#I’d like to think that they gave this project to Ruth to perfect

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Chapter 18/Epilogue

The Clinic: Part Eighteen/Epilogue

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Alleluia guys, this is it - the epilogue of The Clinic, and with that, the end of this story! I want to thank you all so much for sticking with me through the year (yes, it's really been about a year!) that it's taken me to write this story, and I'm so grateful for all your comments, kudos, efforts, encouragements, your honesty, love, and enthusiasm during this process. I appreciate you all so much and I could not have done this without your support. I started writing this to come to terms with my own diagnosis of depression and BPD and to hope to understand myself and people around me better, and it's been such a tumultuous road, but it's been worth it. I think this is a story I've written that will stay with me for a long time, as will all the kindness you as readers have shown to me as both a writer and a person.

Enough of that now - I hope you will enjoy the last chapter/epilogue/whatever you want to call this final chapter, and I'm hoping to see you all back at my new projects - which, in time, will include a sort of spin-off of The Clinic Universe!

Just one more thing - I was listening to some devotional music the other day (I don't do this too much usually, but I've got a soft spot for the music of the Taizé Youth Monastery music, the place I've visited twice now and hope to visit many times again) when one particular song stood out to me in relation to The Clinic, and Brian's and John's relationship in specific - with how they love each other for what they are and how they strengthen each other. I just wanted to share these particular lines from the song Take Me As I Am with you:

Take, oh take me as I am Summon out what I shall be Set your peace upon my heart and live in me

Thanks for everything guys, I love you all!

xxx Silke Maria

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

‘You’ve got your guitar, Deaky?’

‘I put it in the back of the car,’ John answered the man who appeared in the door opening, demonstrating this fact by tapping the trunk of the green-bluish Fiat 124 he was leaning against. John had been out in the November morning for a bit now to put his bass and his coat in the car and wait on Brian, who had mainly been engaged with comforting his mother that they’d drive safely and that they would not forget to bring a bottle of water and matters similar to these. Having a doting mother hovering over you was not something John was used to for most of his life, but he had gotten used to it as a fact of life - one he did not mind at all, really - as soon as he’d moved in with Brian’s family after leaving Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution.

Brian stepped out of the doorway and walked towards him. ‘Great. I’ll put the lady in there also.’

John fished the keys out of the pocket of his trousers and opened the trunk of the car for his partner. ‘Still can’t believe you’re actually calling her that.’

‘And that’s you talking! You just referred to Red Special as a ‘her’ yourself!’ Brian reminded him while gently laying down his most prized possession. Or alternatively, as he once said in a half-giggly, half-sappy mood, his most prized possession directly after John - which had earned him a snort and a peck on the cheek.

‘That’s just you rubbing off on me,’ John defended himself.

Brian reached out both arms to close the trunk again, but even before it came down with an audible slam!, John could already see the grin tugging at his lips. Turning towards John again with wiggling eyebrows, he said: ‘Me rubbing off on you, huh?’

‘Please.’ John rolled his eyes, and then hit Brian with the most powerful threat he had come to learn while living with him and his family. ‘I’m telling your mum.’

Brian grimaced - even though he knew John was just joking, the mere idea of his boyfriend letting his parents in on their dirty talk, be it serious or completely ridiculous, was not a pretty prospect in his mind. ‘Sure. I love having mum wash my mouth out with soap like she did when I was ten.’

Being particularly in the mood for good-natured teasing that morning, John answered: ‘I mean, given that that’s the only dental hygiene you get these days-’

‘Deaky!’ Brian interrupted him indignantly, but John could see the smile shining through. ‘That was once, and only because I didn’t feel like getting out of bed.’

‘I know, love,’ John soothed, and, after having had a quick look around the otherwise empty street, he leant in to give Brian a kiss on the lips, both as to prove that he trusted Brian to have brushed his teeth that morning, and to test if he actually had. ‘Fresh like peppermint. Just as I like it.’

‘Hm-hm,’ Brian hummed in confirmation. ‘I didn’t feel like brushing my teeth, so like ate a roll of mints.’

‘You’re the worst,’ John told him.

‘Why? Because I didn’t leave any mints for you?’

John snorted. ‘Just get in the car.’

‘Fair,’ Brian laughed. He took the keys that John reached out to him and walked to the right side of the car. John walked the other way, but just as the soft click of the doors opening prompted them both to get inside, they were distracted by a woman’s voice calling to them.

‘Boys! Boys, you didn’t take your lunch out of the fridge!’ Brian turned around to see his mother, dressed in her ankle-length morning gown and with her perm rollers still in her hair, marching through the door and making her way towards the car. Her cheeks were flushed with hurry, and to make matters worse, as she paddled closer to them, he noticed a pair of pink bunny slippers on her feet, and he could hardly oppress a groan of embarrassment. He had finally gotten over the initial embarrassment of having John see his mum in her morning attire during these past months, but that did not mean he was ready for the Wilson family from down the street to see his mother in this state of undress.

‘Mum, you’re out here in your morning gown!’ Brian loudly stated the obvious. ‘And what lunch do you mean?’

‘The lunch I packed for you both!’ his mother said, half out of breath by the time she stood in front of her son, and reached two tinfoil wrapped packages towards him. Brian smiled, but did not take the little bundles from her.

‘Thanks, mum, but we won’t be needing lunch. We’ll only be gone for an hour.’

‘Nonsense,’ his mother countered. ‘Visiting hour is an hour on its own, but it’s a forty-five-minute drive, both to and back. And then the searching! I remember having to wait for almost half an hour to be searched because there was only one guard available for the work. And when they got to me, they nearly stripped me to my bra and panties!’

The mental image this description left behind in Brian’s brain was even worse than the current sight of his mother in her dressing gown, perm rollers, and bunny slippers, and he found himself sighing. ‘Thanks mum, now I won’t be needing lunch anymore for sure.’ He heard John emit a strangely adorable giggle, but his mum was not so impressed with his comment.

‘Darling, don’t be stubborn… You’ll regret not having anything to eat if you get hungry on the way back,’ she told him. Then, when Brian remained unmoving both mentally and physically while she stretched the packages towards him, she decided she might have better luck with her son-in-law.

‘John, you take it with you, dear,’ she ordered as she made her way around the car to the place where John had been waiting to get into the passenger seat. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

‘Of course,’ John agreed, finally relieving Ruth of the bundles of food she had prepared for them. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said with a smile that earned him an approving pat on the shoulder.

‘You’ve got everything, then? Some water? Your driver’s license and your ID cards? They ask for those upon entering Queen Mary’s.’

‘Yes, we have those,’ Brian answered.

‘And your coats? It can be cold in there!’

‘They’re in the trunk,’ John answered Ruth when he could tell by the slightly annoyed look on Brian’s face that he was not in the mood to be cross-examined about his preparations for their tour by his mother.

‘Great. All ready to go then,’ Ruth gave her blessing and took a step back, which was the unspoken signal for John and Brian to get into the car. Especially Brian wasted no time in doing so, tearing open the door, stepping in somewhat clumsily due to the modestly sized car not being an entirely perfect match for his height, and closing it behind him as soon as possible. He had been the one to say all morning that he did not want to be late under any circumstances, and this uncalculated meddling of his mother right before they were going to leave did not entirely fit into his planning.

John, on the other hand, remained unstressed despite it all. He knew they had plenty of time left - it was hardly half-past nine, and with the journey only taking an estimated forty-five minutes, there was no way they would be late just because Ruth asked them a handful of questions. He therefore opened the door, seated himself on the passenger seat, and secured his belt without any traces of hurry, and when Ruth gestured to him to scroll down the window, he did not hesitate to do so and listen to what more she had to say.

‘Well, you boys have fun. What time are you going to be back?’

‘We’re not sure,’ Brian answered, pressing the car key into the lock. ‘Visiting hour is from eleven to twelve this week, but we might go to the flat afterwards to get some work done. See if we can install those curtain rods.’

‘So you might not be home this afternoon?’ his mum asked.

‘Possibly not.’

Ruth thought for a second, and then said in full determination: ‘You’ll need more food, then.’

John huffed out a laugh at this typically maternal instinct of his mother-in-law, but Brian could not see any humour in it.

‘Mum…’ he groaned, but his mother was not taking no for an answer.

‘Yes, you do. You can’t survive on a few sandwiches all day.’

‘Mum, don’t- we’re going to be late!’ he shouted when she resolutely turned around and half-walked, half-ran towards the front door again. He heard the door being slammed shut behind her, as a wordless confirmation that she was not listening to his complaints, and he covered his face with his hands. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘She means well,’ John smiled.

‘I know. I know she does, but- I just want to go,’ Brian admitted. ‘I can’t wait to go and finally see Freddie and Roger again.’

‘I know. But we’re early anyway. And they won’t let the patients into the visiting room before it’s eleven o’clock anyway,’ John reminded him. Brian nodded slowly in agreement, or at least in understanding of what John told him.

‘It feels weird to know that they’re still patients at that place,’ Brian said.

‘Sometimes it feels unreal to even think that we were there with them for half a year. It already seems to far away,’ John said.

‘I know. But that’s a good sign. It means we’re moving on.’

John turned to look at Brian, whose face was finally graced by a smile by now. John wasn’t sure if Brian was leaning forwards to him or if that was just wishful thinking, but when he brought in his face he was given a kiss on the lips all the same.

With their hands resting on top of each other next to the gear shift, they waited for Ruth to come out again. It took a few minutes, and John could tell Brian was not happy about it, but he did not say anything about it - not even when his mum returned with two Tupperware boxes full of extra sandwiches, leftovers from the cake she’d made the day prior, and handfuls of red grapes. John opened the door to take it all in, as it was a bit awkward receiving the whole load through the car window - and when he had picked up the boxes and safely put them on the back seat behind him, a dark grey coat was stuffed into his hands.

‘This belongs to someone who assured me he’d taken his coat with him, but one glance at the coat rack told me otherwise,’ Ruth said with a stern glance aimed at her son.

‘I did take my coat! The blue one,’ Brian defended himself.

‘That’s a summer coat!’ Ruth brought in. ‘It’s November!’

‘It’s not cold yet! And if I wear a winter coat already, I’ll be cold by the time January rolls around,’ Brian argued. Unfortunately, this did not succeed in getting his mother off his back.

‘That means you don’t have a proper winter coat, then. We’ll buy you a new one next weekend.’ Then, while Brian sighed in the driver’s seat and turned the key to start the car, she turned to John. ‘What about you, dear? Do you have a proper winter coat or is it the same story as Brian’s?’

‘Er, I’m sure mine’s fine, mum. But I’ll try it out one of these days,’ John promised.

‘Very good. Well, have fun you two!’ said Ruth, who seemed to understand that Brian was going to drive the car out of the driveway regardless of whether or not she was still talking to him or his partner. She took a step back, which allowed John to close the door of the car, be it with a bit more force behind it than he had intended to do.

‘Careful, love. Don’t want to lose a door before we even hit the road,’ Brian commented lightly as he looked left, right, and then entered into the street. Despite his previous irritation, he could bring himself to wave at his mother good-naturedly, an example followed by John.

‘Sshh! Don’t talk about her like that,’ John tutted, rubbing his hand comfortingly over the dashboard of the Fiat. Ever since they had picked up the car from a local dealer who’d wanted to get rid of the 1961 occasion that he said only took up space in his yard, its wonkiness and creakiness had been a running joke between the couple, who simultaneously told each other to be kind to their purchase which was clearly ‘trying its best’ while also making fun of every little sound it made and deficiency it sported. The truth of the matter was that it was not a bad car for a couple of broke adolescents like themselves, but it certainly had its lacks and its things left to be desired.

‘Oh, so the car is a she, but when I call the Red Special a she it’s wrong?’ Brian asked his partner critically.

‘What can I say?’ John shrugged, not at all dodged by the question. ‘I don’t make the rules.’

‘You literally just did,’ Brian reminded him.

‘You don’t complain when I made the rules last night, you know,’ John said with ease, and Brian snorted. He could definitely appreciate John’s new-found sharkiness. Or perhaps it wasn’t new-found - it was just that now he used it for light-hearted comments that were guaranteed to make the people around him snicker, while previously at Queen Mary’s he had used it against people, such as Freddie in his overenthusiasm, or Roger after he’d tipped another pill or taken a shot of whatever was available to him at that point in time. Brian remembered how hesitant he had been of John during the first few weeks because of uneasiness about the guy’s use of his wits, how he’d been on his tiptoes to avoid John saying something questionable to him, even though this had never happened. John had never used his sharkiness against him, and nowadays no one had to fear for it anymore. Being in a much better place than he had been half a year ago, John never seemed to feel the need to use his wits against anyone anymore - only to make people laugh, which continued to make Brian feel warm and soft inside, even if his jokes teased him.

‘I wonder what their families think about us now that we’ve taken their spots during all the last visiting hours,’ Brian asked as he slowed down for a red light.

‘Freddie just wrote about that in his last letter,’ John answered. ‘Said that his parents aren’t too happy they don’t get to see him anymore, but that they’re taking it as a good sign that Freddie has us come and visit him instead of just his parents all the time.’

‘Which letter was that?’ Brian asked, stepping on the gas when the light turned green. ‘Don’t think I read it.’

‘Oh, then he probably mentioned it in one of Freddie’s and my daily ongoing Kama Sutra centred correspondence,’ John grinned.

Bian kept his eyes on the road, but that didn’t stop him from giving John a partly-punishing, partly-playful pat on the upper leg. ‘That would explain why you’re so keen on making all of these explicit comments all the time lately.’

‘Someone has to do the work now that Freddie isn’t here with us,’ John argued.

‘Yeah, well. Something’s telling me you’re not going to stop this new hobby of yours, not even when Freddie will come and join us.’

‘Probably not, no. We’ll probably just egg each other on,’ John grinned. Brian voiced his disagreement with this future prospect, before they moved on to discuss what it really would be like to have Freddie and Roger move in with them into the new apartment - or just to live on their own in general. Neither Brian nor John had ever done so before; Brian had lived close enough to university to continue living in his parents’ house, and John had barely been eighteen and only just done with high school when he was sent to Queen Mary’s. Roger and Freddie, on the other hand, did have experience living on their own - but the plenty of stories they’d told about their own moments of shame in the kitchen and the bathroom and general housekeeping did not exactly give Brian and John much hope.

