NO ESCAPE FROM REALITY

A few minutes after Freddie died on that November night in 1991, Joe ran into the room looking for a mirror to see if there was any sign of breathing.

‘Look, ’ I said softly. ‘He’s gone. ’

Joe ran out into The Mews, screaming: ‘Where’s the doctor? ’ He was almost in tears.

We crossed Freddie’s arms and put a little teddy in his hands. It had been sent by a well-wisher and seemed appropriate.

Mary was the first to be phoned, then the doctor was reached in his car and started to make his way back. Mary telephoned Freddie’s parents and sister and broke the news to them.

A lot of things that went on in the hours immediately following Freddie’s death are no more than a blur to me. I didn’t know what planet I was on.

I went downstairs to switch off the lights in the garden for a few seconds, then slipped off to my room to ring my mother in Ireland. As soon as she answered, I began crying uncontrollably. She couldn’t make out a word I was saying. I asked her: ‘Could you phone the bishop and ask him to say a mass for Freddie? ’

She said: ‘Calm down, son. ’ I took a few moments to compose myself. ‘Now, ’ she said. ‘What’s happened? ’

‘Freddie died, ’ I said. There was nothing she could say to console me, but she tried. She asked me to tell her exactly how it had happened and I did. I needed to tell someone who would understand. When I rang off I stayed in my room for a while, trying to hold back the tears.

When I rejoined the others, Phoebe was trying to contact Jim Beach by telephone. He had flown to Los Angeles after seeing Freddie on Friday. Then Dr Atkinson returned.

I went back into Freddie’s room and stood looking at him. When the two of us were left alone for a moment, I said a little prayer. Then I looked at him and said aloud: ‘You bastard! Well, at least you’re free now. The press can’t hurt you any more. ’

About half an hour after Freddie died, Mary came to pay her last respects. She stayed for ten minutes. When Joe and Phoebe came into the room, the four of us had a big hug. This was our hour of need and we all turned to Phoebe. He’d lost his mother recently and he seemed to know how to cope. Only Joe, Phoebe and I knew just how exhausting it had been nursing Freddie for nights on end, watching helplessly as his health deteriorated dramatically, witnessing the ravages of his cruel and unremitting illness.

Later that evening Freddie’s parents arrived and went to his bedside. Freddie looked so serene, ecstatic and radiant that they asked whether we had put make-up on his face. We said we hadn’t.

All of us at Garden Lodge knew what arrangements Freddie would have wanted when he died. We didn’t need instruction on this from him; we just knew. His body was to be taken out of the house as quickly as possible. Phoebe’s father was a retired undertaker and everything was handled by his former company. Usually undertakers take away the body in a bag, placed in a tin box. We all agreed that this was not good enough for Freddie. We insisted he had to leave in a proper oak coffin.

We’d planned that Freddie’s body would leave Garden Lodge at the stroke of midnight. His body was to be driven to a secret location – in fact a chapel of rest in Ladbroke Grove, west London. But Phoebe had such difficulty raising Jim Beach in America that it held up Freddie’s departure. Actually, when he did reach him, around midnight, Jim Beach asked whether the body could be kept at Garden Lodge until the next day, giving him time to fly home to accompany it as it left the house. Phoebe and I vetoed the idea.

News of Freddie’s death reached the press twenty minutes before his body left Garden Lodge at 12. 20am. But the body was taken out in an anonymous van and the police did a brilliant job preventing photographers and reporters from following it.

It was pandemonium outside Garden Lodge the following day. Freddie’s death made headlines around the globe and the press were frantic to know exactly when he’d died and what he looked like. When the phone rang in the house, I just didn’t want to know; I left it to Phoebe or Joe to deal with.

Flowers started arriving from Freddie’s fans all over the world and Joe, Phoebe, Terry and myself took turns to bring in the constant stream of bouquets and wreaths from the gate. Eventually the Queen office enlisted some security lads to help us.

The more the flowers kept coming, the more I felt myself cracking up without Freddie around. In the end I ran around the house and collected every single music video of Freddie I could find. Then I sat down, surrounded by the cats, and watched them over and over again, bawling my head off. It helped a great deal, and over the next fortnight I would watch them for hours on end. I’d sob my heart out on the sofa, cuddling the cats for comfort. And if I went out, on my Walkman or car cassette player I’d listen to the Mr Bad Guy album that Freddie had given me in the first year we were together.

