Around 9pm, Friday 19th December, 1986

King Suite, Hilton Kilmainham, Dublin

"What do you mean there was a clash with your flight?" Monica exclaimed incredulously down her Motorola, donning a bathrobe and towel turban having just stepped out of the shower.

Paula tried to keep her back turned as she unfolded clothes from her small suitcase, shaking her head to herself as her friend continued to bicker down the phone with her should-be fiancé Freddie Mercury.

"Your throat?! I know that your career depends on your throat Freddie, but surely that appointment could've been moved..." her friend trailed off, her tone now soft and sad, and then she argued back with him yet again, "No, I'm not saying that you should die of lymph nodes! I'm saying that on a day like this your own children should be a priority too... I mean, the last time I asked if you were coming to Ireland you got angry at me."

Paula grabbed her packet of cigarettes off of her bedside table, pretending not to listen and rather seem distracted by her newly-dyed and coiffed black and white hair in the reflection of the dressing mirror as she passed it.

"I'll see you sometime later then..." she heard Monica tell Freddie downheartedly, and robotically add, "I love you."

Paula was curious to know if Freddie had said it back to her on the other end, but somehow she wouldn't be surprised if the answer was to be no.

Once Monica was finished, she set the phone down and turned to her friend, "I don't understand, Paula. He insisted that he had the flights booked and everything!"

"Do you know what possibly could've happened?" Paula lifted a cigarette out of the box.

She went to sit down on the hotel bed, "I don't know. Phoebe is usually very careful not to create clashes. That's why Fred has hired him for years"

"Maybe he just made a mistake?" Paula suggested as she put the cigarette back in the box and went to sit down beside her.

"Possibly... but, Johnny's play and Roshni's All-Ireland math competition were going to clash anyway," Monica continued, and explained, "You see, Roshni's team won the semi-final for the 24 Game in Athlone the other week. Freddie and I weren't expecting that, so we both agreed that we would go to either one or the other and take whichever twin we see back with us for the Christmas holidays."

"Well, I'm surprised that you don't see the solution to this problem!" Paula chuffed.

"What?" Monica sounded.

"It's obvious, isn't it? I go to one of them instead of Fred, and you go to the other." She offered.

"Oh would you? You'd go on your own?!" Monica sprang back up off the bed again.

"It means that our lunch out somewhere will have to wait, but yes!" Paula nodded, "Which one would you like me to go to?"

"Perhaps you could go to Roshni's competition, it's easiest for you to reach," Monica pondered aloud, pacing back and forth, "At this point I can get the bus to and from Kells village blindfolded. It's only an hour up the road."

"Mo, I drove across Europe in a camper van with a one hundred and twenty pound dog. I'll definitely be okay!" Paula reminded her.

"I don't doubt that, but I think it's better if I go to Headfort," she sat back down on the mattress again, "Johnny will take it harder than Roshni if at least one of his parents doesn't turn up."

"Is that so?" her friend queried peculiarly.

"Yep," Monica admitted, "Johnny and Freddie haven't exactly seen eye-to-eye this last year"

"But you're always telling me that the boy's like his Da," Paula contested, "you always say that he's a little star, that they have the same stubborn streak..."

She sighed, and reluctantly explained, "Earlier in the year Freddie said a few things about how Johnny was doing in their old school, and Johnny overheard. They never really made up properly."

Similarly there was the way that Freddie spoke to her and his own fans at the Thai restaurant a couple weeks before as well, but Monica didn't want to divulge into that embarrassing and hurtful day. She knew that her friend wouldn't take it too lightly.

Paula held her tongue as she studied her friend, who was biting her knuckles anxiously and hugging her knees to her chest. She then looked at the space that Monica was staring into, the dark gray screen of the cable television on the dresser across from their shared king-size bed.

"Whichever one of them who paid for this room has done well" she thought, for the Hilton hotel was a far cry from her trusty Fiat Pandora camper van, let alone the Montana hotel in London where they both were staying almost ten years before when they were still innocent vivacious girls.

"And to think that Mo was convinced that Freddie was the man of her dreams, willing to throw away the other dreams that she had to be with him... and for what? To be this miserable?" she thought, studying Monica more closely.

