November, 1986

Holland Park

"What to wear..." Mary Austin held the two dresses up in front of her bedroom wardrobe's mirror, still in her dress robes and her wet blonde hair tied in a turban.

In her left hand was a bright red button-down dress with a plunge neckline and shoulder pads, a bold choice that seemed as if it would make a lasting impression on whomever laid eyes on it. Another one was a balloon-sleeved frock made out of navy blue fabric, a colour that subtly complimented her fair features and blonde bobbed hair.

"I'll put the red one back," she declared, "I'm only going for brunch, not to see male strippers"

A few nights ago, Mary had met somebody called Piers Cameron at a cocktail party with her girlfriends. The pair had struck off immediately, and he asked to take her out for coffee a few days later.

Piers was nothing like her ex-boyfriend of six years and financial client Freddie, or any of the others that Mary had dated in her Biba days. But those days were long gone and she had grown up since then, and it was about time she met not a boy but a man that was as mature and accomplished as she had become.

Ms Austin was changing into her blue frock, swiftly pulling the sleeves up her arms with excitement, when she heard the fax machine humming in her make-shift office space in the other room.

"Oh god, what now?" she threw her empty hanger onto her bed.

She marched across the hallway of her flat and to her desk, where the fax was with a fresh cover sheet waiting for her in its caddy.

Mary snatched it and held it into the light by the window, muttering, "This better be worth it. I've got hair and make-up to do!"

The sender listed was Freddie's assistant Peter "Phoebe" Freestone, a regular recipient sending her yet another financial request this time. But it wasn't a request for yet another Christmas gift for his children and family, as had been in the past couple of weeks, let alone a flight or accommodation. It read:

"Hi Mary, I have to take Freddie to a meeting in town today. Can you please contact Woods Mews Surgery and book a deposit for him to have some bloods done please? Preferably on a date no later than Thursday 18th December, if possible.

Thanks a mil! Phoebe"

"Why no later than the 18th?" She instinctively thought, reaching for her diary of Freddie's financial references and bookings on her desk.

Needless to say, she wasted no time dilly-dallying and did as Phoebe had asked her, unassumingly flicking through the pages until she got to the aforementioned date.

However, she skipped a day ahead to the 19th, for it seemed odd for Freddie to request a blood test so close to Christmas time. Members of his inner circle would often give her a reason as to why there were constraints. But not this time...

There it was, scribbled in Ms Austin's own handwriting next to the Friday 19th entry:

Aer Lingus booking- 2 return tickets Heathrow to Dublin 10:30am

"Oh, I see now..." Mary set her book back down as she remembered that, a week ago, Phoebe had asked her to book a flight to Ireland for himself and Freddie because one of his two children had an important event that their father wanted to attend.

"Something about Johnny getting a lead role in a play at school, wasn't it?" she thought disdainfully, reaching for her address pad to find the number for Dr Gordon's practice, "He'll go further than his own drip of a mother, that's for sure"

Mary still failed to understand what Freddie saw in Monica after all these years. Surely he'd be bored out of his mind by now, especially after her miscarriage earlier in the year. And sometimes, Mary couldn't help but find it unfair that she was still serving the family that Freddie ought to have given her in the first place all those years ago.

"Hold on... what if Freddie can't go to Dublin on the 19th?" she mused, "Oh, the chance would be a fine thing"

Then Mary saw a window for an opportunity, an opportunity to paint an unfortunate twist of fate in the future that would cause frustration and disappointment for not only Freddie, but also for Monica and their two children.

So, Ms Austin lifted the phone and dialled the number for Gordon's practice, yet her moral conscience failed to stop her in time from carrying out the malicious plan of sabotage that was rapidly forming in her head...

"Good morning, this is Woods Mews Surgery, how can I help?" the male secretary of Dr Gordon Atkinson answered promptly.

"Hello, sir. With one of your client's formerly-given permission, I would like to book an appointment on his behalf please" Mary looked at the date in her financial diary once more.

"What's the name, madam?"

"Mercury, Frederick" she formally answered.

"...Date of birth, 5th September 1946, correct?"

"Correct".

"And his GP is Gordon Atkinson, yes?"

"Yes..." Mary chewed the end of her pen, listening as she heard the secretary working in the background.

