Headfort, around 1pm

"Look Brenda, there's the star of the show!"

"Good man yourself, Johnny!"

"Look, it's almost as if he could be Peter Pan himself!"

Johnny's cheeks flushed bright red as he wove through the buzzing school lobby, in search of his mother as he awkwardly clutched onto his drawstring gym bag that contained his handmade Peter Pan costume.

From the moment he emerged from the boy's backstage changing area he could sense his teachers and classmate's parents ogling and gushing remarks at him, or other children's dads that he had never even met before and his male teachers would give him an affectionate pat on the back or shoulder as he passed by them.

"So this is what attention feels like." he thought, "Maybe popularity and adoration isn't all that it's made out to be"

But there was a silver lining to his local new-found fame, because the ecstasy that the boy felt being on stage and playing a completely different character in order to make people smile was a far better feeling, and was what made performing worth it.

"It's sad that there's only one school play a year... I wish that I could act more" he thought.

Soon enough, through the crowd of other parents and children reuniting for the Christmas holidays Johnny was able to spot the peagreen sleeve of Monica's coat as she frantically waved at him.

"Mum!" he exclaimed, pushing past more people.

The boy collided into Monica's open embrace, burying his face into her shoulder as she bent down to his level, and he didn't care if all the other boys saw him being too soft. It was the first time that he hugged his mother in almost three months since he and his twin sister bid her farewell at the start of September, but for him it felt much longer, and so did the few seconds that she held him tightly in her arms.

"Oh, my big, big boy..." Monica cooed repeatedly, remarking when they pulled away, "Look how much taller you've gotten!"

Of course, Johnny downplayed his apparent growth spurt, "Mummm?! It's only a few extra centimeters!"

"And you were so brilliant up on that stage too!" she ruffled her son's smooth brown hair, "Such a shame Paula and dad couldn't be here to see you."

He reluctantly asked, "You mean, only you turned up?"

"Just me, but I got it on video for everybody else... especially Aunty Paula!" Monica quickly added, holding up her camcorder bag, "She was so looking forward to seeing you as Peter Pan, but she decided to go to Roshni's 24 game so that your sister wasn't alone."

Without even bothering to question the whereabouts of his father, Johnny could smell the alcohol on his mother's breath as she leaned down to push his brunette bangs out of the way and kiss his forehead.

And combined with that, what Monica said next made him sense an imminent problem:

"I tell you what, why don't you grab your things and we'll catch the bus back to Dublin," she suggested, "then we'll have lunch at the hotel bar, or get room service, and celebrate until Roshni and Aunty Paula come back?"

Johnny knew that a meal or room service possibly meant that she'd drink more alcohol, and that alcohol his mum was going to keep drinking until she would get drunk or fall asleep. And from what he remembered back home in London, Monica was no fun at all when she was either of those things.

He doubted truthfully, "Mum, I don't think that's a good idea"

"Why not? Your brilliant performance earned it, sweetheart!" she stood back up again, trying to persuade him further.

Johnny tried to look on the bright side, and asked, "Can I watch what I want on the cable if we get room service?"

"Maybe she'll just want to sleep and let me watch TV on my own." the boy thought.

"Johnny..." Monica tested him, folding her arms.

"It's Christmas!" he reasoned.

His mother hesitated for a few seconds, but nodded, "Alright then. Now show me where your dorm is, the taxi to the village will be here in five minutes."

Monica's urgency made Johnny feel that, now that his play was over with, his mother wasn't interested in seeing his dormitory. It was obvious to him that the only thing she cared about at that moment was getting another drink.

But then again, whatever it took to keep her happy, for they hadn't seen each other in such a long time.

"Okay, it's this way." Johnny grabbed her coat sleeve and tugged her towards the lower ground staircase.

As Monica was ushered by her son along the way to his dorm room, Laurence Olivier's words of warning addressed to her months before were by now long forgotten. And it was too late for her to remember them again:

"Don't let that man destroy you, otherwise you will destroy yourself..."

*****

Trinity College, later that afternoon around 4:15...

Miss Singh exited the public toilets when she heard raised voices around the corner of the corridor.

She recognised one of them as Professor Higgins, who was firmly telling somebody, "If he hasn't got a ticket, then he cannot come in"

"He's my assistant, he has to be in there with me" said a male voice with a British accent.

To which the professor still asserted, "But I'm afraid that we can only let one of you in, sir! Believe it or not this is a non-government funded event, and it would be unfair advantage to let someone in if they haven't purchased a ticket."

She emerged, and saw Professor Higgins talking to two men at the registration desk.

One of the men, who was slim-figured and wearing a grey flat cap with earflaps and a mismatching neon-coloured windbreaker, continued to protest at the desk as he grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket, "Listen to me, I'm fresh off a plane from Heathrow and my daughter's in there competing!"

"Fred, it's okay. Just go in!" the slightly rounder one with a mousey brown moustache, who also had an English accent, told him.

"How rude! Can they not take their debate elsewhere?" Gurinder frowned as she awkwardly slipped past the bickering group of men and back into the lecture theatre.