She couldn't help but think that the ordeal had aged her friend at least five years. The dark circles that were under Monica's blue eyes yesterday were faded, but they were still there. The copious amounts of alcohol that she drank on the night flight from London to Dublin obviously didn't help either. And her brown shoulder-length waves were greasy the night before they'd been shampooed this morning, and Paula could tell that Monica's disheveled clothes stuffed in her suitcase were picked up off the bedroom floor at Garden Lodge in a haste.

"If only she'd listened to me" she thought with annoyance.

But it wasn't like Paula could turn her back on her best friend at her worst. After all, Monica supported her when she came out to her last Easter.

"That was the same day she glugged down all that gin in front of me at her parent's house too," Paula reminisced, "It's almost as if we revealed a new thing about ourselves to one another that day"

And with Monica's self-destructive bad habit Ms McIntyre also hated to think what Christmas next week was going to be like, what with the amount of wine and spirits available in the festive season.

"And those two poor children... what are they going to see when they come home?"

"God Paula, it feels just like giving birth to them in Switzerland again" Monica broke her friend's train of thought, and the silence between them.

She raised an eyebrow, "Why do you say that?"

"Freddie passed out on the maternity hospital floor when he saw Roshni come out of me," she elaborated, "Then he was revived right as I was pushing Johnny out ten minutes later. And the moment we both heard those cries for the first time, something did change in him the moment we became parents, but I don't know if that lasted."

"Men can be vulnerable too, you know," Paula tried to reason, "I see it in my line of work all the time"

"I know, the point is that I almost had to do it all on my own and I felt too exhausted to carry on... just like he left me on my own to parent them today"

"Hey, I'm here. I said I'd go do Fred's job for him, didn't I?" Paula reached across to hold her friend's hand, then shook her head and muttered, "Besides, if I'm honest I don't know why you still put up with him at this point. Even after what you said about him and Johnny."

"It's easy for you to say because you're a lesbian," Monica scoffed playfully, and suddenly her mood had shifted, "you don't get to see how hopeless men can be"

To which Paula jibed, "Men don't know what the clitoris is, let alone where to find it. Of course they're hopeless"

She sniggered, "Oh Paula, thank God your filthy sense of humour is still there"

They both laughed a little more, which turned out to be exhausting work as they both flopped onto the mattress on their backs and stared up at the ceiling, reflecting on the conversation that they'd just had as they used to do in their childhood bedrooms growing up in Ballysillan.

"It's such a pity that I won't get to see Johnny's play after all," Paula said after a while, "But after this conversation I guess you need to see it more than I do"

"Oh, yes you will get to see it!" Monica bent over the side of her mattress and started looking through her bag, "Have a look at what I loaned from my university's equipment library"

Paula propped herself up on her elbows and watched as Monica pulled out a snazzy black Panasonic VHS camcorder out of a smaller dark leather camera bag.

"Mo!" she gasped sternly, "Are you allowed to bring that out of your campus during the holidays?!"

"Nope! But nobody has to know that I took it out of the UK and filmed my son's school play on it. I just have to change the film once I put it onto a VHS tape!" Monica winked mischievously.

"Doesn't mean that Freddie will watch it later," she thought, "He didn't tell me what he thought of my birthday present to him either"

Paula shook her head, watching as she put it away again, "What's wrong with your Super 8? It's a perfectly fine film camera."

"Nah, ah ah! This camera is far more efficient and easier to travel with and set up, my tech-illiterate friend," she corrected her, putting the camcorder back into her bag again, "And the best part is that it has a built-in microphone... Oh! And I can plug it into the back of the television set like one of Roshni's games consoles and watch the videos back before I copy them onto a tape! Isn't that amazing?!"

"Seriously though, on the topic of Roshni, what time is her competition on?" Paula asked.

"Ten AM sharp. I'm not sure how long it'll take. It depends on whether or not her team gets to the final round, but I do know that Johnny's play starts at ten thirty and ends sometime around lunch," Monica dug through her bag yet again, "I'll give you my spare ticket now"

"Shall we meet back at the hotel?" her friend shuffled closer to her.

"Sure! Just ring my Motorola or the Hilton when you and Roshni are on your way back" Monica handed her a small envelope.

