Hotel Fairmont de Montreux

"Mr Bulsara?" Mrs Brannigan, Monica's mother looked across the dinning table at him in the dining area.

He lifted his head from his lap.

"Please, Mercury." He politely corrected her. "In fact, Freddie is perfectly fine."

"Freddie?" She sighed and repeated.

Freddie nervously glanced over to his future father-in-law engaged in conversation with his heavily pregnant daughter sitting in the lounge area, before glancing back to the woman.

"Yes?" He chirped, fidgeting with the corner of the ivory tablecloth.

"I appreciate you paying to accommodate my husband and I," she said. "But, I'm afraid your generosity doesn't compensate for the concerns that I have not only for my daughter, but also for you as a father of my grandchildren."

Freddie looked the woman up and down. Her tight-curled hair was mousey brown, unlike Monica's, and her figure in the prim grey suit was a little more bony. She did have her daughter's eyes though, but with wrinkled sockets and crows feet.

"Concerns?" Freddie picked up his teacup.

"My daughter went on a city break with a friend... a few days later she phones to tell me that she's leaving home and staying to go and live with a man that she hardly knows who is 10 years older than her," Mrs Brannigan folded her napkin up. "A man who also happens to be a rock star. Don't tell me it's not normal to be anxious."

Freddie could sense that she didn't like him. Already he'd won Monica's father's approval since they'd met that morning after a conversation about furniture, doing his best to come across as the gentleman any father would accept if she ever brought one home ("the polar opposite of Roger", he told Monica that morning). It did mean he had to sacrifice his leather jacket and jewellery for the visit, but it was all for the same of a good first impression.

He sipped, then set his cup down, "Your daughter was-still is, a school girl, yes. And that vulnerability is what keeps me on my feet-"

"But she was meant to enroll at university that fall." She added. "Now she's here in a world of A-List, preparing to give birth in Switzerland! Sometimes I don't know what goes on in that child's head... it's stuck in the clouds."

"I know, but... don't you think her opportunities are better in London than they were in Belfast?"

Mrs Brannigan slowly stood up, leaning across to him as her eyes narrowed. Freddie looked back up, still and holding his breath.

"If you do anything to hurt my daughter, or those twins," she firmly told him. "I'm making sure she can confide in me and that they're on the next plane back to Ireland."

"Who would want to confide in her with those icy eyes?" He thought. Monica had given him them countless times when he was about to do something not very sensible, like when he'd put things in the shopping trolley that they didn't need or he'd feed the cats milk and ham out of the fridge. But her mother's eyes, he decided, were enough to stop him in a trice.

The things he wanted to tell her at that moment. Behind his tight lips he was fighting back the urge to unleash his frustrated rage or to pour his heart out-

"You alright, honey?" Mr Brannigan appeared, placing his hand on her back.

Freddie looked around, "where's Monica?"

"The powder room," He replied. "She needed the toilet."

"Ah... that bladder." Freddie pulled his chair out.

"I remember her ma was just the same when she carried each of them" Mr Brannigan chuckled, slinging his arm around the blushing woman.

"Oh, now, is there any need to make me bashful?" The woman playfully slapped her husband's chest.

Freddie was silently seeking any opportunity to make himself more likeable to the old bat, and now that she seemed rather relaxed in her husband's company...

"What is that? Is that stote?" Freddie awkwardly remarked the woman's fur coat slung on her chair, the same one she audibly refused to let the hotel staff store in the lobby cloakroom that morning, thus giving him a negative impression of her.

"Why... it is," the baffled woman lifted it. "How did you know-"

"Oh, art history and the fashion design module in my degree" he left a sum of cash under the saucer.

"Aye, the boy's been telling me about his furniture collection all morning." Mr Brannigan helped her step in it. "He's clearly a cultured lad."

"You see, the problem with a lot of rock stars these days, is that they don't have my taste." Freddie added slyly.

"And how did that all come about, may I ask?" She closed her handbag.

"Oh, just the way my mother raised me, keeping me informed with the modern world... she was always buying western magazines and records and tuning into Hollywood films on the television and-"

"Western?" Her mother interrupted.

Freddie bit his tongue; he hated it when conversations with approached his ethnicity in a place like 1970s England.

"Ah, look at him," Mr Brannigan glanced at him up and down. "That tan, the hair... Clearly he's not English."