As they hit the highway, they recalled Roger telling them how he’d once tried to get a clot of hair out of the shower drain using knife and form, and Freddie calling his sister in the middle of the night to ask her what the difference was between an oven and a microwave. The best - or worse, for that matter - out of all the things they’d heard overtime they unanimously decided was Freddie messing up his roommate’s kettle because he’d opened up and tried to boil an egg in the hot water; which on its own was bad enough, but him not having gotten the memo that an egg was liquid before boiling and thus unexpectedly cracking the egg into the kettle was worse for sure. To make the chaos complete, he’d then panicked and tries to fish out little pieces of half-boiled egg yolk with a pair of tweezers, and had burned his hand in the process of this. However, knowing that Roger once fell violently ill because he used to cook his chicken medium rare, the couple decided that it was probably best not to have neither Freddie nor Roger near the kitchen anywhere soon, and that they’d be the best candidates to cook the meals until they would manage to teach the others some basic culinary skills and food knowledge that apparently was not as common as they had thought.

Most of the remaining way to Queen Mary’s was then spent discussing which dishes the pair of them could cook and what to do in case they had an off-day on which they did not feel like touching the oven or stove in any sort of way. Brian drove comfortably despite having yet to get used to the car and not knowing the route by heart; he had, after all, driven them to Queen Mary’s twice before, and even if he took a wrong turn, there’d be plenty of time left as they’d made their departure unnecessarily early, as even he dared to admit by now.

There was, in the end, no reason at all to have to be stressed. They reached their destination at twenty past ten; early enough to park in the best available spots, and so early that the gates had not even opened yet.

‘Huh. Funny to be locked up from the other side for a change,’ John commented, which made Brian snort.

They looked on as Ian, one of the guards they came across often when he had back door duty, sauntered out of the building with a coworker they did not recognise - a new hire, they assumed. Brian was the one to first open the door, circle the car, and take out their instruments. He handed the bass over to John with a smile, and they moved on to the gates on which Ian was just laying the last hand to open it.

‘Morning, guys,’ Ian nodded at them, drawing the gate open with the help of his coworker. ‘You’re early today.’

‘Don’t want to miss a second of a chance to spend time at Queen Mary’s, of course,’ Brian smiled, and he took the hand Ian reached towards him for a handshake. John did the same afterwards.

‘I’d say so,’ Ian grinned. ‘You’re here to see Bulsara and that blond guy with him, right?’

‘Roger Taylor, yeah,’ John confirmed. ‘We have to arrange some last things before they leave and come to live with us.’

‘They’re leaving as well! You’re leaving me all alone here,’ Ian sighed exorbitantly loudly.

‘Of course not!’ Brian protested. ‘I see you’ve got a new coworker!’ He gave a nod towards the quiet but severe-looking middle-aged man standing to Ian’s right side.

‘Oh, I do. This is Frank,’ Ian introduced his coworker, who stepped forward to shake hands with the couple as well.

‘Is he a replacement or has Queen Mary’s finally decided to take on more security?’ John asked.

‘Believe it or not, but we’re finally getting more security,’ Ian said. When John lifted an eyebrow in surprise, he added: ‘I mean- there are two new guards as of now, but they’re looking for a few more. Problem is that not everyone is suitable to work in this environment. Finding guards that are both strict enough to keep order but gentle enough to work with the patients is a task on its own.’

Brian nodded in understanding - he was actually surprised by this information Ian shared with them. It might have seemed trivial and self-explanatory to someone else to hear that management was running tests to find the right guards for the demographics, Brian had seen enough /bullshit and acts of pure carelessness or even negligence at Queen Mary’s to know that it was not that self-evident to have the right people in the right positions. He was glad to hear that they were finally stepping up their game, though.

The next visitors arrived behind them, so John and Brian said their goodbyes to Ian and his new coworker, and walked towards the side entrance of the building, which they had learned was the visitor’s entrance of Queen Mary’s. It continued to feel weird to Brian to enter the visiting room from this side instead of through the patients’ entrance, but, knowing that John had only seen that side once and that having been with the half-disastrous, half-salvaging meeting with his parents, he decided not to bring that up. He did not want to bring up any bad memories, after all - today was supposed to be fun and good news only.

Having listed their names at the register and woven the safety pin with the ‘VISITOR’ button attached to it through the fabric of their shirts, the couple sat down on an uncomfortable wooden bench to await being searched. No one showed up, though, apart from more visitors; but just as Brian was about to make a comment about Queen Mary’s probably having shifted their funding away from visiting hour staff to be able to pay for new security, the figure of a man loomed up before them.

‘You should know by now that those instruments simply won’t do at Queen Mary’s,’ a voice said, before both the man and the couple he was facing smiled at each other.

‘Nolan!’ Brian beamed, nearly losing grip of his guitar as he jumped up from the bench to fling his arms around his former mentor. Upon first leaving Queen Mary’s he had never thought he’d grow to miss anyone apart from his friends, but only a few weeks at home had proven him utterly wrong. He missed Nolan’s cheerfulness and vigour, Sarah’s trust and her patience with him, and even Jasper’s eternal attempt at engaging everybody in group discussions. Still, the role Nolan had played in his survival at Queen Mary’s, and in his healing process as far as Queen Mary’s had been responsible for that, was one that Brian was not going to forget anywhere soon. Nolan had been the one to walk him through his first weeks at Queen Mary’s, the one he had always been able to reach out to during his time, and the one who had helped him get out when he had needed to. No one had ever cared so deeply as Nolan had, and Brian would always be thankful to him for the effort he’d put into every single day he had been out and about at the institution, because it really had made a change for the better.

‘Hi buddy! I’ve missed you!’ Nolan said, again with such sincerity that only Nolan could add to his words. ‘How are things going? Did you get the apartment?’

‘Not the one we originally were hoping for, but two weeks ago we got another offer. Even better, perhaps,’ Brian detached himself from Nolan so that John could share a hug with his mentor also. Perhaps Nolan had not played as large a role in his life at Queen Mary’s as he had for Brian, but John had also grown to miss the stability that Nolan had provided - a rock for all who needed him, whenever and wherever.

‘Really?’ Nolan asked, his voice muffled as his face was half-buried in John’s shoulder.

‘Really. Three bedroom apartment with central heating and a recently updated kitchen in Kensington.’

‘Three-bedroom apartment! In Kensington, out of all places! Count yourself lucky!’ Nolan beamed. He let go of John at last, and looked them both in the eyes as he said: ‘You deserve it, guys. If anyone I’ve ever met in here deserves such an opportunity, it’s you.’ Brian smiled and John just blushed, but they both knew Nolan meant it, and it felt good, really good to have someone wish them well with all of his heart.

Just as Brian was thinking of saying something to wish Nolan well, such as telling him he hoped he’d been a little less busy than he’d been in their days or that he’d been given a few kind and unproblematic pupils in their place, a nasal voice asking loudly if anyone was going to check them or if they could just move on through to the visiting area straight away made them turn around. Nolan shot them an apologetic glance - one they still remembered from the many times when he’d been called away by various duties when they still lived at Queen Mary’s. They took their leave of Nolan, but were reunited with them again as they passed him and Derek, who had come to help him out, to search all visitors. They exchanged a few more words as they were patted down, but, upon finding nothing in their pockets and probably trusting them to still abide by the rules as they (largely) did while living at the place, they were given permission to enter the visiting room.

With one hand on John’s back and the other around the neck of his beloved guitar, Brian guided the pair of them to a table in the front left corner of the room. From this spot, Freddie and Roger would be able to spot them, but they would not be in the way of too many people during their time together. That’s what they hoped, at any rate, but Brian knew that no one among the four of them particularly cared about their noise levels when they got to see each other once per month, and especially not now that they had such good news to celebrate.

Visitors spilled into the room, security made their rounds, and cups of coffee and tea were distributed at random among the occupied tables by two lunch ladies with no regard for anyone’s preferences for which beverage they wished or how they wished to take it. Knowing that John didn’t like his coffee without sugar - his sweet spot, as Brian liked to call it when they were just among themselves - he offered to take the bitter drink, and let John have the cup of tea. They took small sips of the hot liquids and made some comments on the room, the visitors, and Queen Mary’s in general while eagerly waiting for Freddie and Roger to join them.

Their patience was eventually rewarded - just as Brian downed the last of what John had dubbed Queen Mary’s bitter bean juice, the heavy iron door swung open, and the patients were released into the room. Half of them anxious and half of them apathetic, it didn’t take long for Brian to spot the excited expression and manner of their friends, who had stumbled through the door together and anxiously searched for them.

‘Freddie, Roger! Here!’ Brian found himself standing up from the table and wave a hand above his head to lead his friends in the right direction. John stood up and even gave a whistle to a confused looking Freddie - something Brian never could have imagined him doing half a year ago, but which he now did with a smile on his face. Even calling their names out loud was something he himself would not have dared to do upon first arriving in Queen Mary’s, afraid of other people’s reactions. Now he couldn't care less about the glances and the stares; not when Roger spotted them and excitedly pulled Freddie with him towards the table.

Brian felt his smile growing wider as the couple approached their table in a half-walking, half-running manner. They looked stronger, better, happier every time they visited Queen Mary’s to see them, and today was no exception. Roger’s face had a healthy glow to it, which was a huge difference to the pale greyish tint of his skin he had sported while on and off his heroin addiction. His eyes were less sunken and his cheeks had a certain rosy softness to them that made him look sweet and even more boyish than he had done before.

The changes in Freddie were even more visible. His skin had also recovered from its snow-white phase, and the beginnings of a bronze tone were showing, which showed the Parsi background that Brian knew Freddie had but which had never been too visible. Brian could also tell, as he stepped closer, that he had again managed to gain some weight over the past month. It might have been minimal, not more than a few pounds, but for someone of his frame and statue this made a real difference. His clothes no longer swung around his body the way they used to, and his cheekbones, although still sharp, did not stick out the way they used to, which made his face look more elegant and proportioned. His walk had become more steadfast, and even his hair looked shinier than it used to - something he knew Freddie would say was the result of some new hair product, but which Brian could tell had more to do with him finally starting to eat things besides slices of tomato and shim yoghurt than with any sort of hair conditioner.

‘Darliiiiiings!’ Freddie cooed with the second vowel drawn-out dramatically as he let Brian envelop his torso with his long arms, laughing loudly and most of all genuinely when Brian clutched him tightly against his chest and pressed kisses against his hair. It had always been Freddie who had initiated hugs and kisses of any sort, but he sure seemed delighted to have his friend take the lead this time around.

‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ said Roger, who next to Freddie had been subdued to the same treatment by John, be it with a hand grating through his long blond locks instead of having a pair of lips pressed against it. ‘You must be here with the new car! You need to tell me all about it!’

‘Well, eh, what do you want to know?’ John asked.

‘Everything!’ Roger beamed, dislodging himself from John’s chest. ‘What’s the manufacturer, and the building year, and how many HP? What’s the engine capacity? And the torque!’

‘Well, it’s a Fiat 124 from France, built in December 1961. It has 61 HP,  which is decent, but the torque isn’t spectacular,’ John admitted. Brian felt Freddie take a step back from him but they held each other at an arm’s length anyway, not ready to let this instant conversation break them up yet. ‘I mean, the number they gave us was high, but that’s the maximum torque of the IC engine.’

‘I know,’ Roger nodded. ‘They try to impose you with a torque of 200 when RPM is what’s really important when looking at acceleration speed. Or plainly the zero-to-sixty-span, although that’s dependable on the circumstances of the environment of the car…’

‘Let’s leave all of that to the nerds, shall we?’ Freddie suggested halfway through the sentence when he noticed that neither Brian nor he either understood or cared about the discussion of their latest vehicular purchase. ‘God, what do I care about cars when you’re here to see us!’ he said when Brian nodded to his proposal, and he threw himself back against Brian’s chest. Brian just smiled and hooked an arm around Freddie’s side so he could pat his back. For the first time probably since he had met Freddie, he was finally comfortable hugging him without fearing he would break his roommate in two - something Brian definitely found worthy of praise and celebration.

‘It’s so good to have you here and literally see that you’re making progress,’ Brian smiled into the shoulder of Freddie, who unfortunately did not think of this as a good sign at all. He unwrapped his arms from Brian’s back and stepped away from him with a look of serious uneasiness and shock on his face.

‘Oh fuck, no, does it really show? Can you tell that I- gained weight?’ The last words came out in a squeak that betrayed just how painful the idea of putting weight back on still was for Freddie, who looked as if he was going to cry if he was not going to receive comfort in the form of assurance that he hadn’t gained a gramme and that he looked emaciated as always. The problem was that Brian could not do it, refused to do it - now that Freddie was finally on the road towards recovery, he was not going to praise anything weight loss-related.

Choosing his words carefully, Brian said: ‘It just shows a little in your face, and I can feel it in your ribs when I hold you. It’s a very positive change, Freddie, believe me.’

Freddie, however, looked at Brian as if he had just grabbed him by the throat and left him breathless. ‘That’s not positive, that’s- that’s disgusting,’ he whimpered.

‘It’s not disgusting,’ Brian protested. ‘It’s good and it’s healthy and it’s exactly what should happen. It’s exactly why you look better and feel so much better lately - it’s why you’ll be allowed to leave soon. Don’t you want that?’ Brian asked. ‘You don’t want to stay at Queen Mary’s or similar places forever and fight with food your whole life, right?’

Freddie blinked at him, once, twice, a third time, then looked down. ‘I don’t want that,’ he muttered. ‘But I don’t want to look like… like this either.’ Despite Freddie still protesting his progress, Brian noticed that he recognised he did have an unhealthy relationship with food, which a few months ago he would have refused to do. Things were going in the right direction at last.

‘Like what?’ Brian asked. ‘Strong and healthy and beautiful? With some colour on your face and shiny hair and a perfect body to carry around a perfect person?’

Freddie huffed. ‘The hair’s just my new after shower hair mask.’

‘I literally predicted you would say that,’ Brian rolled his eyes, but then sternly added: ‘Don’t undermine your own progress, Freddie.’

Freddie opened his mouth as if he had something grand to say to defend himself, but nothing came out apart from a choked ‘I’m not’, which Brian could see right through. He knew Freddie did not at all see his recent progress as such, and knew his friend needed support and consolation.

‘Believe me, Freddie. You might not see it now, but in a few years you’ll look back at yourself and be proud,’ Brian promised him with a voice firm enough to make him look away at first, then shyly face him.

‘Do you really think so?’ Freddie asked. Brian smiled, again seeing this (be it unsure sounding) question as a win, for Freddie did not actively oppose to what he claimed.

‘I’m sure of it,’ Brian said just as firmly. Then, deciding to try his luck, he asked Freddie openly for the first time ever: ‘How far are you now?’

Freddie, knowing exactly what he meant, faced him with a look of mild panic and hesitation. ‘I… I’m too embarrassed to tell you,’ he said at first, but after a handful of seconds, he beckoned Brian closer, and stood on his tiptoes to whisper to him: ‘I’m at 98 now.’

