NRIACC: Chapter Summaries
🚨 SPOILERS 🚨 SPOILERS 🚨 SPOILERS 🚨
!DO NOT READ IF YOU’VE NOT READ THE FULL FIC!
I realise that not everyone is as sad as me and remembers every tiny detail of this rollercoaster of a fic, so I’ve put together chapters summaries that I've tried to make as concise as possible. Hope this helps with those rereading, love you all. Thanks for reading x
Part 1: Only Ones Who Know ~ The walk home. The night. The morning after.
Part 2: House is a Circus ~ Matt’s house party. Spin the bottle, shots, saucy times in Matt’s room. Fuck Josh.
Part 3: The City ~ Wheels goes to Manchester and meets boys. Pool antics. They teach Wheels how to skate over the summer. Matty is a simp.
Part 4: Despair in the Departure Lounge ~ Wheels gets her fishnets and she takes her skateboard back home. Everyone’s at the park, Alex led her on, Wheels’ spot in the park. Peter is a gem and cheers her up but Josh is a dickhead.
Part 5: Heart Out ~ 2004: Wheels’ 18th birthday. 2005: Skating and Wheels gets her nickname. 2006: Never have I ever, club night where Matty takes wheels home early. 2007: Matty’s 18th, his house party where he and Wheels kiss. Matty drives her back to Sheffield.
Part 6: Hiding Tonight ~ Alex and Bestie comfort Wheels at Alex’s birthday party. The Fab Four (Wheels, Bestie, Al, Matt) night in, Wheels and Alex kiss just after midnight on her birthday. Matty turns up at Wheels uni flat with her birthday present and they agree to spend their summer together.
Part 7: Sex ~ Matty and her have their summer fling. Alex isn’t happy about it. Wheels and Matty have their fair ground date. Get tattoos and Wheels goes back to Sheffield.
Part 8: Dance Little Liar ~ Wheels starts to like Alex as more than a friend and they start dating but don’t address it. Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Alex is a cheater. Wheels leaves and Matty comes to get her and comforts her.
Part 9: An Encounter ~ Wheels memories of her and Alex in her house make her move out into her flat. Both bands meet each other, bar antics, Alex tells Wheels he’s moving to NYC with Alexa.
Part 10: Do I Wanna Know? ~ Alex and Alexa split, he comes to live with Wheels. She shows him her spot in the park, he catches feelings, has a wet dream, and moves out. Alex and Matty both show up at Wheels flat and they chat whilst making her show them her dress for the wedding. The wedding.
Part 11: Settle Down ~ Movie night with Alex. Night in at Wheels flat, Alex wants to ask Wheels out properly but realise she already really likes Matty. Wheels back in Manchester and her and Matty are getting closer, Matty plans to ask her out and gets the boys to help him with grand ideas. The gig, Matty and Wheels are official. Alex cuts his hair then finds out about the new couple. Wheels does everyone’s eyebrows. MCU marathon. Matty’s parents divorce, his nana dies. Alex takes Wheels to the 2012 Olympic opening ceremony. The 1975 get the green light for releasing their album.
Part 12: Head.Cars.Bending ~ The 1975 release EPs, Matty asks Wheels to be in a music video but she turns it down. Wheels and Alex talking album release dates, Wheels goes to catch the end of the Girls music video. Matty and Wheels argue. The accident, the hospital, and chapter ends with Alex finding Matty taking him to the hospital.
Part 13: Do Me A Favour ~ Wheels recovering. Matty’s a cheater. Alex looks after Wheels, AM gets number 1 album dethroning The 1975. Matty changed his number, Adam collecting Matty’s things. Alex and Arielle split up. Ben D*tto being a bellend, 75 boys come to save the day, Matty ends up ruining it.
Part 14: R U Mine? ~ Christmas flashback, Wheels gets upset at Matty’s presents, she smokes, Matty leaves and she brings him back. 2014 Brit Awards with Alex and the Monkeys. Brits afterparty.
Part 15: Separate And Ever Deadly ~ Andy’s wedding. Start of the AM tour. Wheels finds out about Matty and Alexa, Alex takes her around Perth to cheer her up. Matty and Arielle, Wheels leaves him a drunk voicemail. Wheels goes to see The 1975, Adam tells her about Matty and Halsey.
