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CHRISTMAS DAY...
“Garry Crimble to you
Garry Mimble to you
Getty Bable, dear Christmas
Happy Birthday me too.
From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. KITCHEN – RINGO & MAUREEN STARKEY'S SURREY HOME – 9 AM.
RINGO is sitting at the table, a small pile of letters and a cup of coffee in front of him as he reads JOHN'S POSTCARD. A black and white picture slips out. He picks it up.
RINGO
(bemused)
Well, I'll be damned.
He brings the picture a little closer to his eyes.
RINGO (CONT'D)
Jesus.
MAUREEN walks into the kitchen. She opens one drawer, takes out a tea towel.
MAUREEN
Zak just threw up all over the bedsheets. Again.
RINGO
(unconcerned)
Love? Can you come here for a second?
He shows her the picture.
MAUREEN
(recoiling)
What -- ?! Where on Earth did you get that!
RINGO
It came in the mail.
MAUREEN
(disgusted)
Those fans of yours... They're sick in the head. My God.
Neither of them can look away.
RINGO
(pensive)
Is it genuine, do you think? Or a montage, maybe?
Maureen hesitates, doing the mental calculations.
MAUREEN
Must be a fake. It's simply too... large. I'm sure I've never seen anything like it.
RINGO
(whipping back to look at her, startled)
I sure hope you haven't!
“Happy Crimble and a very New Year to you all!
From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. LIVING ROOM - MAL EVANS' HOME - 10 AM.
MAL is standing by the fireplace, going through the mail while wrapping paper flies around him. Mal's wife LIL is attempting to rein in the children's excitement.
LIL
(going for cheerful)
What if we take turns opening presents, ducklings? So that Mummy has time to see how much you love each individual thing Father Christmas brought!
Nobody pays her any attention, to Mal's amusement. He is distracted by a black and white picture falling out of JOHN'S POSTCARD.
MAL
(bending down to reach for it)
What's -- fucking hell!
DAUGHTER
Naughty Daddy!
LIL
Mal! Language!
MAL
Sorry, sorry! I think I must've pulled a muscle...
LIL
(dismayed)
Not your back again! Wait, let me fetch you an aspirin --
MAL
No, no, you stay right where you are, I'll go.
Clutching the picture to himself, he walks into the...
HALLWAY
He slowly lifts the picture away from his chest, building up the courage to look again. When he does, he's --
MAL (CONT'D)
(impressed)
Good Lord... Cynthia, you poor soul.
There's a HOUSE CAT perched on the window sill that's watching him intently. Mal flips the picture around for him to see.
MAL (CONT'D)
What d'you reckon, boy? Should I auction this off for the fans? Might get to retire early after all...
“Happy Hanukkah, Merry Xmas, Hare Krishna & God save the Queen.
From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. BRIAN EPSTEIN'S LONDON OFFICE - 11 AM.
BRIAN is sitting behind his desk. He is speaking on the phone, the handset pressed between his ear and shoulder as he sorts through the papers in front of him -- most are going to the RUBBISH PILE to his left, while the occasional few get neatly stacked on the INTERESTING PILE to his right.
BRIAN
(on the phone)
I'm telling you, the interview cannot possibly be on the 30th. Knole Park is only available on the 30th, and Mr Goldmann says nothing else will align with his vision for the video... No, it's not a strawberry field, per se, but that's not the point, Jo. It's supposed to be an allegory --
He gets to JOHN'S POSTCARD. He opens it.
BRIAN (CONT'D)
-- Yes, I know what 'allegory' means, thank you very much. Look, I don't take kindly to -- what the -- ?!
The postcard drops from his hands like he's been electrocuted. Shock turns into something more uncomfortable. The room is suddenly too warm.
BRIAN (CONT'D)
(adjusting the collar of his shirt)
Yeah -- yes, I'm still here, Jo. Sorry, what were you saying?
He picks the postcard back up, wavering between the two piles: rubbish or interesting?
BRIAN (CONT'D)
Mm-hmm, right... I'll -- I'll ask again about the, erm, 30th... Have to go now, yes... Alright... Uh-huh. I'll give you a call. Um, goodbye now.