Before the double doors shut behind her she heard the slimmer one say again, "But I need you in there, Phoebe!"

If it weren't for his lack of his signature handlebar moustache and the flat cap covering his raven black hair, then perhaps Miss Singh would've more easily recognised the man as one of her favourite rockstars...

"If you want or need anything then I'll be right outside, just go in because you're causing a scene out here!" Phoebe tried to persuade Mr Mercury in increasing exasperation.

"Oh yes, sure, while you're out there why don't you just book me another blood test on Christmas Day?! You clearly have a knack for getting the dates right!" Freddie snapped sarcastically, raising his voice.

"Gentlemen, may I remind you that there is still a nationwide competition going on in there and that you keep your voices down!" Professor Higgins hissed.

"Sorry, just another moment," Phoebe apologised to him, and turned to Freddie with a sigh as he defended, "For the last time, I told you that I made sure that the fax said no later than the 18th... and if it didn't then there has obviously been a communication error!"

"Like hell you did! What other kind of communication error could it have fucking been?!" Freddie argued irritably.

"Excuse me, if you continue to shout and start using profanities then I'll have to call faculty security from the front desk," One of the female invigilators hushed and threatened them sternly, "Not only are there children on the other side of that door, but they also need to concentrate on the competition!"

Freddie huffed, and aggressively grabbed Phoebe's elbow before taking a step away from the registration desk so that he could speak at a lower volume, the latter bracing himself for the worst.

"Mary says she booked the date that you'd asked for on the fax that you sent her, and she said it was clear black and white, as did the doctor's office," he gruffly stated, practically spitting into his assistant's face, "Just admit that you made a mistake Phoebe, it's not that bloody hard!"

Phoebe could feel his temper slipping further and further away everytime Freddie opened his mouth, and it was taking a lot to keep his lips sealed as they squirmed with rage.

Against his own will, he let out coolly, "Alright, if that's what you want to hear then perhaps I accidentally typed something wrong in the fax after all... But don't act like you never had a choice in this, Fred. And this time you have chosen yourself over your own family, and lied to them too."

Oh, how Freddie wanted to tell Phoebe the truth right there, even in front of the few scornful eyes of the professor and invigilators watching him, how the blood test that took precedence was a matter of life and death.

"But how dare Phoebe stand up to me like that so unprofessionally," he thought bitterly, "he doesn't know what I'm going through. Why should he? And why should I trust him if he can't be honest with me?"

And so, Freddie's pride got the better of him.

"Don't you realise that your incompetence has already possibly driven a wedge between myself and my family?" he argued back.

Phoebe wanted to call him a hypocrite right then and there. But to him a man who abandoned his family at the last minute, and deflected the responsibility of his own actions on others, wasn't worth the time of day.

Under Freddie's cold brown glare, he swallowed his nerves and chose to have the courage of his convictions:

"Fine. If that's how you feel then I'll be out of Garden Lodge by the New Year."

Freddie's stony face fell, and softened into an expression of vulnerability.

He spluttered, "Wh-wh... you're not serious"

"I think it's for the best," Mr Freestone compliantly reminded him, is voice unfaltering, "You just said that I was incompetent, did you not?"

"But what about Barcelona? What am I supposed to do then? " Freddie almost panicked, on the verge of desperation.

"You can find my replacement by then, can't you?" Phoebe lifted their luggage sitting at his feet and began walking away, crooning over his shoulder, "I'll see you at the hotel later"

As he disappeared around the corner, Freddie breathed in sharply and blankly stared at the ticket in his hand, trying to process what on earth had just happened. 

His loyal Phoebe had severed ties with him. What else could have gone wrong so far? And how was he going to find another personal assistant during christmas time that was going to be just as good as he was? 

All that was left for Freddie to do now was face a different kind of music than what he was used to, both literally and figuratively, and go inside to support his daughter on his own. Then he could worry about replacing Phoebe later.

Freddie coyly handed his ticket to Professor Higgins, who thanked him and pointed to the door beside the desk, "Right this way, sir"

An invigilator opened it for him, and silently pointed to the lecture theatre seating area.

Freddie looked to the front of the room when he walked in, and there were several tables occupied by dozens upon dozens of primary school children facing opposite of one another, a sight which was unlike anything he had ever seen.

It wasn't long before he saw Paula McIntyre sitting in the audience on her own, watching at the front intently. It was already starting to feel unnatural to be alone in public now that Phoebe wasn't by his side, let alone some form of security, so it seemed right to Freddie that he ought to sit beside someone who wasn't a complete stranger before he went looking for Roshni at the front.

He crept up to Monica's friend, ducking his head as he passed other spectators, and sounded, "Pssst!"

Startled, Paula turned to look at him and squinted her eyes a little, for she didn't recognise Freddie straight away without his moustache.

But when she did, she loudly whispered, "Good God, you're here!"

Freddie sat down beside her, and quietly grumbled, "They wouldn't let Phoebe in with me. Not so sure I want these stuck-up arseholes influencing my daughter's life choices in the future"

"You're not exactly flavour of the month either" Paula commented slyly, and asked, "Does Monica even know you made it to Ireland yet?!"