‘Really?’ Brian said in an upbeat tone, ignoring the fact that this still was a ridiculously low number and instead focussing on it being at least more than ten pounds than he had weighed during much of his own stay at Queen Mary’s. You have no idea how much progress that is. When I got here you were what, 86 pounds?’

‘And a half, yes,’ Freddie said, then sighed. ‘I can’t help wanting to go back there somewhere deep inside. I know I shouldn’t want that, and Roger tells me I’m crazy, but...’

‘It’ll take a while to get rid of those thoughts,’ Brian finished his sentence when Freddie ran out of words. ‘You’ve been used to thinking like that for so long. But it’s good that Roger’s your voice of reason in those moments,’ Brian said, which was a sentence he had not expected to ever leave his mouth. It had always been Freddie who had tried to talk sense back into Roger whenever he had graved his beloved heroin or its substitutes, so it had been unexpected to learn that it was now Roger who told Freddie right instead. Brian was glad to hear that he did, though - but he would be even happier when the couple would move in with John and him so they could keep an eye on Freddie and his eating habits between the three of them. Together they would pull Freddie through.

‘Yes, Roger as my voice of reason,’ Freddie laughed with a sideward glance at his boyfriend, who was luckily still engaged in talk of carburettors and gear shifts with John. ‘No, but he’s really sweet and helpful. He’ll go with me to my dietary sessions whenever he doesn’t have to attend sessions on his own. He’ll hold me when I cry whenever I have to step on a scale and everyone’s celebrating me having put on weight. He’s really pulling me through this, you know.’

It melted Brian’s heart to hear that the couple was able to support each other so well. ‘That’s very good to hear. Roger will be so relieved when you’ll finally hit the 100 pounds mark.’

‘I know,’ Freddie sighed. ‘I suppose I do want to get there, even if it’s mainly for him. And well, you know- he did promise a reward if I did.’

‘A reward?’ Brian lifted an eyebrow. ‘And what would that be?’

Freddie cast his eyes up dramatically, and twirled a strand of hair around a bony finger. ‘Oh, I could hardly repeat that to you. It would not be good for your sensitive ears.’ Brian refrained from giving Freddie a teasing push out of fear that his friend might topple over, and instead just stuck out his tongue at him.

‘Who’s got sensitive ears?’ sounded the voice of Roger, who joined into the conversation at the exact right moment for Freddie and Brian to not have to repeat the latter part of their discussion.

‘Brian and I, which is why we couldn’t listen to you going on about cabaret and such.’

‘I’ve told you a thousand times before it’s a carburettor.’

‘Oh, my ears! My sensitive ears!’ Freddie said, covering the sides of his face with his hands like a Victorian housewife who had suddenly be seized by a fit of dizziness.’

‘Okay, we get it,’ John snorted. ‘Sit your majestic behind down, Queen Victoria.’

Freddie did as he was told, but, unlike the rest of them, he was incapable of sitting down without another clever comment in his newly assumed role of British royalty. ‘The nerve of some men to address their Queen in such a manner.’

‘It’s one Queen against another Queen, mind you,’ John said with an air of sassiness he had grown to assume when Freddie and he were sharing a moment like this one. ‘We’re all Queens. Why else did we name our band that?’

‘To honour this glorified poorhouse, of course,’ Roger answered the question on Freddie’s behalf. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here,’ he sighed.

‘Are things still going downhill here?’ Brian asked, finding a window of opportunity to turn the conversation into a relevant direction before Queen Anne, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mary, and whoever more may have been a female ruler of the Kingdom would be evoked.

Roger and Freddie shared a look as if to gauge each other’s stance on the matter, before Roger turned back to Brian and shook his head. ‘Not even. I think I’ve actually seen some improvements around the place. There’s more security guards, for instance.’

‘We know. We met a new coworker of Ian outside at the gate,’ John told them. ‘It’s good that they’re finally hiring more people.’

‘Yes, it’s just a shame that they’re doing it now that the worst of threats have passed,’ Roger said. ‘I mean- that was a bit of an unfortunate way of wording it, but- well, Drew did pass indeed, and Clyde’s left just two weeks ago.’

Brian, although he felt a tinge of unease when he heard the death of their once-enemy turned last-minute well-wisher being mentioned, decided to skip that debate and asked after the departure of the other gang leader instead: ‘Clyde’s left?’

‘Oh yes! That was a funny story,’ Roger said, and Brian could see Freddie grin in agreement from the side of his eye. ‘Turned out there was a warrant against Clyde for suspected involvement in drug dealing, whitewashing, extortion, and similar businesses. Clyde’s lawyer apparently made an arrangement with his psychiatrist to have him shipped off to an institution to avoid being prosecuted.’

‘The GA was not amused when he found out, mind you,’ Freddie took over the role of narrating the story that had Brian and John grinning with a sense of victory over the evil fellow patient already. ‘He was escorted out of the building by the police and taken for interrogation, and admitted to his crimes. It’s said that he’ll be kept on bail until the day of the court so he won’t go anywhere again.’

‘Well, that should serve him right,’ Brian said. ‘And things have been quieter since?’

‘I’d say so, yes. Their gangs are still sort of active, but without a real leader they don’t do much. Maybe push each other in the hallway or so, or throw food around in the canteen. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.’

‘They also restructured time in the public rooms,’ Roger said. ‘You have to sign up beforehand now, and security will check if there’s no people who they know to cause trouble when they get to see each other. So basically everyone just has access, apart from the people they know will cause problems, who’ll just not be let in. And with more security around, they can actually implement this rule.’

‘That sounds good-’ Brian agreed, but before he could properly finish his sentence, Freddie interrupted him as he suddenly thought of something he’d obviously meaning to tell him.

‘Oh! And Ariel is back, by the way!’

Brian looked at Freddie for a second, before half-asking, half-exclaiming: ‘Really?’

‘Really. Now that the largest fools are gone and more security is around, she told management she’d have another try. She still only works half of the hours she used to, but things seem to be going well. Or, you know- as well as things can go with the depression talk group patients,’ he said somewhat awkwardly. Brian didn’t mind at all - he was positively overwhelmed with this news. It had been so long since he’d last heard anyone even mention the name of one of their therapy leaders who had left under a cloak of mysterious unmentionable reasons expected to be sexual violence she had experienced at the clinic, that he had not even considered the option of her coming back again. To hear that she had overcome her fears and had made an attempt at returning to the place where Brian knew her heart lay, made him beam with hope. Queen Mary’s was not as much as a lost cause as it once had seemed to him.

‘That’s really good news. Seriously, I’m very glad to hear that,’ Brian said.

‘Seems like things are finally falling into their right places after all,’ John smiled. ‘Just a bit of a shame that it’s happening now that we’ll all soon be gone.’

‘Which we really have to discuss, by the way,’ Roger said excitedly - he seemed so much more lively and upbeat now that he’d been clean for almost three months straight. ‘You need to tell us about the apartment!’

‘Oh, yes, the apartment. Well, as I wrote to you the other day, it’s going to be the one in Kensington, not in Shepherd’s Bush. It has three bedrooms instead of two, and central heating throughout the house,’ John informed Roger, whose short, high-blown whistle seemed to indicate that he was excited.

‘What floor is it on?’ Freddie asked.

‘Second floor, so it’s four flights of stairs. Don’t you dare make a comment about how that’ll be good for your workout,’ John warned Freddie, who innocently held up his hands.

‘I wouldn’t dare to, dear,’ Freddie said. ‘But tell us more! What’s it look like? You’ve been there, right?’

‘Twice,’ Brian confirmed. ‘It has one large living room, dining area, and kitchen, which was recently renewed. And there’s double glass everywhere, also recently done.’

‘Do you have any pictures?’

‘I only have the advertisement page from the real estate agent, but it has a few pictures.’ Brian dug into the chest pocket of his shirt, and fished out a black and white housing advertisement on newspaper quality material, all folded up and crinkled after having looked at it with John a million times before while they imagined what would be in so near a future. Their soon-to-be-roommates-again did not seem to mind, though; the piece was all but ripped out of his hands and unfolded by the eager fingers of Freddie, who spread out the paper and laid it out on the tabletop before him.

‘Look at that! Such a fancy frontage, my dears! And those large windows!’ Freddie said loudly enough to make people around them look up. Brian shortly considered telling Freddie to keep his voice down, but upon seeing the joy on his friend’s face as Roger and he pointed fingers at the images and the accompanying descriptions, he decided to let them be.

‘Seventy-five square metres!’ Roger pointed out equally enthusiastically. ‘The master bedroom has its own washstand and running water…’

‘Mind you, that’s the one Brian and I already claimed,’ John informed them.

‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll just claim the spare bedroom for my drums.’

‘What about my extended wardrobe closet, then?’ Freddie asked. ‘Where do I put all my clothes? And where does Brian put his dildo collection?’ Brian snorted, obviously not having expected the conversation to head into this direction, let alone to be dragged into it as it did.

‘I have a suggestion as to where he leaves them,’ Roger said with wiggling eyebrows, and Brian rolled his eyes.

‘In the room you wanted to put your drums. And in your bed, if you don’t hold your tongue.’

‘Oh! Brian bites back,’ Freddie grinned, crooking his fingers to give the impression of a pair of claws. ‘No, we’ll see what we’ll do with the spare room when we get to it. As for now I’m just so excited to have a house and to live with you again, god!’

Brian smiled, glad they moved on to a more acceptable topic. ‘It’s going to be great. It’s so nice to know we’ve got a decent place from which we can build up our lives again.’

‘But we’ve really got it, then? It’s been signed for and all?’ Roger asked. Brian nodded.

‘We went to sign the contracts yesterday. Or well, my dad signed - he’s the one who actually has the credit it takes to be eligible for renting. You know, given that none of us has like… worked in the past year at least, and none of us has a degree or is currently working on getting a degree…’ he laughed a bit awkwardly. ‘Anyway, with our student loans, or maybe a weekend job on top of that, it shouldn’t be a problem to pay the rent back to my dad.’

Roger nodded. ‘We’ll manage. Freddie and I have actually talked for a bit these last few days, and we’ve decided we’ll take up a job first. I mean, the school year’s just started, so we can either hurry to recover a month of uni without any preparation, or do some work first.’

‘Sounds good,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll live in the inner city - I’m sure there’ll be many places around who hire.’

‘Oh no, we don’t want to work for an employer,’ Freddie brushed off the idea with a literal wave of the hand. ‘We want to be our own bosses.’ Brian shared a look with John, but neither of them could either say or ask something before Freddie had already told them of their plans. ‘We want to start a vintage clothing stall!’

‘A vintage… clothing stall?’ John repeated.

‘Yes!’ Freddie confirmed with pride, either not seeing or ignoring his friend’s reservation. ‘We can buy clothes cheaply from people who want to get rid of them and get some cash for it without doing too much work, and then sell it in our own store, or market stall, or whatever place we can get. We can work with fashion, with is something we both enjoy, and give people advice, and get all dressed up ourselves - we’ll have to know the clothes we sell, after all!’

Brian blinked a few times, and then, when John did not seem to have a reply to this, he offered: ‘‘That sounds great!’

‘I know!’ Freddie beamed. ‘It’ll be so much fun to find those real gems between clothes people dispose of, and see what we can still do with it.’

Roger nodded in agreement with what his partner said. ‘And clothes that are not good enough for selling anymore, we can always take together and use the fabric for new pieces.’

‘You can sow fabulous things out of old scraps of fabric, you know!’ Freddie said.

‘A good idea,’ Brian agreed wholeheartedly. ‘But do either of you have, eh... any tailoring skills?’ Brian asked, trying his hardest not to sound sceptic. It was not that he had no faith at all in this plan of his friends, and it was frankly beautiful to see how excited the idea of working together and in a field they were both interested in excited them. Selling clothes sure could be done. How plausible it was, however, that they’d make great tailors if they had no prior knowledge of the trade, and whether they’d be able to support themselves from the selling of second-hand clothes, was something he was not too certain of.

‘My last name isn’t Taylor for no reason,’ Roger winked with a smile at his friends sitting across the table, leaving them unsure of the actual answer to Brian’s question. Then again, Brian decided for himself that this was not too important at the time being; what really mattered was that Freddie and Roger, who had gone through some serious issues, both mentally, emotionally, and physically, were now in good enough of a state to make exciting plans for the future, which they strove to carry out once they’d left Queen Mary’s. And maybe those plans did not cover all of their bills, but who worried about that at this point?

‘Oh, Roger!’ Freddie suddenly exclaimed as he all but gripped his partner by the upper arm, as if Roger was possibly going anywhere if he did not hold on to him physically. ‘Something that suddenly dawns on me. Isn’t there some place called Kensington Market or so, right in the middle of Kensington, where you can hire indoor stalls?’

‘Oh shit, I know that place!’ Roger answered. ‘I’ve been there once with Clare to have a look. We should check if they have anything available, because that would be exactly the right crowd for our store!’

‘And it’d be so close to our house, we can literally just walk there! What was the address again?’ Freddie said, and the pair turned to the paper in front of them. Brian and John shared a look of mutual appreciation for Freddie and Roger’s plans to keep themselves occupied and keep their spirits up once they’d be released from Queen Mary’s, even if it might be a bit too ambitious and enthusiastic. Fingertips pointed out places on the small location map provided on the advertisement page, street names Brian had never heard of were flung around with enthusiasm, only to be silenced when a new voice joined the discussion of their store’s possible location.

‘Working out some escape plan, huh?’ A large hand was placed on a shoulder of either man, who turned around to see the same staff member Brian and John had earlier welcomed with happiness and gratitude.

‘Nolan!’ Freddie exclaimed. ‘Come here, darling, you need to see our new house! We’re gonna move to a great place in Kensington!’

‘I’ve been told so by your friends!’ Nolan said, giving a nod towards Brian and John. ‘Show me the evidence.’

Roger didn’t have to be told twice, picked up the paper and quite literally shoved it in Nolan’s face, while Freddie read out loud various of the descriptions Brian could tell from the concentrated look on his ex-mentor’s face Nolan was trying to read for himself simultaneously, as Freddie’s report was messy and random at best. Nevertheless, Nolan patiently listened to Freddie’s excited chatter and happily looked at the random images Roger pointed out, and afterwards gave them the same blessing he had given to Brian and John beforehand. They then chatted for a little longer between the five of them, until, just as Nolan made an attempt to say his goodbyes - he had to keep an eye on everyone in the room, after all - Freddie tugged at the mentor’s sleeve and flash him his dearest puppy eyes, before asking him for a favour Brian had not yet considered a possibility.

‘Ahw Nole, can we go outside?’

‘Outside?’ Nolan repeated, obviously no having seen this request coming. ‘You mean now?’