"What was it that Mr Mercury wanted?"

"A blood test, please." Ms Austin answered.

"Any reason as to why?" the secretary asked, "Because he probably ought to have a health consultation with Gordon first"

"There was no given reason, just a general screening I suppose" Mary answered unassumingly.

The secretary went on to clarify, "Mr Atkinson is booked up for the next couple of weeks, but there should be a few dates in December. Is that too far ahead?"

"Well actually, Friday 19th December would be great... provided that the practice isn't closed for Christmas by then?" she slyly requested.

"Okay, I'll just check the calendar..." The secretary trailed off in distraction as he checked the files, then returned to the phone, "There is a free slot on Friday the 19th at 10am. Is that alright?"

"Perfect!" Mary replied craftily.

All the while she was trying to conceal her joy that her plan was falling into place.

"Alright madam, Dr Atkinson shall see Mr Mercury on Friday the 19th then," the secretary formally declared, "You take care now, good day"

"You too and thank you for your help, bye now" Mary smiled to herself with a feeling of triumph.

She set the phone back down, and started scribbling out the flight to Dublin in the entry and instead filled out the following in its place using bright red ink:

Dr Atkinson at 10am-blood tests

"Sorry, Monica," Mary contemptuously slammed her book shut with the intent of heading back to her bedroom to finish getting ready for her brunch date, "But it'll be a while until the twins get to see daddy again..."

The way Mary saw it was that, many years ago, Freddie took her happiness away over his own selfish greed. Therefore, why should she spend her time helping him pay for his?

Backstage Assembly Hall, Headfort School, Kells, Ireland

"There we are, that should do it..." Mrs Joyce carefully finished sewing another dark green fabric ivy leaf onto the costume that her star pupil Johnny Bulsara was modelling in front of the backstage dressing room mirror for her.

She took a step away to ask him, "What do you think, Johnny? Feel like Peter Pan yet?"

"Not yet, Miss..." the boy slowly shook his head, all the while his other teacher Mr Joyce was up a ladder tinkering with the stage lights past the curtains.

"Now Johnny, I didn't want it to ever come to this. But perhaps what your costume is lacking are green tights," Mrs Joyce suggested as she continued to study the boy pensively, and awkwardly asked him, "Would you be comfortable trying a pair on?"

"Oh..." Johnny hesitated for a moment, then innocently chirped, "My dad wears tights to work as well sometimes, so probably"

Instead of questioning further Mrs Joyce blushed and glanced over at her husband Mr Joyce, who simply chuckled at his wife in return from his spot atop the ladder.

"Anyway, it's alright if you aren't happy wearing them," she cleared her throat as she closed her sewing kit, and continued, "It's probably because in the original stage play the late, great J.M Barrie traditionally gave the role of Peter Pan to a young woman and not a little boy like yourself."

"Was it JM Barrie's idea to make Tinker Bell into a light and bell as well?" Johnny asked, watching Mr Joyce climbing back down the ladder.

"It was Mr Barrie's idea," he confirmed as he made his way towards them both, "But primarily because a small light moving across the stage accompanied by the twinkling of a bell seems more authentic than a fully grown 7 year old prancing everywhere"

"Oh, I can't wait until opening night!" Mrs Joyce gushed, clasping her hands together as her husband put his arm around her, "Are you excited too, dear?"

Mr Joyce agreed, "Imagine how excited the boy's parents must be!"

Johnny followed their gaze, and looked back into the dressing room mirror behind him.

Yet again, the boy was awestruck every time he gawked at his transformed, green reflection. When Johnny auditioned for the school play about a month before during what was supposed to be a detention, he was expecting to at least get a part as one of the pirates, the lost boys or the Native Americans. Even a side character such as Captain Hook or one of the Darling brothers would have been a privilege for him to have earned. But here he was, and yet he was still unable to comprehend the fact that he had been given the titular role of Peter Pan.

"Why me, miss?" he thought aloud.

"What do you mean? Do you not like what you're wearing?" Mrs Joyce uttered, her heart ready to drop at the hours she'd wasted and all the hard work that she'd put into his costume.

"No, I love it!" He turned back around, "It's just... Why did you and Mr Joyce choose me to play Peter Pan?"