Paula took it from her, then queried cautiously, "And... What if Freddie turns up later like he said he would? I mean, it'll be hard to find a seat on a flight when everyone's trying to get home for Christmas"

"Oh, I hadn't thought about that to be honest," Monica doubtfully hesitated, then casually shrugged and took her hair turban off, "Did you see if there was a hairdryer in that top drawer?"

"That's my Mo." Paula smiled as she took a cigarette back out of the box, convinced that her seemingly pacified friend would be fine after all.

But how wrong she was...

Woods Mews Surgery, London

"So, you've had a new look since I last saw you Freddie" Dr Atkinson remarked, gesturing to his famous client's bare top lip.

"It was for the music video for a new single actually," a newly moustacheless Freddie Mercury murmured, sitting alone in his doctor's office as he was careful not to give too much away, "Anyway, it was time for it to come off"

"Did it outgrow you, or did you outgrow it?" his doctor continued to make light-hearted conversation.

"Pretty much, dearie. I have to clean up my act for the next person that I will be collaborating with." Freddie continued and forced a chuckle, not expecting his doctor to know who Montserrat Cabale was.

"So, as it turns out you're here for a consultation today regarding having your blood taken and sent off for testing?"

Freddie quietly nodded.

"And for what reason?" Gordon lifted his head from his clipboard, "Any concerns or particular aspects, or just a general screening? Because I have to know so that arrangements can be made and I know where to send the bloods to"

Freddie's sweaty hands clenched the wooden armrest of his chair as he reluctantly answered, "...For HIV, and perhaps anything else that you may stumble upon."

He expected Gordon to judge him immediately, in spite of patient confidentiality and professionalism, lift his head from his papers and give him a look of disdain.

But instead, Dr Atkinson calmly stood up from his chair and announced pragmatically, "Well in that case I need to print an entirely different form to fill out and questions to ask of you. I'll be right back."

Freddie silently nodded again and stared at the floor as he heard the footsteps of his doctor exit the office.

"Once Bitten, and twice shy... I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye" He heard George Michael faintly croon from the Woods Mews reception speakers as the local radio station played Wham!'s Last Christmas, as most stations always did during this time of year.

The song title only made Freddie shudder further, and didn't help his pre-blood test nerves either.

Several minutes before in the waiting area, Phoebe had sworn to his furious employer that he'd requested the blood test before the 18th December, as did Mary who booked the appointment first-hand on his assistant's behalf. However, Freddie only found out that it had been accidentally booked on the wrong date a few days prior. Something somewhere had to have been lost in translation...

He knew fully well that, right now, he was supposed to be sitting on an airplane to Dublin and not in his GP's practice. But in spite of his own morals Freddie couldn't take it anymore, and the sooner he got tested for positive antibodies the better. It had been almost two months since The Sun had released that newspaper with his angry face splashed across the front page. And by now the fear of AIDS was eating him alive, just as much as the internal guilt that he felt over getting Monica's hopes up and ditching his two children for a HIV blood test that was scheduled too late.

"The way that she sounded over the phone earlier..." he reminded himself with great remorse, "If only she knew that I'm really doing this for her, and for them too"

However he didn't expect Monica to feel sympathetic towards him at this point, for he was starting to feel remorseful for the way that he belittled her in the Patara restaurant at Oxford Circus a few weeks earlier.

"What if I do test positive and Monica takes it badly, or what if she doesn't care at all?" he dreaded, "I even hid the way that I felt about the miscarriage from her, and look how that damn well turned out!"

It seemed that keeping his concern a secret in the meantime was the best option, even if it was driving a wedge between himself and his family.

At last, Gordon had returned to his office with the correct documents in his hand, "There we are, Freddie. Sorry for keeping you"

"That's quite alright" Freddie straightened up in his seat, watching his doctor sit back down at the desk in front of him and clip what appeared to be several pages onto his board.

"Now," Dr Atkinson began, "May I ask why you want to get tested for HIV as of now? You haven't been feeling under the weather lately, or suffering from any known symptoms such as fevers, night sweats or diarrhea?"

"The night sweats a bit... but only because of my mental state, like nervousness or anxiety"

Gordon carried on, "Have you experienced any other symptoms such as nausea or fatigue?"

