Chapter Text
“Now, it’s just the one, mind you lads. Can’t have you walking around smelling like a pub on a Friday night,” Mrs Harrison said. She always insisted that she was only going to give them one ciggie, one glass of whiskey, but they all knew that she’d end up giving them more and more until they’d had their fill. Paul loved going to the Harrisons for this very reason. George was a good friend, and Jim enjoyed George himself, always making that custard he loved so much, which Mike and Paul despised. But Jim also had expectations, many in fact, and he could be so severe. Yes, Paul much preferred spending time after school with the Harrisons, who were far nicer and had way fewer expectations, except to be kind to one another and have fun. They were a welcome reprieve from the McCartney household, and Paul was happy to indulge in it often.
Paul didn’t get the Harrisons all to himself, though, but he usually did. He didn’t get them to himself, unfortunately, because every so often a man would come over, one of Harold’s old friends. He was a kindly fellow, always making time to talk with George and Paul. Charlie was an affable man. Not from Liverpool, he seemed so much more cultured for having grown up in London. He loved to insist that people call him Chuck, which was so American! And he had just as much interest in Elvis and Motown’s various girl groups as they did. Really, he could have been one of the boys' schoolyard friends if it weren’t for the slight bald spot on the back of his head.
Paul didn’t like him very much.
Charlie didn’t know how not to take what wasn’t his. He’d stolen Paul’s nickname for George, Hassa, but his non-scouse accent always made it sound like how it was spelled, “Hahhh-sssuhh,” instead of “Hazzer,” like how it came out when any of their friends said it. When he did decide to play the adult he actually was, he acted more like a cool uncle than a parent or family friend, bringing them sweets and records they couldn’t ever have dreamed of finding while waiting at the docks for the most returning sailors. George thought he’d hung the moon and stars. But the Harrisons were already the cool ones. Paul thought Charlie – Chuck – acted too familiar. He was a level of immature that Paul didn’t have much patience for. George made up for Paul’s lack of trust, of course, loving Chuck as much as his parents did, even though he always did things that George would have thrown a fit over if they’d been done by anyone else.
Chuck had a habit of stepping in right as Paul and George were starting to practice. He loved to take George’s guitar away, mess with it until it was out of tune while pretending he was fixing it, as if George didn’t keep his guitar like it cast way more than the six dollars he (his mum) had paid for it second hand, and then strum out dissonant chords while trying to talk shop. In Paul’s opinion, he never added anything to their conversations about those cool American artists that he wouldn’t have said himself. No amount of travel could stand in for Paul's passion and will to research as much as possible. All he added was well-known trivia and headache-inducing strumming.
None of Jim’s friends, nor any of Mary’s when she was still around, had ever given much time or thought to Paul. He couldn’t understand why Charlie – Chuck, sorry – was so insistent on sitting in on their conversations. He was incredibly invested in whatever conversations the two had, which didn’t seem fair considering how secretive he was about his own life. George didn’t know what Charlie – Chuck, god damnit – did for a living, nor did even his parents, even though they saw him far more than Paul did. None of that mattered though, apparently, because George loved Chuck, and Chuck loved George just as much.
All that being said, Charlie didn’t occupy much space in his mind, so much so that he regularly forgot his American name that he insisted upon and everyone else loved so dearly. In fact, he spent so little thought on him that it never even occurred to Paul that when George went missing, so did Charlie.