𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

38. A Bit of Dutch Courage

April 1973

Brian

I let out an exasperated huff, my eyes flickering to the rear-view mirror as I navigated the streets of Kensington. "You're an idiot," I muttered under my breath, frustration evident in my voice.

In the backseat, Roger rolled his eyes, lazily draping his arm across the seat. "Why did you have to bring Deacy with you?" he complained.

"Because, Roger, I didn't know the way," I retorted, my fatigue making my patience wear thin. "You're the one giving me money for petrol, and I didn't plan on driving all the way to Hammersmith to pick you up." My heavy eyelids served as a reminder of the sleep I'd been deprived of. "Meanwhile, we've left the others alone with vodka, and I have a sinking feeling they won't be exactly sober when we return."

"Calm ya' knickers, mate. Christ, I don't know what's wrong with you." Roger let out an exasperated sigh and glanced out of the window. He was one of my closest friends, but at that moment, I wouldn't have minded stopping the car and knocking some sense into him. How could he not see the gravity of his actions?

"Seriously?" I shot him a glare, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "John, I swear to God... Talk to him, or I'll unleash my fury."

John obliged, sighing as he turned in his seat. "Roger, we're in the middle of recording an album. Did you forget that while you were gallivanting around Hammersmith for who knows what reason? Who do you even know in Hammersmith?" There was a tense silence as Roger stubbornly refused to answer. I strained my ears to catch every word. The silence was unnerving. John had a point. Why was Roger even in Hammersmith, causing us to leave the studio and fetch him so he could join us in recording our album? John sighed once more. "Stop being so damn pathetic and just answer the question. It's not that difficult." Still no response. "Roger, why were you in Hammersmith?"

"I was seeing a friend, alright?" Roger finally muttered, avoiding eye contact with Deacy. I swear, in that moment, I wanted to crash the car out of sheer frustration. It was rare for anyone to push my buttons like this, but with the exhaustion, the album stress, and Roger's stubborn refusal to communicate like a rational human being, I couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation building within me.

"Roger Meddows Taylor, if you don't tell us what you were doing in the next ten seconds, I'll pull this car over and knock some sense into you," I warned, my tone leaving no room for negotiation. This time, he actually looked at me, taken aback by the intensity in my voice.

"Patty lives in Hammersmith," Roger blurted out, breaking the tense silence in the car. I couldn't decipher my reaction—whether it was surprise, disgust, or simply being taken aback. It wasn't even my place to worry or fuss over it, but damn, I thought that ship had sailed. However, I kept my mouth shut because I knew he despised it when I ignored him or failed to acknowledge his words. But let me tell you, I was in no mood to give a fuck about that.

"Well, congratulations, you really are an idiot," John chimed in unexpectedly, turning in his seat to face the road ahead. We were entering Soho, which meant our journey back to Trident wouldn't be much longer. I pushed the car to its maximum speed, eager to return as quickly as possible. The thought of seeing Maria and Red provided a sense of relief, and I reminded myself that all the pent-up frustrations could be channelled through music. That's what I did and what I was going to do.

"You need to stop, Rog. You have a girlfriend and a commitment," I finally voiced some of my thoughts without causing harm. Roger ran his hands over his flushed face and replied, "I know, and I feel terrible. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again."