"I'm Freddie Mercury, I'm always tired" he murmured.

"Alright..." the doctor paused to scribble a few notes down, before continuing, "and physically you haven't had any muscle aches, joint pains or headaches?"

"Joint pain, but only when I am touring" Freddie answered.

"And why's that?"

Then he remembered that his doctor had probably never been to a Queen concert:

"Because I move about on stage a lot when I perform"

"Okay... and what about a sore throat, any mouth ulcers or rashes and open sores?"

Freddie shook his head.

"Lastly, do you have any noticeable and unexplainable weight loss?"

Freddie pinched the flab under his white polo shirt, and sheepishly answered, "Definitely not'

Dr Atkinson finished taking down some more notes and ticking boxes, and turned to the next page "Now I have to ask you some lifestyle questions... these are confidential, but it is important that you answer them as accurately as possible"

Freddie nodded, "Fire away"

And so Gordon did, "Can I ask if or when did you last have intercourse with another man or woman outside of your current relationship?"

"Early 1977, with a man," Freddie confidently answered, thinking, "Not long before I met Monica actually..."

"That far back? Okay..." Gordon wrote more down, and asked, "And do you remember if that was with or without contraception?"

"Without, probably," Freddie disclosed, a little more bashfully this time.

"My God, this humiliation better be worth missing Johnny's play and Roshni's tournament" he thought, now half-wishing that he took the flight to Dublin instead and skipped this altogether.

"Right..." Gordon sounded, in deep concentration, "and... was that here in London, or elsewhere in the world?"

"Why do you ask?" Freddie furrowed his dramatic black eyebrows.

"For tracking purposes, just so that we can understand HIV as best we can," his doctor answered, "for example a couple of years ago I read in a medical journal that the disease was widespread in New York City, also at that same period of time as you say you last had intercourse outside of your current relationship"

Freddie shuddered at the thought, and answered, "It was definitely in London then, but maybe one or two one-night-stands in New York the year before"

"A couple?" Gordon repeated after him.

Freddie told him, "I can't be too sure, it was that long ago"

Dr Atkinson scribbled his answer down on the form, and then asked, "Any recreational use of narcotics involving needles?"

"Not that I know of" Freddie muttered, for cocaine was the only drug that he ever willingly took whilst he was conscious.

"Not that you know of?" Gordon echoed.

He sighed, "I never had any intention of using needles, unless I was so off-my-head to the point where someone injected drugs in me without my damn consent"

The doctor paused, and took off the reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

He told Freddie pragmatically, "You do understand that, apart from those few one-night-stands in New York and London almost a decade ago, the chances of you actually testing HIV positive are significantly low?"

"No, I don't understand. That's why I've come to you for answers"

"Yes Freddie, but in some cases symptoms of the virus show up within two to four weeks, whereas most others show after several years," Dr Gordon described, "And whenever you agreed that you had the symptoms which I listed out to you, you always gave a prognosis for them. Do you really feel the need to go through with this?"

"I just want to see it in writing that I'm healthy," Freddie admitted, "Because it feels as though the world and the press is telling me that I am not"

"Very well then..." Gordon got up off his seat, and instructed him, "Go and sit over there on the bench and take off your jacket."

Freddie's heartbeat sped up as he unzipped his Adidas windbreaker and approached the bench, all the while his doctor pulled on latex gloves and prepared the necessary apparatus, the sound of which clanking against the stainless steel tray only making him even more anxious.

"Do you mind if I look away when the needle goes in?" Freddie asked his doctor with a slight shudder, holding his left arm out to him, "Only, I don't like the sight of blood nowadays... Not since Monica's miscarriage"

"Whichever you are most comfortable with," Gordon assured him as he wrapped the tourniquet around his arm, "Now, relax and think happy thoughts."

"Easier said than done, eh?" he half-joked, trying his best not to wince as he felt the needle slide into his vein.

"There, that's it..." Dr Atkinson mused as he drew Freddie's blood into the syringe, assuring him encouragingly, "And after this moment you'll be halfway there"

"After this, you can get on the next plane to Dublin, and then all that'll be left to worry about are the results," Freddie reassured himself, "And if I test negative, then I owe Monica a lot for keeping me tied down and saving me..."