Part 16: One For The Road ~ Wheels has nightmares, Alex helps her. Wheels tries to draw and can’t, Alex comforts and talks to her, cosy bunk morning. Jealousy at the festival, Alex being cute on stage. Pick out new perfume. One For The Road music video and Wheels and Alex kiss. Breana loses Wheels bikini in the sea, Alex is the cutest.
Part 17: Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? ~ Alex and Wheels get high and it gets heated, they go to the beach and they both reflect on the past, bunk antics. Wheels shows Alex her skating. Alex takes her around Vegas and they get their tattoos.
Part 18: Somebody Else ~ Alex and Wheels watch the sunset on the decking as she writes a poem. Wheels extra happy and Alex knows why. Wheels’ brain jumps to wrong conclusions about pictures of Alex and his ex. Starry night with the Monkeys, shoulder tap happens here. Leeds Fest 2014 with The 1975 and Arctic Monkeys, afterparty disaster.
Part 19: How to draw / Petrichor ~ Back home from tour, The Fab Four have a drunk night in. Fun times but then the phone rings and Alex reveals he’s moving to LA. Time skip to 2015 Wheels having a boyfriend and her first gallery that Matty crashes. Alex tells Wheels to dump her boyfriend. Wheels reconciles with Matty.
Part 20: UGH! ~ Wheels baking at 75 boy’s flat, Matty sees her bracelet, Matty names their second album. Wheels goes to LA and listens to ILIWYS and misinterprets songs and watches the videos. Alex lets Wheels listen to EYCTE.
Part 21: The Birthday Party ~ Wheels’ 30th birthday party… Aftermath with Alex at the park, then at the flat with Matty.
Part 22: Settle For A Draw ~ Redo of 30th at a bar and both bands attend. Wheels kisses everyone. Adam’s house warming where Wheels gets very drunk and George carries her to bed. The day after where there’s an Alex v Matty ceasefire and Wheels and Bestie threesome reveal, Jamaica NDA reveal, and lots of band banter.
Part 23: What Should I Say ~ Wheels drunk on twitter, baiting Alex into phone sex, hangs up to chat to Matty. Everything revealed to her the next day, and George takes her out for Valentine’s Day. 2017 Brits with The 1975, and afterparty. Never Have I Ever at Wheels’ flat.
Part 24: Be My Mistake ~ Alex comforts Wheels about Matty being in rehab. During her trip to London, Adam gives her the letter from Matty. Wheels and Matty talk everything through and he tells her to give Alex a shot. Bestie’s boyfriend reveal. Wheels joins the Monkeys on tour and after listening to Only Angel they reveal how they feel and decide to try again.
Part 25: D is for Dangerous ~ Alex lets George take her out for Valentines so he can set up a cute date. Wheels and Bestie’s wine night with Alex ends with spice. Bestie teasing them the following morning. Wheels flat hunting in London with Alex. Wheels attends George’s sisters party with the 75 boys, meeting Matty’s girlfriend. Alex stands Wheels up and he says obscene things because he’s a drunk jealous twat. Wheels finishes things with him.
Part 26: It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You) ~ Wheels’ gallery, 75 boys are there and Alex shows up. Matty is single again. New Years with Alex and the Monkeys. Decorating gingerbread houses at Christmas with Matty. Matt Helders is a cheater. Wheels drives with Alex from London to Sheffield for the last date of The 1975’s UK tour. Matty’s a little shit on stage and Wheels leaves to go McDonalds with Alex, arrangements are agreed upon. After gig drinking in a bar, bathroom antics, Wheels and Alex leave together.
Part 27: Star Treatment ~ Wheels receives star treatment from Alex. The day after they talk, Wheels shaves Alex’s head, Alex cuts Wheels’ hair on Instagram live.
Part 28: From The Ritz To The Rubble ~ Another George and Wheels Valentines date. Matty says the wrong thing at the 2019 Brits, he and Wheels argue, Adam and Bestie end the arguing. Alex has a girlfriend, Wheels and Bestie go to Paris to see them, Alex’s girlfriend is a fucking bitch, Wheels is a bilingual legend. Ross and Wheels heart to heart, he makes her see sense. Alex doesn’t show up to Wheels’ birthday. Wheels tells Alex about what his girlfriend said, he doesn’t believe her so he gaslights her.
