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Watching your beloved fade away before your eyes day by day was far from easy. You preferred him when he was grinning from ear to ear and strumming various instruments - for you had to admit, he was a truly musically gifted man. Yet, the breakup of the band - to which he had dedicated so many years of his life, his energy, and his heart - shattered the image of the man you had known until then. You had been together through the good times and the bad, through sickness and health, but nothing - absolutely nothing - had prepared you for the state Paul would be in shortly after the Beatles split up.
You have heard your beloved say - repeatedly, at the dinner table and elsewhere - that after all this, he isn't sure if he will ever turn to music again. It was like watching someone fade away before your eyes - like chalk being washed off the pavement by the rain, like a rainbow slowly vanishing from the sky as time passed. You missed your old Paul. Honestly, you missed his voice when he sang, how he laughed after missing some lyrics, how he would sit by his desk in the middle of the night or by the sunrise and write down his ideas for new songs. You hated yourself for not having cherished those moments when he still loved music and found joy in it. Now, it had become his greatest enemy - a constant reminder of the three brothers he had lost, all because no one had managed to sit them down for a serious talk and resolve their issues. Even the radio sat gathering dust, perpetually switched off. You only allowed yourself to turn it on when Paul was outside, occupied with something, or simply asleep. Of course, things in the band had never been the same without Brian, but back then, it might still have been salvageable. Now, it was too late for everything; everyone had gone their separate ways, with you and Paul finding refuge in Scotland.
Kintyre - where you had found a bit of space, far removed from the press and music fans hungry for news - was a cozy spot. Located in western Scotland, the place was meant to bring the two of you comfort and peace; yet, as you observed day after day, Paul showed almost no signs of improvement. He would still switch off the radio whenever you turned it on over coffee; he continued to look away from his instruments, letting them gather dust; and he would shut himself in the bathroom whenever you tried to bring up anyone connected to the Beatles or to any member of the now-disbanded group. Despite the fact that a long time - nearly a year - had passed since John told his friends he planned to leave the band, Paul remained a shadow of the man he once was. He still treated music as an enemy, and viewed you as someone who simply happened to be living in the same house. His state of mind caused your relationship to deteriorate as well. Despite the vow you made at the altar to stand by each other, even through moments of doubt, you began to realize that if you didn't do something about it, you two would split up as well.
It was one of those days when Paul stayed in bed from morning till night, getting up only to eat or use the bathroom. He didn't wash or look after himself; naturally, that bothered you, but you couldn't blame him for it. You saw the state he was in; even the fact that he hadn't washed in days seemed trivial compared to what might be going through his mind at times like these. Lately, you've been having more and more bad dreams - waking up to find him gone from the bed and the closets empty, or worse: dreams where you’d slowly climb the stairs to the bedroom, tug at the handle, and find the door locked. By the time you managed to open it, it was too late - he was dead. These nightmares would jolt you awake in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat. That was why you decided it was high time to try and bring back the husband you used to know.
“Paul? Are you up? You called out without even trying to knock, since your hands were full. You were struggling to balance a tray holding a plate and a mug in one hand, while the other clutched various items: everything from a hairbrush to a packet of the biscuits he used to love. When there was no answer, you pressed down on the door handle, which,fortunately, let you into the room. So, it hadn’t been a prophetic dream after all; thank goodness for that. The scene that greeted you was nothing new. Paul was lying in bed, covered by a blanket, his back turned to the door. It was nothing new at all, so you weren't the least bit surprised. You slowly approached the bed and set everything down on the nightstand, right next to a few scattered tissues. You quickly realized that this was one of those days when things were really bad - days when Paul kept retreating outside or into the bedroom to hide his tears from you. It broke your heart to think he would rather suffer in solitude than let you take care of him. It felt as though he didn't trust you at all, yet you were determined to fix that. If he wouldn't invite you into his inner world, you would simply invite yourself in and set things right. You were ready to tidy up his mind, even if it meant a serious vacuuming of the system.
“Oh dear.” You whispered, sitting on the very edge of the mattress.
“Go away.” You heard his response, yet you didn't budge. You couldn't let your own husband pull away from you again and retreat into solitude. You raised your hand and slowly stroked his hair, tucking the longer strands behind his ear. Beyond neglecting his hygiene and general grooming, Paul had stopped caring for his hair; he no longer paid attention to its length or appearance. You missed the man who used to take such pride in his grooming. Ignoring his words, you reached for the hairbrush you had left on the nightstand and began slowly working out the tangles that had formed from him tossing and turning in bed. At first, he snorted - signaling that he still wanted you to leave him alone - but the longer you brushed, the more his muscles relaxed, and he slowly allowed you to scale the walls he had so stubbornly built around himself. Eventually, he even turned toward you, wanting you to tend to the other side of his hair as well. There he was.
“Another bad day?” You asked carefully brushing his hair, as he closed his eyes for a moment or two. The only response you got was a low rumble and the sensation of his hand quickly finding your hip. Once you had finished tidying his hair, you set the brush aside and stroked his head again, running your fingers through the strands you had just combed.
"I made you breakfast, cuppa... And coffee, since I didn't know which you’d feel like having. I brought some biscuits, too; you need to eat something." You spoke in that same cautious tone, one that ultimately paid off, as Paul slowly and carefully rested his head on your lap. It felt a bit like taming a wild animal, but it was something. It was a step toward normalcy.
"What’s got you so worked up this time?" You asked, careful not to bring up the subject of music or his former band too quickly. You knew the topic would have to come up sooner or later, but for now, you wanted to gently encourage Paul to open up to his spouse.
"The usual, I suppose. I still dream about everything I could have done to save the Beatles..." He began calmly; your hand paused in his hair, fearing that a sudden stroke might make him clam up again. "I feel guilty about it all, y’know. Only now do I see how I neglected everyone around me." He finished, and you sensed that was all he wanted to say for the moment - which was still a lot, considering his state.
"Maybe you could play a little guitar today?" You suggested, but feeling him stiffen in your lap, you realized it had been a bad idea after all.
"Maybe..." He grunted in reply, leaving you unsure what to think. You had initially assumed the conversation was over, but now you were completely bewildered. The last time you’d tried this, he had insisted there wasn't a chance in hell, that he would absolutely never go back to music.
"We could start slow, with your songs; we could sit out in the field and you could play something for me.” You added, feeling Paul smile against your thigh. It was a small step toward returning to normal - a process in which you needed to be his greatest source of support and a shoulder to lean on.
"I love you. So much," Paul whispered, and your heart raced. That meant more to you than the vows exchanged at the altar or the engagement ring he’d given you. What mattered most were those moments when - despite the walls that sprang up between you - you still managed to find each other and rebuild those barriers so you could invite one another back in.
"I love you too. Even when you’re a pain, and I start wondering if my real husband ran off somewhere and left me with some gloomy imposter instead." You smiled back and patted his arm. "Get up, you need breakfast so you have the energy to play guitar... And fix the sink."
"What happened to the sink?"
"I think it got clogged when I was making you a cuppa..." You replied, feeling a bit sheepish, and Paul just laughed. It wasn't a quiet chuckle or a quick snort; it was that hearty, booming laugh you loved so much.
"You're impossible, y'know."
"Someone’s got to keep you on your feet so you don't become one with the bed. Come on, get up. The sandwiches are drying out and the tea’s getting cold."
"Okay, okay." He sighed, finally getting up from your lap. He settled back more comfortably against the pillows and reached for the plate of sandwiches.With every bite, you sensed that this day would be different from the ones before - that you would finally reach your husband, breaking through his need to hide, and that he would begin to find solace in your arms once more, rather than in solitude.