1965, tube station at Piccadilly Circus, London

"Right, my ticket says I've got forty five minutes here." Freddie anxiously looked at the linear world clock on the wall as he strolled along the ticket hall, tucking his return fare safely into his pocket.

He emerged from the underground and into the bustling streets and bright billboards and advertisements, deciding where to go first. Before he went home for Sunday dinner, then a quiet evening to continue working on his portfolio, Freddie had a list in his mind of things he was intending to get such as new music, for he was getting a little bored of what was in his current collection and needed an update, as much as he loved it of course. The same went for his wardrobe, but he didn't have enough money to buy the latest fashions.

I have time for that later, he told himself, convinced that one day he was going to be under the spotlight.

He stopped by a reflection on a car door around the corner from where he stepped off the underground, anxiously fixing his hair. He didn't like how short and awkward it still was, and wanted it to grow just a little longer. A bit like the urchin style most guys around him had since The Beatles or The Beach Boys stepped into the scene, ever since he pleaded his mother to let him do it. Even within a few months of living here his little sister quickly noticed that he stood out from most Brits, and wouldn't walk next to him when they went to the shops in Feltham. It had been a year, and the one thing Freddie wanted at this time was to settle into this drab, cold country. The only thing he liked about London other than the galleries was the growing music scene.

Once he was satisfied with every minor detail of his appearance he then turned to the wall to look at the street he was on before his eyes scanned his surroundings, deciding on where to go first.

Instinctively he walked towards a music outlet that he saw in the distance, and made up his mind that it was to be his first stop on the journey for goodness knows how long he'd need in there.

"Let's see what I can surprise myself with." He murmured, looking right and left at the kerb before crossing through each gap he could take.

He wavered toward the new releases section of the shop as soon as he walked in, seeing what he could get his hands on. He stopped by the stand advertising Cliff Richard's work, old and new.

His musical tastes were broadening, yes. But he still liked listening to Cliff just as much as he did back in India; he was a part of the only western music he and his band had back then.

He picked up one of his most recent singles, Angel.

"He's going out of style but at least he is still a talented fellow" he thought, looking at how he was sporting a decade old hairstyle that he himself was also trying to outgrow.

He looked around for the listening station, and luckily there was one situated next to where he was by the stand.

He eagerly slipped the record out of the sleeve and laid it on the turntable, slipping the headphones on and cutting off the sound of the outside world before lowering the needle...

He listened as the song opened with an upbeat, swinging rhythm with the claps of hands, like most songs these days of course. Aretha, Dusty, the list went on...

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"Angel... with those angel eyes...," Freddie felt himself nodding along. "Come and take the earth boy... up to paradise..."

He was startled by the tug of his sleeve.

He jumped slightly, and immediately slipped the headphones off as he turned to the culprit.

It was a little girl.

She was wearing a pink coat down to her knees, white long socks and black shiny Sunday shoes. Her blue eyes looked back up expectantly, her dark brown hair pulled back with a blue satin ribbon tucked behind her ears.

He peered around, for there was nobody nearby. Maybe she was lost?

"Oh, are you alright?" He turned to her.

"Please, can you pass me down that album?" She asked politely.

"My my, what an interesting accent" he thought.

"Why of course I can, dear," he nodded and reached his arm up, to the higher shelves, "Just tell me which record it is that you want... is it somewhere along here?"

"Yes, it's the one with the picture of Cliff on the hill."

"Cliff Richard?"

She nodded, and explained, "It's far too high up for me to reach."

"Cliff on a hill," He traced his finger along each cover, "Cliff on a hill... Cliff on a-aha!"

He stopped at the correct title with the man himself on the cover singing passionately, the city of Athens with the Acropolis landmark in the backdrop, and lifted the soundtrack album off with ease before gently handing it down to her. "...There you go. Is that everything?"

"Oh yes! Thank you." She squeaked, flashing a shy smile before turning it around to look at the track list.

He was distracted by her voice. The closest he could think of was Scottish, only he hadn't been in England long enough to know and her voice would drag up at the end in a peculiar way.

"So... you like Cliff too?" He finally asked, thinking it would be the good-mannered thing to make conversation. And after all, this child seemed much more bright and friendly;  he found that most children like his younger sister tended to be irritable.

"Mmhmm, and I love this movie... I want this one for my 7th birthday." She nodded and blushed, looking at Cliff intently.

Her accent didn't sound scottish anymore, as it had much more of an Irish twang to it.

"Perhaps if you ask your mum and dad they will buy it for you." Freddie suggested softly.

"Maybe daddy would, but my mummy doesn't really care." She shrugged as she looked at it in her hands, her finger tracing along Cliff's figure. "My sister wanted to go in and buy some new records with the money she earned for looking after my brother and I when mummy and daddy went to a gala last night. I wanted to come with them, but I had to stay behind at the hotel... it's unfair being the middle child sometimes."