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny..." Mr Joyce shook his head, and told him, "You were the only boy who turned up to auditions with the ability to bring out Peter's magnetism and impishness on stage, unlike most of the others"

"Not to mention that little pixie face of his as well!" Mrs Joyce added excitedly, referring to Johnny's slightly upturned nose that he'd inherited from his mother and the mischievous sparkle in his father's brown eyes.

Johnny's cheeks flushed a rosey pink, causing his teachers to giggle even more.

"You need to have more belief in yourself, Johnny" Mr Joyce told him with a bit more seriousness.

"He's right, you know," His wife followed jokingly, "You've read the book, you know how cocky Peter Pan is meant to be!"

"Speaking of books dear," Mr Joyce changed the subject, walking away, "Did the library staff get back to you about designing those posters?"

Mrs Joyce accompanied him out the backstage door, "No, we'll have to remind them on lunch break..."

As the boy was left alone in front of the mirror he thought of the cockiest person that he knew; his own father. But Freddie only seemed that way when he was performing on stage or putting on a front in public. At home his father wasn't Freddie Mercury, he was simply just 'dad' to himself and his sister.

"Hang on, the point of acting is that I don't have to be Johnny Bulsara today." he thought as he stared back into the mirror, "Johnny Bulsara is stupid and disruptive and nobody likes him... But I can be who I want to be, and today I'm going to be Peter Pan."

A small smile grew on Johnny's face. In spite of how he thought of himself, maybe he was good at doing something after all. And that perhaps he ought to have been proud to have gotten the main part on this occasion.

But there was another fundamental change that the boy had noticed in himself:

"Mrs Joyce says that mum and dad are going to be so proud of me... I doubt dad will even take an interest, but somehow it doesn't bother me anymore"

Besides, his teachers were right. Peter Pan doesn't give a damn about what anybody thinks of him.

Somewhere in the Irish countryside

"Look at the numbers on the license plate of the car ahead of us and see if you can find a way to add, subtract, multiply or divide them into 24," Miss Gurinder Singh ordered as she sat in the Headfort School mini bus driver's seat, "Remember that if we're going to win this then practice makes perfect!"

"Okay, miss!"

Roshni Bulsara and her teammate Oshiro Toshiyuki answered their mentor and teacher in unison, and leaned forward in their seats to get a closer look out of their bus's windscreen.

Miss Singh nodded in satisfaction and kept her eye back on the road, keen to get Headfort's team to the 24 Game Semi-Finals in Athlone, Co. Westmeath safely and on time.

"That car has seven, eight, three, five." Oshiro referred to the one that had just overtaken their bus on the busy motorway.

"Great! How can you make that into 24?" Miss Singh challenged.

"8 times 3 is 24 already" Roshni answered.

"Yes but we have to use all of the numbers up and not just two, remember the rules" her teacher reminded them.

In the space of ten seconds Roshni added all of the numbers together in an instant in her head, only to find that the result was 23 and therefore one number too short. And when her teammate Oshiro multiplied 7 with 3, added 5 and subtracted 6 then he too ended up with the same result.

"What did you get, Oshiro?" Roshni asked him after half a minute passed.

"23, you?"

"Same," the girl kicked the seat in front of her, "So close, yet so far"

"You both stumped?" Miss Singh asked them, and when they both nodded she encouraged, "Well one way of doing it is if you multiply 7 with 8 you get 56. Divide that by 3 and round it to the nearest whole number which is 19, then add 5"

"Wow... numbers really are magical" Roshni thought.

"Are you allowed to round to near whole numbers in the competition?" Oshiro asked doubtfully.

"I don't see why they can't let you, it'd be unfair otherwise" his teacher answered.

For Roshni it was a fun but nonetheless unusual experience to be attending a cross-country competition for the first time, for it was the first time that she had traveled anywhere without her twin brother, let alone without her parents or Phoebe accompanying her.

Distracted, she looked over to her teammate Oshiro as he looked out the window for more license plate numbers to calculate to his heart's content. He seemed remarkably far less unfazed, even for a young boy who was in an entirely different culture and country to his own.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters, Oshiro?" she asked him.

"No," he turned to look at her, "I am my parent's only child"

"Don't you ever get bored?"

