How I need you: Prologue

Prologue

"Ugh, Beatles how did the name arrive? So we will tell you. It came in a vision - a man appeared on a Flaming Pie and said unto them 'From this day on you are Beatles with an A'. 'Thank you, Mister Man,' they said, thanking him" John Lennon.

"To drunkenness and immaturity!"
    The voice of John Lennon had the greatest of abilities to make a quiet evening in a local exclusive London club appear like a riotous act. Paul was sure he could feel half the clientele's eyes burning into the back of his skull, as they glared at the young band that had taken the world by storm.
"John will you shut it?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth frowning at his old friend, ignoring the fact that both Ringo and George were laughing lightly at John who was making eyes at the gorgeous waitress. 'We are trying to avoid attention... and flirting with that slag definitely isn't helping matters.'
"If you must know, I know she is a slag, her names Betty, had a fantastic shag in the toilets with her last week,"
"Was that the day Cyn was with you for that evening out?" Ringo asked, suddenly not smiling at this cruel action. John merely smirked. 'You're a right bastard John... you know that?'
"You're only just realising this?" George replied, taking a swig from his whiskey and coke to examine the blonde. 'Why you after her then?'
"Not for me you fucker! For you!" John patted George's leg and George cursed him, slapping it away angrily. 'We can't have the man with the most notches in his bedposts losing out to a number one slut.'
    George cursed and sipped at his drink. It was bad enough that he hadn't found a regular girlfriend but now John was beginning to rub salt in that old wound, yet had enough slags around London to shag. He'd noticed recently that the new bird that had been hired for A Hard Day's Night, Patti, was coming onto him more and more. She might be good for a bit of loving, he thought carefully.
   However this thought was interrupted by the entrance of the man with the flaming pie appearing next to them. Time froze around the four Beatles, even poor Ringo whom had never believed John's (or so he believed) bullshit stories about it.
Calmly he raised his hand.
"You have failed me," he said in his deep voice.
"Hold on a minute!" Paul managed to gasp out. 'We've got a recording contract! We're doing a movie....'
"You failed me, I provide with your name so you may fulfil your positions" The man with the flaming pie continued. 'The love of your life department... Mr Harrison and Mr Lennon you will fail me with. I would normally take only the two of you... but you four are two closely entangled.'
"Look I'm married!" John stated angrily. 'With a son!'
"But do you love them really Mr. Lennon?" John looked into the man with the flaming pies eyes and felt a frown cross his features. He loved Julian – but it wasn't as if his child was planned, and somehow he'd always thought himself trapped within the relationship. 'I thought so... but you Mr. Harrison... you're worried about finding your true love. I am here to confirm that within your own time you will not find them.'
   George bit his lip, and looked at John. John often offered advice – even if it was crude. He did something which made you believe it was all going to be ok in the end.  John however was looking away and when he turned to both Paul and Ringo they were doing the same.
"Perhaps you may even help Mr. Starkey and Mr. McCartney save your true loves..."
Paul's head jolted up. "You what? What do y-" he broke off as he felt a strange tingling. 'What're you doing?'
"Taking you to your true love Mr. Harrison... don't worry time will accustom around your time..."
And with that four Beatles vanished, along with Neil Aspinall and Mal Evans (whom had been sitting comfortably at the opposite side of the bar to their employers... although the rest of the world didn't notice.

In the years which would follow, Bronwen Sian Roberts would be the one at fault for what would transpire that evening, but as it turned out it would be for the positives.
    But for the moment, she was more concerned about her heels which were being rubbed to death with the high heels required for the job. She sighed and put away the last of the souvenir mugs. The tips had been good tonight thankfully.
    The coffee was gone, but the rich aroma still lingered in the Beatles museum.
She had been working an extra shift tonight in the cafe just adjacent to the museum, although she found herself missing the various chatters of people questioning her about her work. A smile curled its way onto Bronwen's face as she watched the last piece of trash fall into the bin. A contented sigh escaped her and she stretched, looking around.  
     The tourists had been coming in by the dozen recently. She couldn't believe the outcome; despite the fact she worked here underneath Julia Baird, John Lennon's younger halfsister – whom always reminded Bronwen that The Beatles were unforgettable!  
"Goodnight." She heard the last two girls say as they pulled their coats close before exiting the building.  She waved absentmindedly after them.  Not wanting to mess up the chairs, she made to sit on the counter.  It was quiet, the exact opposite to what it had been the entire week. Bronwen had to admit; she loved the music so the job suited her to the tea and she was already part-time manager of the store when Julia wasn't there.
   She was startled from these particular thoughts at the sound of the clock in the town centre coming to life, counting the hours. She listened carefully and panicked as the tenth chime faded and was followed closely by the eleventh. It was already this late? In a rush, she quickly checked that everything was closed up before dashing out of the door to go home.
      The day had been good there had been no visiting from Nick, so she was cheerful. In the distance she could see Mrs. Wong turning off the chippie the light. Normally she would've had her art student friend, Sam beside her as well as the veterinarian student Abbie and actress Michaela although Bronwen was alone tonight due to her having the longest walk home and all the others having university classes first thing in the morning.
"Fucking hell," she mumbled as the cold nipped at her shoulders and arms. She winced slightly as her hands whispered over her new set of bruises. 'I miss Wales.' Her warm welsh accent provided a voice to the darkened streets. 'I miss home.'
     Grumbles however did not give her the answers from the streets. The streets of Liverpool never offered her any comfort as usual. Bronwen scowled, as she walked along although focused on preparing for her next shift in the cavern – after all she'd only become the compere by absolute chance the previous month.
     Suddenly a bright light broke through the streets, and for a strange second Bronwen thought she was being abducted by aliens, until she saw several very humanly features landing on the ground coughing and spluttering in Scouser tones.  
Surprisingly for her, she assessed the situation calmly and without screaming.
   There were seven men standing before her, six looking utterly bewildered while the final one looked utterly saintly while also appearing totally snobbish. However, the more disconcerting fact was that four of the bewildered men were the ones who The Beatles Story Museum was named for and were the reason she had a job.
"Oh my God!"

George, meanwhile, was struggling to comprehend the woman in front of him. Not that she was outstandingly beautiful in anyway but there was something pulling him towards the dark brown eyes which were flickering over them.
"Bronwen Sian Roberts, of late parents, Hugh and Sian Roberts," the man with the flaming pie asked.
The girl, now named Bronwen, looked up in shock. 'Who the fucking hell are you? And how do you know my parents' and my name?!'
"I am the man with the flaming pie,"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Bronwen took several steps back and put her fingers through her hair. 'No, no, no I'm dreaming.'
"This is no dream," the man with the flaming pie seemed annoyed at her statements. 'I put the band The Beatles with an A in your care along with their entourage.'
And with that he was gone.
Bronwen stared at the space before looking down at the now seven men, before looking heavenward. 'Someone upstairs really dislikes me,' she said to the sky before turning her attention to the group. 'What year are you from?'
"1964," George replied, scratching his face and standing holding out his hand. She took it gently. 'Where are we?'
"Liverpool 2012," Bronwen whispered back, as if suddenly realising the monumental thing before smiling. 'I think I need a hand with this... and I think you'd better follow me.