In the title track, ‘Mr Bad Guy’, one line made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end each time it came round: ‘Yes, I’m everybody’s Mr Bad Guy – can’t you see, I’m Mr Mercury, spread your wings and fly away with me. ’ To me, Freddie was always one of the good guys. When I heard the song I was cheered that we had flown off together until our wings were cruelly clipped.

The three of us at Garden Lodge dealt with Freddie’s death in our own ways. Phoebe stayed in the kitchen, watching endless television. Joe channelled his grief into work-outs at the gym, but he had taken it terribly badly and almost went to pieces. When he came back from the gym that first day, he couldn’t handle me playing Freddie’s videos and stormed into the kitchen. He asked Phoebe at the top of his voice: ‘Why’s he playing all Freddie’s music? ’

Joe went off to his room and came to realise that I was simply doing my own thing, finding my equivalent of going to a gym. He cooled down, and in the harrowing nights which followed he became a real soulmate.

On that Monday night, just one day after Freddie’s death, I went out alone to drown my sorrows. I walked to the Gate Club in Notting Hill intending to get totally legless. As I walked through the door Bobby, one of the bar staff, said: ‘Jim, you look very depressed. ’

‘Yes, ’ I said. ‘My boyfriend just died. ’ I mentioned that my partner was Freddie, but I don’t think anyone believed me. At the end of the night, drunk and emotionally drained, I walked slowly back to Garden Lodge. I found a friend in a total stranger, a lone fan outside Garden Lodge gate, beside himself with grief and crying his head off.

I tried to comfort him and we talked for a long time about how wonderful Freddie was. I hung on his every word of praise for Freddie and I guess he thought I was just another fan driven to pilgrimage. In a way he was right.

When a black cab pulled up in Logan Place, a dark figure got out; it was a woman who was as drunk as a skunk. She tottered past us and as she did she slurred something in our direction, but we had no idea what she had said. Five minutes later the same black figure approached us again. She had made us each a mug of piping hot cocoa. It was an unexpected and kind gesture on such a chilly night.

As we sipped the warming drinks, the woman said most coherently: ‘You know, I’ve lived here a long time but I’ve never actually seen Freddie Mercury – though I’ve always been aware he was here. ’

We talked for a while longer and then I said: ‘Well, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go to bed now. ’ I got up and stuck my key in the lock.

‘What is this? ’ she asked. ‘Is this some kind of trick? ’

‘What do you mean? ’ I said.

‘How come you’re opening the gate? ’ she asked.

‘I live here, ’ I said.

The poor fan just didn’t know what to do. I invited the two of them into the garden to see the vast patchwork of colourful floral tributes covering the lawn. We talked for a little longer before they left and I went to bed.

On Tuesday morning flowers began arriving again at dawn, and again we ran shifts on the gate to ferry them inside the grounds. We didn’t leave one stem outside on the pavement; every flower came in and every flower went on the five hearses for the funeral the following day. We weren’t sure what we could do with all the flowers after the funeral service, but in the end Phoebe came up with the answer: they were shipped to every Aids hospice, hospital and old people’s home in the area.

Flowers were so important to Freddie that I wanted to send something appropriate. Reminded of his beloved swans on the lake in Montreux, I sent him a swan in white flowers. The message on the card I chose was a few lines from a remembrance card for my father when he had died almost a decade earlier:

Others were taken, yes I know

But you were mine, I loved you so.

A prayer, a tear till the end of time,

For a loving friend I was proud to call mine.

To a beautiful life, a sad, sad end,

You died as you lived, everyone’s friend.

The morning of Freddie’s cremation, Wednesday, 27 November 1991, was grey and overcast. I woke up in a dreadful state. As I got dressed I realised that I was going down with another heavy bout of flu. It wasn’t a good start to a terrible day.

The funeral service was at two in the afternoon at the North London Crematorium. But even on that day of all days, our last private moments were taken from us. At Jim Beach’s invitation, paparazzi photographer Richard Young was at Garden Lodge to take intimate pictures both before and after the service.

One lovely gesture, carried out to the letter, was suggested by Joe, who said we should each wear the Butler and Wilson’s jewellery Freddie had given us for Christmas 1989. ‘He would have liked that, ’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of glit, isn’t it? ’ We all agreed.