Oshiro shrugged, and answered her, "Not really. Dad's in the Navy and has to go away. Mum works wherever he goes. That's why they sent me to boarding school in Europe, so that I didn't have to keep moving houses and countries with them all the time. But they still always give me new subjects to study, like English, and lots of comics and manga books to read as well."

"Must be great not having to share everything all the time... Doesn't it get lonely being the only child though?" Roshni asked, bewildered.

"Only sometimes. We have a holiday back home in Japan called Children's day where all the children in the family get fish kites called koinoburi..." he recollected fondly, "When I was living in Osaka last year my house was the only house on my street that had just three koinoburi. One for mother, father, and myself. I did feel a little left out."

"My dad loves going to Japan, it's his most favourite country in the whole world," Roshni contemplated, "If we lived there he would probably get fish kites for all of our pet cats as well. Sometimes he treats them as though they are me and Johnny's own brothers and sisters..."

"Johnny and I" Miss Singh corrected her grammar.

"Is Johnny really your brother?" Oshiro asked inquisitively.

"Yes, he's my twin brother" Roshni specified.

"You're not twins!" Oshiro said, "I have cousins who live in America who I got to meet once and they are twins. They look like clones of one another."

"Yes but you see, not all twins look alike Oshiro" Miss Singh inserted herself into their conversation.

"Exactly," Roshni explained to him, "We're a type of twin called fraternal twins. Most boy and girl twins are"

"Fraternal... that's a big English word," Oshiro thought aloud, "But Johnny is still very different to you."

"Yeah. Johnny is different to me. He's got brown eyes, I've got blue eyes. He's got an outie belly button, I've got an innie," the girl rambled, which made both Miss Singh and Oshiro giggle, "and he's bad at Maths and English, whereas I enjoy doing them both."

"Are you comfortable sitting in front of lots and lots of people and doing sums and calculations before the clock goes then?" Miss Singh asked her.

"I don't know... I get stage fright. Johnny doesn't, but that's because he's a star like our dad." she said, careful to not give too much away.

"You'll be alright, Roshni. You'll be doing something you enjoy, only you'll be doing it in a room with of lots of other children your age," her teacher reassured her, "Just pretend that you're in another Maths class back at Headfort and the school bell is going to ring at any given moment"

"Pretend I'm at Maths class on Headfort and the bell is going to ring... got it"

"If your dad and brother are both stars, then what are you?" Oshiro asked her peculiarly.

Roshni said the first words that popped into her head:

"An astronaut... actually, maybe an alien"

The two children laughed.

"An Alien's company is the best kind of company," Miss Singh told them playfully, reaching for the dashboard, "Anybody want to listen to some music to calm the pre-tournament nerves?"

"Yes please!" the two children nodded, and she pressed the radio dial.

Instantaneously, the voice of Roshni's father sang through the bus's speakers:

"It's a kind of magic..."

"Oh, I love this song!" their teacher reached over to the volume dial on the dashboard in order to turn it up, oblivious to the fact that it was the father of one of her own students singing it.

Roshni uneasily squirmed in her seat, the sound of Freddie's voice raising a few hairs on her neck.

"Your face is turning red, Roshni," Oshiro remarked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just a bit anxious" She meeped, looking out the window to hide her blushing cheeks.

But it was too late.

"I think that somebody has a little crush on Freddie Mercury! Eh, Oshiro?" Her teacher teased.

"No, he's my dad!!" Roshni blurted out in embarrassment.

Miss Singh and Oshiro gasped, whilst Freddie continued to croon the song's second verse on the radio waves, "One shaft of light that shows the way... no mortal man can win this day"

"What did you say?!" Her teacher uttered in disbelief, trying to keep her eyes on the road without wavering.

Roshni faltered in panic, "W-What I was meant to have said is that he's old enough to be my dad! I'd never have a crush on him, that'd be gross!!"

"Oh, I see. But that's okay, I used to have a silly little crush on Elvis Presley when I was your age and he was about... 40!" Miss Singh assured her, not suspecting a thing.

"Phew! What a recovery," Roshni thought with relief, "Thank goodness I look more like my mum and not dad"

Still, she played the part of the mortified little schoolgirl, "Is it really okay?"