"Are your parents perhaps Italian... or Greek?" His wife suggested. "You certainly have a Mediterranean streak."

He blushed, "not exactly, it's much more complicated than that I can assure you."

"All okay?" Monica briefly touched his arm, interrupting the conversation.

"Oh, you're back!" He took her hand, relieved.

"Yes," she smiled. "Are you ready to go?"

He nodded, and held his other hand out. "Thank you for coming all the way here in the middle of winter. See you in London."

Her dad shook back eagerly, "Thank you for facilitating us both."

"Take care of her." Her mum's grip was more reluctant.

"I will, I promise." He said in all honesty as Monica hugged both her parents.

"I'll call the house from the hospital in Geneva when they arrive, I promise," Monica said. "Say hi to Missy for me."

The Brannigans nodded, and the couple waved and turned towards the lobby.

"My god..." Freddie muttered under his breath.

"You alright?" Monica asked, fixing her scarf.

"Your mother was watching me like a hawk."

"Sorry about that... she did that to my sister's husband too."

"Did she warm up to him eventually?"

She nodded, "yeah... which is ironic because he's kinda... boring. I don't know what she saw in him but in my opinion she can do better."

"Your mum thought I was south Eastern European," he said. "How would she feel when she finds out I'm Parsi Indian?"

"She wouldn't really care," Monica shrugged as they walked along the snow-ploughed road on the shore of lake Geneva. "I mean, us Irish are always getting battered by the British about being terrorists anyway so who is she to judge?"

"I suppose your right... your dad seems like a decent chap."

"I know... he just wants me to be happy. It's the mother who wants me protected. I suppose her bark is worse than her bite."

"We will see... all I have to do is something that will make her bite me."

"Hey, that's my job!" She laughed.

He barked playfully, and she giggled and backed away.

*****

The Duck House, 10 minutes later

"Have we got any cheese left?" Freddie bent down to the fridge after they arrived back.

"I bought some Edam and emmenthal and a packet of crackers yesterday after I dropped by at the studio," she folded her coat up. "It should be wrapped up at the back of the shelf."

"Ahh yes, I see it," he reached in and pulled the parcel out. "How about chocolate?"

"There's a box of the hazelnut whips you like left" she switched the lamp on, and when to the window.

She gazed out across the tranquil blue lake, the alps reflecting back on the surface of the water as the sun began to dip behind the snow-capped peaks.

Then two arms slipped around her from behind, "that sunset is going to be a beautiful one."

She smiled, turning around in his arms, "it sure is... clear sky today. No snow clouds."

He pecked her lips, placing his hands on her large bump, "let's take a bath and enjoy it... the four of us."

"Turn on the taps and pour the bath oil in... I'll prepare a tray." She whispered.

"Okay" he smiled and kissed her shoulder, before parting their ways.

She sliced small sections of cheese on the chopping board as he headed into the bedroom to undress. Then she found a small amount of wine left that was enough for Freddie, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She placed a few truffles left over on the end of the tray before carrying it into the white marbled bathroom and setting it on the chair next to the filling tub directly in front of the wide panel window overlooking the view.

Freddie strolled in, wearing a white bathrobe, "what's this?"

"Just a small aperitif," she wiped her hands. "I'm going to change."

He nodded as she went to the room, and he untied his robe and stepped in, "BLLLLAGHHHHHHH! GOD!"

"What's wrong?!" She called from the bedroom, piling her hair up onto her head. "Is there a spider in the tub?"

""TOO MUCH... HOT!" He frantically turned on the cold tap.

She giggled, "if you can handle my mother you can handle anything!"

He scoffed and settled himself down amongst the bubbles, and a minute later she came in.

"Is it too hot now?" She untied her robe.

He shook his head, holding out his hand, "just get in."

"Okayyyyy" she took it and let her robe fall to the floor.

He sat up a bit and let her sit between his legs. She lowered herself and laid up against his chest, sighing, "god, what a day..."

He kissed her shoulder, his arms slung around her swollen abdomen peeping above the surface of the bath water, "whatever you do, don't end up like your mother."

"With you around? What are the chances?" She giggled.

He nuzzled her neck, "I don't want to be like one of those uptight older people."

"How do you think you will be as a father then?" She closed her eyes in bliss.

"Well, how do you think I will be?" He purred.