Until then I’d never worn the massive cut-glass and silver tie-pin Freddie had given me. All around the world they talk of wearing your ribbon with pride; well, that day I wore my tie-pin with pride.

It had been agreed some time before that it would be appropriate for Mary and me to travel together in the first car in the funeral procession. As we prepared to leave Garden Lodge for the service, for the first time Mary metaphorically slapped me in the face. She said she didn’t want me in the first car – she wanted Dave Clark. I was very hurt.

When we left the house Mary and Dave took the first car, Jim Beach went in the second, while Joe, Phoebe and I shared the third. The three of us felt let down. We’d been the ones with Freddie through thick and thin during his illness, and it seemed that no sooner was he dead than we were being pushed aside.

In the small chapel of rest, Freddie’s family sat on the right with the rest of us on the left. I was a little heartened to see Mary sitting in the front row waiting for the three of us to sit with her. Dave Clark must have realised the cruel way Mary had spurned me on this of all days and he slipped into one of the pews behind us. We spoke to Freddie’s parents before joining Mary. We all found the service difficult, and I made a point of holding Mary’s hand from beginning to end of the service.

Freddie’s faith was one of the world’s oldest: Zoroastrianism. The service was therefore an unusual one, conducted by priests in white robes chanting traditional prayers that I didn’t understand. So I said my own prayers and mentally held my own service for Freddie. When he was alive we had never spoken about our beliefs; I’m sure he guessed I was a Catholic. But while he was alive, as long as we had each other nothing else seemed to matter.

Brian, Roger and John were there, and so was Elton John. Afterwards Brian and I shook hands and he said how nice it was to see me and how very sorry he was about Freddie’s death. Roger said the same, and rather than shake hands we hugged. I was very pleased to see John at the funeral and told him so and thanked him. He’d kept his distance as Freddie was fading away, but came to pay his last respects. We shook hands and had a little cuddle. The only other conversation I can remember from that day was with the black cemetery moggie.

The service was followed by a small reception at Garden Lodge, which was still being besieged by the press. Jim Beach thought it right to let people come back to the house after the service if they wanted to. Brian, Roger and John went straight out for a quiet lunch together instead. Elton didn’t come back, but Freddie’s doctors did.

This may seem glum, but I’d rather hoped that at Garden Lodge we’d talk quietly about how the service had gone and generally remember Freddie with a little reverence and dignity. Instead it was party time. Horrendous, shrill laughter came from the kitchen and it tore me apart.

As the first champagne cork popped that afternoon I found myself drifting away from the others. I felt disgusted at what I thought of as disrespect for Freddie that day. I’m sure Freddie would have loved a massive champagne party thrown to send him on his way, but that wasn’t what it seemed. Perhaps if we’d all gone off somewhere for lunch, like the band, it might have been easier to have a celebratory farewell for Freddie. But it didn’t happen; instead we gave him a surreal send-off.

The sound of the shrieking laughter that day still haunts me. I just couldn’t stand it, so I took myself off to sit in Number 27 bus shelter with Delilah and Goliath for company and comfort. Every so often I’d glance up at Freddie’s bedroom window and each time I pictured him there, looking at me and calling ‘Cooee’. I was in a very quiet mood and so lost in my own world that I’ve no idea what happened in the rest of that awful afternoon or at what time people started to drift away.

Phoebe, Joe and I did not sit down right away to have a discussion about our future; that was something we’d have to do in our own time, when things were quieter and we’d had a while to come to terms with Freddie’s death. For the time being we planned to keep going just as we were, as if Freddie was simply away on tour.

Then Joe suggested that he wouldn’t be staying in the house very much longer, as with no Freddie to cook for he had no job to do. More importantly, he was aware that his own time was fast running out. He wanted to go back to America. Of course, Phoebe’s job as Freddie’s assistant was also defunct, but he had no immediate plans.

Jim Beach gave the three of us plenty of reassurance that day. He was the executor of Freddie’s will and knew his last wishes.

Joe asked him, ‘What’s going to happen to us now? ’

‘Well, ’ Jim replied, ‘as you know, Freddie’s wishes are that you are to stay in this house as long as you want. ’

‘Yes, ’ we all said. ‘We know that. ’

We also knew that Freddie would be leaving the bulk of his estate to Mary, including the house, and Jim confirmed this. He also mentioned what was relevant to us in the will, namely that we’d each receive a tax-free sum of £ 500, 000. ‘My god, so much! ’ Phoebe blurted out, echoing my thoughts exactly. The three of us were very much taken by surprise.