"Yep! My strict Indian parents were shocked when they saw him performing on television. Then one day they found the doodles that I used to do of the very same man in my exercise books at school," her teacher told them, then chuckled, "They only allowed me to listen to Indian music after that. I couldn't buy western records until I turned eighteen and went to university"

"If only she knew," Roshni wondered, "I bet her parents would let her if she knew that dad's family comes from India as well"

"Would your parents let you listen to Queen if you were a child now, Miss?" Oshiro asked.

"Again, probably not... as far as I know Freddie Mercury and Elvis share one or two of the same dance moves... and the same vocal style in Crazy Little Thing Called Love"

Roshni carelessly blurted out, "He wrote that in the bath you know"

"Really?! Where did you hear that?" Miss Singh quizzed further, intrigued.

"Uhm... my dad is a background musician. He goes to A list parties in London all the time where he gets to meet so many celebrities," she lied, doing her best to make it convincing, "He met Freddie a few times there"

"Oh! Any more gossip, by any chance?" her teacher asked playfully.

Roshni stuttered, realising that she was digging herself into a hole the more she told lies and played pretend.

"Oh, I'm sorry Roshni," Miss Singh read the poor girl's increasingly befuddled face, "I probably shouldn't pry and put pressure on you"

"No it's alright, miss. My dad says that Freddie likes watching Eastenders sometimes..." Roshni divulged further, and snickered as she added, "and apparently he's scared of spiders!"

Oshiro and their teacher laughed, and said, "Sounds like a normal person!"

"Yeah, he does..." Roshni trailed off in a giggle.

"This flame that burns inside of me... I'm hearing secret harmonies"

But as the girl listened to her dad sing, she knew deep down that her father was far more extraordinary than most other dads. And hopefully the same extraordinariness that he had passed down to the two Bulsara children, including herself, would help her bring Headfort into victory at the 24 game tournament that was awaiting her...

Patara Fine Thai Cuisine, Oxford Circus, London

"What's the least spicy thing that you've got?" Freddie murmured, reading the menu in his hand.

"We have plenty of non-spicy options, sir. Just ask," The waiter answered, "The chef often recommends Kuay Teow Ruea, or boat noodles as they're also called"

"Do they come in a boat?" He forced a joke out of it.

"Only in Bangkok," the waiter played along with a chuckle, "Would you like me to take your order for drinks now or come back?"

"No no, that's alright. I'm meeting somebody here... unfortunately" Freddie replied with slight sarcasm, setting the menu back down.

"Alright" The waiter nodded and bowed out.

When Monica heard that he was going to be in the general Soho area earlier that morning, she jumped at the opportunity to meet him somewhere briefly for lunch before going back home. Patara was the most conveniently located restaurant that Phoebe could find in the Yellow Pages, for it was a stone's throw away from Monica's university campus. Besides, Freddie had never had Thai food before:

"Might as well, life's too short anyway" he thought, for presently he sat at the table waiting for Monica to come, sticking out like a sore thumb in his neon-coloured Adidas Windbreaker in such a decadent and dimly lit restaurant as he was left alone with his whirring thoughts.

The last time Freddie had felt so vulnerable and utterly exposed in public was when he was in the ice cream shop with Phoebe and the twins the morning after Monica had her miscarriage, only this time he was rather more conflicted than just grief-stricken and despairing for the loss of his unborn child. He had some thrilling career news on the horizon. His meeting with Mike Moran that he'd attended only half an hour before went well, and therefore he should've been chuffed and itching to talk to somebody about it afterwards. However, that horizon was overshadowed with the uncertainty of his mortality. Ever since what had happened at Heathrow Airport that October morning the fear of AIDS was eating Freddie up, and it had gotten to the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

Something had to be done to put Freddie's mind at rest. So earlier in the day, with the utmost discretion, he had asked his assistant Mr Peter "Phoebe" Freestone to book a blood test with his trusted GP Dr Gordon, casually citing his recurring 'dizziness' and desire to quit smoking as an excuse. But unbeknownst to him Phoebe went into one of the city center's libraries and used their fax machine to contact Freddie's financial assistant and ex-girlfriend Mary Austin, and he briefly requested that she do it instead for he was already in between errands on his employer's behalf.

But through and through, Freddie was the only person who was aware of his own health concerns, and how great they were. If he was not careful, then he could expose them to his friends and family and therefore cause them great distress. Dealing with it alone was already bad enough, so how would Johnny and Roshni make sense of it?

