Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

5.

April 1992

Cassie is jostled from behind, nearly spilling her pasta all over me. We both reach for the plastic container, a near miss.

"Sorry," Cassie says with a grimace.

We're standing at the counter of a crowded cafe near Russell Square, just down the street from her office. It's peak lunch hour, meaning that the establishment is full of idealistic students and harried professionals fueling up for the afternoon. The good thing is that I'm unlikely to be spotted here. The downside is that it's loud and decidedly unromantic.

This definitely doesn't qualify as a date.

"I'm sorry again that I can't make dinner tonight," I say, my mouth full of chicken sandwich.

"No, I'm sorry that I don't have long for lunch," she replies, stabbing a piece of farfalle with the plastic fork. "Plus, you know what they say:  when George Michael calls..."

The boys and I are knee-deep in rehearsals for the benefit concert next week. Since we've got fuck all to do, our schedule is at the mercy of the artists who will perform. Which, for me, means cancelling my date.

The espresso machine hisses, a server somewhere drops a glass. Wincing at the noise, I lean closer to Cassie. "Okay, so tell me everything about Olivia."

"Liv?" she says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "She's a cheeky monkey... must get it from my ex since I'm obviously nothing like that. She's always up to something, but somehow it's endearing? Maybe just to me, since I'm her mum. Perhaps everyone else thinks she's a five-year-old terror."

"I wonder the same thing about Felix," I reply with a laugh. "I've also always wondered:  if you had a really awful child, would you even realize it? Or are we all blinded to the faults of our own children?"

"Oh my God," Cassie replies, joining in with my laughter. "I wondered the same thing when Liv was born. I made my brother swear up and down that he'd tell me if she ended up being an absolute hooligan."

We chat away like we've known each other forever until she realizes the time.

"I've got to go soon," she says, looking down at her watch. She pushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear before looking up. "Meeting with the big boss to strategize about our Frankfurt trip."

"I want to do this again, for real," I reply.

Am I coming on too strong? Should I make this a bit more of a chase? But all those games, as fun as they were in the past, just seem exhausting now.

Before she can reply, a younger blonde fellow interrupts us.

"Excuse me--"

I inwardly sigh. It's fucking Bloomsbury. Can I not get a break just as I'm trying to ask a woman on a date?

"Cassie, I left a manuscript on your desk," he says earnestly, clearly a more junior associate at the publishing house who possibly is half in love with her. "I'd love your thoughts when you have a moment. It's a bit rough around the edges, but I think it could end up being something really special."

She nods and is about to respond when the bloke notices me and then does a double-take. Here it comes.

"You're-- you're Roger Taylor."

"That's me," I reply with an easy smile. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh my God!" His eyes are wide, as if he's discovered gold. "I'm-- well, sir--" sir? "I'm a bit of an amateur drummer, and I've got to say that your fills during 'One Vision' in Budapest were just... thrilling. Absolutely thrilling."