Freddie rebuffed, "It was a bloody mad rush trying to find two seats on a return flight to Dublin at the last minute, I could barely get to use a telephone in between."

"Alright, well we're all meeting her and Johnny at the Hilton later. That's all you need to know, I suppose" the woman replied curtly, and returned her eyes to the front.

But there was something else that Freddie was itching to ask, "Can you find Roshni up there?"

Paula shot him a disdainful look, almost as if to say, "Don't you know your own daughter when you see her?"

"She's second-last on the left, next to that wee asian fella." she pointed her finger in said direction.

Freddie followed Paula's gaze towards the front for a few seconds, and soon enough he saw a familiar tuft of black curls sitting at one of a dozen tables with three other children.

Roshni appeared to be in deep concentration with her teammate and opponents, her arms crossed and her blue eyes focused on the cards at the center of the table, the same way that she would be in front of her Atari at home.

"She's doing quite well, I think" Paula interjected.

"How can you tell?" Freddie queried curiously.

"You see all the children sitting on the sidelines? That's where the ones who are losing each round are going to sit," she elaborated in a whisper, "So as long as Roshni is sitting at the tables then she hasn't yet been eliminated, I can tell you that much."

"I see now, thank you" He uttered, and continued to study his daughter more closely.

Roshni's hair looked tattier than it ever had been now that Monica wasn't there to brush and comb her knotted curls out for her daily. But Freddie couldn't help thinking that in a way the' Albert Einstein, mad-hair' look suited the little girl surprisingly well, and made her look like she belonged in a room full of intellectual prodigies. And most of all she looked content, and as though she didn't have a care for anything else in the world at that moment except for numbers.

"Oh, my baby girl," Freddie yearned, "Those few months without you and your brother in the house went by so quickly. Where did all the time go?"

And the worst part was being reminded that time was passing at such a fast rate, especially when his own time on Earth seemed limited...

Hilton, around 4:45pm

"That's boring... that's boring... news... also boring!!"

After endlessly flicking through the programmes on the hotel suite's television set, Johnny threw the remote control down onto the large bed he was sitting on in defeat.

Spending time in the hotel and watching the cable on his own wasn't as fun as he hoped it was going to be. There was not even a remotely interesting programme playing on any of the 20 national television channels that he was allowed to watch. Often it was just live broadcasts of Roman Catholic masses or the odd channel or two where the people on them, often wearing arran knit jumpers and tweed caps, only spoke the mysterious and indistinguishable language that was Irish Gaelic.

All the while, Monica was still standing in front of the en suite bathroom sink for the past fifteen minutes, at this point so inebriated with alcoholic beverages from the downstairs bar that her poor child had to turn up the volume button and block out her off-key singing to herself, hence the dozen empty glasses of various shapes and sizes stacked on the table.

"I wonder when she'll stop ordering drinks for herself and start ordering dinner for us," Johnny thought, for the sky got apprehensively darker outside the window, "Maybe it won't be until dad finally comes and Roshni returns"

But the more times that Monica went to answer the door when each drink arrived, the less and less she could walk there and back in a straight line, and Johnny feared that it wouldn't be long until she fell asleep in her intoxicated state.

He called out to her, "MUUUM, I'M HUNGRY! CAN WE HAVE DINNER NOW?""

"Wait, is The Snowman cartoon over already?" she mumbled as she peered her head over the bathroom doorway.

To Johnny, it was obvious in the exaggerated sound of her voice that she was pretending to take an active interest.

"The Snowman was only on RTÉ Two for half an hour, and the ending was too sad for a Christmas movie anyway" the boy groaned.

"Mind you, that man who narrated it at the start looked a lot like the guy who I met at Live Aid and put money into my Africa fund last year" Johnny thought, innocently unaware that the two men were in fact both David Bowie.

"Wait until Paula and your sister get back, just keep watching whatever you want" Monica casually admissioned, ducking back into the bathroom.

The moment she said that a mischievous thought occurred in Johnny's mind, "She did say that I could watch whatever I wanted"

When Johnny was sure that his drunken mother was out of his way, he picked up the remote again and aimed it back towards the television set, flicking further through the programmes.

It wasn't long before a large pair of a lady's bare bosoms flashed past, grabbing his attention and causing him to drop the remote control in shock.

Johnny's pure young eyes widened in both horror and fascination as the breasts that filled the screen shook and wobbled, whilst groovy funk music played in the background.

However, the boy forgot that he still had the volume up too loud.

"JOHNNY!"

He darted his head around when he heard his mother's commanding voice exclaim his name.

Monica quickly stumbled towards him, wearing the hotel bathrobe as she flimsily smeared the back of her hand across the fuschia pink lipstick that had been crookedly applied onto her bottom lip, her other hand holding what must've been her fifth vodka tonic in the last hour.

"I told you before that you cannot go looking at the naughty channels, the programmes on there are for grown ups only!" Monica scolded him, frivolously snatching the remote off of the mattress.

