Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

32. Roger

September 1976

When I was 14 or 15 years old, my parents got into a huge row. To this day, I've no idea what it was about. All I remember is walking out to the front garden where my dad was angrily smoking a cigarette.

"There are two things to avoid at all costs," he said to me in his deep voice. "You never accuse a woman of being stroppy. And you never, ever tell her to calm down. No matter what, those words should never leave your mouth. You'll thank me one day."

This advice had seemed rather inconsequential, but I'd nonetheless filed it away in my brain. I avoided relationships like the plague for most of my adult years, so I never needed to remember my father's counsel.

Until today.

When Skylar stormed out of the flat, she hadn't half-arsed it. First, she'd banged the bedroom door shut, resulting in a tiny crack in the paint above the door frame. A few minutes later, she'd slammed the front door so hard that I could practically feel a whoosh of air.

I'd fucked up.

The first mistake occurred several weeks ago during an interview with Melody Maker. I knew I'd made a mistake, but didn't tell Sky. Instead, like an ostrich hiding his head in the sand, I prayed that the journalist wouldn't find my overshare particularly interesting. It was an idiotic plan and had failed horribly.

The second error occurred 45 minutes ago when I'd accused Skylar of throwing a strop and advised her to calm down. In the same goddamn sentence.

This is the biggest fight we've had, but it's by no means the first. Things between us haven't been great. Part of it is that I'm never around, but part of it is that she's never around. I half-suspect that she's been volunteering for extra overnight shifts just to avoid me. And when she is around, she's sulky and downright disgruntled.

I mean, what the fuck, man? It's not my fault that Queen are more in demand than ever. It's not my fault that she's been working herself to the bone because she decided to apply for the big fellowship. And it's not my goddamn fault that she can't trust me to stay faithful.

I don't even know how the row started. First, we were lazing around on a Tuesday afternoon before her overnight shift. Next thing I know, obscenities and accusations were flying across the room.

"Calm down," I'd said in a tone that, in retrospect, may have come off as slightly patronising. "Why are you so stroppy all the time?"

"Calm down?" she asked quietly, her eyes narrowing. Instead of immediately realizing the error of my ways, instead, I doubled down on my male stupidity.

"Is it that time of the month or something? Christ, Sky."

"Calm down?" she asked again. "Did you just tell me to calm down?"

I don't remember the next 20 or so minutes very clearly. Many accusations were hurled my way, and I was quite busy trying to defend myself in my head.

What I do remember, however, were her parting words.

"By the way, Rog, thanks for mentioning me in the interview," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I appreciate you mentioning all the details about my job and where I work. Brilliant work, cheers. Thanks a fucking heap. It's made my life so much easier. Everyone takes me sooooo seriously now."

"I--" I started to say before realizing that she was right, I shouldn't have done it, it was stupid and the only reason--

"Admit it, you only said that because you want people to think--" she paused, her hands on her hips as she adopted an exaggerated Cockney accent. "'Oi, Roger Taylor must not be a dumb blonde drummer if he's dating a doctor.'"