When I arrive at Fred's flat, the party is already well underway.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I shout to Brian and Chrissie, who are situated right by the entrance. I whip off my Ran-Bans to see that, much as I expected, the party is a glorious mess that only Freddie could have orchestrated.

"Where's Chelsea?" Chrissie asks. She has a smile on her face, but I can tell she's only asking to be polite. As far as I can tell, she never warmed to my girlfriend, perhaps out of loyalty to Skylar.

"Her client is doing a shoot in Barcelona," I reply. "She's back late tomorrow."

A waiter hands me a flute of champagne, which I make quick work of. The new album is driving me fucking mad, and I'm ready to forget about everything. Spotting Freddie across the room, I raise my hand to say hello. He squints over and then waves back a little too enthusiastically.

"What's with Fred?" I ask Brian, who looks over at our bandmate and shrugs.

"Right, well, I'm going to make the rounds," I announce as I grab another drink. "Back in a few."

I'm halfway across the crowded room when Veronica Deacon sidles up to me, appearing out of nowhere like a ninja. I lean over to kiss her cheek, and she grabs my arm to steer me further into the living room.

"John was just looking for you," she says. I quickly glance around the room, but Deaks is nowhere in sight.

"I saw John two hours ago at the studio," I reply. "Everything okay? Don't tell me he's having second doubts about that bassline."

Veronica doesn't respond; she just marches me across the room with military-like determination. Halfway through the kitchen, she stops short. "Roger, love, I just spotted an old friend. Back in a jiffy!"

And, without another word, she's gone. I squint, thinking that something was slightly odd about that interaction. After a mental shrug, I turn my head looking for the nearest bottle of booze, and it's then that I see her.

Across the room, Skylar is chatting with a tall, dark-haired fellow who looks vaguely familiar. I stand frozen, taking in her very short, very sparkly mini-dress. I've seen it before: she wore it back in '76 when EMI threw us a party to celebrate Bo Rhap going platinum. She looked stunning in it then, and, despite the years that have passed, she looks even more fantastic in it now.

The bloke next to her says something, and Skylar throws her head back in laughter. Her hemline rises up a bit, showing even more leg. And, oh my God, I think Skylar in that dress may be my kryptonite.

My feet move forward as of their own accord, and soon I'm standing just behind them.

"Skylar!" I say as if I've just noticed that she was here and definitely not gawking from afar. "I didn't know you'd be here."

We awkwardly hug--if you can call it that--and I offer a hand to the man, trying to look as assertive and you-can-fucking-go-now as possible. He gets the hint and mumbles something before diving back into the crowd.

"Thanks," Skylar says with a little laugh. "He was pretty awful."

"Happy to be of service," I reply with a grin. Skylar takes a sip of her rapidly-dwindling drink, and I desperately look around for a waiter. Finally, drinks in hand, we stand there awkwardly. I can't even remember the last time that it was just the two of us--no nanny, no Cadie, no grandparents. Just us.

"Where's, uh, Pierre?" I ask casually as if I don't spend a great deal of time hating her boyfriend. He's everything that I'm not, and I'm sure they spend their evenings having delightful and intellectually-stimulating conversations about intricate medical procedures or whatever.

"L.A.," she replies. "Medical conference."

"Ah," I reply, taking a sip of my drink. "That sounds very, er, professional."

She looks down at the floor and gives the short hem of her dress a tug, presumably to show less leg, but the result is much more cleavage on display. I do an admirable job of not ogling her as she then pulls up the neckline, only to end up with even more leg showing than before.

"Postage stamp," I mutter, remembering the very same dance she'd done with her towel in the hotel room in that godforsaken town in Scotland so many years ago.

"What?" Skylar looks startled. "I'd have you know that I got this dress from a highly respectable--"

"Oh, I remember this dress," I reply, unable to help myself from winking. "I remember it well."

My mind flashes back to the EMI party so many years ago. My hand brushed against her bare leg. "Let's get out of here," I murmured, and she gave me the same doe-eyed look that she's giving me right now.

"How was Mallorca?" she blurts as if only to change the subject. I'd love to think that we're having the same flashback, but it's highly improbable.

"Mallorca?" My voice rises to be heard over the music. "Why would I be in Mallorca?"

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Freddie said..." she trails off. "Fucking Freddie," she mutters with an eye roll.

"Fred said I was in Mallorca? I've never even thought about going there. Crystal was there last year, and he said..." I chatter on about a place I've never visited, admittedly slow on the uptake. Skylar doesn't reply, and I slowly register that the only reason that she's even here tonight is that she thought that I was hundreds of miles away on a Spanish island.