At this, he argued, "But you said that I could watch whatever I wanted!"

"The same rules from home apply in Ireland as well, there has to be something else on here!" his mother switched back to the national television programmes, taking a large gulp of her drink and muttering under her breath, "I'm surprised that the catholic institution will ban the sale of condoms on this island, but not pornos on cable TV!"

Johnny stubbornly folded his arms, watching in both bewilderment and mortification as Monica immediately dropped her authoritative act and drunkenly giggled at what was on the television screen.

He pouted, "There's nothing else on Irish TV!"

"Well, then if there's nothing..." She mimicked Johnny's sloppy tone as she staggered over to the television set, pulling the plug out of the wall and switching it off, "Problem solved."

Johnny huffed, falling back onto the bed with a thud as he sighed, "You're no fun, even when you're drunk"

Such a comment likely would've offended Monica if she was even only slightly tipsy, but her clouded judgment saw it as an invitation to prove the boy wrong.

"Oh, look!" She exclaimed jollily as she set her vodka tonic down and picked up the Hilton brochure that was propped up on the dressing table, "The spa downstairs has a swimming pool in it. How about that?"

"No thank you," Johnny monotonously replied as he remembered his manners, still staring at the ceiling as he lied, "Anyway, I left my swimming trunks back at Headfort"

Monica breathlessly giggled, crawling onto the mattress on all fours towards him, "But you said that you were bored, let's go!"

Johnny rolled away from her, groaning impatiently, "No, mum! I want to have dinner, I'm getting hungry again!"

"Oh come on, sweetheart. Live a little, don't break out of your Peter Pan character just yet!" she slurred, clumsily trying to grab her son's arm and roll him over.

But he held his ground, snapping around and shouting into her face, "I SAID NO!!"

He expected his mum to be taken aback, but when he scowled into her blue eyes he noticed that they were glassy, yet dull and unfocused.

"Well, you're disappointing," Monica muttered as she drew back, nonchalantly adding, "just like your dad."

Johnny winced in hurt, and rolled away from her again and onto his side.

He listened as Monica glugged down the rest of her vodka tonic before slamming the empty glass back onto the dinner table with the rest. Then he heard her opening the hotel suite door, and sarcastically croon over her shoulder to him one more time:

"So long, Peter Pan! You really should win an Oscar for your fun-loving performance!"

The door slammed shut, leaving Johnny lying on the bed in the lamplit suite in utter silence, except for the mild sound of the Dublin traffic out the window and the trickle of the tap that his mother had left running in the bathroom.

"She'll come back, won't she?" he convinced himself, hoping it was just a ruse for him to follow her, "She's only waiting behind that door for me to follow her"

Twenty seconds had passed, but Monica still hadn't reappeared.

"Mum, come back in." Johnny shouted at the door clearly.

Yet, there was no reply.

"MUM!" He screamed again, this time louder, "I SAID COME BACK, THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"

There was still no answer.

And at his young age, Johnny still knew that alcohol and chlorinated water was a recipe for a tragic accident.

He finally leapt up off the bed, wailing desperately, "MUMMY!"

He went to grab the key card from its caddy on the wall, but to the boy's dismay it was empty. Monica had taken the only room key with her.

With tears welling in his eyes, Johnny opened the door and fled into the corridor and screamed, "MUM, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Panicked, he frantically looked around for any sign on the wall which would lead him to the reception area.

"PLEASE COME BACK, MUMMY!!" Johnny desperately cried out as he stood at the dead end of the corridor, "I DIDN'T MEAN TO CALL YOU BORING!"

But it was hopeless. He had already forgotten the way back to the elevator, for the corridors all looked the same and all the signs only pointed to other room numbers, thus making the hotel appear to be a labyrinth.

In defeat, the boy fell to the carpet and sat against the wall with his knees to his chest, continuing to cry in despair into his folded arms.

"What mum drowns, and dad says it's my fault for not being able to stop or save her... or for saying mean things to her?" Johnny started to punish himself with more terrible notions, "What if he hates me more than he already does for it?"

Needless to say, his sobs were so loud that he didn't hear a man's familiar voice call his name.

"Johnny?"

The man said his name again, and this time Johnny heard it as he lifted his face from his folded arms.

It was Phoebe standing at the other end of the corridor, donning his familiar chequered jacket with luggage in his hands.

"Phoebe!" Johnny bawled with joy and relief.

He ran into his father's assistant's open arms, hugging onto his wide waist and weeping into his large stomach.

Phoebe held the boy close in return as he felt his own eyes stinging with bittersweet tears, knowing that it may have been one of the last chances for him to hug Johnny before he sought employment elsewhere.

The two pulled away, and the man asked Johnny almost sternly, "What are you doing in the corridor on your own?!"

"Mum went to go swimming!" He blubbered, rubbing his wet eyes with his balled fists.

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad," Phoebe's brows furrowed, "Did you not want to go with her?"

Johnny tearfully shook his head, "She's scaring me! She isn't herself"

"Why?" the man pressed, bending down to the boy's height, "What are you saying?!"

