Mercury and Me

by Jim Hutton

It was typical that in addition to his own cats he had affectionately befriended the local strays.

‘Let me buy you a drink,’ he said. I had an almost full can and I replied: ‘No, thank you.’ Then he asked me what I was doing that night. ‘Fuck off,’

‘If it happens, it happens; if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.’

I made myself some supper, then headed out dressed appropriately for the gay scene – jeans and white vest.

‘How big’s your dick?’ Freddie asked, laughing.

Anyway, I was already happily tanked up and more interested in playing with Freddie’s two cats, Tiffany and Oscar, than putting anything up my nose.

He had just released his first solo album Mr Bad Guy, dedicated to his cats,

He told me later that he had spotted me and thought I looked downcast and it had made him upset. He’d said to Joe and his driver: ‘There goes my man. Doesn’t he look miserable?’

Freddie grabbed and hugged me.

I would learn that he was very impulsive about sex which, fortunately, we both enjoyed thoroughly.

Roger had run a stall at Kensington Market with Freddie years earlier and they were clearly soulmates; they’d often sit together, giggling.

But it was John Deacon I took to most. He was the silent member of the group – remarkably modest, quiet and unassuming.

A few minutes later he arrived: it was David Bowie.

‘I’m sorry, this is all I can afford to give you,’ I said, passing him a small folded piece of tissue paper. When he opened it up he was thrilled. He kissed me then ran into the sitting room with it.

I still have the small Japanese card Freddie had written: ‘Take lots of care, will see you soon. Tons of love F.’

That said a lot about Freddie. He loved beautiful things.

Another thing he’d often tell me, right up until the night he died, was: ‘I love you.’ And it was never an ‘I love you’ which just rolled off the tongue; he always meant it.

As the crowds cheered, I thought: ‘That’s my man!’

‘Well, Freddie’s different this year,’ he said. ‘What have you done to him?’

‘Have you got a girlfriend?’ she asked Freddie. ‘No, I haven’t,’ he replied. ‘Have you got a wife?’ she asked. He leaned across her, put his hand on my knee and said: ‘Yes. This is the wife!’

‘Are we causing all this?’ Freddie asked. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Oh,’ he said softly, grinning.

I wanted to give Freddie something very special for a very special birthday: a gold wedding ring.

He opened it up and tried on the ring at once. It fitted a treat. Then he kissed me and we cuddled for a minute or two.

Just as I was dozing off, I heard the door open. It was Freddie showing friends around the house. ‘Sshh,’ he whispered, ‘my husband’s asleep. Don’t wake him.’

Freddie could always stay in the bath much longer than me; he was a real water baby.

‘I’m Freddie Mercury,’ said Freddie Mercury.

‘I love you very much,’ he said. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I love you,’ I said.

He told her: ‘Puccini and all these other composers are dead. I’m alive, dear.’

‘If you want to leave me I’ll understand,’ he said. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘If you want to leave me and move out of Garden Lodge I won’t stop you; I’ll understand,’ he said. ‘But I love you,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to walk out on you – now or ever. Let’s not talk about it any more.’

(He did later reveal his illness to Roger Taylor’s partner Dominique after she told him she had breast cancer; he wanted her to know that his was a shoulder she could lean on any time.)

Every morning when Freddie got up he started his day by looking out of our bedroom window on to the garden. He’d look for me, wave and call ‘Cooee’ before coming down for his morning tea.

Freddie sought me out straight away and we kissed. I asked him why he was back so early. ‘Because I wanted to be with you,’ he said.

there was Freddie singing camp Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland songs at the top of his voice, kicking a leg in the air every so often for good measure.

Freddie handed him the cheque with the memorable words: ‘Right, now fuck off.’

From that birthday, I knew I was entering my final few years with Freddie.

After that night Freddie always wore his wedding ring and it never came off his finger again, even when he washed.

he did tell me he’d once had a driving lesson – just one. It lasted no more than ten minutes. He met the instructor, got into the car, stalled the engine, got out and declared: ‘I can’t be bothered with this.’

‘Do you love me?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I love you,’ I said.

He constantly needed the reassurance that I loved him, and until the end would now and then ask whether I did. He knew I loved him, but he needed to hear me say it. Even though thousands of fans around the world loved him without ever having met him, the only person he seemed to want to know really did love him was me.

‘Yes,’ said Freddie, ‘my husband did them for me.’

Freddie watched the koi in the pool for hours. He enjoyed feeding them himself, and most adored those which would take food straight from his hand.

This time Joe had been instructed by Freddie to go to Cartier’s to buy cufflinks for his husband.

When I got into bed two days later, Freddie gave me a box. I opened it and there was a beautiful silver magnifying glass and a silver letter opener. ‘Well, I want you to be able to see the bugs,’ he said.

‘You didn’t make those, did you?’ he said and went over to inspect them. ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I did.’ He looked at them closely, then kissed me.

Towards the end of the evening a woman came around selling single roses and I bought three. I gave one to Mary, one to Dominique and the third to Freddie. He was terribly embarrassed because I had shown such a public show of affection. But later, in the bedroom, he thanked me for the rose and kissed me passionately.

‘What are you going to do when I die?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said, still crying. ‘I can’t handle it all.’ ‘Well, how do you think I feel?’ he replied. I looked over and Freddie was crying too.

a battery-operated child’s toy – small penguins waddling around a loop-track. That toy kept me and the cats occupied for hours. They’d wait for the little penguins to get to the top of the ski slope, then whack them all off.

Queen were dazed by Freddie’s eagerness to return to the stresses of the studio. I don’t think any of them had thought about going back to recording so soon after briefly coming up for air after The Miracle. But they all said ‘Yes’ in unison.

Freddie nicknamed my new bedroom the Ice Box as I slept with the window wide open, even in the middle of winter.

There were also some penguins there for the shoot and in quiet moments Freddie took himself off to be with them and give them water. Under studio lights they were baking and, ill as he was, he was only concerned for their welfare.