At last he saw the woman he loved outside the restaurant window, rushing across the street as her short brown waves blew around her face in the wind, already turning up almost ten minutes over their arranged meeting time.

But Freddie didn't feel as excited to tell Monica his career update as he would've felt nearly ten years before:

He watched her open the door and quickly unbutton her trusty Peagreen coat, thinking to himself, "That was back when we were both still young and Monica wasn't drinking like a fish..."

"Sorry, did a dark-haired man with a moustache walk in earlier?" he heard her asking the member of staff who greeted her at the entrance, still slightly out of breath.

Freddie instinctively stood up as the staff member pointed towards where he was sitting.

"Thanks!" Monica cracked them a quick smile, and scurried over to his table, "Sorry, the academic progress meeting ran over a little"

"You're here now, thank god" he awkwardly leaned in to peck her on the lips scrunched up into a dry pout, the least pleasant nor affectionate of kisses that he could ever receive from her.

Freddie got a good look at Monica's pale face once he pulled away again. Her skin was puffy and her blue eyes were glossy and red. It looked as if she had been crying, but he didn't feel as though a public restaurant was the right place to ask. Instead he wordlessly pulled a chair out for her.

"Thank you," she sat herself down and shimmied out of her coat, "Where's Phoebe?"

"He's going to the tailors in Savile Row around the corner, with my measurements"

"Savile Row? What could you possibly want from there? You're a tuxedo-and-converse kind of bloke" she told him as she reached around to hang her coat on the back of her chair, referring to what he wore during Queen's performance of Las Palabras De Amor on Top Of The Pops in 1982.

"I'll explain in a bit" Freddie folded his hands and looked back at the menu on the table in front of him.

But Monica was a little more eager to talk than he was, "How did your meeting with Mike [Moran] go? Better than mine, I hope"

"Oh dear, was it that dreadful?" he purred.

She nodded, "Professor Visconti, the head of the course subject and therefore the strict one, was my assigned progress advisor... she said that my film production scores are too high and that my film theory scores are too low"

"What does she mean by too high? Did you tell her that you had a job in the industry for years?" Freddie queried, side-eyeing as she picked up the drinks menu propped up on the table.

"Yes I did, but the solution she gave me at the end was to look at my critical feedback more..." Monica trailed off, scanning the different wines available, "Truth be told, it wasn't exactly the response I hoped for. But I definitely wasn't hoping for a fiery Italian woman to make me cry alone in the campus toilets either..."

"Well, I suppose that explains the red eyes." he remarked discreetly.

At that moment Freddie couldn't even bring himself to ask her if she was alright, for he was too caught up in his own mind. The old Freddie still wouldn't have been the most helpful or have given advice in a situation where she felt as though her future was crumbling, but the moment he'd seen that she was crying he'd still assure her of his love and support and know how to make her feel better.

"You know, she said my essays in film theory were potentially interesting and that I'd done more than enough research," Monica continued to rant, and huffed, "but she said that my arguments could do with more conclusive development. I guess that was her polite way of saying that they were crap really"

Truth be told Freddie didn't understand half of what Monica was talking about, nor did he ask what her professor had told her in specific detail, but at least her talking offered up a good distraction from his own concerns.

As did the waiter, who had reappeared at their table, "Ready to order, madame?"

"Oh yes! A glass of 1983 Burgundy, please," she said, pointing at the menu, but changed her mind, "Actually, I'll take the bottle"

"Monica? It's not even noon" Freddie warned quietly, glancing at the brass elephant-themed clock hanging on the wall.

The young woman shrugged, "We're not going to be picking the kids up from school afterwards, are we?"

"No, but you should probably be studying when we get home" he wanted to tell Monica, but held his tongue because he didn't want her to cry all over again and cause a scene.

"Besides, if she gets drunk now there's a chance that she won't get drunk later and fall asleep in the early evening... so long as there's no repeat of the Cliff Richard and Laurence Olivier incident while we're here"

And on that thought Freddie gave in, "Fine, we'll share the 1983"

The waiter nodded as he scribbled it down on his notepad, and turned to Monica, "And to eat, madame?"

"Oh, I actually haven't had a chance to look!" she remarked, glancing to Freddie questioningly.

