Six months later. In a letter to Stu, John recalls the bigger and better gigs being handed to The Beatles, and mentions a London audition they thought went well, but...we see Epstein and the record-company representative duking it out. "I'm afraid I didn't" like them, the fool says, mispronouncing Epstein's name. "My job is to feel the pulse of the record-buying public, and my sense is that guitar bands like these chaps are simply on the way out." Epstein convulses with wrath, spitting that The Beatles will be bigger than Elvis. By the looks of him, John Lennon's already notably bigger than Elvis. "Liverpool is not London," Dumb-ass smarms, claiming that Liverpool fans aren't terribly progressive. Epstein fumes. "I know you have a profitable situation up there," winks Six-Months-From-Getting-Fired. "If I were you, I would just tend to that." Epstein insists on making clear that he and Lack-Of-Vision are not the same person, and that the oaf will be kicking himself. "Hope the bastard kicks himself to death someday," growls John's voice-over.
Elated, Stu unfolds a copy of a newspaper proclaiming The Beatles the #1 group in all of Liverpool, having triumphed over a competitive field that included The Pub Crawlers, St. Albans Church Marching Band and Progressivist Choir, and Emmett Otter's Jug Band. Stu is thrilled. "Zat's fantastik!" coos Astrid. Stu grins that The Beatles will be in Hamburg the next week to play a huge venue. He stands joyfully, then crumbles as a huge headache weakens his knees. Astrid flips out, but Stu insists he's fine. Foreshadowing drops its scythe on my floor.
At the Hamburg Airport, John spots Astrid and waves excitedly, rushing to see her. She's standing about ten feet from the gate, and she's alone and very still. "Where's Stu?" John asks, grinning. Astrid trembles. Stu died the previous night in an ambulance, she tells him. John thinks it's a joke, but Astrid cries that it's true and she doesn't know how to handle it. She doesn't think she can go on without him. "You bloody have to go on," John yells. "Like when me Mum was killed. You have to make up your mind. Do you wanna live, or do you wanna die too? You can't bring Stu back, so sod it all." Eloquent words from a sensitive man. "Live and Let Die," anyone? Conveniently, a bar is located three paces from a grieving Astrid. John storms over and guzzles whiskey shots while the other band members console her.
After that spot of drama, there's no need for Germany, what with its silly wall and thick beer, so we're whisked back to England. The four Beatles walk robotically through a crosswalk, carrying their guitars. The street sign reads, "Abbey Road." Wink, wink! Nudge, nudge! I spy forced authenticity here! Oh, but wait, they're crossing the road to go play for George Martin, who might sign them to a label. Right.