Heaven for Everyone (Queen/Roger Taylor)

26.

December 1992

Olivia flies through the front door of my mother's townhouse.

"Don't run, Liv," I shout after her. "And say Happy Christmas to Gran." But she either doesn't hear me or doesn't care because she's jacked up on sugar and Christmas cheer. God help us all.

Roger and I stand on the doorstep, each of us carrying unwieldy piles of gifts. I couldn't be arsed to dress up, but Roger looks very respectable in a blazer and dress trousers. Very much a meeting-your-girlfriend's-mum sort of outfit if such a thing is possible at our age.

My mum opens the door fully and leans against the frame, regarding us both. She's channeling an older Princess Di with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and a thick rope of pearls around her neck. It's dressier than usual, even for Christmas, which gives me hope that she wants to start things off on the right foot with my boyfriend.

"Happy Christmas, Mum," I say, leaning in to offer her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. We separate, and I take a step back, nearly upsetting the pile of gifts. "This is Roger."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Waters," he says politely with an affable smile on his face.

"So you're the one I've heard so much about," my mum says, giving him a long once-over.

Roger's smile falters slightly, as it's not at all clear if she means that I've been talking her ear off about him, or she's read a lot about him in the press.

"Good things, I hope?" Roger asks, trying to make light of the situation.

My mother doesn't reply; she just makes a slight humming sound that could indicate pretty much anything. I start to move past her into the foyer but am blocked by her body.

"Are we allowed in?" I ask jokingly. "Or should we just leave the presents and run? You can keep Olivia until tomorrow, regardless."

My mum looks between us, her expression unreadable. From behind, my brother appears. He's also dressed much more nicely than usual, but perhaps he's still in the wooing phase with his girlfriend. Certainly, he's not trying to impress me, given the choice words we traded a few days ago.

"Oh, hey, Cass, Happy Christmas," he says with a lazy smile. Seeing Roger standing next to me, he just nods curtly.

"Before you come in," my mum says, her gaze now squarely on my boyfriend, "you should know that I'm not impressed by you."

"Impressed... by me?" Roger asks, his voice laced with confusion.

"I'll tell you what I told the fellow that my son brought here for Christmas back in '75--

"Not this again, Mum," my brother says with a groan as he reaches for the gifts in my hand.

"What was his name again? The Canadian chap."

My brother sighs as he transfers gifts from my arms to his at a maddeningly slow pace. "Neil."

"That's right, Neil Young," my mum replies. "As soon as he got here, I sat him down and said, 'Look, other people might find the patina of celebrity to be impressive--'"

Squinting, I turn to Roger and, raising an eyebrow, mouth the words, patina of celebrity? He looks at me briefly, a mixture of confusion and amusement, before fixing his attention to my mum, who is still speaking.

"Mum," I say, cutting her off. "You can't tell someone that they don't impress you the moment you meet them, least of all on Christmas Day. Anyway, I told Roger that you're very nice, but you're not off to a good start."