Jon Winston took the Monday morning bus to work as he did every day. His commute soundtrack was the same as it always was, the Beatles. The band were more than just music, they were his life. Ever since his parents, his father in particular, had introduced him to the music of the Fab Four, as a child, he’d been obsessed with the band. They just had it all. The four musicians seemed to have come together and just create magic. And, for Jon, no other band had come close since. 

He had visited all the major Beatles landmarks, been to Liverpool dozens of times, to see the famous Cavern club, Strawberry Field, Penny Lane and the museums. He had even had his photo taken on the famous zebra crossing in London, outside the Abbey Road studios. 

There really wasn’t anything left on the Beatles tourist trail for him to do. Each time a new exhibition or Beatles museum opened in the city, Jon would catch the train to Liverpool Lime Street, and head straight there. 

As his bus neared his stop on that Monday morning, his mobile phone started pinging with text messages from family and friends. The messages were coming in so fast, he couldn’t take them all in properly. 

OMG, have you heard? I can’t believe it? Are you going? How much would you pay? Roll on Friday morning. 

He scrolled down the messages trying to figure out what was happening. Slowly it came to him. He stepped off the bus at his stop with his head spinning. Was this really happening? Paul McCartney, one half of the famous Lennon and McCartney song-writing partnership and bass-player with the greatest band in the world, was coming to Manchester to perform for one night only. The tickets would go on sale at 9am on Friday morning. 

As he walked round the corner to the office, he replied to the messages. What great news, and of course he would be going. This was a once in a life-time opportunity. And as for how much he would pay? That was a very good question. Could he actually put a price on seeing an actual Beatle in concert? He would have an actual connection to the Beatles. He would have a link to the band, he would have seen the great man perform live. What a link with the band. He shivered at the very thought. 

The former Beatle will be actually performing a selection of his greatest hits at the arena that summer. As soon as he reached the office, he went through to his manager’s office and asked that he be allowed to start work a little later on Friday. His manager looked up from his computer, asking what he was up to, expecting Jon to say he had a dentist or doctor’s appointment. Jon explained about the concert tickets he would be hopefully obtaining. The manager smiled and wished him luck. 

All that week all Jon could think about was the concert and the tickets going on sale. His evenings were spent watching live shows of Paul McCartney and documentaries on the Beatles. Just imagine going to see the great man himself. Imagine hearing him play Beatle songs, any Beatles song.

On Friday morning, feeling sick with excitement and anticipation, and also not wanting to get his hopes up, Jon made himself a cup of tea, and settled down on his living room sofa, with his laptop, tablet computer and his phone, ready to make the attempt for concert tickets. There had been talk on social media all week, how it would be a mad frenzy as everyone dashed for tickets. 

As 9am approached, he clicked on the ticket websites, on all his devices, knowing that fans of the ex-Beatle across Europe would be doing the same, in an attempt to secure a ticket for the gig. Fans would be flying in from all over. He had once been going on holiday to Spain when the Rolling Stones had been playing in Barcelona. The flight from Manchester was packed with guys in Rolling Stones t-shirts, all off to see their heroes in concert.

Paul McCartney was expected to sell-out in minutes. This was big. Jon just hoped he was one of the lucky ones, who managed to bag themselves a ticket. He felt like a kid in a film he’d seen about tickets to go to a magical chocolate factory. With a bit of luck, he would have a golden ticket.

He checked his computers and his mobile phone. On each of his devices he was over 15,000 in the queue. He cursed and paced the living room, his eyes not leaving the screens. Come on, come on. How did these electronic queues even work? Were they legit? Did you actually queue up in order? Did anyone check? The numbers ticked down painfully slowly as the minutes wore on. 

His mobile phone and his laptop seemed to stall around the 10,000 mark. Surely the tickets would sell out before he had reached the front of the line. This was awful. His heart pounded in his chest like Ringo Starr playing the drums. He shook his head and swore, cursing the rest of the world, who were also, it seemed, trying to get tickets.

