---I’m not sure which one you like best,”

“Hey, that was a long time ago,” I laughed and he smiled.

“I know, but I’m going to give you crap about those books for as long as we both shall live,” he said.

“I thought you are going to love and cherish me for as long as we both shall live?” I asked referring to our wedding vows.  He laughed.

“That too,” he winked, “But which one, seriously?”

“Remember that day, when we first came here with Mary, and we were snapping a bunch of pictures,” I asked him he nodded with a smile.

“Are you talking about the one where I have Mary in me coat?” he asked and I nodded.

“Yes.  I love that picture.  I love your smile in it, despite the beard,” I said looking up and smiling.  Paul laughed as did I, “But really, you two just look adorable—it’s one of my favorite pictures of you,”

“Mine too, actually—holding me baby girl, well, my real baby girl,” he said laughing, “I tell you what love you are on a roll.  I think using that, showing me with me new baby on a new album is a fantastic idea.  And it just lodged another idea in me head,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for the inside, let’s just put together a collage of pictures of you, me, Mary, and Martha,” I nodded.

“I like it,” I said smiling.

“Gear, well, now that that’s finished,” he said grinning, “You want to hear the songs I’ve got planned?  And let me know if you don’t like any parts—you are me new songwriting partner now you know,” he said.

“Oh great, I get to live up to the great John Lennon,” I said and Paul laughed.

“What are you on about?  You’re great; I’m not going to tell you that anymore.  You’ll be different I’m sure, but I know I’m going to love it.  I mean, come on, what’s better than having the one you love most with you while you do what you love most?  Not to mention, sharing the same passion.  It’s all brilliant in my mind,”

“Well, you are a genius man,” I said laughing and he grinned.

“Hey be nice,” he said.

“I am!” I laughed, “Let me hear these songs will you?”

“Pushy, just like John so far….” He said smirking, “Well, I’ve decided to put ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ on here, you remember that one?”

“How could I not?  I think besides ‘Here, There, and Everywhere’ and ‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’, that’s one of the most beautiful and romantic songs you’ve ever written for me,” I said and he smiled then got that grin on his face.

“What are you saying?  All me other stuff for you like ‘Oh! Darling’, ‘Tell Me What You See’, ‘Wait’---weren’t romantic or beautiful?”

“Oh stop it; I knew you were going to do that.  You know I love all the songs you’ve written for me—all of you guys—well, except for ‘Devil in Her Heart’,” I said and Paul scrunched his nose in a guilty fashion—though he had no reason too.  It was the way I had made George feel then.

“I know you don’t like that song, and I’m sorry about that—it wasn’t mine,” he said.

“I know its fine.  It just makes me feel bad for what I was doing to him—same with ‘What You’re Doing’,” I said and Paul looked surprised with that one, “I mean I love the song, I do a lot actually, but it makes me sad thinking that I made you sad—if that made sense,”

“It did, and I understand—but it’s just the way I was feeling then.  We both know that was a hard time for each of us,” he said kissing me, “But all’s better now, thankfully,”

“I agree,” I said and just looked at him.  He laughed.

“Yes, I’ll show you the bloody songs!” I laughed, “Again, I’m putting ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ on there, and then I had two other’s I wrote for us Beatles, but they apparently didn’t want to use them,”

“Really?  Why didn’t I ever hear?” I asked.  He shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know.  I suppose I just figured if they didn’t think they were good enough for the albums then they must be rubbish,” he said and I frowned.

“That’s not true though,” I said.

“I know, that’s why I’m putting them on this album.  However, I do still have to get an okay from you,” he said smiling, “So I could easily get shot down again,”

“I’m sure they’re good,” I said.  He smiled,

“Well the first one ‘Teddy Boy’ is one I wrote in India actually,” he paused, “Not sure where you were though, off with Cyn, Pattie, and Maureen maybe,”

“Really?  What were you doing then?”  I asked and Paul laughed.

“I think I was supposed to be meditating,” he said and I had to laugh, “After you started skipping those, I didn’t want to be there.  I had no one to bug anymore, so I just left to go write songs,”

“You’re funny,” I said and he laughed strumming his guitar.  He began to sing ‘Teddy Boy’