Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

9.

May 1992

It's in the middle of a conversation with Crystal that I figure it out.

"--it's just a fragment of a song. Here, let me--" Grabbing my guitar, I start to strum the ballad-y tune that won't leave me alone.

"Ain't it grand, here we stand, on foreign sand, we're not alone... something, something, blah, blah, blaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

I strum the guitar vigorously on the last chord and then put it down with a flourish, as if to say, that's how one does it!

Crystal, unimpressed, takes a sip of bourbon and eats a crisp before asking: "What's foreign sand?" He leans back in the swivel chair until he bumps into the soundboard of my home studio.

"Not a clue," I reply. "I had this dream, and the words just kept swirling around in my brain, you know?"

"What about foreign land?" He takes another sip of bourbon and looks up at me.

"I mean, yeah, it rhymes and all."

"Is this a dream that you had when you crashed that woman's flat?"

Crystal is the only person I've told about Cassie, mainly because everyone else I know is a nosy bugger.

"Yep."

"The one who stalked you?"

"Stalked me? If anything, I'm stalking her. It's pitiful, really. Though she did work out how to get my number--"

And it's then when I have the realization.

Clare.

"Be right back," I mutter, putting the guitar back in its stand and marching into the next room to pick up the cordless phone. I dial my sister's number, jabbing my finger on each button. It rings and rings and rings and rings until she finally picks up.

"Hullo?" she mutters. I wince, only now realizing how late it is.

"Hey," I say into the receiver.

"Roger?"

"You don't recognize your own brother's voice? I'm offended."

"No, I do," she replies, still half-asleep. "I just don't know why you're calling so bloody late. Everything okay?"

"Do you know someone called Cassandra?" I ask worriedly. I have this horrible premonition that I'm smitten with my sister's best mate.

"No," Clare replies, yawning. "This couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"So you didn't give anyone my new number?"

"No, I don't go 'round giving random birds your number, that would be.... Oh. Ohhhh." She pauses. "You mean Cass? From Switchboard?"

"Switchboard?" Now I'm thoroughly confused. Also, I thought that Cass was my nickname for her.

"Older woman, blonde, always faffing about with her hair?"

"She's not an older woman," I say, affronted. "She's a year younger than me."

"Right," Clare replies. "Old. Like you."

"You're only four years younger than me!"

"Age is a mindset, Rog."

I take a deep breath. "Clare, did you or didn't you give my number to a woman-- any woman at all--in recent memory?"

"Yeah," she replies as if it's obvious. "I've just told you that I gave it to Cass from Switchboard. I don't know her well--" thank God!-- "but she seems nice, and really, Roger, you need more nice women in your life. Not all these--"