It took him a second to realise what the display on his tablet computer meant. The countdown had been replaced by a blue seating plan of the venue. His jaw dropped. He hovered over the arena plan and clicked select best seat. 

With trembling hands, he tapped in his credit card details and clicked ‘buy tickets’. Seconds later the screen changed to, congratulations, you’re in, and his email inbox pinged, with his ticket. He stared at the screen, revelling in the words, and tracing a finger over the electronic ticket in his inbox. He was going to see Paul McCartney in concert. 

He text almost every number in his mobile phone contacts, telling everyone the good news. His parents were delighted and his brother was chuffed to bits for him. As he rode the bus to work, he had to stop himself from singing Beatles tunes at the top of his voice, and declaring to the other passengers, and the driver, that he was going to see Paul McCartney that summer.

That weekend, he called round to see his parents. As they sipped tea at the kitchen table, he explained what an exciting day Friday had been and how he’d been lucky enough to get a ticket for the big gig, and how as predicted, there was a mad scramble for tickets, and it had sold out in minutes. Jon had been one of the lucky few who had managed to get a ticket. 

‘How much did you pay?’ His dad asked.

‘Five hundred pounds.’ Jon said.

‘Five hundred quid?’ He spluttered. ‘Blimey, I almost choked on my digestive biscuit.’ 

His dad tossed his half-eaten biscuit to the table.

‘Dad, its Paul McCartney. You can’t put a price on it.’

‘You could go on holiday for that, get a week in the sun, instead of one night at the arena.’ His dad insisted.

‘I thought you’d understand. You were around in the Sixties.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t pay a fortune to see an eighty-odd year old in concert.’

‘But, dad, it’s the Beatles.’ Jon said.

‘Paul McCartney now isn’t the same as Beatle Paul McCartney of the 1960s.’

‘Yeah, maybe you’re right, but it’s as near as I’m gonna get.’ Jon said.

His mother enthused that as long as Jon was happy with it, then that was the main thing.

‘Mam, I’m absolutely delighted. I still can’t believe it.’

His mother patted his hand, before shooting her husband a disapproving look.

Jon counted down the weeks, listening to nothing but the Beatles and Paul McCartney, even growing his hair a little longer on top, into something kind of resembling a Beatles mop. He combed his hair in the mirror, imagining he was Paul McCartney in the film, A Hard Day’s Night.

He travelled the bus to work, listening to a different album every day, working his way through the music legend’s back catalogue. As he worked at his desk, he found himself humming Beatles and McCartney songs to himself. The idea of seeing the legend in concert in the coming days was just all-consuming. A few of his colleagues commented that they hadn’t been this excited for their wedding or the birth of their child. Jon just laughed along. They didn’t understand, this was such a big deal. He sensed this would be one of the key moments in his life.

And finally, the day of the concert arrived.

He arrived at the venue, so excited he felt sick. This was it. This was the moment, the big event of his life. He had hardly slept the night before, unable to forget the fact that the next day, he would be seeing the man himself in concert. 

He joined the crowd of people queuing up, all talking excitedly, unable to contain themselves, mostly, like him, wearing Beatles t-shirts. The anticipation in the crowd was just off the scale. Pockets of people sang Beatles songs and whooped and cheered, happy to even be in the queue for Paul McCartney. 

Jon tried to concentrate, and take it all in. This would be the start of the evening he would want to remember for ever. He imagined himself telling people in years to come, of the night he got to see Paul McCartney in concert. This would be the concert of his life. 

Back in the 1960s the Beatles had given some epic, timeless performances. Following on from starting in the Cavern in Liverpool, and honing their craft in Hamburg, there was the Shea Stadium concert, the Fab Four in their prime, smashing it out of the park, and culminating in the famous roof-top concert towards the end of the decade. The last performance, the farewell. And now Jon was about to have a sample of that euphoria himself. 

Finally the queue shuffled forward, and he reached the front. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, and handed his ticket to the steward in the high-vis vest.