"I can come back" the poor waiter offered yet again, his patience faltering.

"No that's alright, we'll both have the boat noodles please" Freddie handed his menu back to him.

Monica opened her mouth in protest, slightly annoyed that Freddie had ordered for her.

"Anything else?" The waiter asked one more time.

"No, that's everything, thank you" Freddie spoke quickly before she could.

The waiter bowed his head and clasped his hands together, "Kob kun kap... that's 'thank you' in Thai"

Freddie and Monica did and said the same to him in return, both trying to hide their growing irritation towards one another within the tense atmosphere.

When the waiter had gone, she folded her arms and looked out the window, doing her best not to lose her composure as she thought, "All I wanted was a nice lunch out, now I have to sit through this"

"And to answer your question dearie, the meeting with Mike went very well" Freddie broke the silence between them, a slight sense of superciliousness in his tone.

"Glad you're having a good day," Monica robotically replied back, "Any new developments?"

"Well, about the moustache," He started fiddling with the folded napkin sitting next to his cutlery, "It will be gone for a while longer... maybe for good actually"

The woman narrowed her eyes at him in confusion, "I thought that you only had to shave it off for The Great Pretender music video in December*?"

"Yeah, well I'll be waxing my armpits off too for the drag bit and I assure you they'll grow back" he quipped.

Monica pulled a face, then asked, "So why will your moustache be gone for good?"

"To answer that question, and your other question as to why Phoebe's gone to Savile Row to buy me a suit," Freddie elaborated "There will be a slight change of genre in my career... I'll be doing something a bit more prestigious"

"How prestigious?" she pressed, "Knighthood prestigious?"

"God, no," Freddie scoffed, "Think less Wembley and more Royal Albert Hall"

"Still, that's knighthood status in Britain, is it not? It's certainly that way in Northern Ireland anyway..."

"Not in Spain, it isn't" he responded ambiguously.

Monica searched him for an explanation.

He began, "There's a Spanish Soprano called Montserrat Caballé that I always liked. Not just for her voice but her stage presence in the opera as well"

"There are a few of her records and tapes in Garden Lodge already, aren't there?" Monica casually acknowledged.

"Yes, there are... anyway," He cleared his throat, and carried on, " In my TV interview in Madrid last summer, I said I wanted to work with her. Just so happens that she watched that same interview and, after she listened to some of my vocal demos, she'd like Mike and I to come work with her in her hometown of Barcelona in the New Year as well"

He watched as she took it all in.

Whilst it seemed as though Freddie had more dreams to chase on the horizon, there were none as far as Monica could see on her own, thus leaving her the inability to feel happy for him but rather envious...

All that she said was, "Well... well done on that."

It wasn't exactly the response that Freddie hoped to get from her, but then again he didn't expect much either.

Monica then asked him numbly, "What will that mean for Queen then?"

Freddie pragmatically answered, looking out the window momentarily, "It depends on the rest of the boys, but I can't see why we cannot work on new material for another album in our own time"

"And," She offhandedly asked, "Will you still be able to go to Johnny's play in December, or are there any prior arrangements with Montserrat?"

Freddie glanced back at her quickly, and his dark-eyed stare hardened as his cool and collected demeanour suddenly changed.

He scoffed, "Phoebe already made arrangements on my behalf for us to go to Ireland, you know that! Don't you trust me?"

Monica put her hands up in defence, "I was just asking-"

He cut across her, "You know, this is going to be the highlight of my career... and you had to make it all about something else!"

She argued back, "I thought you said that Live Aid and Bohemian Rhapsody reaching number one on the charts were the highlights of your career!"

"Yes but for Queen, not for Freddie Mercury!" he hissed, "I am becoming who I'm supposed to be!"

"But where does that leave us, your family?" Monica gestured to herself.

Just then Freddie saw Phoebe across the street outside the window, a couple of garment bags slung over his shoulder. He took that as his cue to get up and leave, for at this point he'd had enough of their conversation.

"Where are you going?!" Monica watched him slam his chair back into the table.

"Home!" He answered sharply.

"But the food hasn't arrived yet!"

"Doesn't matter, we'll get something when we go back," Freddie shelved through his pocket to find a tip for the staff's trouble, inviting her along at the same time, "I just want to leave before you make me say or do something that I'll regret!"