I thought that Freddie might maybe leave a few thousand to me, but not half as much as this. I discovered later that when he spoke to friends about our fate after he’d gone, he would say: ‘They will be looked after. They will never have to work again. ’

Then Joe asked another question of particular relevance to him and me. Freddie had led us to believe that once he had died our medical bills would be looked after by his estate. I know he expected this; though I’d never asked, he always insisted on paying my medical bills. Joe was terribly anxious, as he was already undergoing private Aids medication. Jim Beach promised nothing, but told us he’d see what he could do.

I was still battling with my flu and, after the guests had left, I went to lie on the couch in the lounge with a duvet over me and the gas fire on full blast. I was so cold I was shivering, yet I was also sweating. I felt I was burning up.

There were still three or four of Freddie’s doctors in the house and Joe turned to them to demand: ‘For Christ’s sake, can’t any of you do anything for Jim? ’ But it was a heavy cold and there was nothing they could offer me. Joe insisted on finding two sleeping tablets for me and helping me off to bed. I swallowed them and may have slept for about half an hour before I was wide awake again. My mind just wouldn’t stop buzzing.

I remembered so many wonderful times I’d enjoyed with Freddie. On some occasions I had to share him with thousands of others, but there were often times when it was just the two of us for nights on end. A million images flowed through my mind, each one of him either laughing his socks off or looking as soft and vulnerable as a rose petal.

By four in the morning, my mind was still exploding into colourful memories of our time together. I remembered Freddie’s looks of surprise each time a new kitten joined the team, or his happiness when feeding his pet koi. I flew around the world, seeing flashbacks of Japan, Ibiza, Barcelona, Montreux and Hungary. Eventually my mind collapsed, and I crashed into a short but heavy sleep.

When I got up the following morning I made my way to the kitchen, where Joe asked how I’d slept. I told him my mind had been on overdrive all night with memories of Freddie, and I’d barely slept at all.

‘You didn’t take both tablets, did you? ’ he asked.

‘I did, yes, ’ I said.

‘You should only have taken one, ’ he said, slightly alarmed. ‘That’s what they do if you take too many. They’re like speed! ’

I slept in Freddie’s bedroom for a few nights, even though the room felt totally empty without him. I’d lie on top of the bed, either crying or just smiling about nothing. I never actually got into bed; I think that would have cracked me apart. I dreaded waking up in the room and finding him not there. More than once I hoped for a split second that it had all been just a lousy dream, but I soon returned to reality, a living nightmare.

On Thursday morning, I got up to ferry flowers once more from outside the gate into the garden and talk to some of Freddie’s fans who’d turned up to pay their respects. They seemed to be arriving from everywhere – Britain, Japan, America. At least the press had left.

The three of us arranged, with Mary, that that year we should all spend Christmas together one last time at Garden Lodge – along with Piers and baby Richard, Dave Clark and Trevor Clarke. Then, exactly a week after Freddie’s cremation and our first meeting with Jim Beach, we were summoned to a second meeting, also held in the house. This time it was with Jim Beach the tough-nosed businessman.

He came straight to the point. A week earlier he’d reassured us by explaining that he knew it was Freddie’s wish that we stayed at Garden Lodge as long as we liked. However, that day Jim told us: ‘As you know, Freddie’s wishes were that you should live here as long as you like. But unfortunately he didn’t write them in the will, so they’re not legally binding. ’ Mary was receiving the bulk of Freddie’s estate, including, as expected, ownership of Garden Lodge.

‘Uh-oh, ’ I thought to myself. ‘Wait for it! ’

Jim continued: ‘So, you are going to be given three months’ notice to leave to find yourselves alternative accommodation. We are going to get some money released for you, to tide you over in the meantime. ’ I assume he was saying that for my benefit, knowing that for seven years my home had been Freddie’s and I had nowhere else in London to go. An advance would at least allow me to raise a deposit quickly to buy somewhere to live. It was a foregone conclusion Mary would soon be moving into the house with Piers and their son Richard. The only good news that day was that we would continue to be paid until our final day at Garden Lodge.

The date set for our departure is engraved on my mind: Sunday, 1 March. It hung over me like a cloud from then on, and also marked the date from which Mary’s attitude to me changed dramatically.

