Jolly Johnny and Beautiful Bonnie

{ •9• }

Bonnie

The plane I got on was fucking gigantic. Like massive.
Even though I was already in France and I could drive to Austria, the company insisted I fly.
I wasn't objecting of course. I hadn't any idea where I was really going, or who I was going to photograph. But it was so exciting! Seeing a band!
I wonder if it's the Rolling Stones, or the Monkees. Or could it be...
The Beatles?

Every time I hear their name or their music, I feel a small pain in my chest. Like I've been hurting.
I wanted John to become a far distant memory after those events in "63, I wanted to forget him in my dazzling new life. But I felt brain dead without him.
Like I couldn't function.
I had gotten to known him so well, he was... he was...

Almost my soulmate.
Maybe my soulmate.

My letter sent, looking back on it, was awkward and childish, smothered with silly emotions and soppy pieces. But I'm mature now. I'm a proper women who wears proper high heels and I've lost 3 stone!!! 3 stone!!!!!

It's this all green no meat diet everyone's trying. I thought I'd stab it for a laugh but it's really helped.

The Alps loom into view and I crane my neck over a man who copped the window seat, lucky sod. He shuffled under my gaze and I looked away, sniffing.

The plane bounced along the runway and I flew through customs. I was supposed to be looking for this man in an orange (?!) suit with a sign saying Bonnie Bedford, but my eyes trailed over the gin bottles in Duty Free, taking my time eyeing up the beverages.

As I strolled into the Arrivals area, my attention immediately grasped a bulky man in a vibrant orange suit and a sign reading:
Bonie Beddford

Nice. Name spelt wrong.
I strolled up to the man through the crowds and smiled sweetly, hoping to make a good first impression.

"Hi, my name's Bonnie Bedford, I'm the photographer."
I introduced.

The man looked down at me with his overly sized sunglasses and glanced half-heartedly at my small suitcase.

"Let's go."
He grunted, abruptly turning his back and leaving me to stand in shock.
How rude! 
I run to catch up with him and walk next to the man, hoping to get some more info.
"What's your name?"

"Mal Evans."

Mal's reply was short and sharp.

"And who are you?"

"I'm the bodyguard."
He grunted again.

I could see his intelligence was short of a slug's, so I stopped questioning and followed him to a long sleek Aston Martin.
"Wow!"
I exclaimed. I've always wanted to go in one of these.
Mal grabs my suitcase and flings it in the boot and ushers me into the back seat, I squeak a little on the fine Italian  leather, but I soon become comfortable, feeling like a movie star.

The car rolls into the mountains and I gape at the beautiful scenery.
The  mountains sugar dusted with snow are dotted with green pines and small brown chalets.

"It's gorgeous..."

I whisper to myself, but Mal interrupts.

"Close your mouth, otherwise flys'll get in."

I slam my mouth shut and mock half at him and he smiled for the first time today.

The car ends up in a small town, completely deserted, apart from a TV crew, and a couple of others milling about.

I was told cameras would be here, so I didn't bring any of my equipment.
Only my little travel camera that comes with me everywhere, but that's beside the point.

As I clamber out, I hear a couple of shouts.

"The Photographers here!"

A small weedy man in smart attire immediately runs up to me, without tripping or sliding over the snow, and looks at me pleasingly.

"Thank god you're here. We need them setting up before we can start filming."

I was taken back. Who are these people? Who am I photographing?

"Ok, but-"

Before I could ask questions, I was shut off by the manager, who led me to a camera set.

"Here you are. Is this sufficient?"

I nodded in awe at the quality, but I still had no idea what was going on.

"Ok! Bring them on!"

Suddenly everyone started moving and people waded through the snow with bulbs, skies, horse food,
Wait? Horse food?!

What the bloody hell is going on?!

I stand helpless behind this massive camera set and a million people bustling around.
Not to mention, I dressed for Spring Paris, not winter Austria, so I freeze in my boots, skirt and blouse.

I go to tap someone on the shoulder, but people move too fast and suddenly,

Everyone's gone and four men stand in front of the set.

I can't see their faces, so I walk around the front to take the camera lenses off and to get a good look.
As I turn my back to take the lense off, I hear a familiar whistle.
I stop in my tracks.

It can't be. Can it?
I could recognise that whistle from anywhere.

My hearts thumping a million to  one as I slowly pivot in the snow and see the face that I fell in love with.

"Marmite?"