"She's had lots to drink again, Pheebs. She was even drinking at my play" Johnny sullenly answered, staring at his feet in shame.

Phoebe's facial expression morphed into that of both concern and sympathy.

"How long ago did she leave?!"

"About a minute ago"

"Come on, the elevators are this way," Phoebe urged, grabbing Johnny's arm and pulling him along, "It's a pity that I didn't meet her on the way up, but maybe we can catch up and stop her before she puts herself in any more danger..."

School of Mathematics, Trinity College, around 4:50pm

"And this year's 24 Game champions are... Ashton Primary of County Cork, with St Francis representing County Louth running a close second!"

A slightly deflated Paula and Freddie accordingly clapped and watched as Professor Higgins addressed the audience through a microphone, and a couple of other invigilators put medals onto the four winning school children standing at the front.

"And let's hear a big round of applause for our runners up, with Headfort Prep in County Meath coming third and Kilross National School of County Sligo earning fourth place!" Professor Higgins further presented.

"She looks so gutted to have lost, bless her..." Paula whispered to Freddie, watching as the invigilators both pinned extravagant cockade badges onto Roshni and Oshiro's school jumpers, muttering their words of congratulations.

He did notice that his daughter's mouth had indeed formed into a tight, slightly downturned simper which indicated that she was trying her best to conceal her disappointment in front of everybody in the lecture theatre.

Freddie thought, "She and her brother will be even more gutted when I tell them that Phoebe is leaving! ...My God, all this skeptical thinking is making me feel stressed!"

"I'm going for a quick smoke," he stood up quickly, tempted for an escape, "Wanna come, or have you quit yet?"

"Shouldn't you wait for your daughter?" Monica's friend catechized him.

Freddie looked over to the front, and Roshni appeared to be in a discussion with her teammate and a South Asian woman that he didn't recognise but presumed was her Maths teacher, and appeared to be in no hurry to leave just yet.

"You know what, how about we just go find them after?" Paula changed her mind, straightening her polka dot skirt.

"Good idea" Freddie zipped his windbreaker's collar up to the bottom half of his face, thus giving him a bit more anonymity within the public eye and protecting himself from the cold.

As he walked down the side aisle and passed the group of them, he lagged behind Paula slightly as she called over, "Roshni! ...Roshni, over here!"

The little girl spun her head around, and smiled when she saw her Aunty Paula.

The woman told her, "I'm just going to be outside for a smoke, love. Okay?"

All the while Freddie kept his back turned and listened carefully; he didn't want to reunite with his daughter just yet, or at least not in a communal space with dozens of strangers, even though he knew well that most of the academics in the room wouldn't even care about being in the presence of one of the world's biggest rock stars.

"Okay! I'll see you in a bit" Roshni called over to her amidst the chatter, and turned back into her conversation with Oshiro and Miss Singh.

Freddie and Paula walked out of the theatre promptly amidst others, staying silent from one another as they went down the corridor. All the while, Freddie was beginning to remember that he had to find a new personal assistant as soon as he got back to London, and he was unsure of where to begin. All those years ago his professional relationship with Mr Freestone had fallen onto his lap when they had met whilst rehearsing for a charity concert with the Royal Ballet, and by now it was natural for Freddie to turn to Phoebe in such headache-inducing scenarios as this one.

"Don't be daft, Fred. It's not like you can just ask Phoebe to look for his own bloody replacement! Things are already shit enough as it is" he thought, lagging behind Paula slightly as they weaved their way back out through the faculty atrium.

If there was one good thing about it, searching for a new personal assistant offered Freddie a good distraction from his HIV fears. There was so much for him alone to consider for a potential candidate, such as if he or she would be prompt and organised like Phoebe, or if they could make a good cup up of Earl Grey Twinings for him first thing in the morning the way he liked it, or if they could shop until he dropped just as much as Phoebe could. Or if they'd get along with Johnny and Roshni, let alone Monica, or if they were cat people. 

He scorned, "I wouldn't be in this shitty situation if I wasn't such an arse towards Phoebe, or if I didn't scare myself into getting that HIV test in the first place!"

"Fuck, it's Baltic out here!" Paula cursed through gritted teeth with a cigarette in between them as she and Freddie exited the front entrance, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to stay warm, "Keep your eyes peeled for a taxi"

As Freddie climbed down the front steps to the lamplit Dublin side streets, the whole time feeling as though he had a bone to pick with Paula, particularly about something he'd noticed that she'd said a minute before.

Freddie waited until he reached the bottom step, and informally asked, "Why did you say I'm and not 'we're', Cruella?"

"Hmm?" she grunted, trying to light her cigarette with a cupped hand.

"Cruella, from 101 Dalmatians," he purred, taking out his own box of cigarettes from his windbreaker pocket, "You have her monochromatic hairstyle now, isn't that what you were going for?"

"No, what do you mean that I said 'I'm' and not 'we're'?" she asked, a little bit more irritably.

Freddie sensed that she was not going to be in a good mood, "Oh, it's going to be that way, is it?"