So that's a little awkward.

"Look, I can go--" I say, running a hand through my hair.

"--no, no--"

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable--"

"--I'm not," she says more forcefully than necessary, perhaps only to shut me up. Her hand reaches tentatively over to touch mine briefly. "Stay."

"Oh," I reply, surprised. "Alright, then."

Skylar gives me a small smile, and we both start to speak simultaneously.

"What?" I ask, cupping my ear. "Sorry, I can't hear a fucking thing-- honestly, I think I'm doing deaf. Let's just--"

I grab her hand and pull her through the crowd, searching for a spot that's slightly more private. Finally, I spot a tiny nook by Fred's kitchen that's remarkably unoccupied. It's not much quieter, but at least we have space to breathe.

"How are you?" I ask once we've situated ourselves. "I feel like we haven't chatted--'

"Without a chaperone?"

"Exactly," I reply with a breathy laugh.

We grab more drinks from a waiter, downing them quickly to make this less awkward. Pretty soon, it's anything but. In fact, it's great. Everything is funnier than it should be, and we're giggling up a storm.

"Do you remember when your roadie moved your stool, and you fell arse-over-tits in the middle of the gig?"

"Oh, God," I groan, "I nearly killed that guy. I actually fantasized about wringing his neck. We sacked him that very night."

"I was thinking about that the other day while I was observing a surgery. I stood up to see more closely, and somehow the chair moved, so when I sat back down, I fell onto the floor, interrupted the surgery, everyone was looking at me-- God, what a nightmare."

"At least you weren't in front of a stadium full of people," I reply with a grin, imagining how horrified Skylar must have looked.

"Well, a man's internal organs were out on the surgical table, so it felt rather momentous," she replies. "I'm surprised they didn't sack me right then and there."

Skylar continues to chat away, but I can't focus on the words. Instead, I stare at her lips and at the dress, and I wonder if it's evident that I'm thinking about taking it off. I'm just drunk enough not to care about the repercussions, and, let's be honest, I've never had adequate control over my words.

"I miss this," I say, the words flying out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Just, you know, talking. With you." My face is red with embarrassment, and Skylar looks so surprised that I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

"You do?"

I nod, taking a massive gulp of my drink. Then there's a pause--the longest fucking pause in the history of the world.

"So do I," Skylar replies finally in a low voice, so quiet that I struggle to hear her. "Miss this, that is. With you, I mean." She stammers the last bit out, and it's clear that she feels equally as embarrassed.

"Although," she continues, obviously trying to lighten the mood, "I'm sure you don't miss me bitching and moaning soooo much--"

The words die in her throat as I take a half step forward and bend slightly so that our eyes are level.

"Sky, I'd give pretty much anything to go back in time and spend one day with you, even if you were bitching and moaning the entire time."

Her breath hitches in her throat, and I'm sure she thinks it's a line, but I don't even care; it's the truth. Before she can respond, I lean even closer so that my lips are right next to her ear. I know that everyone in the room can see us, but I don't give a toss right now.

"By the way," I murmur. "You look devastating in your postage stamp."

"What? This old thing?" she replies with a grin.

I let out a breathy laugh and take another sip of my drink, not sure where to go from here or what's even happening. I look over Skylar's shoulder for a brief moment and see Fred, Ronnie, and John huddled together, surveilling us.

"For Christ's sake," I mutter. Skylar starts to turn her head to follow my gaze, but I put a hand out on her forearm.

"No, don't look," I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You'll ruin the fun. They're all over there watching us like broody hens. They're-- hey! I told you not to look."

Skylar has never followed directions, so I'm not sure why I expected this time to be any different. She glances over her shoulder, and the trio immediately sees her and begins talking together as if they've been having the most exciting conversation imaginable. Freddie is gesturing wildly, John is looking anywhere but over here, and Veronica just rolls her eyes at both of them.

I glance back at Skylar, who is watching me. "They've scattered, so I think we're safe," I say with a smirk.

Without breaking our gaze, she takes the final sip of her drink and sets the empty glass on the nearby counter. Her cheeks are flushed, and her movements are a bit more loose than usual.

"Roger, can I--" she reached out to grasp my forearm. "We used to say that whatever happened at Freddie's stayed at Freddie's, right?"

I nod. "Doubly so at one of his parties."

"So, with that in mind--that is, that this stays here--can I just say, well, I just want to tell you..."

The record playing on the speakers skips a few times and then cuts off abruptly. All of a sudden, it feels too quiet, so we both look up. I hear colorful cursing from Freddie in the distance, and then, after a moment, the ABBA song resumes.