Three weeks after Freddie’s death, in tribute to Freddie and to raise money for Aids causes, Queen’s biggest song, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, was rush-released and went straight to Number One. It meant that everywhere I turned I heard Freddie singing. I wished until it hurt that he was still around, but there was no escape from reality.

I returned to the Gate Club one night and spoke to a mate who worked there. Since my last visit they must have seen me in the paper because they all seemed to know I really was Freddie’s boyfriend. I was propping up the bar with a pint in front of me, when out of the blue the first chords of ‘A Kind of Magic’ struck up and the video filled the monitors with pictures of Freddie. A split second later the song and the video had been turned off. James, one of the managers, came flying over to me to apologise for being so insensitive.

‘Don’t be stupid, ’ I said. ‘Put it on. ’ With another flicker Freddie’s face was on every screen.

I supped my drink, lit a cigarette and looked around to see everyone enjoying the music. ‘That’s my man, ’ I thought happily.

I decided to go home to Ireland for a week, to be with my family. I was slightly anxious about returning, as the Sunday Mirror had just rerun a story revealing me as Freddie’s boyfriend. It meant that there was a serious risk of the papers coming after me to find a gruesome new angle on Freddie’s death for their front pages.

As I left for the trip, Mary too was leaving Garden Lodge. In an odd and thoughtless attempt to try to cheer me up she said: ‘Freddie’s probably waiting for you already. ’ It was a very cruel remark to make to someone who would inevitably share Freddie’s fate.

As it happened, I didn’t have any problems with the press in Ireland. I went back with my eldest brother, Johnny, after attending my niece’s nursing passing-out presentation at Wembley Stadium. During the ceremony a lump came to my throat when it was announced that a bouquet was to be sent to the Ealing College of Art in memory of one of its most famous students – Freddie Mercury. Then, when they called for a minute’s silence in memory of Freddie, I had a silent sob to myself.

My first night at home in Ireland I turned in at about ten in the evening and quickly fell into a deep sleep. Four hours later I woke from the most sublime dream; I was floating all alone in a tunnel of feathers, talking to Freddie. I went downstairs, beaming a wide smile, and discovered my mother, who keeps very odd hours, in the kitchen.

‘What are you looking so happy about? ’ she asked, and I told her all about my dream. After a cup of tea I went back to bed, but couldn’t recapture the dream. And time and again since then I have tried to find Freddie in my dreams, but I only receive brief flashes of him.

I decided on that visit that I would concentrate my mind and energies into decorating my mum’s home. One day Phoebe phoned, suggesting that it might be a good idea if I spent Christmas with my family in Ireland.

‘No, ’ I said, not realising that he was trying to tell me I was not wanted at Garden Lodge any more. I was adamant. ‘I’ve decided I am going to spend Christmas in Garden Lodge anyway, ’ I said.

When I got back to London I was greeted by a solemn-looking Phoebe. He told me: ‘We are no longer sleeping in Garden Lodge. We’ve all been moved to The Mews. ’ From now on Garden Lodge was to be opened each day to allow the three of us to go about our business, but every night at six it was to be locked. No one was allowed to sleep in the house overnight. And the house alarm system was being increased tenfold.

So I had come home to discover I didn’t have a home any more. It was such a mean-spirited thing to do and very depressing for all of us. I told Phoebe how chilly the atmosphere had become since Freddie had died, and he agreed.

‘I might as well go to a hotel or get a flat, ’ I said. ‘The Mews has nothing to do with me. All my memories of Freddie are in the house. ’

Next I learned what had caused the change. One day while I was in Ireland the house had been left unattended and without the alarm on. This wasn’t quite true. On the night in question Joe had been in the house, and Phoebe was sleeping in The Mews. Joe had arranged to meet friends for breakfast and left the house at around eight-thirty in the morning. Phoebe was due in half an hour, so Joe locked up but didn’t bother to flick on the alarm. Before Phoebe arrived, Mary had found the house unalarmed and phoned Jim Beach about it. Jim then told Joe and Phoebe that the three of us were banished to The Mews until we were off the premises completely.

I was devastated by what was happening to us. I know Freddie would have been furious. Garden Lodge, once a place of such warmth and care, was now about to resemble Fort Knox.