Regardless, he elaborated, "A moment ago, why did you tell Roshni that 'I'm' as in you are going to be outside and not 'we're' going to be outside? I'm here too, am I not?"

Once Paula finished taking a drag and exhaling, she replied, "Because I'm the only one out of the two of us who actually turned up for the whole thing"

"Well, excuse me! At least I still bloody well turned up," Freddie told her brashly, "even if getting here was like trying to push jelly up a fucking hill!"

He was surprised that he had the ability to speak to Paula in such a harsh manner.

But then again, so did she:

"That's not the point! To you, the 24 Game may just be another silly game for we'ans, and it certainly is to me too... but to Roshni, it probably means the world! Because to children, sometimes parents' actions speak louder than words!"

"As if I didn't already know that" Freddie retorted apathetically.

Paula scoffed, and continued to argue with him, "You know, this morning Monica mentioned in passing about the day you fainted on the fucking maternity hospital floor when the twins were being born!"

The man clenched the box of cigarettes in his hand as he felt even the lining of his stomach burn in humiliation, "I'm sorry?"

"When she was giving birth!" she frantically waved her cigarette about, "You almost left her hanging throughout the whole ordeal, just like you left her hanging today! Johnny's lucky that one of his parents even cared to turn up to his play!"

At the mention of Johnny, Freddie barked, "You watch what you say about my-"

"And another thing," She continued her brutal tirade towards him, "Monica drank two glasses of wine within the space of a 50 minute flight last night. Two glasses!! That's how damn-well vulnerable she is now. And you keep her hanging onto the false hope that maybe one day you will stop being Freddie Mercury the rockstar and start being Freddie Mercury the husband and father!"

As the Irishwoman had stopped unloading onto him with great bluntness and went to finish puffing on her cigarette.

Freddie was too stunned to even come back with a good argument, let alone take a cigarette out of his box and do what he came outside to do. What Paula had told him was very personal and thought-provoking indeed, but then again how dare she have the audacity to speak to him that way...

"You know, just because you've now got black and white hair like a cow doesn't mean you need to act like one, Paula," He thought aloud coyly, "I've got problems too!"

Paula was about to put her cigarette back in between her lips, but lowered her arm in disbelief at what he had just said.

She wanted to call Freddie every name under the sun at that point, but could only muster a quiet, "I beg your pardon?!"

The hot-headed pair glared at one another slightly, but the tension was quickly diffused by the whirring of the slider doors up the steps, followed by a few small voices. And soon enough they were no longer alone.

A black-haired little girl froze in front of both of them with her suitcase and schoolbag in hand, an East Asian boy and South Asian woman standing either side of her, her figure backlit by the light coming from the glass doors behind her.

"There's my favourite little lady!" Paula chucked her cigarette over the side of the staircase and shuffled over to Roshni excitedly, dropping any prior feelings of hostility towards Freddie as she threw herself at the little girl.

But as she hugged her on those concrete steps, Roshni blankly stared back down at the man in the grey cap and windbreaker like a deer in the headlights. She hadn't recognised who he was straight away without his moustache, nor had she even seen him in the audience throughout the duration of the entire competition.

Freddie unzipped his collar and peeled it back as he crooned, " Hello, darling. It's me."

Still, Roshni didn't respond. Now she felt even more silly than she already did, and that perhaps her performance would've turned out differently if she had known that her own father was there with her Aunty Paula all along.

"Roshni! You could've told me that Freddie [Mercury] really was your father after all, I honestly wouldn't have told anybody" Gurinder Singh told her in starstruck disbelief.

Freddie blushed as Roshni addressed her mother's best friend, ignoring her father completely, "Aunty Paula, I'd like you to meet my Maths teacher Miss Singh, and Oshiro. He'a my teammate... and friend."

That's when she man sought a moment to impress his daughter's newfound mate, and everyone else in the conversation, with his little proficiency of Japanese:

"Ah, konichiwa!" Freddie greeted, bowing slightly and extending a hand towards Oshiro, "Ogenkidesuka, wakamono?"

Pleasantly surprised, the boy shook the man's hand in return as he replied in his native language, "Konichiwa. Watashi wa samuidesuga, soreigai wa genkidesu, arigatō. Roshni no otōsandesu ka?"

However, Freddie's level of fluency was still rather intermediate as he obliviously responded, "I'm sorry?"

"Stupid tit." Paula remarked under her breath, rolling her eyes at the man.

"Tell me, is it true that you like to watch Eastenders, Freddie?" Miss Singh asked him with a giggle.

"Mm, sometimes." Freddie sheepishly admitted and gave Roshni a peculiar glance, to which she shyly slunk away as if to say, "Sorry, dad. I might have told them too much."

"Anyway," Paula bent down to her and Oshiro's level, "How are you two feeling after that competition?"

"We lost," Roshni trailed off downheartedly, "but we're still the third-best in Ireland, I guess!"

"Well as the song goes, three is a magic number" Paula encouraged.

