Jim McCartney was in the living room, wearing a dressing toga and looking agitated. He looked up as we opened the door, and marched right over to Paul, not looking happy.
“Paul McCartney, where have you been? It’s nearly two in the morning!”
So that was what time it was. I automatically relaxed a little. I wasn’t used to not being able to find out the time whenever I wanted to.
Paul blinked his long-lashed eyes. “I know, Dad, we just....”
I stepped forward, remembering my promise. “It was my fault, Mr McCartney.”
Jim looked at me. “Your fault? Who is this, Paul?”
“I’m Gloria,”...
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