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For some reason the record company seemed to think they would work best in secluded countryside locations. They had spent a month rehearsing in a barn on a farm. Now they had been relocated to a rented house in a little village called Kington to write and rehearse ahead of recording in a recording studio that also sounded like it was in the middle of nowhere.
Brian had thought he would like being in the countryside. He had envisioned long walks and well earned pints of beer in charming village pubs. He had thought his song-writing would be inspired by the beauty of the natural world. In fact the charm had worn off almost instantly and he had secretly longed for museums and art galleries and packed buses and crowded pubs where he could people-watch. The countryside was so devoid of people.
“We’re people,” Roger had pointed out.
“Different people,” Brian had muttered.
“People who don’t drive Brian mad,” John had grinned.
“I don’t drive Brian mad,” Roger had protested, “Do I?” he had asked less certainly.
Brian had sighed and run his hands through his hair. “You’re not perfect yourself, you know,” Roger had grumbled, taking Brian’s sigh as confirmation that he did drive Brian mad, “Either of you.”
Brian was glad that Roger didn’t realise that he drove Brian mad with longing.
That was the other drawback of the country: they couldn’t escape each other. They had always spent a lot of time together of course but they had been returning to their own homes or seeing different friends in the evenings. Even on tours there were other people to spend time with. Brian had other people to distract him from Thoughts of Roger.
Here, Roger was present all the time, wandering out of the bathroom in a bathrobe, slumped at the kitchen table in the morning sipping tea, cutting his finger while opening a tin of soup at lunchtime, nibbling on a carrot and chatting to John and Brian as they prepared dinner. Before, Brian would have thought there was no such a thing as too much Roger but now he felt slightly overwhelmed.
It didn’t help that with Freddie and John in a blossoming relationship Brian often found himself thrown together with Roger. In the new rented house they were sharing a room, too.
They’d moved from Ridge Farm around a week earlier. The house was old with thick stone walls and creaky floorboards. There was a lovely little garden and the house was situated at the edge of a pretty village which Brian had felt was an improvement on the isolation of the farm.
The only trouble was that if he went for a walk or out to the pub Roger was almost always there too. They were also working in the house they were staying in so in a way Roger seemed more present here than he had before.
The Saturday after they had arrived in Kington was Brian’s birthday. He hadn’t mentioned it. He didn’t want the others to feel they had to do anything to celebrate or to feel bad about not remembering.
So he was surprised to come downstairs to find John making pancakes for breakfast. “How very American,” he joked.
“They’re for your birthday,” Roger told him, adding, “Happy birthday!” He studied Brian, “You didn’t think we’d remember did you?”
“Darling, as if we’d forget,” Freddie murmured, “Sit down and open your presents.”
“Presents,” Brian echoed, startled, only now realising there was a little heap of gifts and envelopes on the table. He wondered where they had managed to find presents in the small village and prepared himself to enthuse over random items.
Roger looked amused and, as if reading his thoughts, remarked, “John strongly encouraged – some might say forced – us to consider your birthday before we left London so don’t worry: you don’t have wrapped up pieces of straw or anything.”
“There was no forcing,” John corrected him, mildly. “I simply put the idea in your head.”
“Quite strenuously,” Freddie murmured, “But I think we’re all glad you did.”
“Brian certainly should be,” Roger noted.
Brian was so touched by their thoughtfulness that he felt almost tearful. He discovered that they had even brought a card from his parents with money slipped inside it. Freddie had given him a silk scarf. John’s gift was socks and guitar strings. “Very practical,” Roger murmured. Roger’s badly wrapped parcel contained notebooks and an expensive looking pen which Brian thought was also a practical gift. He thanked them all in a voice choked with emotion.
“Freddie wants some peace to work on a song,” Roger told Brian, “But I thought maybe we,” he gestured towards Brian, John and himself, “Could go for a walk or something and then meet Freddie back here for lunch in the village?”
“That sounds lovely,” Brian nodded.
“There’s a market on a Saturday, I think,” John said, “And you could look at that shop we saw, Brian: the clog maker.”
Roger tapped the card Brian’s parents had given him with the money inside it. “You could treat yourself to clogs if you wanted,” he pointed out with a smile.
*
The market was crowded. Brian supposed people came from the surrounding countryside to do some shopping. There was a mix of food stalls and craft stalls. They quickly discovered that people seemed keen to give Roger food to taste. “It’s because you look pretty even when you’re crunching an apple,” Brian explained as Roger looked slightly bewildered.
Roger frowned, “But I’m not pretty.”
John rolled his eyes. “Everyone else in the entire world apart from you thinks you are pretty, Rog.”
Roger frowned again. “You even look pretty when you frown,” Brian told him. He kept his tone light but he definitely meant it.
Roger gave a little shrug. “I’m sure that can’t be it but would you like an orange?” he said, offering them the fruit he had just been gifted.
“There’s a stall with freshly baked bread and pastries over there,” John noted, “Let’s see if they like the look of you.”
Brian was secretly slightly jealous of the stall holders who were openly flirting with Roger. Roger was unfortunately not Brian’s. But. Roger was Brian’s.