Miss Singh followed, "That's right. And if you both keep working hard then maybe you can go onto other maths competitions next year!"

But Roshni had enough of staring at numbers and doing maths for one day, and all she wanted to do at that moment was to have something to eat, and go back home to London for Christmas.

She looked to her Aunty Paula, "It's getting cold and dark. Perhaps we should go back to mum and Johnny."

"Oh, do you not want to meet my parents first? They're inside" Oshiro gestured to the slider doors behind him.

Roshni politely rejected, "Sorry Oshiro, but maybe I can meet them when we come back to Headfort in January?"

Oshiro nodded, although to Freddie it was uncomfortably clear on his face that the boy had been let down.

Regardless, he politely bid her farewell, "Goodbye, Roshni. I'll see you next year."

"Goodbye, or sayonara," she remorsefully picked up her bags again, and walked towards Freddie and Paula before promising him, "I'll write to you over Christmas!"

"Perhaps you better fax him instead, love," her Aunty Paula joked, standing on the lookout on the pavement edge as she called over, "Santa and the elves have priority over the post offices at this time of year, you know!"

Oshiro's face brightened up once again, "It's a deal! Here's my number"

Paula shot Freddie a knowing glance as the boy took the girl's hand and a pen in his pocket, and started writing his receiver number down on the back of her wrist. At least something good was to come out of the competition, and that was Roshni making a new friend and penpal.

"Have a wonderful Christmas, Roshni," Miss Singh patted the girl on the back affectionately before addressing the other two adults, "And it was nice to meet you both too! You wouldn't mind if I sent you one of the twins' scored tests to sign over the Christmas holidays, would you Freddie? Because if you did, I'd frame it in my classroom"

Freddie blushed as the teacher gave him a playful wink, managing to let out, "Say goodbye to your teacher, Roshni."

"Bye, Miss Singh!" Roshni squeaked and waved.

"Bye for now," Gurinder ushered Oshiro back up the steps, before telling the girl, "And well done today, you should be proud of how well you played."

Roshni stood still and watched until her teacher and Oshiro entered the slider doors and disappeared behind the glass, and turned away to rejoin her father.

"This one here is free!" her Aunty Paula proclaimed as a taxi pulled in next to them.

*****

Dublin is a relatively small European capital, particularly in the mid 1980s. You can reach O'Connell street within less than half an hour if you drive into the city center from the abundant surrounding Irish countryside, or get from one place to another in a matter of minutes. 

However, for the three sitting in the back of one of the city's taxis, the ten-minute journey from Trinity College back to the Hilton within the Kilmainham suburb felt as though it had lasted forever. All dilemmas, old and new, plagued Freddie's mind as he sat in the back of the taxi with his daughter and Paula.

Meanwhile Roshni sat silently in the middle seat between her father and her Aunty Paula. Not once did she embrace him since they'd reunited, nor did she reach out to hold his hand or ask him how his day was, and it was yet another thing that was driving him mad.

He cautiously decided to break the ice between the two of them, "Are you embarrassed of me, darling?"

Roshni shook her head.

"Well, you didn't introduce me to your new friend and your teacher back there," he went on, "Not to mention, you declined Oshirio's offer to meet his parents. Do you know how bad it is to offend the Japanese?! They take respect and honour very seriously in their country, you know that!"

"I think your sense of compassion is a tad displaced, Freddie" Paula murmured to him sarcastically.

"Still," he shot the woman an annoyed glance, and asked his daughter, "Had you forgotten your manners or something when you went to Ireland?"

Roshni shrugged, which infuriated him a little further.

"Oh come on!" Freddie snapped, "I already have one child who hates me! I don't need another!"

Roshni jumped slightly in terror, and simply hid her face in Paula's side.

Instinctively, and remorsefully at raising his own voice, he reached over to put his hand on Roshni's shoulder. It was the first form of physical contact which he'd had with his little girl in months.

But as the girl flinched and rejected his touch he instantly, and painfully, drew back.

"I don't hate you," Roshni finally spoke on the verge of tears, her voice muffled and cracking, "I know it sounds selfish, I just wish that I knew you turned up after all."

The broken-hearted, innocent manner in which Roshni said those words touched something deep inside of Freddie that, for a split second, compelled him to let the truth slip out of his mouth:

"I'm sick."

"What?" Roshni lifted her face, and Paula's green eyes widened in alarm.

However, he quickly realised that the back of a public taxi wasn't the time for him to unleash such personal news.

Out of panic, Freddie faltered, "What I mean is that I'm sick of being away from you and your brother, that's all"

"Oh, please!" Paula sighed under her breath.

"Then promise you'll come and visit me and Johnny in Ireland more often. Make that your New Year's resolution!" Roshni pleaded, wiping her wet cheeks with her coat sleeve.

"Put yourself in Johnny and Roshni's shoes. You remember how it was being sent from Zanzibar to India, don't you?" he reminisced empathetically, "And how you longed to see your mother and father and little Kash again? There's only a little bit of sea and a fifty minute plane ride from London to Dublin, it's really not that far or difficult any other time of the year that isn't Christmas"

For once, Freddie understood that perhaps Paula was right in that maybe he did need to work harder on being Freddie Mercury the father, even though it was a hard pill for him to swallow.