‘Yes! Surely you remember the four of us used to go outside to talk and play music all the time when we all lived at Queen Mary’s?’ Freddie said in an attempt to refresh Nolan’s mind.

It seemed to work. ‘I do remember, yes. Staff used to be glad when you did, so we would not have your noise sounding through the paper walls of this place,’ Nolan laughed.

‘Our noise?’ Freddie repeatedly indignantly, but Roger saw his window of opportunity to convince Nolan to let them go out in these words.

‘Exactly! If you let us go out, you won’t have us play in the middle of your visiting room. If you don’t, you’ll force us to practice right here and interrupt everyone’s conversations,’ Roger argued - or threatened, more like.

‘Practice right here in the middle of the visiting room?’ Nolan repeated with a grin. He could obviously see the humour in the men’s creativity to convince him to let them go out - which was a relief to Brian, who had feared that Freddie would have been told off for asking for something so bold and so plainly against the rules. Then again, Nolan had never been one to follow the rulebook all too literally - something that now seemed to catch up with him.

‘You allowed us to come in with our guitars, now you’ll have to live with the consequences.’ The threat now came from John, which was an unexpected corner to be attacked from; in any case, unexpected for a staff member like Nolan, who was not familiar with John’s quiet but sly antics.

‘John! I don’t remember you to be this bold,’ Nolan reproached him. John just smiled and shrugged.

‘That’s because you’re staff,’ Freddie said. ‘If you were with us, you would have seen him break through security and sneak into the kitchen to get himself food if he didn’t feel like having breakfast among us peasants.’

Nolan shook his head in quasi-disapproval. ‘Breaking through security, raiding the kitchen, threatening to stir up visiting hour… I don’t believe I can safely deny you guys anything anymore at this point.’

‘So you’ll let us go out?’ asked Freddie, already half lifting himself out of his chair.

Nolan looked around the relatively peaceful room, checked to see if no one was paying specific attention to them, and eventually said: ‘Get up calmly and follow me.’ This permission was received with enthusiasm by the four men sitting around the table, who - despite trying their best not to attract too much attention - made a lot more noise than they intended to do. Chairs were shoved back, the advertisement crinkled up and shoved into a pocket, John and Brian picked up their guitars and swung the strap around their chests, which required them to raise an arm and duck their heads in the process. If all of this was not enough to draw the attention, then it was Roger, who, in his hurry to follow Nolan, bumped a bony knee into the leg of the table, and uttered a necessary curse with it.

‘Get up calmly, I said!’ Nolan repeated his earlier words when the four men followed in his footsteps. He showed off his staff card and exchanged a few words with the warden on duty, who then opened the heavy iron door leading into the building.

‘If you wanted to teach us manners you should have done so earlier than three weeks before we’re leaving, Nole,’ Roger grinned. Nolan jokes about treating new patients like army recruits following his experience with the inhabitants of room 41B, but Brian did not quite catch all of that. He was more absorbed by getting to catch another glimpse of the inside of Queen Mary’s, which, at half-past eleven, was alive and tumultuous as he remembered it to be. People walked through the hallway, emerged from sideways and doors, and freely walked in and out of the canteen. Brian dimly remembered Roger writing him about the ban on using the canteen between mealtimes having been lifted now that the biggest problems with patient behaviour had passed, but seeing it himself made it a little more real. To actually see people sitting in the canteen, talking and laughing and playing undoubtedly incomplete card games, reminded him of his own stay here - the good times and the bad times, the ups and downs, the highs and lows. There had been plenty of either of those.

‘Feels weird to walk through this hallway now,’ John remarked beside him, and Brian, caught up in the experience of it all, simply nodded in response.  

They trod through a few hallways, and eventually arrived at the hallway leading to the back entrance of the building. It was a hallway with a lot of memories attached to it, at least to Brian - it gave access to the bathroom where Jimmy had been found hanging from the ceiling, the one in which John had locked himself upon being told he had to leave Queen Mary’s. Turning the other way, Brian saw the staff rooms he had frantically searched in his quest for Nolan the evening he’d realised he needed a reassessment, and the room where mister Fisher had extensively examined him and his ability to return to society for weeks straight upon applying for said reassessment. Luckily, there one door that did have good memories attached to it for Brian, and that was the door that led outside, to the only place they had guaranteed peace and quiet and happiness while residing at the clinic. The place where John and he had shared and received, given and taken, spoken and listened, cried and laughed, lived and survived. Brian’s hand touched John’s, and John, understanding the gesture, gave his hand a comforting squeeze as they passed the threshold that led to the warden’s post at the end of the hallway, and, behind that, to freedom.

A single man was leaning against the wall, and looked up at the sight of the party of five that entered the space. Nolan showed off his card again, pointed to Brian’s and John’s visitor badges, and explained the whole matter. Freddie’s and Roger’s names were noted down in the log, and the door was unlocked and opened for them.

‘Well, go have fun, but don’t make me regret allowing you outside,’ Nolan said as words of wisdom and temporary goodbye.

‘We’ll play so loud that the London police will come and inspect the noise pollution,’ Roger promised. Freddie and he were the first to try and walk through the door, but they were halted by Nolan before they did so.

‘Wait! Where’s your coats, guys?’ Nolan asked, pointing to the long row of black jackets worn by people who chose to go outside, but which had remained untouched by the four.

‘We don’t need coats, it’s not that cold,’ Roger said.

‘It’s November,’ Nolan countered. ‘And neither of you weigh more than eight stone. Take a coat,’ he said, handing one to a begrudging Freddie and Roger, while John and Brian also took one in an attempt to lead by example. ‘Promise me to keep an eye on these two when I’m not around, will you?’ Nolan asked them, seemingly not noting that neither John nor Brian had reached out to pick up a coat before his interference.

In what seemed like an attempt to make this clear to Nolan, and with this give a hint that they could not be trusted to look after Freddie and Roger either, John disclosed: ‘Just this morning Brian’s mother handed me his coat because he wouldn’t take it himself.’

Nolan looked at him as to make out if he was pulling a joke on him, but when Brian somewhat shamefully admitted John spoke the truth, the mentor pulled open the door and pointed at the newly created exit. ‘Go now, before I change my mind and lock you all up in your room again to keep you safe.’

Freddie and Roger did not need to be told twice and dashed outside; John smiled apologetically at Nolan, and Brian gave his ex-mentor a comforting pat on the shoulder, before they too traded Queen Mary’s building for its gardens.

 # # #

 ‘It’s not even that cold outside,’ Freddie remarked as they sauntered into the garden. As soon as Nolan had left the scene, he had made a point out of taking off his coat and tying it around his waist in the least fashionable sense possible. Brian could not blame him, though; the coats were made of thick, wintery material, while the outside temperature of this particular November morning easily reached fifteen degrees. Apart from him, everyone had taken off their coach - including John, who seemed to have forgotten the idea of leading by example, and who carried his coat over his shoulder while they made their way over to the swing set they had spent so much time on while residing at Queen Mary’s.

‘That’s because you’ve finally got some meat on your bones, mate,’ Roger told Freddie - a comment delivered in good nature, and - much to Brian’s surprise - Freddie did not take it too badly at all.

‘Lay off, dear.’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘You gained what, fifteen pounds or so since you quit heroin?.’

‘Mind you, that’s a sign of recovery,’ Roger corrected him. ‘It’s one of the reasons they’re finally letting me go. And besides, you didn’t particularly seem to mind in bed these last few weeks,’ he grinned.

‘Of course not,’ Freddie readily admitted. ‘It looks good on you.’

‘It would look just as good on you,’ Roger said.

‘Yeah, well,’ Freddie said after a few seconds of silence. Planting himself down on the swing, he added: ‘The opinions about that differ.’

‘It’s literally you against the rest of the world, Fred,’ Roger reminded him.

Freddie gave a toothy smile. ‘It’s always been me against the world. I fail to see the problem with that.’

Roger, who by now had also taken a seat on the only other vacant swing, after having established with some hand gestures that neither Brian nor John insisted on sitting down, rolled his eyes and moved to a different topic. ‘It’s only three weeks left until they’ll let us leave. I can’t believe we’ll be free so soon.’

‘It’s been long enough, though,’ John said, crouching down on the moist sand beneath, and Brian followed his example - be it after having taken off his coat and using it as a protective layer against the ground. ‘How long have you been here for?’

‘Since August last year, so that would be… a year and three months,’ Roger calculated. ‘Freddie’s been here one month longer,’ he said, pointing at his partner.

‘That’s a long time,’ Brian said.

‘Especially when it’s been no use,’ Roger muttered.

‘That’s not true,’ John corrected him. ‘You came in as a serious heroin addict and now you’ve been clean for almost three months.’

‘Yeah, but that’s more to do with you than with Queen Mary’s,’ Roger said. ‘I only really saw the need to get clean when John was going to be released and when you went for a reassessment. When I saw that you were trying to get back your lives again, I wanted that, too. And especially when we started talking about renting a house together and seeing if we can get somewhere with our music as a band, I really started laying off drugs.’

‘Same here, I guess,’ Freddie added. ‘Well, not drugs - but I’ve been wanting to, eh… you know, get better from this… fear of eating and being fat and such since I’ve seen you move on and do so well. I want  to have that sort of life, too.’ He paused for a second, then said: ‘I mean, I’m not doing as good as people would like for me to do, but at least I’ve acknowledged that I do have a problem with eating, and I… do want to get over that.’

Brian nodded at his friend, who shyly glanced at him as to find approval for his words and way of thinking. ‘I’m really very happy you, and also you, Roger, are seeing that there’s life outside this place, and that you want to work on yourself to get there again.’

‘I think perspective is one of the problems with Queen Mary’s,’ John said. ‘While in here there’s no clear view of life outside, or what you’re doing it for. There’s no future or even a reward you’re working forwards, so why fight for it? I mean, God knows I didn’t do that until I was told to leave and Brian showed me all that could be if we put in effort.’

‘And when we saw you were doing well, Rog and I wanted to work on ourselves and be dismissed also,’ Freddie added.

‘Something good came out of you being sent away after all, Deaky,’ Brian said. ‘I see it as the turning point for all of us.’

John smiled. ‘It was a good thing to send me away, looking back at it. I just didn’t see any chances of having a life after Queen Mary’s. But looking back, I didn’t have too much of a life inside Queen Mary’s either, so what did I have to lose? Especially with Brian with me. I wish I would not have been so afraid at the time, because I worried about nothing.’

‘But you didn’t know that then,’ Brian reminded him. ‘Even I didn’t know we’d get to find a place of our own and a plan of going back to school in the second semester and working on ourselves in the meantime so soon. But I know it would be alright because I had you.’ John blushed slightly, but took Brian’s hand as a sign of appreciation.

‘I’m really glad actually to know that the pair of you are already out there, with an apartment and a plan of what to do and just some settlement. It really makes things easier to know that we’ll have a place to go to when they kick us out here, because the ‘‘guidance’’ they give us now can hardly be qualified as such’ Freddie said.

‘They’ve started to give you guidance, then?’ Brian asked.

‘Sort of. It’s called ‘‘preparation for resocialisation’’, and it’s nothing more than a meeting once a week starting four weeks before you’ll leave where they tell us some generic stuff about where to find support and how to apply for a follow-up therapist or psychiatrist or whatever you need. And they have some addresses for social housing if you have no place to turn to.’

Brian felt himself turn a little queasy at the idea of the last-mentioned - the government housing buildings for troublesome young adults that often suffered from addiction or showed violent behaviour. People who had been victims of abuse or sex trafficking, and who would be lost to the streets if it had not been for these communal buildings. It had been the place John would have been carded off to if it had not been for Brian’s family taking him in. While Brian was grateful there were places to help young homeless people, he knew that those at the same time would equal the destruction of someone vulnerable like Freddie or prone to falling back into bad habits like Roger, so he was infinitely grateful they were able to take in their friends after their journey at Queen Mary’s was to end.

The four of them talked for a bit about the less than ideal guidance Queen Mary’s offered to those about to be set free again, and about the general working and vibe of the place as of late. Group therapy sessions were still messy as usual, and some private therapy sessions had been replaced by mentor sessions due to a new influx of patients without a new influx of therapists. Roger was still not happy with his drugs counsellor who told him to ‘pray the drug cravings away’, but the guy seemed pleased enough with him, seeing as he had been clean for over ten weeks now. Freddie was finally cooperating with his dietician, and was allowed to sit with the eating disorder support group during mealtimes - which he had politely refused after figuring that he did better with just the support of Roger at his side, instead of ten other people struggling to eat a slice of tomato just now that he was getting over his fear. Security around the place had been reformed and tightened, which meant that the overall vibe of Queen Mary’s was both more friendly yet more rigid, with frequent drug- and weapon searches. Even though neither Freddie nor Roger had anything to fear from these routines, they admitted frequently having taken shelter in John’s little hiding place between the walls of a series of sheds used to store God knew what my management.

‘We figured you wouldn’t mind if we used it, Deaky,’ Roger said. ‘It’s saved us so much time from those useless drug tests and fire escape training sessions.’

John smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear my cave has been of use to you. I’d almost forgotten about its existence already.’

‘Deacon! How could you forget that place!’ Freddie rebuked him. ‘The place where Brian and you first fucked!’

‘Kissed!’ Brian corrected him indignantly. ‘We merely kissed there!’ Freddie pulled a smug expression of doubt that told Brian he was wordlessly inviting him to discuss the matter, but before he could answer, John - who was still holding his hand - stood up and tugged him along in the process.

‘I want to have a look at the cave,’ he said. ‘It is a disgrace that I forgot it already. Brian and I have had some… moments there.’

Freddie nodded, and - seeming to understand that this was a more serious matter between Brian and John, Roger and he refrained from getting up from their places. Instead, they encouraged their friends to have a look and take their time, and so Brian found himself walking off towards the sheds built against the outer wall of Queen Mary’s, hand in hand with his partner. They did not speak to each other on their way to their destination; in fact, they did not say anything even when John had felt for the opening of the wall, had ushered the pair of them through, and closed the fake brick door behind them. Light descended upon them from the open roof, but still there was a dark atmosphere in the narrow hallway in which their eyes now travelled up and down the walls and the ground on which they had found themselves sitting a manyfold of times.

‘It’s weird how I already forgot about this place,’ John said, being the first to break the silence. ‘It’s served me well so many times. Served us even better,’ he smiled, obviously referring to the time after he’d introduced Brian to his secret shelter.

‘I remember the first time you took me here,’ Brian said. ‘We were on the swings and an alarm was sounding for a drug test that you didn’t feel like going for, so you dragged me through a fake brick wall into this place. I thought I was losing my mind.’