"I wouldn't say disciplinary... but uptight." She suggested.

"What about loving?" His hands smothered suds on her bump.

"Definitely loving," she laced her hands with his. "Immensely."

He pressed his lips to her head, "I can't wait to hold them... write songs for them."

"You're holding them now." She whispered.

A smile formed on his lips, the palm of his hands only a centimetre of flesh away from them.

He looked out the window, the sun now behind the white mountains and the western sky and lake turning pink as a golden light was cast on them both.

"To think that this is one of the only nights we have left alone together," he kissed the side of her face. "to think... in a few days we will be a mum and dad."

Her lips met his, "I think we are making the most of it, don't you?"

He giggled, "It's not every evening you get to watch a beautiful sunset like this."

"Yes, especially not where we live."

"Well, I'm sure we can find somewhere in the city... I have been looking, you know. And I found a place with tall windows with views of the garden."

She lifted her head, "you've been house hunting?"

"I have been looking in Kensington property brochures, but I haven't been on location for any yet."

She looked at the ring on her hand. It made her smile but with plans ahead it also sparked worry, "But what about the wedding-"

"We can discuss something after we move in and renovate the place and they're a little bigger. Mary will do the paper work... I pay her to do it after all." He squeezed her hand. "There is one place I like that is big enough for the four of us but the agent says it's empty and prepared to be renovated inside."

"Oh yes?" She smiled a little.

"I've been looking at the Hoare House."

"You didn't!" She stiffened.

"What?"

"Oh Fred," Monica said in disgust. "Don't tell me you plan on buying a brothel!"

"No, the Hoare family's house," he explained "It is several blocks down from Holland Park."

"Good, I was ready to elbow you in the stomach."

He giggled, "well, if you're going to be this touchy I'm glad I plan on hiring a nanny too."

"... and paying him or her a generous sum for the nappy trouble." She joked.

He blushed as she giggled.

"...you don't think that this will be the end of our privacy, do you?" He finally asked.

"Freddie, we will always have our sacred moments, much like our early days... much like now."

"...Do you think we will be just as happy?"

"Well, it's too late to turn back now," she giggled. "I'm already the size of a planet, and you already seem keen enough to meet them!"

"Stay that way and you'll have to take Mercury as a marital name."

"Oh very funny, mister," she scoffed. "Just you wait until you see the mess my body will become. Unwashed hair, Eau de nappies et babysick, swollen feet, stretch marks-"

"Oh hush! Don't think like that about yourself! I hate when you talk that way."

She looked down, "You gave me body confidence for such a long time... I can't bare you seeing me this way."

"My dear, millions of people stare at me and shit on my body and appearance every day for no bloody reason and it's absolutely unfair, but do you think I care? No! I have you so I'm too happy to care. You have a reason. Dark circles, sore, swollen tits-"

"Freddie!" She scolded.

"Alright! Let me make my point. All those aspects are a result of something remarkable: motherhood. I know even I can be bitchy in my ways but I will make acceptions and I'll never stop loving you."

She hesitated, then smiled.

"...at least you'll be the sexy one. Because after all that running around you'll be forgetting to shave and brush your hair so that it's all rugged and messy in that brooding way-"

"Oh hush!" He splashed a little. "I'm going to gain some flab, I know it!"

She laughed, "The ultimate daddy!"

He chuckled as he reached for the glass of wine, "Might as well start getting it now, shall I?"

She smiled and sat up a little, taking a chocolate and feeding it to him.

He kissed her, "Let's toast to our future."

She nodded and picked her glass up, and toasted.

She brought it up to her lips and gulped down her orange juice, and Freddie looked on baffled, "Steady on!"

"I've been craving this so badly!" She said.

He giggled, "Peculiar thing."

"Who, me? Or pregnancy?" She laid back up against his chest.

"I should think both." he lovingly kissed her shoulder, then gasped when he felt the movements from her stomach.

She laughed, "They're responding."

His hands tenderly rubbed her bump, "See you in a few days, you two."

"I love this man" she thought, rolling over slightly and laying herself against his chest as much as her bump would allow.

He held her until the bubbly foam disappeared and the water slowly grew cold as Montreux out the wide window grew dark, and the snow-capped mountain peaks blended in with the dark sky and the stars struggled to appear, twinkling in the rippling icy surface of lake Geneva.