But he also knew that his collaboration with Montsy, let alone his potential hidden illness, would make it even harder for him to keep his promise to his two children. Yet hiding the truth was already doing enough damage to his relationship with both of them.

Yet right then and there, as his daughter's expectant blue eyes searched him for answers Freddie saw Monica in them. And so, he decided that he was going to tell Monica the truth. The truth about his HIV fears, the truth about why Phoebe decided to leave, and the truth as to why Barcelona was so important to him despite everything else...

But what he was about to witness in the next five minutes was going to make him change his mind.

"Oh Christ, what's going on out there?!" Paula muttered out of nowhere, watching out the window on her side.

Freddie and Roshni looked out and saw that they were pulling up to their destination within the Kilmainham area, a large complex building marked with the light-up Hilton logo on its side. 

In front of its entrance were the blaring lights and sirens of the emergency vehicles, a police car and ambulance, both parked out front and drawing a small curious crowd of pedestrians and other members of the public.

"What happened?" Roshni asked the two adults curiously.

To the Dublin taxi driver, it was a common sight to see as he gruffly declared, "That'll be six punts, please"

"Thanks, you can hold onto the change," Paula dug through her red puffer coat pocket and handed the driver a bank note, answering the girl, "Whatever it is pet, it doesn't look too good."

Freddie undid his seatbelt and precautiously zipped his collar up to the lower half of his face again, "Perhaps somebody knows I'm staying at the Hilton tonight and they need backup"

"I doubt they'd need to call an ambulance over that, not unless your presence is going to cause a stampede of crazed fans" Paula hastily opened the door on her side, helping Roshni step out.

"At least it's a good distraction for me to sneak by anyway" he shuffled out of his seat and out the door, not before thanking the taxi driver as he stepped out after his daughter.

As the taxi sped off into the night time, the three began walking up to the hotel entrance, their empty stomachs rumbling as dinner time drew closer.

"I wonder if Monica knows what's happening" Paula craned her neck as she tried to look beyond the crowd and into the hotel doorway, "I just hope she's not tangled up in it"

Little did she know how prophetic her words would be within the next twenty seconds.

"Look! Somebody's coming out of the hotel now" Roshni exclaimed, rushing ahead to infiltrate the crowd and take a closer peek.

"Roshni, don't look!" Paula practically sprinted after her.

"For heaven's sake!" Freddie mindlessly followed after the two of them, hands in his windbreaker pockets as he pushed past a few people to get to the front of the crowd.

"Get out of the bleedin' way!!" a few Garda [police] officers and hotel staff simultaneously barked orders at the bystanders.

"Stay close to your dad and I" Paula put her arms around Roshni protectively as they watched the shadowed figures of paramedics emerge from the hotel entrance, carrying and swarming around somebody on a stretcher.

But a familiar child's blood-curdling scream that he was about to hear would not only silence the chattering crowd, but also remain imprinted into Freddie's memory forever:

"WHERE ARE THEY TAKING MY MUMMY?!"

Oh, Freddie had recognised her alright, and it was utterly dreadful.

Monica's dark hair was soaking wet as she lay limply on her side atop the stretcher in an equally drenched hotel bathrobe, a red cellular blanket insulating her and an oxygen mask concealing half of her sheet-white, hollow face as paramedics tried to hold her flailing arms down. 

A visibly distressed Johnny and Phoebe following behind her with the suited Hilton's management in tow, the latter trying his best to comfort and calm the boy down.

"Keep her on her side at all times!!" one of the first responders yelled back to the team as the ambulance ramp lowered to the ground, adding, "She still might have water in her lungs, and god only knows how much alcohol!"

At last, it was obvious what had happened. Of course it wasn't going to take very long until Monica Brannigan would almost succumb to her alcoholism in one way or another.

Not once did she look at Freddie or her increasingly terrified daughter and best friend as she got carried past them, garbling and groaning indistinctly.

In those few, slow-spinning seconds, Freddie did get a closer look at her face.  But the magnetic blue-eyed gaze that she had given him across that foggy club room almost ten years ago was now absent, for now her mascara-smeared eyes were flat and bloodshot, and her pupils dilated. And her overall expression on what was once a delicate, rosy face that glistened in the disco lights was glistening with that of an emergency vehicles', delirious from the amount of alcohol that rushed through her bloodstream.

"Let me through, I KNOW WHO SHE IS!"

He could barely hear Paula protesting with the two Garda officers who held her back, numbly watching the paramedics finish loading Monica into the ambulance as Johnny and Roshni both cried in fear at his side.

Freddie couldn't bring himself to follow her inside, for he didn't recognise the woman on the stretcher anymore.

The paramedics slammed its doors, the vehicle sounded its loud siren and quickly sped off into the night with the Garda cars in tow and Monica inside on her own, leaving Freddie paralysed in a real-life nightmare as his world slowly crumbled around him...

To be continued.