But he knew deep down that perhaps their relationship was what actually needed saving.

Headfort School, Kells, around 10:30pm

"Miss Brannigan... Monica!"

A man's familiar voice loudly greeted Monica as she entered the assembly hall that was buzzing with many other mums and dads, fresh off the country's bus line and nervously clutching onto her ticket.

Mr Dermot Toole approached her from the crowded sidelines in the direction of the curtain-draped stage at the top of the hall, which was decked in its mint green baroque panels and white rococo that were covered in handmade Peter Pan posters, the floor filled with rows of gold chairs each labeled individually with seat numbers.

"Oh hello!" she held her hand out to him and forced a smile.

"So glad that you could make it," he shook her hand in return, "Is it just yourself, or will Mr Bulsara be joining you?"

"Johnny's father has a previous engagement, unfortunately." Monica answered, not even bothering to correct Freddie's surname as she concealed her embarrassment and disappointment.

"Oh, did he choose to go to Roshni's 24 Game tournament instead?" the man enquired peculiarly.

"No, he had something else... but I brought my camera gear," she held her shoulder bag up to show him in an attempt to quickly change the subject, "is it alright if I film the play for him?"

"Of course you can video it," the headmaster walked her towards the gold seats, "Such a pity that Johnny's father isn't here to see him perform because you're in for a treat. Mr and Mrs Joyce really have pulled something spectacular together this year. Now, what is your seat number?"

Monica glanced at her ticket, "13 M"

"Ah, I almost forgot! Since you're the mother of the star of the show I made sure that you got the best seat in the house," Mr Toole exaggerated, and pointed her towards the correct row, "That's right in the middle there. Not too far away, not too next-straining."

"Really? Thank you," Monica gushed as she stuffed the ticket back into her shoulder bag, but not before adding, "And by the way, thank you for helping Johnny and Roshni with that debacle between them in October. I hope that they weren't too much trouble."

"Oh that! They actually worked it out themselves in the end..." the headmaster matter-of-factly told her, and added, "but whatever their father had told them over the phone must've also been very thought-provoking. You could actually see Johnny and Roshni thinking about what they'd done."

"Is that so?" Monica furrowed her brows in disbelief, thinking, "Normally he just roars at them when they're in trouble."

Yet, he voiced his comparatively optimistic opinion with sincerity, "Perhaps you underestimate what that man is capable of, Miss Brannigan. His heart may be bigger than you think."

But before Monica even had a chance to object, Johnny's drama teacher Mrs Joyce had interrupted their conversation, "Mr Toole, you're needed at the front"

"Ah Sheila! This is Monica, Johnny Bulsara's mother" Mr Toole introduced her, "Miss Brannigan, this is Mrs Joyce, your son's music and choir teacher."

"You're Johnny's mother? Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you!" The older lady with short gray hair and round glasses snatched Monica's hand and started to shake it violently, "I can see where the boy gets that cute face of his, Dermot!"

"Why thank you!" Monica giggled shyly.

"And she's dressed in green as well," Mr Toole chuckled, "like mother, like son!"

The group of adults giggled, and Mrs Joyce enthusiastically told her, "Johnny really is one of the most delightful children that my husband and I have had the pleasure of teaching in all of our years at Headfort!"

"I'm sure he's something else when he's at school because at home is an entirely different story" Monica's cheeks reddened as she laughed gently.

But Mrs Joyce maintained her point, and took both of Monica's hands in hers.

She told the young mother a little more sincerely, "He is a special boy, you know. You and Johnny's father ought to be very proud of him"

Slightly stunned, Monica thought aloud, "Well, if he is as good on stage as you both say then I must've done something right somewhere."

"And at that, Mrs Joyce and I best be off to get the show running, Miss Brannigan," Mr Toole pat her arm gently, "Sit back and enjoy the show"

Monica thanked them politely, and started to awkwardly wriggle past other seated guests to reach her chair.

"That's the first teacher since Mrs Holloway that has something good to say about Johnny," she thought once she sat down, "It's usually Roshni that gets all the good rep on parent's night."

Then there was Mr Toole's remark about Freddie having a big heart, yet after the man's actions that same morning she found it hard to believe.