She scanned the bar-code on his ticket with her mobile device. The device made a sound that reminded him of a quiz show. When contestants got the answer wrong, it made that kind of sound. A red light flashed on her device.

‘Sorry, love, this ticket is a fake.’ she said. 

‘What? No, that can’t be possible. Can you try it again?’ He pleased.

She nodded and scanned his ticket again. Sure enough, the machine made the same negative tone and glowed red. Jon shook his head, trying not to panic, he couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now, not when he was so close. 

‘I got the ticket from that website, Tikki Tickets. It said it was a legitimate vendor.’ He insisted.

‘We’ve had a lot of this thing going on. Sorry.’ She turned to the couple behind him. ‘Tickets please.’

Leaving the rest of the queue to file through and enter with their legitimate tickets, he staggered and stumbled, drifting away from the entrance. 

He was crushed, completely devastated. His big moment, his chance to see his idol, one of the Beatles, had been cruelly been snatched from him. 

As he drifted away from the arena, away from the fans he now eyed with envy. He needed a drink. He spotted a pub up ahead. If he couldn’t see Paul McCartney then he just wanted to get so drunk he would forget what day it was, never mind, the concert he should have been attending that night. 

At that moment his mother text him. Hope you have a wonderful night. Tell Paul McCartney we said hello. 

He shook his head. He called his mother, explaining in crushed tones, that he’d paid over seven hundred pounds for a fake ticket.

‘I thought you said five hundred.’ She said.

‘I paid what I had to, mum. I didn’t want to tell people how much I paid. People think I’m crazy as it is.’

‘Oh, love.’ she replied. She asked what he would do now.

‘I’m going for a pint in the Nag’s Head. With a whiskey chaser, a double.’ He replied. 

Half an hour later, as he was getting stuck in to his third pint, and whiskey chaser, a familiar face entered the pub. His father ordered himself a beer and joined his son.

‘How are you shaping up, lad?’ His dad asked. 

‘Yeah, not bad. I’ve had better evenings. It’s not quite worked out quite the way I’d hoped.’ Jon shrugged. 

His father nodded. Jon took a swig of his pint and continued.

‘I mean, it’s Paul McCartney. It’s the Beatles. Going to see him perform, it would have meant so much. It would have been my connection to the Fab Four themselves.’ He sighed. 

His father handed him a carrier bag. Jon peered inside and took out the contents. 

It was a vinyl record, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Judging by the marking on the back, it was an original LP from 1967. An original LP of the classic album was something, not exactly rare, but still, an actual Beatles record from their heyday.

‘An original Sixties Beatles album. Nice one, dad’ He nodded. 

‘Check out the inside sleeve.’ His father said. 

Jon opened up the double-album and gasped. 

The four Beatles stared out from 60’s psychedelic sleeve in their famous Sgt Pepper uniforms.

What caused him to start, was that the album appeared to be signed by the four Beatles themselves. Above each of the Beatles was scrawled signatures in blue ink.

‘Is this real? Are the autographs legit?’ Jon asked.

‘Not everything’s a fake, you know.’ His dad laughed. ‘Just because your ticket was a fake doesn’t mean that is.’

‘How do you know they’re real signatures?’ He asked. 

‘Because I got them to sign it. Your uncle Tommy and I went down to London and hung around Abbey Road studios. We waited all day in the rain to get a glimpse of the lads.’ 

Jon handled the record as though it was a rare and ancient artefact and put it back in the bag.

‘Thanks for showing me. That really is a lovely thing.’ He went to hand the record back to his dad.

‘I’m not showing it you. I’m giving it you. It’s yours. I was going to pass that on when, you know, I wasn’t around anymore but, I thought you could use it right now.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing. That’s really made my day.’ Jon said, tears in his eyes.

‘I think you owe me a pint.’ His dad said.

As he headed to the bar, his father pointed to the juke box.

‘And put some Beatles on, will you?’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom