𝐴𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑| 𝑅𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑜𝑟 ✔

LXV

December, 1974

It's been a few months, of going back and forth, between London and Glasgow. Priscilla didn't seem to mind, however I'd be complaining in my mind and exhausted.
But it was completely worth it, when meeting eyes with Roger.

It's usually the same routine, we get there, spend a few days or a week, hang around at the studio with Fate, Vicky, and Ashley, sometimes Sara would be there too for Priscilla.

Then when we were in Glasgow, Priscilla and I would go back to our regular routine of phone calls, University, my mother's and it would be mostly boring.

It's been a week, since I turned 22, and I was hoping to spend it with Roger, Priscilla and my friends. However, my heartless University had different plans, and decided to shove exams for me to study.

I ended up spending the day, stressed at university, then at my mum's with Priscilla. Even on my birthday, Catherine always had something snarky to say, for no good reason, whatsoever. My mum, however, for once defended me, by telling her to be quiet, which shocked both of us.

Right now, I was packing Priscillas small suitcase. Roger had promised he was organising a late birthday party– well, Ashley was Organising it, it was his idea. I informed him it wasn't necessary, but he ignored me and insisted.

While zipping the suitcase, I heard the phone ring. I assumed it would be Roger, wanting to say goodnight to Priscilla,
but I'd have to inform him bad news, that she's already asleep.

"Hello?" I answered the phone, twirling the wire on my index finger, out of regular habitat.

"Hello. Is this Miss Alice Grant?" I heard a professional, yet, unfamiliar, female voice question.

"Yes. Who's this?" I asked, confused, as to why a stranger would be calling me.

"I regret to inform you that your father: Albert Grant, has suffered an extreme cause of alcohol poisoning. He requests to see you and your sister, perhaps for the last time." she advised, her voice sympathetic.
I hadn't heard anyone mention my dad in almost 5 or so year's.
Now he was on his death bed, and I couldn't make up my mind if I should see him for the last time.
He was the main reason I left Glasgow in the first place.

It didn't surprise me, to hear about the alcohol poisoning, he never could drink anything that didn't contain alcohol, what surprised me was that he wanted me, who he had put through hell over 18 year's, to visit him.

"What hospital is it?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave lower, and gripping the phone, tighter. She told me the name of the hospital, and I said I'd maybe drop by some point next week.
Whether that would happen or not, I was unsure.
What would I say to a man I've resented, and tried to escape from my whole life? Nothing, is what came to mind.

I hung up the phone and crawled into my bed. Pulling the pillows to my chest, as I buried my head, in frustration, in them.

⚜︎

"Jesus, you look like you haven't slept in days" Rog pointed out, picking up Priscilla, as I dragged the suitcases in the flat.

"I couldn't sleep last night" I yawned and shrugged, straightening up, he pecked my lips, with a look of concern over his features.

"Why not?" he asked.
"Just couldn't close my eyes long enough to drift off" I waved a dismissive hand, trying to brush it off. "Is that party already organized and sorted?" I asked, hoping he'd say 'no', so I could dodge it.