and join you but currently no-one apart from a bunch of us next door knows what’s going to happen. Just stay up there, get yourselves a good view, and in the next twenty minutes or so you’ll be the VIP guests at what may well be the Beatles’ very last public performance.’
‘You’re a legend,’ David told him.
‘Yeah, well, I owe you one,’ the man said cryptically as he led us up on to the roof. ‘I assume this pays my dues?’
‘And some,’ David agreed, looking far less grumpy.
We all stood around on the roof, admiring the views of London beyond the chimney tops. It was windy up there but a fair day and not too cold considering it was January. After about ten minutes there was a commotion on the next door roof as a team of people began scurrying about with pieces of equipment.
‘Sound engineers, I expect,’ said Mr Jenners knowledgeably. ‘Won’t be long now.’ He was right. Five minutes later the Fab Four were there – ridiculously close to us – chatting to each other in low voices. Then Paul, George and John took to their microphones, their guitars slung casually round their necks, Ringo positioned himself behind his drums, and someone else I didn’t recognise sat down at an electronic piano.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked Mr Jenners, pointing at the pianist.
‘Oh, that’s Billy Preston,’ he explained, rubbing at his moustache before clapping his hands together in excitement. ‘This is going to be good!’
Then, all of a sudden, the performance began. It was amazing. The most incredible experience of my life.
They sang nine takes of five of their songs – the best five, to my mind (Get Back, Don’t Let Me Down, I’ve Got a Feeling, One After 909 and Dig a Pony). After about five minutes, groups of office workers from downstairs came up and joined us – not questioning who we were. They were just in awe. From the roof, as we swayed and clapped and squealed (me and Penny, anyway), we could see tiny people down on the street stand and stare up at this unexpected performance. I hoped it would just go on and on and on, but after about forty minutes, we suddenly saw the door to the roof next door burst open and a couple of bobbies appeared. The fun was over.
‘Why did they have to ruin it?’ Penny complained.
‘I think,’ said David, peering down at the street below, ‘that the concert’s caused a bit of traffic mayhem.’
‘We can’t complain,’ I said. ‘After all, that was spectacular!’
Penny smiled. ‘The best!’
After that Penny and I asked one of the office workers if we could use the ladies and then we were straight back in the car. We stopped at a Wimpy halfway home, still buzzing, and Mr Jenners offered for Penny to sit in the front after that. I didn’t think anything of it. We were all still busy chatting and singing. But after about twenty minutes it started to rain and David said he needed to concentrate on the road so we fell silent. Penny, after all the excitement, seemed to fall almost instantly asleep. I thought I might rest my eyes, too, when suddenly I felt a hand on my knee. I shuffled my legs away, to try to get them out of Mr Jenners’ reach, but a couple of minutes later the hand was back. It started to climb. To massage my thigh through my tights. I felt panic-stricken – unsure quite what to do. Then I shouted.
‘David! Quick, I’m going to be sick!’
He screeched to a halt and I jumped out of the car and pretended to throw up on the side of the road. Penny woke up in all the commotion and got out of the car.
‘What’s happening?’ she said.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ I whispered. ‘I need to swap seats with you. Don’t let him touch your knee!’
‘As if he’d dare,’ she replied, and we climbed back in – me, with shaky legs, into the front and Penny, to Mr Jenners’ obvious annoyance, into the back.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday 7th December 2019
Jo – The Great Outdoors
Everyone stayed up far too late on Friday night, three out of four of us drinking too much glögg as we decorated both trees listening to my festive Enya album. Most of the decorations are gorgeous folksy ones I’ve bought in Denmark over the years, but I always try to buy Christmas decorations from wherever we go on holiday so that there are fond memories clinging