‘Yeah, well, you really would have lost your mind if you would have been exposed to that dumb drug search they tried to carry out. I’m glad I was able to save you from it. Well, on that day, at any rate,’ John added, very much aware of not having managed to escape drug tests and fire escape assignments every time. That might have caused suspicion - but whenever they could help it, they had hidden in the cave to elope them.

Unwanted drug and weapon searches had hardly been the only time they’d ended up in the cave. They had done so also to ensure a sense of privacy, or when they simply did not feel like dealing with any of the people around them. Something neither of them had alluded to, Brian realised, was the kissing scene Freddie had referred to. Not that this surprised him all too much; being caught by Freddie and Roger while in the midst of their first kiss had been embarrassing, but it had hardly been the worst aspect of the situation. It had been after making the mistake of gifting john the bass guitar in broad daylight and thus giving away his secret hobby to their friends that John had run off to the comfort of the cave’s solitude, and Brian had gathered all his strength and had followed behind to apologise.

What then followed had been an emotional rollercoaster in which John had admitted to having read Brian’s diary, just like Roger and Freddie, and thus knowing about his crush on him. Brian had been in tears, afraid that John would not want to have anything to do with him anymore - only to have John express his feelings for him then and there, and pouring all their feelings of relief and guilt and happiness into a kiss that had then been broken up by the arrival of Freddie and Roger. It had been an eventful day, both emotionally and physically, and not one of their proudest days - even though it had been the one that had brought them together. That, in the end, seemed to win John over in his consideration of whether or not to bring it up.

‘Remember our first kiss was in here?’ he asked casually, but the small, tensed smile on his lips told Brian he was a little nervous about bringing it up.

‘Of course,’ Brian assured him. ‘I’ll remember that until the day I die. Together with all the hecticality around it,’ he grinned.

‘God, we were stupid,’ John groaned leaning back against one of the brick walls. ‘Me running out of the room and going here, as if this would not be the most obvious place for anyone of you to come find me.’

‘And me, following you with a guitar in either hand. Running right past the wardens like a madman,’ Brian recalled.

‘I did the same,’ John admitted with a chuckle. ‘Wonder what they must have thought. Two losers following each other outside and disappearing behind the sheds. Well, they probably drew their conclusion based on that,’ he laughed.

Brian smiled, too. ‘If only they would have known we were just in here, both half in tears, trying to get the other to forgive them for having been stupid. I honestly thought you’d hate me forever.’

‘Me, hating you? For doing nothing more than giving me a great present in a bad setting? Never,’ John discarded the idea. ‘I was convinced you’d hate me for having read your diary.’

‘Well, if that would have been a factor, I would have had to hate all three of you after that day,’ Brian sighed. ‘I just feared you’d find it too awkward to ever face me again now that you knew I was in love with you.’

‘As if I hadn’t hoped for that all along,’ John grinned. ‘God, we were idiots. It’s a good thing that at least we kissed that day, so that at least something good came of all of that chaos.’

Brian smiled to himself, agreeing that the kiss had been the good thing that had come from all of the chaos. Or well, not solely the kiss; making up for having presented the gift at the wrong time from his side, and having reacted unreasonably from John’s, admitting the crushed they had both walked around with for too long, and the beginning of their relationship, had all taken place as a result of the more or less ridiculous events of that day. That was worth celebrating now that all had been said and done, Brian decided.

‘Now that we’re here, and now that we’re talking about it… Want a repeat performance?’ he offered to his partner, who looked him in the eyes - but unfortunately not for the reason Brian had been hoping for.

‘You want me to reread your diary and storm out of the room as you’re giving me a bass guitar?’ John asked incredulously.  

‘No, silly. The kiss. Without interference, this time,’ Brian clarified.

John stepped closer towards him, and halted right in front of him. ‘Even if it would include the interference I’d still want it,’ he said, and brought his lips closer to Brian’s face to accept the proposal he’d been offered.

Unlike their first time, Brian now knew exactly what he was doing. He had shared a hundred kisses and more with his partner since this moment, and was a lot more confident in his skills. What remained the exact same as it had been the first time, and what would not change by the time they’d share a thousand kisses, was that he still felt that same tinge of excitement, that same rush of butterflies darting through his stomach, that same hint of nerves that made his knees grow weak as his lips were pressed against John’s. Sure, he was less jittery than he had been during their first kiss, and he certainly did not feel any of the performance stress he had done back then - yet that same magical flutter of excitement and swell of love was still there as their lips moved against each other, their hands found their ways to each other’s shoulders, and when eventually the corners of their mouths twitched up towards the end of the kiss. By the time they realised the significance of the moment they were recreating - the moment that had broken all boundaries between them that had existed until that point. That kiss had been the beginning of their relationship, the development of their love and trust, which had eventually led their recovery - all of which brought them to this moment right there, right then.

They parted in the end, after probably a longer time than Brian would have estimated from the top of his head, but their hands remained on each other’s shoulders from another moment as they simply drank in the sight of their partner, who stood before them with a look of loving gratitude.

Brian was the first to speak, after a moment where all they uttered was silent breaths. ‘We should get back there. Before Freddie and Roger decide to come running in on us again.’

‘No repeat performance of that, then?’ John asked, and Brian laughed.

‘Not if I can help it. I’m sure that’s going to happen plenty of times when we live together,’ he reminded John, and lowered his hands from John’s shoulders so he could grab his hand instead. They moved out of the narrow space where in many ways their romance had started, closed the door off to the outside world again, and made their ways back to the swings in peaceful silence.

The remainder of the time together - which was not more than a handful of minutes outside, before one of the guards ushered them in again in line with Nolan’s instructions - was spent discussing practical matters, such as when Brian and John should come over to pick up their friends on the day they were to be released, and which preparations they should take before the great day. They discussed the furniture; not so much in terms of which patterns and colours they liked, but in terms of what they could bring from their parents’ houses and what they would need to buy still. Freddie had a double bed to his disposal, and Roger could move the couch from his bedroom at his mum’s place to their apartment. None of them had a kitchen table, although they were positive they could all fetch a chair somewhere. Cutlery and towels and similar small necessities they also decided they could come by from parents and other relatives - a coffee table, carpet, curtains, bookcase, and other furniture they’d shop around for later, once they would all be out of Queen Mary’s, and could all have a say in the choices and the expenditure.

They arrived back in a hallway were most people had gotten up from their chairs to either hug, kiss, or shake hands with the ones they would soon have to leave behind - and, understanding that there were only a few minutes left before Brian and John would likewise be asked to take their leave, the four of them said their goodbyes.

‘It was great to see you today, guys,’ Brian said. ‘And to see you’re both doing so well.’

‘We’re trying our best,’ Roger smiled. ‘Thanks for dropping by. We’re gonna miss you.’

‘Us too,’ Brian said, with the usual tinge of sadness he always felt when leaving their friends behind. John and he had come to see Freddie and Roger at every visiting opportunity since they had left Queen Mary’s themselves, but it never seemed to get easier to leave them behind, not even now that he knew they’d be back in a few weeks to take them with them and leave the institution behind for what he hoped would be forever.

‘We’ll send letters as usual, right?’ Freddie informed.

‘Of course,’ John said. ‘We’ll keep you up to date. Send you the details of the cleaning schedule by mail and such.’

Freddie pulled a face. ‘Don’t put me on bath or shower cleaning duty. If I have to clear the hairs of four long-haired guys out of the drain I will vomit.’

‘Brave of you to assume anyone apart from you showers regularly,’ John teased, which made Freddie gag so realistically that it left Brian wondering whether it had been staged or a real reflex of his.

‘You will shower, whether you like it or not,’ Freddie established. ‘I’ll send you the shower schedule by mail one of these days.’

They shared a laugh about this, but as Brian noticed the first people left the room, he leant in towards Roger and gave him the last hug for now. His body felt warm and less bony to the touch, and he clung to Brian for a solid ten seconds before letting go and allowing his friend to put his hands on his shoulders and share some words of comfort and confidence.

‘Keep up the good work, Roger,’ Brian encouraged him. ‘You’ve been clean for so long now, and we know you can keep this up.’

‘I know. I can do this,’ Roger said, and Brian pulled him closer for a pat on his back one more time before moving on to Freddie. His body was colder, but decidedly less feeble than it had once been; still, Brian hugged him carefully and for a shorter time, but it was just as loving and intimate.  The fact that the guards were starting to round up people also might have taken time away from their embrace, though.

‘Freddie, keep strong,’ Brian said, looking deeply into a pair of part-confident, part-scared brown eyes. ‘I know it’s hard, but please keep to your diet plan, and reach out for help when you need it.’

‘I will,’ Freddie promised. Then, clearing his throat, he said: ‘I’m gonna make you proud.’

‘We’re proud of you no matter what,’ Brian assured him. ‘Make yourself proud.’

Freddie looked at him with a hint of scepticism, but he kept his chin up, and he nodded. Brian could tell Freddie wasn’t just trying to comfort him, or to please him, by agreeing with him - he meant it.

Brian looked on as John similarly shared hugs and words of encouragement, after which they had one more clumsy group hug in the presence of Ian, and then they parted for real.

‘We’ll see you!’ Brian said, turning his head and waving over his shoulders. ‘Just a few more weeks!’ he added, and, hearing Roger answer him in a similar fashion, and seeing Freddie blowing them a kissy hand, they were out of the visiting area and back to the waiting room. They quietly handed in their visitor badges and, after having shared a few last words with Nolan to assure that they’d be back in a few weeks to pick up their friends, they walked out of the building in peaceful silence. This always seemed to be the state of things as they departed from the visiting hour; the people who had just gotten to realise they’d be away from their friends and family at Queen Mary’s for another month quietly retreated from the place. They might whisper, they might shed a few quiet tears - but overall they walked through the barren gardens and out of the gate in relative peacefulness. Briand and Roger largely followed the same procedure, apart from the fact that Brian spoke just before they reached the gate.

‘I’m always glad to see them,’ Brian commented. ‘Writing letters is really not the same than actually getting to sit with them and talk.’

‘I know,’ John agreed. ‘Especially now that they’re about to leave. It’s so much easier to discuss important things when you’re sitting face to face.’

‘Not that we discussed too many important things until the last minute today,’ Brian smiled.

‘But we discussed how they’re doing and how they feel. That’s just as important,’ John said, to which Brian had to agree. They had indeed held important discussions today, shared important information on their progress, and ideas for what they wanted to do once they would be released from Queen Mary’s. Most notable was the idea to begin their own second-hand slash tailor-made clothing stall in upscale Kensington Market - but if that was what they wanted, then Brian was ready to support them.

They sauntered out of the gates, and Brian looked up at the billboard proudly boasting Queen Mary’s name and function. The sigh had served as the inspiration for the name of their group - the group they had decided during their previous meeting that they wanted to carry on with regardless of whether they would go back to school, find a job, or do anything in between of that. Music was the thing that had connected them as friends rather than plainly roommates in the first place, and Brian had a feeling that it would connect them for a long time to come. It was something he would continue to be thankful for towards Queen Mary’s, even if the place itself had been nothing but a glorified inn into which the mentally troubled came and went out of again, travellers on the road their disorders lead them to, who found recovery in the journey rather than at the accommodations the road offered.

‘I remember the day when my parents dropped me off,’ Brian said, halting in his step and ignoring the people behind him who scoffed him for pausing at the side of the path. Glancing upon the billboard still, he recalled: ‘They told me I would once be grateful to them for dumping me here.’

John stopped and stood by him. ‘Were they right?’

‘Yes. But not for the reasons they expected,’ Brian smiled, knowing he did not have to elaborate on that point as John knew exactly what he meant. ‘But you know, maybe it was good for me after all. It sure was better than leaving me to sort things out with doctor Sumner alone.’

‘But it also pulled you through more trauma,’ John remarked. ‘I wish things like the death of Jimmy and Drew, and all of Freddie’s trying moments and Roger’s fallbacks and the violence and the drama and the overall chaos of this place would have been spared from you.’

‘I mean… I won’t say I’m happy about all I saw here, but I think it sort of led me to where I am today,’ Brian said. ‘You know, the thing is that you never know what would have happened things would have happened differently. Perhaps I would have recovered faster without having a knife put to my eye, or without seeing my roommates on the brink of death once a week. But I like to think that this place did lead me to where I am today. And even if it didn’t, then it still did lead me to you.’

John looked at him, but seemed to have trouble reciprocating the warm smile Brian gave him. ‘You need to stop saying meaningful things like that, Bri,’ John said, turning away from him a bit shamefully. ‘I’m not good with words. I can never reciprocate them.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I know that you care even if you can’t say it,’ Brian assured him.

As a sign of this, John interlaced his fingers with Brian’s, and together they walked off to the car, feeling a surprisingly bright autumn sun beaming down on his face. It was a fine day, especially for mid-November; and as it was only just noon, they had the whole day ahead of them to do exactly as they wished.

Upon approaching the car, Brian peeled the small bundle of keys out of his pocket, and opened up the door with a swift movement of the wrist. He did not sit down right away, though; in fact, he kept the door shut, and just stared at the large brick building in front of him. It did not occur to him that John had been doing the exact same until, about twenty seconds in, the voice of his partner at the other side of the car drew Brian’s attention.

‘Queen Mary’s. We’ll see you one more time before we’ll say our real goodbyes.’ John’s voice was melancholy, but when he turned to look at him, Brian found that his face was peaceful, serene, if a tad vacant perhaps.

‘Are you talking to a building?’ Brian asked - but although the question on its own would be funny, he kept a straight face as he saw John swallow somewhat painfully.

‘Not so much to the building. Just all the memories that lie there.’ John said, and although Brian could tell he tried, he could not oppress his voice from sounding a bit choked up. ‘It’s hard, you know. Even though it was… less than ideal most of the time, Queen Mary’s been my home for so long.’

Brian looked at his partner, and he genuinely felt for him. Queen Mary’s not having been ideal was just about the understatement of the century, but despite all of its faults, it had been their home; especially for John, who, prior to a few months ago, literally had no other place to call his apart from the institution. Moving away from the place that had safeguarded him from the abuse of his mother and the negligence of his aunt and uncle had proved not to be easy on John, who held a special connection to Queen Mary’s more than any one of them did. It was going to take some time to get over the loss of the place, but Brian was positive that with just that - time, and love, and patience - John would grow over his idealisation of the clinic, and turn to grow fond of the place they’d build up for themselves starting just a few weeks from then.

‘I know, honey,’ Brian said, ‘I know. But we’re going to build up our own home. Our own palace, with our own Queens.’

John was silent a first upon hearing this, and he continued to stare at the building before them. Brian didn’t mind; he knew he himself would also need a second to come up with a reply to a statement like this. What he did not expect, however, was that when John had thought of something to say, it was to tell him: ‘It’s not nice to call Freddie and Roger that behind their backs.’