From her seat she carefully set up the Panasonic VHS camcorder on its small portable tripod, and adjusted the camera lens until it fitted as much of the stage into the frame as possible. All the while she saw Mrs Joyce in the eye piece wheeling a piano out to the side, followed by an orchestra of children gathering up at the front below the stage.

"Oh God, it's a musical as well!" Monica thought apprehensively, reaching into her bag, "Good thing I also brought this..."

She lifted a can of Sprite that she picked up from a corner shop out of the bag, following a small 20ml glass bottle of Smirnoff vodka from the Duty Free in Heathrow Airport when she thought that Paula wasn't looking.

"You're the worst mother in the entire hall, Mo," her conscience scolded her, yet she changed her mind when she had a vaild reason, "But you're thirsty!"

So she gingerly poured a small part of vodka into her can of Sprite, concealing the action into her shoulder bag sitting on her lap... until a voice made her jump:

"Well, if it isn't the little Johnny and Roshni's mother! How are yeh?"

Miss Eileen O'Malley, the stout school dinner lady, was standing at the aisle in front of her, holding a tray of freshly baked goods and donning a seasonal tartan print apron, her strawberry blonde curls freshly permed since Monica had last met her.

"Hello again!" she quickly dropped her can and small bottle back into her bag, careful not to spill either of them.

"Care to buy a savoury mince pie, Ms Brannigan?" Ms O'Malley offered her, "All proceeds go to charity... unless you're a vegetarian yourself like yer daughter?"

"Oh, of course. How much for one pie?" Monica asked, not even thinking to ask what the 'charity' was.

"One punt, please," the dinner lady replied.

"Ahh yes, that's the equivalent of a pound sterling over here, isn't it?" she muttered as she shovelled through the unfamiliar currency in her coat pocket until she pulled out a banknote without looking at its value, slotting it into the tin money box hanging around the dinner lady's neck.

"Thank you, and God bless you!" Ms O'Malley gleefully handpicked her a pie adorned with a pastry bough of holly.

"I'll need the lord's blessings. Believe me!" Monica joked as she took it from her, speaking through gritted teeth as the old lady walked away, "That is, to get through this play without knowing if or when Freddie will turn up..."

She shoved the pie into her mouth whole, and after chewing long enough she washed it down with the vodka sprite that was waiting in her bag.

At last, the hall lights dimmed. The chatter amongst the parents died down, and the curtain lifted to reveal the well-lit stage. It was decorated to look like an Edwardian child's nursery, as was in the original novel.

Suddenly a small boy aged about 5 or 6 that was dressed in a striped nightshirt and holding a teddy bear ran onto the stage, followed by another small child dressed as a St Bernard dog crawling on the stage, uttering a few laughs.

"I won't go to bed, Nana!" the boy playing Michael Darling uttered.

The person playing the dog simply barked at him in response.

"No, I won't be bathed either!" Michael Darling shouted, "I repeat, I will not be bathed!"

"Sounds too close to home" Monica commented internally, taking a swig of her vodka sprite.

At this point the audience erupted with laughter, just as a slightly older boy with a top hat and glasses and fair-haired girl who were also wearing nightshirts waltzed into the middle of the stage, brandishing wooden swords at one another as they chanted nonsense about pirates and Cinderella.

"I hope Johnny's part will be soon" Monica thought,

It had been so long since the woman had watched the animated Disney adaptation that she forgot half of the story, even if her daughter Roshni shared her middle name with the character of Wendy Darling.

Another boy and girl playing the Darling children's parents stepped onto the stage.

"A dog for a Nanny, such preposterous nonsense!" The dad pompously shouted as he dragged poor Nana by the cuff, and told Wendy sternly, "This will be the last night for you in the nursery, for tomorrow you will grow up and there will be no more stories or poppycock!"

The dad and Nana exited the stage, whilst the two Darling boys climbed into the prop beds.

The actor playing Mrs Darling was about to shut the prop windows, only to be stopped by Wendy, "Please don't close them, mother! Peter Pan might come in to get his shadow back..."

"Peter Pan?" Mrs Darling uttered peculiarly.