In the newfound, oppressive silence, both piles stare at Brian accusingly. Which will it be? His choice will reveal something pivotal about who he is...
He tosses the postcard on top of the rubbish.
BRIAN (CONT'D)
(pushing buttons, picking up the phone again)
Janine? I think I'll be having an early lunch... Could you bring me a pickle sandwich from the canteen? ... No, no need for that; just leave it outside my office, I'll fetch it myself... Wonderful. Thanks.
Quick as lightning, he swaps the postcard to the interesting stack.
BRIAN (CONT'D)
(clearing his throat, brushing imaginary lint off his suit)
Right.
“Best wishes for the new year, which will be 1967, if the experts are to be trusted.
From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. LIVING ROOM - KINFAUNS, GEORGE HARRISON AND PATTIE BOYD'S SURREY HOME - 5 PM.
GEORGE and PATTIE are both sitting on different armchairs. George is noodling around on his brand new Strat while Pattie reads aloud from the letters on her lap.
PATTIE
(flipping through the papers)
Louise and Gordon send their love... Oh look, they've added a picture of Leslie and Little Gordon. How darling.
GEORGE
(humming disinterestedly)
Picture's nice. Though a tenner would’ve been nicer.
PATTIE
(mock-aghast)
George!
GEORGE
(amused)
What? I know Gordon is making good money at his new job...
PATTIE
Shut up, you... What else do we have here... This one's from John. Best wishes for the new year, etcetera -- oh, hold on, the address is mixed up... He accidentally sent us George Martin's card.
GEORGE
Right. And he didn't think to put in a little year-end bonus, did he?
PATTIE
(laughing)
Easy, Mr. Moneybags. No, no cash, either. Not even a picture.
GEORGE
Shame, that.
“Happy Xmas! Hope you & your family are all having a jolly good time back in ol’ Liddypool. Give Mimi a kiss for us if you see her —
on the CHEEK, mind, ye filthy animal…From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. BEDROOM - THE MCCARTNEY LIVERPOOL HOME - 10 PM.
PAUL is on the bed, reclining on top of the covers. There is a book on his lap, a radio droning softly on the nightstand beside him.
A rap on the door.
PAUL
Come in.
The door shifts open and a head pokes in. It is...
JIM
(wielding a thick envelope)
Lest I forget, this came in the mail yesterday. Thought it was for me, at first, but then I realised it said 'Paul'.
Paul gets up from the bed and takes the letter from Jim.
PAUL
Thanks, Dad.
JIM
It's from John, apparently. And quite substantial, by the look of it.
PAUL
(reading the back of the envelope)
Mm-hmm. So it is.
JIM
I don't know how he can possibly have so much to tell you. Didn't you see each other last week?
PAUL
(one hand already on the door knob)
Yeah, well. You know John.
JIM
(taking the hint, starting to move away)
But do I? ... Well. Goodnight, son.
Paul sits back on the bed, breaking the envelope and retrieving JOHN'S POSTCARD. Over a dozen black and white pictures slip out onto his lap.
BOXING DAY...
“May Father Chrysler leave many peasants under your tree & have a happy New Gear.
From John, Cynthia & Julian.”
INT. DINING ROOM - GEORGE MARTIN'S LONDON HOME - 10 AM.
The Martin family is gathered around a Full English breakfast. JUDY MARTIN is serving out the portions while GEORGE MARTIN reads through backlogged mail.
JUDY
I used the cranberry sauce left-over from yesterday on the sausages -- not my usual, but I thought to myself, why not!
DAUGHTER
Can't I have some of the left-over Christmas pudding instead?
SON
Me too!
JUDY
(eyeing her spread sadly)
Well, I suppose, if you'd like...
GEORGE
Pudding in the morning? Don't be silly. We'll eat Judy's delicious breakfast and be thankful for it, won't we, children?
Both children grumble their acquiescence.
JUDY
(happier, handing George his plate)
Here you go, darling.
GEORGE
(tucking in, returning to his letters)
Thank you. Oh, John's written, I wonder what -- oh -- goodness gracious --
JUDY
(crestfallen)
Oh dear. It's the sausage, isn't it?