Brian looked over to see John oppress a smile from the corners of his lips, and he knew it was alright to laugh about it, too. ‘You are the worst, Deaky,’ he grinned.

‘You said it,’ John reminded him, looking at Brian for the first time to flash him a smile that had Brian melt despite the situation. John opened the door of the car and leant in to get to his seat; Brian followed his example.

‘You interpreted it,’ he told John, before closing the door behind him once he had settled into the driver’s seat.

‘Touché,’ John allowed, and then sighed contentedly. ‘But you’re right. We will build up our own home, and it’s going to be so much better than Queen Mary’s. We’ll have our own space, and set it up as we like, and spend time the way we like. We can cook whatever we like, go to sleep and get up whenever we like…’ John said a tad dreamily.

‘We’ll play music whenever we want, until the neighbours come knocking on the walls,’ Brian said, before he suddenly remembered something - a long lost conversation on moving in together they had had while filling in forms for his reassessment, which had turned into a contest of coming up with the most specific niche household items and homey feelings for their future flat. ‘We’ll adopt some scrawny cats to hang in the curtains and buy ugly second-hand floral furniture to make the place cosy.’

Brian could tell by the bright smile on John’s face that he knew exactly what he was referring to. ‘And have an old TV that buzzes regardless of how you tune it or change the antenna. And what was it again? An ugly hand-me-down kettle from our mums?’

Brian thought for a second. ‘I think it was originally ugly knitted pillowcases and crocheted tablecloths, but knowing my mum, she’ll give us all of those.’

‘Fair. But only cookie tins with real cookies in it,’ John said, pulling the seat belt over his shoulder.

‘No spare light bulbs or sewing material,’ Brian filled him in. ‘You also said something about weird the flavours that you would try out and then dump in a potted plant if it didn’t taste good, if I remember correctly?’

‘To make the spider plants stop growing!’ John said, seeming excited that Brian would remember this silly part of their discussion - and Brian was likewise excited that John remembered what he was talking about. ‘They’ll go all over the place if you don’t keep an eye on them, I’m telling you. And you have to agree that you can’t die before at least having tried cotton candy flavoured tea.’ The spark of liveliness in John’s voice made Brian feel warm inside and eager to try one last thing.

‘Alright, we’ll kill spider plants with cotton candy flavoured tea, and decorate the living room with album sleeves. And we’ll be happy.’

This was the largest ordeal of them all, but Brian felt stupid about ever having doubted John’s memory in the first place when his lover replied in a heartbeat.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

Brian, feeling the irrepressible urge to hold John close and never let go of him again, leant in to kiss his partner on the lips, chastely but devotedly; and when he moved away when he started to feel overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, gratitude to whatever power in the universe had allowed him to cross ways with John, he saw John’s radiant smile before he moved up and kissed his forehead.

They were the last to leave the parking lot. They saw a car driving off in the distance, and Ian’s new co-worker walking back to the building after having closed off the gates, only to be reopened when they would come to pick up Freddie and Roger next time. With the November sun setting in the sky behind them, they drove away Queen Mary’s for the forelast time; John’s hand resting on top of Brian’s on the gearshift, both knowing that they would be happy.

#the clinic #epilogue #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #brian may #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon

[aion-rsa]

Zappa Director Alex Winter Talks Preserving The Mothers’ Inventions

https://ift.tt/397hxl6

Zappa is an intimate look into the innovative life and eclectic works of Frank Zappa, the composer. The Beatles, Brian Wilson, and Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd pushed boundaries of what rock could do in the mid-1960s, but Zappa ignored any preconceived compositional restraint. He mixed rock with classical, jazz with chamber, and twelve-tone with Spike Jones. From his 1966 proto-punk, garage band debut, Freak Out, through the immediate experimental turns he took on Lumpy Gravy, We’re Only In it for the Money, and continuing through his career, Zappa’s music sounds unlike any other sonic unit.

Not only was Zappa a unique composer and bandleader, he was a ground-breaking film director, an innovative theatrical presence, and a voice of rebellion in worlds beyond music and the arts. His politics were far ahead of their time, and his critiques of society resonate strongly to this day. A vast majority of Americans know Zappa best because of his censorship battle with the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC), and the documentary censors nothing.

Zappa is not only the definitive documentary, but the only feature doc ever made on the pioneering founder of the Mothers of Invention with the Zappa family seal of approval. Not only did the family give director Alex Winter, best known as Bill from the Bill & Ted movies, permission to use the music and footage, they let him ransack the vaults. What he found there was a buried treasure in need of excavation.

Zappa’s storage area contained reels of unreleased music, archived appearances, home movies and hours of never-before-heard interviews, which allowed Winter to let Frank tell most of the stories himself. But first he had to save the vault material, which was disintegrating before his very eyes. He put together a crowdfunding campaign and raised over a million dollars to preserve the tapes.

Winter has been in entertainment all his life. He worked as a child actor in the mid-1970s, had co-starring roles in long-running Broadway productions like The King and I, Peter Pan, and The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up, as a teenager, and studied filmmaking from behind the scenes at NYU film school. Besides the Bill & Ted films, he also had memorable roles in the vampire classic Lost Boys and cult favorite Freaked, which he co-directed. Winter also directed the criminally under-seen 1999 suspense thriller Fever. The bulk of Winter’s work has been on hard hitting and revelatory documentaries, like Downloaded (2002), Deep Web (2015), and The Panama Papers (2018).

Zappa is just as revelatory, but a lot more fun and you can dance to it. That is, if you can dance to what the London Symphony Orchestra called “irrational” time signatures. Towards the end of the film, Zappa shows exactly that. Alex Winter spoke with Den of Geek about Frank Zappa, as a musician, artist and subject.  

Do you think Frank could have written the song to unite the world in Bill & Ted Face the Music, or would he have chosen to score the collapse of time and space or would he have made a double album?

Yeah, he would have told us to get lost and made like a quadruple album. No, I don’t. I think that he was so, in such a lovely way, so contrary that I don’t think he would have wanted to feel like he had that kind of pressure on him.

I read that you spent your Kickstarter money to preserve the material in his vaults. First, I want to say thanks for that and was there anything that actually was lost to the damage?

Yeah, a few things were lost. It was mostly the stuff that’s most sensitive like old film audio, like the audio track itself, the magnetic audio track was very fragile, we lost some of those. Some of that stuff was gone when we got to it and then some stuff really had like one run through a machine left before it was gone, so we were using extremely sensitive machines that had Sprocket LIS systems for digitizing and preserving that media. So, it was in various states. Some of the video was quite brittle. Some of that was gone but we got most of it and we got a lot of it. So that was good.

Besides the music, were there any unreleased films in the vaults?

Like full movies? No. We know what Frank made. I was able to preserve the negatives for Baby Snakes. We did include that in what we were preserving, so we found that there and we preserved it. So that’s nice and safe, that made me happy. But there weren’t full feature movies. There was a lot of Bruce Bickford Claymation that had never been used in anything that we found, a lot of which we put in the doc because it’s so good. And there were a lot of films, home films and there’s vast quantities of him just with a video or a film camera wandering around the house or around backstage or whatever, and that informed a lot of what we use. A lot of the stuff that we were using, he shot himself or just somebody who was in his house with him.

I love the editing, the scene with Frank playing with Moon Unit with the music behind it, was that something that you put together or was that something that was already edited in the vaults?

No. That was something that Mike Nichols put together, the editor. Mike really cut most of the media. We were even re-cutting Frank’s film media. We were really looking to tell a story and convey the narrative first and foremost, more than just presenting the stuff that Zappa had done. So, what we did was we started the film with things like the home monster movies that he made and the way he re-cut his mom and dad’s wedding footage. But we used that as a jumping off point for ourselves to start creating our own edits that made it, that felt like Frank’s world, but it was really just us.

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Your documentary gets into how his music was criticized for being impersonal. I personally think some of his most beautiful lyrics come out in his guitar, but do you think his humor desensitized critics?

I think his humor put off some people, I don’t think he was particularly worried about that. I think that for me, coming up with Zappa when I got Zappa, part of that “get” was realizing that he wasn’t a rock and roll musician who made rock songs with funny lyrics. He was an avant-garde composer who used humor, like an instrument. Like using percussion or any other piece of your orchestra. It was something that he did to elicit a certain effect with the music itself. And once I kind of clicked in my head, I really got for myself, I don’t mean this needs to be for everyone because it’s personal, but it was an entry point for all of his music once that I grasped that idea.

In some of your other films you’ve tackled some very heavy topics. What draws you to the subjects? And how long have you been thinking about doing Frank?

Well, we started putting a sizzle reel short together, Glen Zipper my producer and I, after coming off of Deep Web, the tech doc we made about the dark net and federal criminal trial of Ross Ulbricht and the Silk Road black market. And I’d been very embedded in that story for a few years and I was ready to do something that wasn’t tech oriented and wasn’t quite so bleak. Glen and I were wondering why no one had tackled Zappa’s story. It seemed like it was such a perfect story for a documentary, given that he’s a big popular cultural figure, but also as a person who had so many different facets to his nature, which makes for a very good doc subject. So, that was about six years ago and we started putting something together, and then I pitched it to Gail and then the ball very slowly started to roll.

You submitted an audition film to the Zappa family, what was the short film like and how was the initial reaction?

It was very much like this to be honest with you, Mike Nichols cut that as well, and we were interested in conveying Frank’s emotional inner life, and not just the kind of pop B reverent story about the Zap that we felt people either already knew, or wasn’t really truly that representative of who he was. So we created it, it was very short, it was almost like a mood piece. But it did convey the idea of telling a story mostly with archival and Zappa’s voice that leaned on his emotional, inner narrative and not so much on being a music legacy doc.

Your film shows him as a hero, both politically and artistically. How much did you know going in?

I knew quite a bit of what made me want to do it. I knew all the primary biographical details of his life. There was an enormous amount I didn’t know, and there was an enormous amount I discovered making the film, but I certainly knew the bulk of the landmark periods of his life. And then once we started the preservation project and I was able to really spend time listening to Frank talk, because there was so much media down there that had never been heard, that was just him speaking candidly to either other journalists or to friends, and this was stuff that wasn’t public. It gave me a window into his thinking that I didn’t have before, and that guided me tremendously.

I loved Ruth Underwood’s story about dropping out Juilliard after seeing the Mothers at the Garrick Theater. Has she ever played the triangle since?

It’s a good question. I honestly don’t know, my guess is not.

Do you think Frank’s PMRC activisms sidetracked some music he might’ve been making?

No, I don’t. I think that he was in a period of reflection at that time. He never stopped making music during that time. He kept cranking. He was cranking away all through that period. He also began to work on the Synclavier and had an enormous output of music with a Synclavier during that whole period as well. So there wasn’t ever really a period where Frank wasn’t making music, and the political commitment that he had to cultural and political issues, I think really helped him, given how bleak the state of the country was and the state of the arts in the country was. So rather than just sit on his hands and moan, he just got active.

You covered pretty much every era of his career, but what is your favorite period and why?

Well, my favorite of Zappa’s early albums is Hot Rats, so that period is my favorite period, though I equally love the orchestral music that he made, and I love the Ensemble Modern period as well. Which shows you that I liked him at both ends of his career. I don’t leave out the middle, but both of those eras moved me and I listened to them equally. If someone put a gun to my head and said, “You get to jump in a time machine and go visit Frank at any given point, where would you go?” I would go to the Garrick Theater.

I came up doing theater in New York. And I’m very inspired by the fact that he wasn’t taking off in LA the way he wanted to, and rather than change his sound or capitulate to some popular movement, he just left and further investigated his own artistic voice. I have huge respect for that, and I would have loved to have been around when he was just throwing spaghetti at the wall artistically day after day at the Garrick.

Do you think that he was inspired by the movements in NYC theater?

That question I do know. Funnily enough, that’s one of the first things I asked Gail. When I first started talking to Gail in 2015, and we were just riffing and I was just trying to probe her brain to get a better sense of Frank, I was convinced by what I knew of the Garrick, that Frank was plugged into all the incredibly avant-garde and cutting edge theatrical movements of that time, which were so flourishing in Berlin, London, and New York, especially. And I said, given how theatrical his music always was, and his performances always were, surely he was inspired by this. And she said, “No.” As far as she knew, he had no interest in theater at all, and had no knowledge of any of the innovations or any of the people who were spearheading theater at that time. Which I thought was somewhat surprising, but apparently this was just his thing.

I’m sure you’ve seen Brian De Palma’s Hi Mom!, which had a scene of confrontational theater. When I think about Frank bringing the Marines onstage to dismember a doll, it seemed like one was feeding into each other.

Completely. I’m very versed in that world and it’s a big part of what I care about, and also the work that Dario Fo was doing in Italy at that time was really powerful. A lot of antiwar and protest art, but really not politics. Art was before politics in terms of the way that the theater was constructed. And that’s what seems similar to me about Frank, there were a lot of political undertones, but the art was first. And I was surprised that he wasn’t plugged into that, because they were literally running on parallel tracks at that time.

I know that your parents were dancers and Frank made music that was very hard to dance to.

And hard to edit. You try editing to that, with the rhythm changing as constantly as it does in such intense ways. It’s tough.

Actually that’s what I want to ask, you’re also a musician, do you map out rhythms, do you count out things and try to chart them in your head as you’re listening?

Mm-hmm, I do sometimes, but with some artists like Zappa or Coltrane I really don’t. I just go with the flow because the flow is so specific and untethered to formal music. So I don’t with them, but I do sometimes. Sure.

What other rock documentary makers were you looking at when you were making this?

I was most inspired even not making a music doc. I’ve been very inspired by the photography and the film work of Robert Frank. This movie was very inspired by Cocksucker Blues. There are techniques that we were doing and ideas that I had that were pretty much just lifted straight out of that movie without being overtly plagiaristic. That’s probably my biggest influence in terms of something if I had to point to, but obviously Pennebaker’s work and the Maysles and all of that. And I also have great respect for the work of Brett Morgan, he’s done amazing things, I thought Montage of Heck was phenomenal and really did an amazing job of looking at the interior life of someone who’s also quite detached. So that was helpful.

Steve Vai talks about how Zappa pushed musicians and the other musicians said being in his band was like going back to school. What did you learn in your craft from making this?

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You learn a lot by being in the presence of genius like this. So I learned on an abstract level, I was inspired. I really respected the way he pulled from different genres and still made work that was his own. I was inspired to keep going, and it’s frowned upon to play in different media in our culture. People want to put you in a box, and I’ve never wanted to do that. I’ve acted and I’ve made films and I’ve made narratives and I’ve made shorts and I’ve directed all different kinds of stuff. And I would like to continue to explore like that and Zappa, he gives you the inspiration to feel valid in that way.