Some of Queen’s security lads were drafted in to provide a twenty-four-hour guard over the property. We knew them all and they hung around with us in The Mews. They’d known Garden Lodge under Freddie and couldn’t understand what was going on. One of the lads in particular, Sean, asked: ‘What the hell is all this? ’ I didn’t tell him, but the answer was that it was just one person’s doing and the result of one person’s paranoia.

Instead of being in quiet mourning, Garden Lodge was filled with strangers, drilling holes and ripping the place apart to install the cabling for countless cameras to protect the property from Freddie’s fans. There were still flowers in the house, although no one except the workmen was really there to enjoy them any more. Many of these blooms had been left at the gate by fans, passing by the gate to pay their last respects. Little did they know that, on the other side of the wall, Freddie’s wonderful world had all but disappeared.

I did receive a very kind letter from Freddie’s mum. She thanked me for loving Freddie and looking after him so well. They were kind words and I appreciated them very much.

As we thought, it was confirmed that once we had moved out, Mary would be taking up residence in Garden Lodge herself, with Piers and their baby son. We were told that the ‘family’ Christmas lunch was still going ahead as planned, but it too would be banished to The Mews. We felt another kick in the stomach. Moreover, Joe wouldn’t be there. Mary told Phoebe and me in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like him. She also said that once he had left Garden Lodge he would never set foot in it again. They were harsh words about someone who had been so loyal and kind to Freddie throughout his illness.

The only nice thing to happen around that time was an invitation from Elton John for the three of us to visit him in his beautiful home in Old Windsor for a Boxing Day party. We were a bit concerned as to who would drive as it would be quite a party, but Elton had thoughtfully taken care of that; a car was laid on for us.

I wasn’t looking forward to Christmas. I thought: no Freddie – no Christmas. I’d got so despondent I decided I wouldn’t even bother with a tree or decorations, but Phoebe talked me around. In the end I got a small tree, but when it was dressed up it looked like a twig compared to the trees we’d always had at Garden Lodge.

As Joe was not invited, on Christmas Day Phoebe prepared the small Christmas lunch in the Garden Lodge kitchen and ferried it over to The Mews. We tried so hard to be jocular, but we didn’t feel comfortable. We were all painfully aware that the one person who had made our Christmas for so long was missing. For me the day was awkward and the atmosphere thin. We swapped presents – Phoebe, Mary, Piers, Richard and so on – but it wasn’t a bit enjoyable. Freddie would have hated it all, too. I know he would have wanted us to spend Christmas in the house.

Still, under the circumstances we did our best to make it a special day. Dave Clark and Trevor Clarke made flying visits to see how we were getting on.

Elton’s party on Boxing Day was a welcome break from the Garden Lodge nightmare. His home is a country mansion set in acres of fabulous lush countryside. Ever the perfect host, he had laid on a huge buffet. At first I found the party thoroughly enjoyable; then – and I mean no disrespect to Elton – I began to find it hard going. There were maybe twenty or thirty very nice people there, but I knew very few of them. I’d never been involved in the music business; my place had only been at Freddie’s side. One friendly face there was Tony King, who asked how I was. This was a social occasion, not a time to moan, so I told him I was shaky at times but generally fine.

But when Elton swapped Christmas presents with his guests, I became very sad. What should have been the happiest of scenes simply reminded me how much I missed Freddie and his heartfelt joy at giving presents at Christmas-time. I slipped out of the house and went for a walk, strolling in the grounds until I came across two lovable ponies. I stayed with them, popping into the house every so often to find apples to feed them.

Even among so many people, it was an agonisingly lonely day for me. I just couldn’t mix. By about eight in the evening the guests were starting to leave, but I didn’t want to go anywhere. Having spent a while in such surroundings and been looked after so well, the thought of going back to The Mews meant nothing to me. I’d be returning to a void. I hated returning to The Mews when all my happiest memories of Freddie were locked up in Garden Lodge.

Elton’s manager John Reid was in his car waiting to say goodbye to me. ‘Look, Jim, ’ he said. ‘If there’s ever anything you need, let us know. ’ I assumed that by us he meant him and Elton. It was a kind thought, but Phoebe, Joe and I were never ones to make ourselves a nuisance.

When we got home I found The Mews so uninviting that I headed off to the pub. The next morning I stood in the doorway staring up at Freddie’s bedroom window. ‘Cooee’ came into my mind, and a few tears came into my eyes.