Monica's ears pricked up keenly at the mention of Johnny's character's name, and she pressed the record button on her camcorder before sipping on her vodka sprite mix yet again.

Then, as Mrs Darling said goodnight to her three children and exited the stage Wendy went and stood in the middle of the nursery set with the spotlight on her, Mrs Joyce started playing a twinkly piano intro that Monica would recognise anywhere...

https://youtu.be/xnwTNwjxQxI

The girl started to sing with an angelic voice that was undeniably good, "It's been such a long week, so much crying... I no longer see a future"

Then it occurred to Monica, "Oh... so this must be like a rock opera. Perhaps it won't be that bad to sit through after all"

Although she hadn't listened to Kate Bush's In Search Of Peter Pan in years, for her Lionheart album came in her final stage of pregnancy in 1978, she still thought it was a fitting narrative choice on Mrs Joyce's part in terms of its melodic tone and lyrics.

To her relief, Wendy's actor only sang a shortened version of the song with a few verses up to the chorus, until the piano stopped. Then the girl climbed into bed and joined her two brothers, and the spotlight dimmed.

All was dark and silent in the hall, except for the prop window which was dimly lit by the stage lights. From it a small reflected light appeared, accompanied by the tinkling of a bell in the orchestra. The audience gasped and marvelled at the small light's ethereal beauty as it swirled and twinkled across the stage momentarily until it went to the prop oil lamp, and stayed there to hide.

Perhaps it was the alcohol in her bloodstream, but at this point Monica's heart was racing with excitement at what was to come next at any second...

At last, a small familiar figure dressed in green climbed through the prop window, and then the audience started muttering in anticipation now that the titular character had made himself apparent.

"There he is, my little boy!" She thought to herself, for she hadn't seen him in so long since September.

Johnny stood beaming in the center stage with his hands on his hips, looking right and left with his feathered cap dipped slightly, before walking to the oil lamp.

In character, he asked, "Did you see my shadow anywhere, Tink?"

The small light twinkled 'no' in response, and suddenly a figure dressed in black that was matching Johnny's stature and silhouette leapt across the stage and went to hide when Peter wasn't looking, causing the audience to gasp yet again.

"What was that, Tink? You say it's behind me!?" Peter glanced left and right again.

Once again the figure playing Peter's shadow snuck behind Johnny.

"Ah-ha! I see it!" Peter chased his shadow across the stage until he had caught it, garnering laughter from the entire room.

As did Monica as she sat back, continuing to enjoy the show and revelling in her son's talented performance with a feeling of immense pride and hope for his future.

However, she was blissfully unaware that the impromptu Russian lemonade she was sipping on the entire time was just the beginning of the careless decisions that were to follow...

School of Mathematics, Trinity College, Dublin, around 10:50pm

"We finally beat that city center traffic! We just need to find where registration is or else we'll be late..."

Miss Gurinder Singh led her pupils Oshiro Toshiyuki and Roshni Bulsara up the steps to the campus building where the All-Ireland primary school finals for the 24 Game were taking place.

"If you think that Dublin is bad then you should see what London is like, Miss" Roshni told her teacher with a giggle as she kept by her side.

"Tokyo is bad too, it's ginormous and never ends!" Oshiro exaggerated as they climbed up the steps.

At last they entered the building's atrium, which was flocking with university students and staff, and adorned with festive tinselled bunting and a large pine Christmas tree in the center that was decorated with numbers for baubles.

"Welcome to the school of mathematics, you two," Miss Singh introduced them, "You know, this is where I went to study maths before I became a teacher at your school"

"Really?!" Roshni looked around the communal space in awe, for she had never ever been to a university before.

"Ah! The registration desk is that way!" Miss Singh pointed to a pop-up sign at the center of the atrium, directing them to where the tournament would be taking place.

They turned into one of the many corridors, and at the end of it they saw a table with two seated figures.

One of the figures at the table, an elderly male invigilator who had white hair and a bristly moustache greeted their teacher with a warm irish welcome, "Why, hello Gurinder! Back again this year?"

"Yes I am. And these are my two candidates," Miss Singh ushered Roshni and Oshiro forward, and leaned down to them both, "This is Professor Higgins, he and I are both a member of the Irish Mathematical society"

"What are the names, please?" The second invigilator at the table, a woman, ordered the two children as her eyes scanned the list on the clipboard in front of her.