He smiled a bit, "I'm an older child of two, but I can imagine it must be difficult... Where are your parents now?"

"My mum is... Well, she's somewhere," she looked right and left. "My dad is at a business meeting. We are only here because he is on one of his trade deals."

"Have you gotten much to do here?" He asked. "London has a lot of places to see, you know."

"No, it's only for two nights." She shook her head disappointedly. "We are going back early in the morning. It's Monday, and the three of us have school."

"Oh, school... I'm so glad I don't have to go to school anymore," He set the record in his hands back on the shelf. "I go to an art school now."

She lifted her head and gave him a peculiar look, "Sorry, did you say... art school?"

He nodded, "That is right, I get to learn how to draw, to paint, to make dresses, make whatever I want and do what I like..."

"That's so wonderful! You can go to school and draw all day?! Wow, I'd love that..." a smile appeared on her face.

"You didn't even know that was possible, did you?" He giggled slightly.

"No, the world has so much in it... I wish I could stay in this city longer," she looked back at the sleeve of the record in her hands. "I wish I could drive around the world in one of those red buses out there with Cliff... I wish I could explore everything on this globe."

"Me too, I have only been to three places in my life: Africa, India, and here." He said.

"What? Africa and India are amazing!" She looked up at him in awe. "Tell me what they're like!"

"They aren't so great when you have to live in those places... it spoils the excitement a little." He murmured.

"You lived there?!" She grew fascinated.

"Oh yes, I was born in Tanzania... but my parents sent me to go to school in India when I was roughly your age because they were... well, their hands were too full to take care of me." He explained so that she could understand.

"Oh wow... I couldn't imagine my mummy and daddy ever doing that to me."

"They only wanted what they thought was best for me. I moved back to Africa when I was 16 but then... we all moved to London a year ago, so I've only been living here for a short time."

"You don't sound like you're from another place... you sound very British indeed." She finally declared after a momentary silence.

He laughed, "Well, I did go to school with a lot of English people too and that is where I got my accent... where are you from, then?"

"I'm from Belfast, in Ireland. It's not very big, and a lot of people there just fight. London is much bigger and nicer I think."

"Belfast!" He thought, "that explains that interesting voice then"

But he continued, "Well you know, one day when you're older, you can move here... you'll be able to do whatever you want with your life."

"I'd love to... but I just don't know where to start." she looked down.

"It starts with a dream... for example, one day I want to be a musician-"

"Monica!" A woman's shrill voice interrupted him.

The girl's head darted toward a woman with a light haired perm and wearing a long stole fur coat, standing at the end of the aisle holding a small boy's hand, a teenage girl in a blouse and capris lagging slightly behind with a record under her arm.

"Monica... So that's her name?" Freddie thought. "Nice name... a little old for her though, but one day she will grow into it."

"Put that back and come on over here, this is no time for lolling about!" The woman ordered, an Irish accent much like her daughter's, only stronger and harsher.

"Uhh sorry, I need to leave!" Panicked, the girl set the vinyl back on a random shelf and turned her back as she rushed to the group.

"Sorry if my daughter was bothering you, young man." The woman held her free hand out to her little girl.

"Oh of course not! It's quite alright..." he trailed off as the woman ignored him, watching as the nice young girl was dragged off by the hand.

"Your dad's meeting is over at five," the woman firmly told the three of them as they walked away. "We need to meet him in the lobby just in time for dinner. And you, little Mo, should not be talking to strangers and funny men!"

"Funny men? Excuse you!" Freddie thought, his eyes narrowing. "And what kind of nickname for your own child is Mo?!"

"Can we have the three course meal that we ordered last night?" The girl asked her mother eagerly.

"Of course not! That was just one of your father's brazen ideas of a treat, and look! You're all going to get fat if you eat another cake!" Her mother nagged, and the older girl pulled a face in outrage when she wasn't looking before self-consciously clasping her own waist to see how thick it was.

"That woman is rather unpleasant, I pity her children" Freddie thought, for the children all had gangly legs and not an inch of meat on their slim figures.

The boy looked a little like his sister, with dark hair and blue eyes, only younger. As for the older girl, they shared a face but she had her mother's hair colour of mousey, sandy brown that fell to her shoulders, and pulled a slightly sour expression rather like her mother's too.

He continued to stare as the family walked out the door, the little girl's hair cascading in loose curls down her back.

She didn't even look back as they walked by the window.

"Lovely little girl, but such a shame she couldn't stay... we never got to say goodbye either," Freddie thought, setting the vinyl she placed back on the right section of the shelf and making his way further up the aisle. "Maybe one day when I am famous and she is a little older I will be able to make her smile just as much as Cliff does."

And, somewhere in time, he did... in more ways than he imagined too.