A Winter Love Song by Rita Bradshaw

Author:Rita Bradshaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

Chapter Fifteen

Bonnie looked at herself in the mirror of the dressing room and had to laugh. The thick, dark, revolting make-up that was necessary for television was truly horrible, and the vivid yellow cocktail dress she was wearing which would appear white on the screen was a pretty vile colour too. The first time she had been made up by one of the make-up artists at the television studio some months ago she had been horrified, convinced her appearance had to be some cruel practical joke in spite of the girl insisting everyone had to have the same, but when she had seen Art and the others she had relaxed. They looked like weird clowns too. And she had had enough to think about that day without worrying about her appearance, the barrage of instructions she’d received from the studio manager ringing in her ears. She had to stick to her chalk mark on the floor and not wander about; she had to remember to sing to the camera as though it was the audience; if she forgot her words – heaven forbid – she mustn’t, on any account, freeze but just carry on and ad lib; the performance went out live of course and thousands of people would be seeing it. The directions that went with appearing on television had been endless, and so very different from anything she had experienced before. But she had got through.

She slid off the make-up stool after thanking the girl who had caked the thick foundation and powder on, her eyes already feeling gritty under their heavy layer of shadow and mascara. She didn’t like it, but at least she was used to it now, and once she was on stage and singing nothing else mattered. That hadn’t changed. And this was the last television show for some time as the band was off on tour to Holland in a few days at the beginning of February. Unlike Art and the rest of the band she had never been abroad before, and the prospect both excited and worried her. But at least she would be away from England for three months. It was silly perhaps, but since Art had first told her they were going to do a television performance, she had been worried that her grandmother might find her, and a sense of foreboding had dogged her days and nights. Try as she might, she couldn’t throw it off.

She took a deep breath and prepared herself for this last show. It had been different when she had performed in the London clubs and concerts or on tour, and even radio hadn’t concerned her in the same way. You could remain anonymous with the radio broadcasts. Oh, your voice was well known of course, but people couldn’t see you, they didn’t know what you looked like. She had liked that. And she knew that when Art had told her about the television opportunity he hadn’t got the reaction he’d wanted. She had stared

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