Magnolia Pictures will release Zappa on November 27.

The post Zappa Director Alex Winter Talks Preserving The Mothers’ Inventions appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/360Aq7s

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[jennaschererwrites]

How 'GLOW' Recreates the Golden Age of Lady-Wrestling TV - Rolling Stone

No doubt about it: The 1980s was a strange time to channel surf. Those neon-tinted, big-haired, irony-free days have provided Internet curio-seekers with fodder for infinite terabytes of grainy, colorful ephemera. And one of the cornerstones of weird Eighties television was "Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling" (G.L.O.W. for short), an all-female pro-wrestling league whose exploits were filmed in Las Vegas and syndicated nationwide.

It's the type of retro-kitsch from the Reagan era that could have vanished down the YouTube black hole – until Netflix resurrected it, sort of. The cult grappling-females show from yesteryear is monkey-flipping its way back to the surface in GLOW, the new series created by Liz Flahive and Carly Mensch and executive produced by Orange Is the New Black's Jenji Kohan. Starring Community and Mad Men alum Alison Brie, the ensemble dramedy features a diverse cast of ass-kicking actresses — and enough hairspray and spandex to send you straight back to 1985. (The entire 10-episode first season hits the streaming service today.)

"We both come from a theater background, so the theatricality of wrestling was definitely interesting to us," says Flahive. "There were these two modes the show could take on: the sort of grounded, naturalistic storytelling in these women's real lives, and then this heightened space of the ring. That interplay was super exciting."

Created by promoter David McLane and director Matt Cimber to cash in on WWE craze that was a hallmark of Eighties entertainment, the real-life G.L.O.W. featured a motley assemblage of women wrestlers fighting cooked-up battles in deliciously outlandish costumes. They represented a variety of body types, races and backgrounds, and sported monikers like Babe the Farmer's Daughter, Little Fiji, Zelda the Brain, and, uh, Stinky. It was simultaneously exploitative and liberating, a friction that makes it ripe for dramatic adaptation.

Flahive (Homeland, Adult Beginners) and Mensch (OITNB, Weeds) were both writing for Showtime's Nurse Jackie when they first came across the phenom via Brett Whitcomb's 2012 documentary GLOW: The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. They'd been looking for a female-focused project to work on together, and latched on to G.L.O.W.'s gaudy, singular world. Their take keeps the story in the mid-Eighties but moves the action to Los Angeles, where struggling actor Ruth (Brie) finds herself auditioning to play "the heel" on an all-female wrestling TV show overseen by B-movie impresario Sam Sylvia (a wonderfully sleazy Marc Maron). She is our entry point into the lives of the other ladies who wind up inside the ring, all for their own various and complex reasons.

"I love Ruth. I sympathize with her," Brie says, calling in from L.A. "I feel like I've been her. I like that she's not a perfect person" The actor even had a Ruth-like experience in her quest to land the part, literally throwing herself into the role during her chemistry reading with costar Betty Gilpin, who plays her estranged best friend/onscreen nemesis Debbie. "The first time we read together, we really went all-out. We were full-on wrestling. Betty was lifting me up; I'd be crawling across the ground and she was dragging me back across the floor. And then the second time we read together, our director was like, 'Don't … do that.' I think the producers were like, 'Can you please not kill yourselves before you maybe get these roles?'"

When it came to the actual headlocks and body slams, Flahive and Mensch were looking for actors who were game to learn how to wrestle and do their own stunts when possible. To coach the performers, GLOW tapped none other than Chavo Guerrero Jr. of the legendary Mexican-American wrestling family. (His uncle Mando Guerrero was a trainer for the real-life G.L.O.W. fighters in the Eighties.)

Brie, who had no previous wrestling experience before signing on, recalls the day Guerrero was teaching her a move called the head scissor. "Helena Barrett, who was my stunt double on the show, was trying to break down the move," she says. "And she was like, 'When you feel your vagina hit Chavo's chin, you know you're in the right position. You really want to make contact crotch-to-chin.' This was right at the start of the show. I was sorta like, 'Okay. So this is what we're doing. I'm in.' You really become very free with your body very quickly. We've all cultivated an immense confidence."

The world of women's wrestling – particularly in the GLOW era – is portrayed in the series as being simultaneously exploitative and empowering. The women in the ring walk the line between being scantily clad objects to gawk at and performers given an arena to express themselves in a brash, physical way. The show also plays with the crude, racially charged stereotypes of wrestling personas and lets its characters find power in subverting them.

"Thinking about where the line is in wrestling in terms of what's funny and what's offensive," Mensch explains, "that gave us a kind of permission to take on some more uncomfortable things and examine them and play with them. That tension was something we never wanted to resolve. We wanted to keep it alive and use it as the motor for a lot of our storytelling."

"It's not about women tearing each other down," says Brie. "It's about women working together to find themselves. And the thing that they're making, in whatever way that men are going to interpret it, whether it's exploitative or what, they aren't seeing it that way. They are really feeling like superheroes in the ring, and finding their voice and their inner warrior."

And unlike most modern shows set in the Eighties, the show feels like a true period piece rather than a slick slice of nostalgia. Both the glam and the grit of the era are on display, from the tricked-out mansion of a manchild producer (Chris Lowell) to the worn leotards and scuffed sneakers the women wear to wrestling practice. For inspiration, the creators watched movies like The Legend of Billie Jean (1985) and The Apple (1980), keeping an eye on the background actors who would often bring their own costumes to set. "It felt important to us that if the ring was going to be this kind of Technicolor dream, then real life needed to be as grounded as we could make it," says Mensch.

Flahive and Mensch are also quick to note that they were drawn to the era not just for its aesthetic, but also the significance of the historical moment to the story they wanted to tell. "We wanted to look back on the Seventies – coming out of the women's movement – and into the Eighties, and ask the question: Did it work? Did things get better?" Flahive says. "We were pitching the show pre-Trump, and we went into the pitch saying things like, 'This is a great time for women. We're about to elect our first female president.' So a sort of double looking back is something that's really present in the show."

Even though women didn't end up being in charge of the country, they were most certainly in charge on the GLOW set. And according to Brie, being part of a female-dominated production created a space where it felt safe to take chances. "It felt unlike any set that I had ever been on," she says. "It was such an open, warm, environment, and very encouraging and comfortable. I think that was important, because we were taking a lot of risks with our bodies, in a literal way in the ring – and we needed to feel protected and safe. The women owned the set. It was our set."

#glow #gorgeous ladies of wrestling #g.l.o.w. #women's wrestling #pro wrestling #liz flahive #carly mensch #alison brie #rolling stone #jenna scherer #tv #interview #television #netflix #ladies #1980s

[meadowstoneuk]

Guess who’s coming to dinner?

If you're looking for a long, relaxing and fascinating weekend read, here are Team AG's top 5 fantasy dinner party guests (bring your own wine and chocolates)

F2AGPW Toasting the host of dinner party (OLVI008_OU064_F)

  Wendy Humphries, letters editor

Nigel Slater

I am no perfectionist when it comes to culinary skills, which is why ‘Eat’ by Nigel Slater is my go-to cookery book among my wide collection. As a working mum with three hungry boys to feed, many of the recipes are simple, nutritious and quick to make using fresh ingredients to produce something delicious.

So I’d want to cook for Nigel, to thank him for all the shortcuts and for showing me to live by taste!

  Audrey Hepburn – so beautiful and stylish (Picture: Alamy)

Audrey Hepburn

So beautiful and stylish, Audrey would make a lovely dinner party companion! I caught up with her documentary Gardens of the World recently and I was really impressed with her enthusiasm and knowledge of roses. Her biography, An Elegant Spirit, written by her son Sean is a brilliant insight to her fascinating but also, on occasion tragic, life.

Her son relates the story that she would refuse to sit first class on a flight, as she felt she was no better than anyone else. Imagine sitting next to her on a long-haul flight.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Sir David Attenborough

It would be the opportunity of a lifetime to meet him. Attenborough’s ever-popular documentaries have taught us all so much about the natural world, climate change and endangered species, but it was Blue Planet II in 2017 that gave a powerful message about the terrible impact plastic in our seas has on wildlife.

At the table, I would ask him what could we do as individuals to reverse the loss of habitat and biodiversity.

Joan Collins

This glamorous lady has always impressed me with her positive outlook and I’m sure she’d have many wonderful tales to tell over dinner of her experiences in high society. I watched the TV series Dynasty in the 80s, where power dressing was ‘in vogue’ and when the average pair of shoulder pads were no match for Alexis Carrington’s, which were like wings!

I’d tell Joan about a dear friend of mine who has sadly passed, Audrey was so addicted to the show she recorded an episode over her daughter’s wedding video.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Eric Morecambe

I definitely won’t be alone with this choice, as one of the nation’s best-loved comics, he would certainly bring some sunshine to the proceedings! His natural and sparkling wit would delight my dinner guests and the night would be sure to be full of fun.

Eric was a keen gardener and bird watcher so there’d be plenty to talk about! I grew up in his home-town of Harpenden, Hertfordshire, and would occasionally see him out and about. Once, as a child out with my mum, he held the door open for us when entering Woolworths!

  Janey Goulding, assistant editor

Michael Palin

Seriously, if nobody else showed up to dinner, I’d still be a happy bunny with Mike. Every party needs at least one national treasure to help break the ice while stuffing down vol-au-vents.

He can captivate my quirky collective with his ripping yarns and tales of far-flung adventures spent nibbling exotic entrails in precarious situations, and it’s guaranteed he’ll tickle the spare ribs with his salty humour. Also, he’s so lovely, he’s bound to help with the washing-up.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Bette Davis

The ultimate grande dame of dining. I imagine she would insist on smoking, but who wouldn’t make allowances for her singular wit, brittle and dry as a well-kept biscotti, and her pithy recollections of the golden age and all its salacious celebrity scandals?

Badinage in abundance, and a touch of elegance with the cold cuts: Bette Davis, we love you. Suspect she would be a dynamo at after-dinner board games, as well.

Kirsty McColl

If there was just one songbird from the great beyond to get a golden ticket to my soiree of suppertime snarking, it would be this perfectly pitched firecracker, with her crackling gift of the gab, twinkly ripostes and satisfying name-dropping skills.

She’d easily hold her own across and under the table (you can bet she’d bring the perfect bottle of plonk), and she would undoubtedly rally everyone to sing sea shanties over Cuban cigars and chiffon cake. Gourmet gumption, guaranteed!

Tim Curry

I mean, it’s right there in the name. Broadway legend Curry would be the pinnacle of dramaturgical dining, thanks to his mercurial storytelling and mimicry, relish for the ribaldry, and the sauciest laugh this side of Transylvania: damn it, Janet, he’s all that and a bag of chips.

Sure to add theatrical heft, a generous dollop of innuendo and a feast of bawdy banter to the after-dinner mints. Oh, and an utter delight if you crack out the Cluedo.

amateurgardening.com/blog

  Would Prince jump on Janey’s dining table to display his guitar skills? (Picture: Alamy)

Prince

All right, I cheated: I can’t just have one singer – not when there’s a chance of grabbing some funkadelic food time with Mr Nelson. The artist formerly known as Squiggle would be welcome to take a break from Martika’s kitchen to amuse my bouche while we feasted on alphabet street soup and cherry moon pie. Pretty sure he’d jump on the dinner table to impress us all with his virtuoso guitar skills, but that would be just fine. After all, it’s only right to have a bit of royalty to tea.

Extra special guests who could pop in for a cup of sugar: Dorothy Parker, Kate Bush, Alan Rickman, Holly Hunter, Peter Ustinov, David Lynch, Andy Kaufman, Terence Stamp, Aaron Sorkin, David Attenborough, Robert Downey Jr, Ray Davies, Madeline Khan, Peter O’Toole, Neil Gaiman, Christopher Walken, Carrie Fisher, Neil Simon, David Bowie (well, d’uh).

  Lesley Upton, features editor

  William Shepperdley – Les wishes she could ask her dad about his life

Alan Turing

Alan Turing was a Cambridge University mathematician who was pivotal in helping to break the Enigma Code in 1941. The Enigma was a cipher machine developed by the Germans during the Second World War to enable them to send secure encrypted messages. Turing and his team, comprising British and Polish experts, worked at the top-secret Bletchley Park in Buckinghamshire.

Turing should have been hailed a hero – and for a time he was. He was awarded an OBE in 1945, but just seven years later he was arrested for homosexuality, which was then illegal in Britain. He could have been jailed, but chose chemical castration instead. In 1954 he was found dead from cyanide poisoning – the verdict was suicide.

Did Turing still love his country after what they did to him? I don’t think I would have.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Hypatia

Hypatia, who lived from around 370-415, was a female philosopher and mathematician. She was born in Alexandria, Egypt, and was the daughter of Theon, one of the most educated men in Alexandria. Theon taught Hypatia all he knew and she shared his passion in the search for answers to the unknown.

Hypatia was an extraordinary woman of her time and one of the first female mathematicians. Being a prominent member of the society, she was murdered by a mob during religious riots.

Would Hypatia follow the same trailblazing course if she knew what the outcome would be?

Robert Oppenheimer

Theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer was director of the Los Alamos Laboratory in the USA, where the first atomic bomb was developed. He became known as the ‘Father of the Atomic Bomb’ after two bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan during the Second World War.

The first bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a manufacturing centre about 500 miles from Tokyo, on 6 August 1945, followed by a second more powerful bomb, three days later, on Nagasaki. On 15 August 1945 Emperor Hirohito announced his country’s surrender.

Oppenheimer is later quoted as saying: “I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.”

How did he feel about the deaths of more than 185,000 people that died due to the bombs being dropped?

Tim Berners-Lee

The English engineer and computer scientist Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web – but few people have even heard of his name. Berners-Lee published the name of the first website in 1990 that was available to the internet, which was an explanation about his World Wide Web project, and since then the Web has transformed almost every aspect of our lives. He made his idea freely available, with no patent and no royalties due.

Last year, 30 years after the World Wide Web’s invention, he stated: “While the web has created opportunity, given marginalised groups a voice and made our daily lives easier, it has also created opportunity for scammers, given a voice to those who spread hatred and made all kinds of crime easier to commit.”

We can’t live without the World Wide Web now, but will we be able to live with it as it develops?

My dad

Last, but certainly not least, is my dad, William Shepperdley. There are so many things I wish I’d asked my dad, who was born during the time of the First World War and died in 1991.

I know nothing about his time in the Army during the Second World War when he was a motorcycle despatch rider, or about his younger days when he lived in Essex. I know he loved gardening, as I used to help him with his part-time gardening jobs when I was about 12 or 13.

