"Yeah. I'm gonna head to the library and figure out what to do."
                          
    "If you ever need company, you know—" he cut himself short. I nudged him playfully. "McCartney, if I need a friend, I always know where to find you."
                          
***
                          
    I finally had showed up at George Harrison's house at 25 Upton Green in Speke. I had fumbled a bit with the commute, not having proper coins and all that, but with all the commotion I was able to hop a bus, hanging on tightly to my small suitcase. What with having just left Hamburg and having come from 2013 I was sure I was getting stares left and right but I kept my head up and rang the bell. The house had a pretty red brick front and white lining. I peered through the translucent glass door until I could see someone coming, then hastily stepped back to let the door swing open. 
                          
    "Hello!" The voice turned from excitement to confusion as the person was revealed to be someone who was not George.
                          
    "Who... are you?" we both said at the same time. 
                          
    "Un, my name is Cora, is George in?" I asked him carefully. 
                          
    A voice could be heard calling from upstairs. 
                          
    "'Ang on a sec," the person said. He looked like George, perhaps it was Harry or Peter. He sported a small black mustache and slicked back hair. Again culture shock from Hamburg. "My name is Harry—I'm George's older brother. Come in, George will be down in a sec, won't you, George?" He yelled the end of the sentence up the stairs.
                          
    I giggled, and let myself inside. Harry's eyes took in my suitcase but he kept his mouth shut. I left the suitcase by the door against some pretty floral wallpaper. Someone's feet appeared on the stairs and soon the form of George Harrison appeared. "Cora!" he yelled, and soon we were hugging. "What are you doing here? Blimey, I haven't seen you in forever."
                          
     "Er... long story," I mumbled. Harry had disappeared, although I saw movement in the kitchen. I didn't blame him. If I were him I too would be very curious about what a girl was doing in the kitchen dressed like I was.
                          
    "Well come inside and let's talk about it. Where are you staying? I know you all got deported, what's the plan for you now?" We had gone into his kitchen. He grabbed a few cans of soda and popped the tabs and handed one to me.
                          
    "Erm..." I repeated. "That's a great question. I actually don't have anywhere to stay at the moment and I was wondering if just for one, maybe two nights—"
                          
    "Of course you can stay with us, Cora, we have plenty of room; only Harry and my parents are home at the moment." He took a long drag from his can and set it on the living room table. "Louise is out with her fiancee and Peter is working."
                          
    "Oh, George, thank you," I told him, relieved. I later met his parents—Louise (same name as his sister), a ballroom dance teacher, and his father Harold who drove a bus. Harry was really nice. He was dating a girl, Irene, and they were planning to get married soon.
                          
    "I bet your parents expect you to be next, huh?" I asked George later that night as we cleared dishes. I had insisted on doing the dishes for the family and doing whatever in order not to impose—the situation was already imposing.
                          
    He gave a shake of his head. "My mum's always cared about our happiness. She knows I just love to play my guitar." A half smile appeared and I playfully swatted some water at him. "I've never really thought about marriage."
                          
    "Why think about marriage when you could have everything you want in Hamburg," I mused, sticking a clean dish on the rack next to the sink. The kitchen had a window outside so you could see out while doing the dishes, and I noticed signs of ordinary life: kids throwing the remains of snowballs, fathers taking out trash.