"Roshni Bulsara and Oshiro Toshiyuki" the children gave the least Irish names out of all the contenders that had entered into the All-Ireland competition prior.

"And what school and county will you two be representing?" Professor Higgins asked.

Miss Singh replied, "Headfort prep school, County Meath"

That was when reality sunk in for Roshni, for she wasn't nervous up until this point. She and her teammate Oshiro had already sat in front of many people and played the 24 Game on a couple of occasions. But this was the national finals, and becoming the champions of the Republic of Ireland was what was at stake, and perhaps a champion of the world.

"And mum and dad would definitely be proud of me then," she thought, "I can't wait to see which one of them comes today"

"Here are your name badges," the lady handed Roshni and Oshiro one sticky label each, "Put these on your school jumper, right above the crest"

The children and the teacher thanked the lady and the professor sitting at the desk one more time, and went into the double doors behind them.

They entered a large lecture theatre hall filled with tables of four and chairs at the front where the screen was, swarming with groups of teachers, invigilators and other school children alike.

"Woah, this is much bigger than Athlone was" Roshni thought dauntingly, slinking behind her teacher a bit more doubtfully as yet another invigilator led Team Headfort to one of the empty tables with pens and paper on them for calculating.

"Look, my parents must've gotten the plane from Osaka!" Oshiro exclaimed in surprise and delight as he sat down, pointing at an east-asian man man and wife who walked in through the double doors.

Roshni craned her neck as she stared at the audience in the lecture theatre's seating area, looking for any sign of her mum's wavy brown hair or peagreen coat, or even her father's trademark handlebar moustache or Phoebe's trusty checkered jacket.

It was enough for Miss Singh to notice, "Are you alright, Roshni?"

"I don't see my mum or dad anywhere in the audience." Roshni told her teacher anxiously, sitting down beside her teammate.

"Are they late?" Oshiro suggested.

"Maybe it's dad that's coming then, he's always a little late..." Roshni trailed off, then panicked again, "But I've packed my things for Christmas and brought them on the minibus and everything! What if nobody's here and I can't get home?"

"Don't worry Roshni, I will make sure you get home safely" Miss Singh reassured her star pupil, patting her on the shoulder and encouraging, "Just focus on everything that we practiced in Maths and Games club and on the minibus here, you will be just fine."

"Look, that lady who just walked in has black and white hair like a panda or badger!" Oshiro said suddenly..

Roshni looked over to the entrance, and the woman that her teammate was referring to was smiling and waving right back at her as she went to sit down.

"Oh my, that's Aunty Paula!" the girl put her hand over her mouth, "She's got new hair too!"

"Your aunt is visiting you? That's nice of her" said Miss Singh hopefully.

"Well, she isn't really my aunt. She's my mum's best friend, but Johnny and I just call her that" Roshni elaborated.

But the more that the girl thought about it, the more she wondered:

"Did mum and dad really choose Johnny over me this time?"

Of course the girl adored her Aunty Paula, but she'd only really known her for a year. And while Paula and her big dog Max were also great fun, Roshni didn't think that her moral support felt the same as her parent's or Phoebe's.

And why did she feel worse all of a sudden? She hadn't ever felt bad about doing something academic up until this point.

But before Roshni could dwell on it any further, two other uniformed children that were Headfort's first opponents sat themselves across from them at the table.

"Headfort, this is Ashton Primary school which are representing County Cork" another invigilator appeared at the top of the table and introduced them.

Oshiro and Roshni politely stretched across to shake their opponent's hands and start off their first ever round on good terms.

What the girl didn't recognise at the time was that the complicated feelings of worthlessness and sadness she was experiencing was called rejection, a feeling which she would have to tuck into the back of her mind if she was going to win this competition.

One of the invigilators laid out the first card with the first four numbers on it in the centre of them, whilst the other holding a digital timer device in her hand ruled at the top of the table, "You have one minute to calculate all four numbers into 24 in your first round, children"

Roshni and Oshiro nodded, counting down at the same time in their heads:

"Staring in three... two... one... go!"

To be continued...