Part 29: Playing On My Mind ~ Leeds Fest 2019, Matty and Wheels reconcile, amazing afterparty. Matt Helders’ redemption arc, Alex listens into his and Wheels phone call and doesn’t apologise so he puts Alex in his place and tells him to fuck off. Wheels on US tour with The 1975. Matty and Wheels talk about love and they’re adorable. Wheels and Matty in Tennessee and they meet Ella and Matty buys cowboy boots and a hat. When back in London, Alex turns up at Wheels’ flat and apologises.
Part 30: Frail State Of Mind ~ Wheels and Bestie in Me & You Together Song music video. Wheels and Alex go to jazz club, end up dancing, get coffee afterwards before walking home. The 1975 O2 show where Wheels, Bestie, and Alex are in the crowd, they dance to Too Shy and cry at Guys. Back in Whee’s old flat, mystery caller turns out to be Peter, Party games and Bestie gets engaged. UK lockdown starts, Wheels is really struggling with it and she makes her decision and calls the man she can’t live without.
I Wanna Be Yours ~ Alex’s ending.
Me & You Together Song ~ Matty’s ending.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Happy reading besties, love you all x
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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]
A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜
This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.
Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.
Chapter warnings: Language.
Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE
Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh @deakydeacy @bluutac @johndeaconshands @nyxaura
It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.
Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”
Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”
John: “Hello.”
Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”
Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”
Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”
Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”
John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”
Roger: “I think I know one or two.”
Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”
Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”
Interviewer: “Really?!”
John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”
Roger: “Only took ten years.”
John: “Fourteen, actually.”
Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”
John: “You’re welcome to try.”
Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”
Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”
Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”
Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “
Interviewer: “Congratulations!”
Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”
Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”
John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”
Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”
John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”
Interviewer: “Indeed.”
John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”
Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”
Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”
Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”
Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”
John: “Well, not all of them.”
Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”
John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”
Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”
John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”
Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”
Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”
John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”
Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”
John: “I did, it’s true.”
Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”
John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”
Roger: “It was touching, really.”
Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”
John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”
Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”
Interviewer: “What?”
Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”
Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”
Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.
Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.
Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.
Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.
“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.
Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.
“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”
“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.
Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”
After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.
“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”
“And she’s good with the kids.”
“True...”
“And her hair matches Brian’s.”
Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”
“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”
“Yeah, a Valium.”
“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”
Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”
Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.
“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.
You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”
“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.
“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.
Dominique nods; but you already knew.
Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.
“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”
She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.
“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”
Dominique blinks, not understanding.
“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”
And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.
“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.
Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”
“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”
“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”
“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”
She nods slowly, thoughtfully.
“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”
“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.
A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”
You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”
“Not about you, I hope.”
“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”
“Yeah, me either.”
He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.
“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”
You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”
“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.
Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”
Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”
Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”
Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”
Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”
Roger: “Yes, yes.”
Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”
Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”
Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”
Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”
Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”
Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”
Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”
Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”
Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”
John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”
Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”
John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”
Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”
John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”
Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”
Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”
Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”
Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”
John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”
Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”
Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’
John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”
Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”
Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”
Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”
John: “You have to keep things interesting.”
Roger: “Exactly!”
Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”
John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”
Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”
John: “Oh, sure.”
Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”
John: “Annoying?”
Brian: “Combative?”
Roger: “Fiery.”
John: “That’s one word for it.”
Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”
Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”
John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”
Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.
You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.
“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”
He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”
“John!”
“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”
“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.
When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”
“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”
“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”
“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”
“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”
“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”
“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”
“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”
“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.
“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”
“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”
“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.
The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.
Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.
Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.
You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.
“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.
“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”
He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”
“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”
“And I bet you enjoyed that.”
“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.
“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”
It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.
“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”
He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.
Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.
“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”
“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”
“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.
“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”
“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”
“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.
“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”
“I can’t see that far—!”
“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”
She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”
“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.
“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”
Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”
“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”
Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.
“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”
“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.
“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”
“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.
Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”
“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”
“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.
“It was from all the bleaching!!”
“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.
Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.
“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”
“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”
“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.
So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.
“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.
“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”
“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.
Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.
The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.
“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.
Joe turns to you, confused.
“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”
“Noted.”
Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”
“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”
“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”
The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.
Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”
“He would have adored you,” you say.
“Really?”
“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”
“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”
“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”
“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”
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