It probably didn’t say much about him as a person that he was jealous about even sharing his daydreams of being Roger’s boyfriend with other people. He supposed at least Roger wasn’t flirting back. He stood with John watching as Roger’s polite conversation with the frankly drooling woman behind the bakery stall resulted in her presenting him with a whole basket of goodies. John made an approving sound, then said, “Imagine if any of them realised they’re not his type.”
It took a few moments for this to register properly with Brian, who had been thinking the bakery stall woman looked like she would be the same age as his mother and surely shouldn’t be looking at Roger like that. “What do you mean?” he asked curiously. He felt a little flutter of excitement within him. Could John mean Roger wasn’t interested in woman? What was he basing that on, if so?
“I thought you knew,” John murmured, “He prefers men. He mentioned it when,” he flushed, “we were talking about,” he glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered his voice, “my new relationship.”
“I hadn’t realised,” Brian murmured. He tried to stop a smile breaking out across his face but was not entirely successful. Part of his mind was cautioning him that Roger might prefer men but that certainly didn’t mean Roger would prefer Brian.
*
Roger also managed to charm the proprietor of the clog making shop although Brian thought that was more because he had asked some questions about how the clog making business and had sounded genuinely interested in the replies rather than because the proprietor wanted to jump into bed with him. Maybe everyone wanted to jump into bed with Roger, though.
The clog maker was the last remaining person in England who made clogs that were traditionally carved. Apparently the usual wood used was alder, birch or willow however the proprietor told them that the Welsh used alder, birch and sycamore. “We’re close to the Welsh border here, as I expect you know, and I’ve become something of a convert to sycamore. I find it lasts longer in mud. Of course, since all of our clogs are made of natural materials they’re breathable and will keep your feet dry and cool.” He explained they could make clogs to order, accommodating any particular requirements such as extra arch support.
It was, as Brian had expected, expensive to have a pair of clogs made for you. He resolved that if they ever made a bit more money he would return here and have a pair of clogs specially made. In the meantime he found that he could afford one of the ready-made options in the shop.
*
“New shoes, dear,” Freddie eyed Brian’s new footwear as they returned to the rented house.
Brian flushed, “They’re really comfy,” he said, slightly defensively, “So I wore them home from the shop.”
“Clog making is surprisingly interesting,” Roger told Freddie.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Freddie murmured.
“Have you written our next hit single?” Roger wondered.
Freddie sighed, “I’ve written something...”
“We should all be working,” Brian noted, feeling a little guilty.
“You can’t work on your birthday,” John said firmly.
Roger nodded solemnly, “It’s against the law or something. Or it should be.”
“Well, I’ve worked up an appetite,” Freddie said, “Where are we going for lunch?”
*
They ended up having a pub lunch. The pub was busy. Brian supposed all the market visitors required refreshment. They managed to commandeer a table in a corner. The food was plentiful and good. Brian sipped his pint and reflected that his birthday was turning out much better than he could ever have expected.
They talked about subjects other than the album as if by unconscious mutual consent. Brian thought everyone was a bit tense about their own song-writing and how things were going in general. In many ways, this album was make-or-break time for the band. If they didn’t start to make money they could actually live on soon they would really have to pack it in. Brian felt that thought, that threat, was hanging unspoken over their heads all the time, a constant pressure.
Today, however, everyone seemed in good spirits. Brian still felt some guilt that he was taking them away from work but also thought that perhaps they had needed this.
*
Back in their rented house they were having a cup of tea at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. Roger smiled and went to answer the door. “What is he up to?” Freddie wondered.
They all listened intently to hear what Roger was saying to the visitor. “...really very kind of you...tremendous...thank you so much...”
Roger returned to the kitchen bearing a large white box. “Your birthday cake,” he announced cheerfully to Brian.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” John asked.
“You didn’t make it, did you?” Freddie asked, sounding horrified.
“Of course I didn’t make it,” Roger laughed, “I wanted something we could actually eat. The lovely lady at the bakery stall made it for me. Her husband is on the stall in the afternoon. She would only take a token payment to cover the cost of the ingredients too so it was really very lovely of her.”
Brian carefully folded back the lid of the cake box. “It looks lovely.” The cake was beautifully decorated and had happy birthday piped on to the top.
“I should have got candles,” Roger said sadly, “For you to blow out.”
“Brian can still make a wish when he cuts it,” John told them.
“Thank you,” Brian felt choked with emotion again, “I wasn’t expecting any of this.”
John made more tea and they all had a slice of cake which was delicious. Brian wished vaguely for Roger to be his when he slid the knife into the cake although he knew that couldn’t possibly come true.
*
Later, they listened to some of the records that had apparently accumulated in the rented house over the years and drank brandy from a dusty bottle Roger had discovered at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Brian had expected the abandoned brandy to be disgusting but it was actually very nice. He was tired but he didn’t want to go to bed and leave behind such an unexpectedly nice day.
Eventually, however, as with all good things it had to come to an end. Freddie and John disappeared into their room, laughing softly. Brian and Roger took it in turns to use the bathroom and climbed into their creaky single beds in respectable pyjamas. “Thank you,” Brian said softly to Roger, “You made today really lovely for me.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Roger noted although Brian thought he looked pleased. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he added. He flushed prettily and mumbled, “You deserve all the treats.”
“Sleep well,” Brian murmured as Roger turned out the bedside lamp.
Roger murmured, “Sweet dreams,” back to him. Brian thought his dreams were likely to be full of Roger as they were every night.