Monica realised that she had probably said the wrong thing somewhere.

"...I'm happy for you, really," she said desperately, raising her voice as she stood up to his level, "but please don't forget that you have responsibilities elsewhere."

Freddie stopped in his tracks, and turned back around to her. He leaned closer, his voice dangerously low...

"You have responsibilities too, Monica. That didn't stop you from insisting on taking Johnny and Roshni away from me earlier in the year, and for what? For a few low grades that you can't even accept criticism for?"

He turned back around, leaving her standing there in stunned silence after. Those words were just like a slap in the face, and not in a good way either.

Regardless, Monica gathered herself and stepped back out again, lifting her coat off the back of her chair.

But as if things couldn't get much worse, Freddie's ex girlfriend stepped in through the front door with a stranger.

"Mary! Fancy seeing you here!" she heard him crooning across the front of the restaurant as he greeted the woman, blissfully unaware of the sabotage that Mary had scheduled and committed against him earlier that day.

Once they had finished kissing one another on the cheek, Mary introduced the mystery man by her side, "This is Piers, he's a..."

But the gentleman introduced himself and extended his hand to Freddie, "Nice to meet you. If I'd known who Mary was friends with then I would've dressed down a bit more!"

"Poor bloke" Monica sniggered internally, absentmindedly sliding her arms back into her coat.

"A pleasure," Freddie shook Piers' hand in return, and told the couple curtly, "We were just leaving actually"

"The sooner the better" Monica thought, for she didn't expect Freddie to go out of his way to introduce her to Ms Austin's new man anyway.

"Oh, that's a pity," Mr Cameron uttered, "We should all meet for dinner sometime"

All the while she and Monica gave a nod and muttered 'hello' under their breaths as they passed by one another, still not being on the best of terms.

Freddie was about exit when Phoebe appeared through the front door as well, calling over, "Mary! Did you get my fax this morning?"

"Oh yes, it's been sorted!" Mary waved back at him.

As Monica hurried out the front door she was still too shellshocked from the aftermath of Freddie's relentless and gratuitous verbal attack moments before to even bother asking what the two were referring to.

Freddie gruffly marched down the pavement as Phoebe tried to keep up with him, for seeing his ex-girlfriend have a better dating life than he did only soured his mood even further.

Then there was a scream, "Look, there he is!"

"It's Freddie Mercury!!" said another over the London traffic.

Before Freddie knew what was happening, he was being ambushed by a small group of teenage fans running across the street.

"Oh no" Monica thought helplessly, for they couldn't have spotted him at a worse time.

"Stay clear, please!" Phoebe ordered them clearly, keeping his arm in front of his boss as the babbling kids tried to grab him.

But the man was irate, loudly snapping at them as he stormed down the pavement, "Can you please get away from me and let me past?!"

With cheeks burning red, Monica watched in mortification as the youths stopped walking, their faces falling slowly as they went silent. Meanwhile Freddie stormed on ahead, his poor assistant trying to keep up with the weight of the suits slung on his shoulders.

"COME ON, DARLING! LET'S GO!!" She heard Freddie angrily call for her several meters up the street.

"I am so sorry about that" Monica quickly apologized to the group on his behalf, even if he wouldn't, and fled before they could react.

As she followed behind the two men, it seemed clear to her that Freddie was no longer the same man that she had fallen in love with all those years ago. And that perhaps the miscarriage had shaken him up much worse than she'd thought.

But she, as was everybody else around him, was oblivious to another underlying reason as to why his mood had turned so erratic lately...

*****

Hello again, readers!

This is just a reminder that passive aggressive comments of any kind are not going to make my updates arrive any quicker. I have already made it clear countless times on my message board or in my comment sections that, as a woman in her early to mid twenties, my personal life can get rather busy compared to what it was when I started writing ETYMAM as a late teen. However most of you have shown understanding and given me your kindness and support for that reason, all the while expressing that you love watching this little family go through its ups and downs. Therefore I am very thankful for that, and I ask that you continue to be patient as ETYMAM continues to draw to a close with the next few narrative stages.

All the best,

slightly.mad xx

*I would like to point out that The Great Pretender music video was actually shot in February 1987, but you'll see why I'm making a few changes to the timeline for narrative purposes ;D