The only regular visitors to The Mews in all that time were the cats. Miko slept with me every night and Romeo came for sanctuary from the madness in the house.

I went out for New Year. I thought Freddie would have done, so if only for him I should, too. It was a disastrous night, a desperate party of a friend of a friend.

Early in the New Year, Mary offered the three of us the chance to take from Garden Lodge any presents we’d given Freddie. Our initial response was instinctive, a resounding ‘No’. These were things we’d bought Freddie; they were a part of him and a part of the Garden Lodge he had built from scratch. Each had its own special place in our hearts and his house. But Mary returned to the subject a few days later when we were all in the kitchen. She explained that in order to find the upkeep for the house she might be forced to sell off certain things. First to go would be the presents that we had bought Freddie, unless we took them away.

The three of us shot each other the same telling look. We still felt our presents should stay along with Freddie’s other treasures. There was no risk that Freddie had left Mary struggling, so there would be no need to sell things. She was just trying to chase us away. We knew she was clearly telling us something that day. She knew that each of the things we’d given Freddie held cherished memories of our loving times with him. Each present was special. She was telling us that none of that mattered any more.

As much as we wanted to refuse the return of the presents, we eventually accepted defeat. Further discussion was pointless, and we didn’t wanted our things flung from the house. So we each soberly looked around, reclaiming some of the presents we’d once given with so much warmth and love. At the end of the day we all left a lot of things behind.

The one piece of furniture I took from Garden Lodge was a couch in the Japanese Room which Freddie had given me for our retreat in Ireland. But I deliberately left behind the two little tables that Freddie had asked me to make for him for the bedroom. I felt they were special and belonged to that special room.

I am certain Freddie had never intended me to be ousted from what he’d always asked me to consider as our home. I’m also convinced he’d expected me to continue looking after the cats. If my circumstances changed and I had to move from Garden Lodge, he would assume I’d do

so with some of the cats. I asked Mary if I could take Miko with me. The answer was short and to the point. No. Technically Joe, too, was entitled to Goliath and Delilah, and he spoke to me about looking after them for him. But we were firmly put in our place about the cats. None of them would be leaving. Then I was told I might be allowed to take Goliath, but only if Goliath didn’t get on with Mary’s baby son when she moved in. Goliath was allergic to children, so there was a chance he wouldn’t settle down. I never heard about it again.

On 6 February, Freddie was posthumously honoured at the British Phonographic Industry’s ‘Brits’ awards. Joe, Phoebe and I weren’t invited. The Queen organisation clearly didn’t deem us close enough to Freddie to ask us to be there. It was cruel of them; I watched it on television instead.

That day I was in the Garden Lodge kitchen with Mary. I still wonder whether what she said then was because her conscience was beginning to prick her.

‘Jim, ’ she said, ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe you can stay on in Garden Lodge until you can find yourself a place. ’

‘Mary, ’ I said, perfectly politely. ‘Thank you very much. But I think you should clear that with Jim Beach first. ’ We said no more of it.

Next day Mary returned to the subject. ‘Things are as they were, ’ she said and the matter was closed.

Relations between Mary and me continued to be strained. I had a collection of photographs in the house and some I wanted to have back, to remind me of my life with Freddie, but I didn’t just want to help myself. When Mary and I were in Freddie’s bedroom one day, I asked her if I could take the framed photographs of Freddie he had placed for me on my side of what had been our bed. She didn’t reply.

In the kitchen the following morning with Mary, Joe and Terry, I asked again if she’d allow me to have the pictures on my side of the bed. Her response startled me.

She spun around and denied I’d ever asked for the photographs. She said she hadn’t heard me and nor had Terry – who wasn’t even there. She began asking him if he’d heard anything.

‘No, ’ I said. ‘Terry wouldn’t have heard you, Mary. ’ She kept on about not having heard me ask. She could be like a dog with a bone whenever she got something into her head. She was throwing a tantrum and being totally selfish. So I’m sorry to say I lost my temper.

‘Mary, I’ve lost my friend, my lover, my home, my life, ’ I said. I stormed out into the garden. Terry and Joe were frozen in the doorway, certain that I was angry enough to hit her. In all the years they’d known me, they had not once seen me lose my temper.

In the garden I calmed down and ten minutes later went back to the kitchen. I went up to Mary and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry for that outburst, ’ I said, but I got no response from her. It was the last time I spoke to her before I moved out.

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