When I look back at Skylar, her eyes are on me, but the spell has been broken.

"So, uh, what did you want to tell me?" I try to play it cool and not sound like I'm desperate to know.

"I--" Skylar stammers, looking at me helplessly as if the words just won't come out. I have the most unbelievable urge to reach out and brush my thumb over her cheek, tell her it'll all be okay.

"There you are, you fucker!" From my left, Crystal careens into me, knocking me slightly off balance. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Uh, hey, this isn't a good--" I start to say, but he's too worked up to listen.

"Listen," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "You know the girl from last year-- from Hammersmith? The one who, you know--"

I do know, quite well, and my eyes widen because that woman rang me up so many times afterward that I nearly had to change my number. I sneak a glance over to Skylar, who is watching the exchange with interest.

For some reason, my face must not indicate to Crystal that yes, I know exactly who he's talking about because he feels the need to continue. "Rog, you remember? The one you banged with the other bird--"

"Do you remember Skylar? Cadie's mum?" I say a bit too loudly and a bit too forcefully, indicating with my head that she's standing right bloody next to us.

Crystal doesn't miss a beat. "Long time, no see, Skylar!" He offers her a messy, unsteady kiss on the cheek before turning back to me, his eyes wide.

"So, anyway--" he continues, prompting a groan from me and a bemused snort from Skylar. "She's here, Rog, just saw her with my own eyes--"

Instinctively, I look up, and my eyes dart around. Shit, she can't see me. I don't even know her fucking name, but she'll never give up if she sees me. I'll have to quit the band and move to another country just to get rid of her.

Reluctantly, I turn towards Skylar, who, by this time, is definitely judging me.

"Give me two seconds," I say as Crystal begins to pull me drunkenly away. "Just two seconds!"

As Crystal pulls me further into the crowd, I have the sinking sensation that this will be a repeat of that night so long ago at the wedding when Sky and I first met. First, it's my sister, then it's my drum tech.

Five minutes later, I'm holding Crystal's hair while he's sick in the toilet. Ten minutes later, I'm fetching him a glass of water. Fifteen minutes later, I'm frantically searching for Skylar. She should be easy to spot with all the sequins, but she's nowhere to be found, probably because she just heard about my fucking threesome from last year.

"Have you seen Skylar?" My voice is slightly hoarse as I lean into Veronica, begging her with my eyes to tell me good news.

"I think she left." Veronica's brow is furrowed, and I can't get over the sense that she's silently judging me.

"Godammit!" I exclaim. "This always happens."

"Good fucking Lord," Freddie says, gliding up to join us. "Do I have to do everything for you, Rog? I got her to the party; you were meant to do the rest."

"You got her-- What--?"

"Do we have to shag her for you too?" Brian asks, suddenly a part of the group.

"Do you have to--"

"Oh, you're all here!" John exclaims as he joins us, his cheeks even rosier than before. 

"What is this, a bloody band meeting!?" I glance at each of them with annoyance. Anyone looking at us from afar would think that there's some sort of band emergency. "Taylor Breaks Off with Queen" I half-expect the papers to say tomorrow.

"What you need," Freddie says authoritatively, "is a grand gesture."

"Oh, are we talking about Rog and Skylar?" John asks. "No, no, not a grand gesture. What will work are small gestures, more often."

"That's ridiculous," Freddie says with a snort. "No, darling, you need something big, something--"

"Maybe some jewelry?" Chrissie chimes in as she sidles up to Brian, and now I guess the whole fucking party is joining the conversation.

"Can you lot stay out of my business?" I exclaim, my voice rising.

"No," they all reply simultaneously.

"I think you two just need to talk," Veronica adds gently.

"Talk about what?" I ask, my frustration snowballing. It's as if they all know something that I don't.

"Well, you could start off with the fact that you're still in love with each other." Freddie looks at me pointedly, a hint of that Buddha-like look on his face, although he's high as a kite.

"What?" I splutter. "We're not--"

"Oh, of course, you are, mate," John exclaims as if the most obvious thing in the world. "Go on, get on with it."

I'm at a loss for words. I'm not in love with Skylar. I was, yes, sure, for a while after we broke up. But now I'm with Chelsea, and it's all lovely. And Skylar certainly isn't in love with me, so what the fuck is everyone going on about.

Plus, I have the most gossipy, intrusive mates imaginable, and I wonder if they really, truly just have nothing better to do.

"Just shove off, will you?" I spit out angrily, looking at each of them in turn. "Just shove the fuck off."

And, with that, I furiously grab my leather coat and walk out into the cold winter night.