But now is the time I wish he were here, so I could pick his brains about all the things that didn’t seem important when I was younger – but are very important now.

And the meal? It would have to include steak and kidney pudding, as that was my dad’s favourite…

  Ruth Hayes, gardening editor

Caravaggio

Every dinner party needs a bad boy and someone to make a record of events, so invite Caravaggio and you get both in the same parcel. He was born Michelangelo Merisi – or Amerighi – in 1571 in Milan, where his father held office in the household of a nobleman from the town of Caravaggio.

He trained as an artist and travelled widely, but wherever he went, murder and mayhem were not far behind. His turbulent, talented life ended at 39, possibly through illness, syphilis or murder – no one is quite sure.

amateurgardening.com/blog

He left behind an awe-inspiring legacy, paintings of raw, powerful beauty and realism that look lit from within. He painted what he saw, there is no airbrushing, nor politely fading out the physical imperfections of his models. Caravaggio gives us grotesque faces, bloody deaths, Biblical agony and, more prosaically, lute players, gamblers, bowls of fruit lush enough to eat.

Four years ago we went to the Beyond Caravaggio exhibition at the National Gallery, which explored his art and its influences. It was a banquet for the senses, opulent, exotic, erotic, almost too rich for one sitting but wow, what a feast.

So he’s on the list, as long as he behaves, doesn’t neck all the wine, fight with the other guests or pinch anyone’s bottom. And instead of bringing the hostess a box of chocs as a gift, he can sketch and paint the guests as they revel!

Dame Mary Beard: Classical historian

I’m an unashamed fangirl of the classical historian Mary Beard. I love her easy, accessible intimacy with the past, her flowing silver locks and her glorious collection of baseball boots and trainers. I can’t remember where I first saw her but I was drawn by her towering intellect that could be intimidating were it not tinged – but not diluted – by a glorious twinkle of mischief.

Apart from gardening and wine, history – the more ancient the better – is my greatest love (my greatest regret is not reading it at university, having been corralled into studying English by my teachers). The classical past is a fascinating place but has often been treated with a dusty, tweedy reverence, which is why Mary B is such a force for good, opening it up to wider audiences, making it accessible, alive, real.

amateurgardening.com/blog

I also think she’d be an amazing guest, full of fire and spark, as long as she didn’t bring along any garum, that fermented condiment made from fish guts the Romans so loved. I might even have to wear my ‘when I grow up I want to be Mary Beard T-shirt’…

* It was a toss-up between Dame Mary and Joann Fletcher, the brilliant goth Egyptologist, but Mary clinched it by a whisker

  David Niven – a gent and a raconteur (Picture: Alamy)

David Niven

I grew up watching Niven’s films and reading his wonderful autobiographies and his death in 1983 was my first conscious recognition of ‘celebrity bereavement’. Witty, urbane and charming– and one for the ladies if the stories are true – on screen he bought films alive.

I was first introduced to him when my dad took me to the cinema to see the children’s adventure film Candleshoe, in which he played several frenzied roles requiring much rushing about and changing of clothes.

amateurgardening.com/blog

After that, I devoured his performances whenever they were on TV. As the frazzled cleric in The Bishop’s Wife, the ruthless killer in Guns of Navarone, Peter Ustinov’s insouciant sidekick in Death on the Nile and, of course, his appearances on Parkinson and other documentaries.

I also wolfed down his autobiographies The Moon’s a Balloon and Bring on the Empty Horses, even quoting one I my English A’level (possibly that’s what bagged me my A grade, another reason to adore the man).

I can picture him at my dinner party table, entertaining, flirting, making sure everyone had enough food and drink, basically oiling the wheels and being the perfect guest.

Victoria Wood

‘Yes, I do look rather startled don’t I. (The photo) was taken in a photo booth and somebody had just poked an éclair through the curtains’

The secret to great comedy is making it look effortless (see also the late, much lamented Robin Williams) and Victoria Wood has this effortlessness in spades.

Her skills lay in choosing the perfect word for the right situation and her acute social observations. She skewered us, but always kindly and never with the cruelty that so many comics use as their stock-in-trade.

She was also a generous writer, giving the best lines to co-stars – Julie Walters as Mrs Overall in Acorn Antiques (and, mutely, in the ineffable Two Soups), the cast of Dinnerladies, Patricia Routledge as an opinionated housewife from Cheadle in the increasingly drunken Kitty monologues ‘Then she asked ‘what to do think of Marx?’ I said ‘I think their pants have dropped off’.’

Comedy wasn’t her only strength. She was marvelous in the wartime drama Housewife, 49 as the real-life wartime wife and mother Nella Last who went from cowed domestic drudge to community stalwart.

amateurgardening.com/blog

I still laugh to the point of tears during her classic sketches – The Opinion Poll, Step Aerobics (on nicotine and HRT patches: ‘she’s got one arm telling her she can do what she likes and the other saying she can do what she likes but she can’t have a fag after’) and, of course, her sublime songs.

All together now: ‘Be mighty, be flighty, come and melt the buttons on my flame-proof nightie! Let’s do it, let’s do it tonight!’

I still can’t believe she’s gone.

Thomas Cromwell

A bit of historical rehabilitation is a glorious thing and none has been more unexpected than that of Thomas Cromwell, rapacious ruiner of the monasteries, destroyer of Catholics, the man who sent Anne Boleyn to the scaffold.

We have, of course, Hilary Mantel to thank for this, for had she not written Wolf Hall, Bring up the Bodies and The Mirror and the Light, the trilogy’s great hero may have languished unloved forever.

amateurgardening.com/blog

History has not been kind to the son of a Putney farrier. To Catholics he was the great scourge and to everyone else, well, everyone else either seemed to go along with it or really didn’t think too much about him at all.

Yes, Mantel’s novels may smack of propaganda but if you dilute that with a few drops of history and a bit of digging, the man before us is fascinating and wonderfully modern.

From the humblest of beginnings, he rose to become the second most powerful man in the kingdom after Henry VIII – and you can’t do that without being pretty adept and intelligent.

After his ragtag childhood he fled to Europe to fight as a mercenary, before working for the Florentine banker Frescobaldi and travelling to the Low Countries where he set up a web of contact and learned several languages.

amateurgardening.com/blog

Back in England he joined the household of Cardinal Wolsey, surviving his downfall before entering the service of the irascible monarch.

Cromwell was married (happily by all accounts) and widowed, he lost two of his three children to the sweating sickness, but his household was a happy place and he bestowed great kindnesses upon his friends, servants and retainers.

His portrait by Holbein shows a squat, sturdy chap – several sizes larger than Mark Rylance’s peerless characterization in the BBC Mantel adaptation – but not a cruel one. We know he was financially and politically astute (yes, he overplayed his hand and lost his head but by that time Harry 8 was syphilitically bonkers) but he was also loyal, kind and owned a sense of humour.

I can see him at the head of the table, costing out the wine, enjoying the food and bantering with Caravaggio in Italian. Perfect.

  Garry Coward-Williams

When I was asked this question I closed my eyes and my guests simply materialised from my subconscious, where they have been awaiting this invitation for many years.

As we go through life we pick up and store all sorts of information, from literature, music and film media, which has a profound influence on who we are, what engages us and what makes us happy or sad. My guests have all had a profound influence on me, shaping my thinking in many ways. It wasn’t until my guests were assembled that I realised they were all ‘outsiders’, people who bucked the system and shunned authority. They all have a philosophic trait and were known to be ‘thinkers’. Having said the aforementioned, they were also known to be quite witty and entertaining. I would start the evening off with one question: I doubt I would have to ask another.

My question is in two parts: Will the human race ever be able to peacefully co-exist without resorting to war? And if so, how? In no particular order, my guests…

  TE Lawrence – a national hero and something akin to a pop star

  T.E. Laurence

Better known to the public as Lawrence of Arabia, a painfully bright misfit who accidently became a leading light in the Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire during WW1. Post-war, Lawrence became a national hero and something akin to a pop star thanks an American journalist who made him the central figure of his smash-hit lecture tour ‘With Lawrence In Arabia’.

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Caught between loving the attention and hating the effect on his privacy and literary pretentions, Lawrence changed his name and joined the RAF as a private soldier. However, he was found out and it caused a national scandal. He wrote about his war experiences in a book called The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, and his time in the RAF in a book titled The Mint, but allowed neither to be published in his lifetime. A right-wing intellectual, he was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1935 that some believe was a government-sanctioned execution to prevent his recruitment by Sir Oswald Moseley’s fascists.

Tony Hancock

British comedian who, with script writers Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, changed the face of comedy by creating the first situation comedy series, initially on radio then television. Hancock’s rise to his height of fame in 1961 as Britain’s highest paid entertainer took 7 years.

His fall into alcohol addiction and eventual suicide took another 7 years. In some ways the real Hancock reflected his televisual alter ego —an outsider looking in, never fully accepted in or accepting of society. Constantly searching for the meaning of life, but never finding it. I loved Hancock’s droll and oh so British take on life, as seen by through the eyes of the aspirational lower middle class.

Michael Nesmith

A singer-songwriter from Houston Texas, Nesmith found fame with The Monkees , a TV series about a fictional pop band. Nesmith used his time with The Monkees to develop a new style of music, a fusion of country, Latin American rhythm and pop, thus becoming one of the pioneers of what would be known as Country Rock.

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He left The Monkees to pursue the new genre further and from 1970 to 1973 produced six beautifully-crafted albums, which garnered critical approval, but were considerable commercial failures. In 1974 Nesmith changed tack with The Prison: a book, which was an allegory about the meaning of life, with a soundtrack album. The idea was to read the book whilst listening to the record and both combined would take the listener to a higher state of consciousness. It was another commercial failure, even greater than the others. Nesmith finally gave up making records in 1979 and created (and sold) the concept of Music TV.

Franz Kafka

Kafka was a German-speaking Bohemian who wrote extraordinary stories about alienation and the unyielding and frustrating power of bureaucracy. Like the Irish author Flann O’Brien, Kafka had no success during his lifetime and his major works like The Trial (Der Process) and The Castle (Das Schloss) were only published after his death.

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Indeed, he stipulated to the executor of his will, Max Brod, that all his writings be burned, unread. But Brod ignored the this and published them to great eventual acclaim. It is said Kafka had a knack pulling the most profound of statements out of thin air in conversation. He was also known to have a great sense of humour.

I would recommend the book Conversations with Kafka, in which his friend Gustav Janouch records many of their chats including this snippet of profundity: “Life is infinitely great and profound as the immensity of the stars above us. One can only look at it through the narrow keyhole of one’s personal experience. But through it one perceives more than one can see. So above all one must keep the keyhole clean”

George Orwell

Born Eric Arthur Blair in India and educated at Eton, Orwell was a product of the old British Empire. On leaving the school system he headed in the footsteps of many of the upper-middle class decamping to the far reaches of the Empire, as a police inspector in Burma.

This gave him a perspective of what Empire really meant for the wealthy and the poor and after 5 years he left to become a writer. On returning to Britain Orwell gave himself the task of experiencing life among the poor in London, the working class in Wigan and later, abject poverty in Paris.

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He saw socialism as the way forward, but was pragmatic and open enough to see that the soviet form of communism was just as repressive as fascism. He was openly derided by the champagne-left, but his books like The Road to Wigan Pier, Down and Out in Paris and London and essays like England Your England have given us a unique insight on life in the late 1920s, early 1930s.

  We are here for you

Although many people are coping well with self-isolation, others are really struggling and feeling completely forgotten and alone.

Here at AG we are doing our best to keep connected to our readers though the magazine, this website and also through social media.

AG’s agony uncle John Negus is still answering your questions and solving your problms

Our gardening ‘agony uncle’ John Negus is also still working hard. Send him your problems and questions, with pictures if you can, and he will get back to you with an answer withing 24 hours, as he has been doing for decades. Contact him using the AG email address at [email protected]

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We already have thriving Facebook page but are also on Twitter and Instagram. These sites are a brilliant way of chatting to people, sharing news, information, pictures and just saying hello – we will get back to you as soon as we can.

Best of all, as gardeners are generally lovely folk, more interested in plants, hedgehogs, tea and cake than political shenanigans and point-scoring, so the chat is friendly and welcoming.

So please drop by, follow us, ‘like’ our posts and say hello – the Instagram feed is in it’s really early days so the quicker we can get that going with your help and support, the better!

You can find us at:

Facebook: Facebook.com/AmateurGardeningMagazine

Twitter: Twitter.com/TheAGTeam

Instagram: instagram.com/amgardening_mag

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Overfunctioning and trying to be responsible for other peoples behavior

Are PEOPLE in your life PROJECTS? ( Video inside)

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Terri Cole [email protected]

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s3.acemsrve.com

8:08 AM (1 hour ago)

to madison

I was FUMING sitting in my therapist’s office, going into great detail about one of my best friends, Maggie.  

Once again she was in a dead-end job that she hated, even though I had made five phone calls for her to interview for new positions (which she had yet to follow up on!!)  

I was trying to get my therapist, Ruth, to help me figure out the best way to handle this. When I was done ranting, she looked at me for a long time and finally said;

What makes you think you know what Maggie needs to experience in this lifetime?The life lessons she needs for her own evolution are not for you to decide. You are not responsible for Maggie’s mental health or happiness. It’s not even possible.”

Wait...it’s not?? I’m not?? WHAT?

And that’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d been over-functioning and “fixing” in every relationship, work situation and personal relationship for my ENTIRE LIFE! Every coffee with a friend turned into an unasked for coaching session from me. People were projects.  And my therapist just gave me permission to stop. I cried big, fat tears of relief that not “fixing” everyone else did not mean I was a bad, uncaring person. This realization about over-functioning changed my life.

What is over-functioning?

This is basically the behavior of taking on too many responsibilities, trying to do your part and everyone else’s part, and fearing that if you don’t, it won’t get done. Check out a few over-functioning characteristics below and assess your own behavior to see if this might sound like you.

Do you over-function?

Appearing like you have it all together - very detail oriented, organized, reliable and viewed as a great worker

Being overly focused on another person's problem or situation

Offering frequent advice to help other people

Doing things that are part of another person's responsibilities

Feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders (if you don’t get it done, no one will!)

As a child, you perhaps were in a chaotic family system where your parents couldn't get it done, and you stepped in or became the ‘perfect’ child to avoid being criticized or singled out

Feeling exhausted from trying to maintain a huge workload

Feeling underappreciated and resentful of those around you

Does this story resonate with you?

If so, please check out a few suggestions on this week’s blog post and watch my latest video to end this cycle of behavior.

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Click here for Video

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Here is my weekly affirmation to remind you to now over-function, because the most important person in your life is always you!