Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

4. "All That Sterness Amid Charm."

H.G
Hertfordshire, England.
4th June.

"Who do you think won the fight, uncle Griff or Freddie Mercury?"

Good lord.

"Hayes, duh!" Lottie, my goddaughter exclaimed far too loudly for the quiet family breakfast.

My father shot her a withering glance that had her shrinking into her seat. I used to be that overly loud child, and like hell would I let Dad mould another person to be a tense twat like me. I leant over and gave her nose a flick, "Women should be seen and not heard."

Lottie's doe eyes filled with laughter at my scarily accurate impression of my father. I liked to repeat his pearls of wisdom, in a very sarcastic manner, to show him how bloody stupid he sounded. It also helped Lottie disregard anything her grandfather said.

"Then how come the Queen talks so much?" My nephew, Edward, frowned. "And the Prime Minister is Grandad's boss. She's a girl?"

My father nearly snapped his fork in two at that. He then launched into the story about how he was betrayed by Margaret Thatcher, and how he was originally meant to be the one leading the country before he was stabbed in the back. You know, normal breakfast conversation.

"I say we slam her with a no confidence motion." I threw a absurd spanner in the works.

My father's eyes brightened, "Very good Hayes! Very good my boy. But then there's a chance Labour could get in."

I care so very much.

"Damn!" I lightly rapped my fist on the table, "Back to the drawing board then."

"Indeed." My father nodded thoughtfully, "You and Oliver have a killer's instinct, we could all join minds this evening."

Well that didn't sound supervillainy at all.

My brother George shot me a look that said 'you're home all but five minutes and have Dad scarily wound up'. I merely shrugged innocently in response.

George, yes of course named after the previous king, was my favourite sibling. I'm allowed to say that because Oliver is godawful. Oliver was the eldest, so my father actually attempted to help raise him, thus influencing him. George had less of dad's attention, whilst I probably had the least. An arrangement that was fine by me.

"Did you meet Roger Taylor?" Lottie whispered, a blush crept onto her already rosy cheeks.

I nodded seriously, "He asked about you."

"No he didn't!" She squeaked.

"You're right. He didn't."

Lottie mustered up there angriest expression she could, which made her look like an irritated Bambi, "You're so mean!"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"Ouch." I sniffled before slicing into a runny egg.

"It's mean when you don't come home too." She muttered.

"If I'm so mean, why would you want me to be home?"

"Cause you're funny."

"Funny looking!" Edward chimed in, causing both kids to burst out laughing.

I gasped which only added to their amusement. "What sort of brats are you bringing up George?"

"You're the one who brought Edward gambling when he was four."

My father narrowed his eyes into a severe glare, but I could easily ignore it. Mum merely ducked her head to hide her laughter.