Taylor braked and parked her car on the employee's special parking lot. She took her handbag and got out of the car, heading for the back door of the gallery. The warm temperature of the building welcomed her, as she crossed a corridor with offices surrounding it. She met Layla, one of her colleagues, and smiled at her. She went to her locker in the employee's room and removed her jacket, wich she had kept in her car, and grabbed her name tag, which she pinned to the vest of her suit. Then, she hurried to the ticket office at the entrance of the museum, greeted James, the sales assistant, and opened a drawer in the counter. She grabbed a list with her name written in big red letters at the top, and read her programme for the day. The first group she had to take care of was a group of children. Suddenly, shouts and laughter sounded in the great hall, causing her to look up. Here were the children. Taylor took a deep breath and sighed.

Her working day was beginning.

Meanwhile, at home, John was sitting on the couch, with Malo curled up on his lap, watching TV. He was making the remote jump in his hands, absent-mindedly watching the programme. It was a film starring John Wayne, released in the early sixties, Donovan's Reef. Though John liked it, this time he could not focus on it, though he did not know why.

For once, he had nothing worrying about, and he was sure that Taylor was alright. But then, he started to think about the baby.

As soon as the word baby came to his mind, his long and thin lips stretched into a broad smile. He stroked Malo's back while imagining what the baby would look like in the future, and also how he would take care of him or her. Perhaps his child would be interested in electronics just like him, and they could build some little things for the house and for themselves. Perhaps his child would also like music, and they could build an amplifier, more powerful than the Deacy amp, or even an instrument, like Brian did with his father when he was a teenager. Perhaps his child would be interested in none, but both could find something to do together, like walking, playing soccer, painting, or anything.

John knew that Taylor would be a good mother, for she already was a sort of motherly figure to him, especially when he felt down or completely rejected. She knew what he could hide inside of him, and she saw it the first time they met. As though they were meant to be. If she could take care of John like that, she could take care of a child.

John carefully took Malo in his arms, making her purr happily, and threw his long and thin legs on the couch. He put down the cat on his stomach and petted her, as a list of names came through his mind. Keith, he had always liked this name. But he read his favourite names in his head: Robert... Luke... Michael... Joshua... Cameron? Only if the baby was a boy. For a girl, he always thought about Laura. But he loved Ann and Helen as well.

He was excited about having the baby and finding a name, that was undeniable. But the name was something he had to talk about with Taylor.

He looked up to the clock and saw it already was eleven. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. He had to take a shower and go to Doctor Maylor's surgery for Taylor's prescription. He stood up, apologising to Malo, and quietly walked up to the bedroom, opened the doors of his wardrobe, took out a black t-shirt, his blue jeans, and randomly found his red college jacket, which he wore during the shooting of the We Will Rock You/Spread Your Wings promotional videos. He took the whole along with black boxers and went straight to the bathroom to take a shower.

John got out of the bathroom, all clean and dressed, and walked to the kitchen, where Taylor left her box of pills, so he would show it to Doctor Maylor. He grabbed it and put it in the pocket of his jacket, took his wallet on the shoe cabinet and put on his white trainers. He took his keys and left home, making sure that Malo did not go out.

He opened the garage door, seeing his shiny blue car. He smiled and got in it, strating it up and taking it out of the big garage. He got out to close the garage door and finally drove away from the house, heading for Doctor Maylor's surgery.

When he reached the surgery, John parked the car, got out of it, making his keys jump in the palm of his hand. He headed for the door and opened it, making a small bell ring to announce his arrival. He went to the waiting room, greeting politely two other patients. There was a man in his forties sitting by the window, rubbing his slightly grey moustache with his finger. Then, there was an elderly woman, sitting near John.

When John sat, crossing his arms, he noticed that the woman could not take her eyes off him. She coughed loudly, apologising, still staring at him. After a couple of minutes, she stood up and sat next to him, without saying a word. She cleared his throat and leant closer to him to whisper something in his ear.

“Excuse me, young man, but your face looks very familiar to me. You look like a child who used to live in my neighbourhood a long time ago, in Oadby.”

“That's where I come from, indeed.”

“Aren't you the son of Lilian Deacon? And her husband... oh, what's his name again...”

“Arthur. Yes, I am. I'm John.”

“Oh, yes, Arthur! I knew that I had met you somewhere! Where do you live now? And where do you work?”

“I live in London, with my wife, and I work as the bass player for a rock band.”

“You? In rock music?” she said, her eyes widening. “I always saw you as a very shy and quiet child, but it seems like you changed through the years.”

“Oh, no, I'm still shy and quiet” he chuckled. “I found three crazy bandmates, I had to be different in a certain way.”

“Perhaps! How are you parents? Do they still live in Oadby?”

“My mother does. She's alright, she often sees my sister, Julie.”

“And your father?”

“Oh... He passed away when I was eleven.”

“Oh Lord, I'm deeply sorry, I had no idea!”

“It's alright.”

John smiled at her, and Doctor Maylor came in the waiting room, calling her. She shook John's hand, said goodbye, and followed the doctor to his office. John sat up on his chair, frowning a bit as he remembered his father. Arthur Henry Deacon died of a heart attack when John was still very young, in 1962. Both were fond of electronics.

An hour had passed, and John did not even notice. Doctor Maylor came to the waiting room and called him with a grin.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Deacon! It's your turn.”

John nodded and shook his hand, before going to the office with him. He sat at the desk, while the doctor sat in front of him, smiling.

“After your wife, it's you?”

“No, not at all. It's just that Taylor doesn't have enough painkillers, and she can't buy them without a prescription. I wondered if you could make her one.”

“Sure! What brand is it?”

John rummaged through his pocket and showed him the small box containing the last pill Taylor had. Doctor Maylor took it and attentively read what was written on it. He shook his head and took one of his prescription papers, and started to scribble the brand on it, with the good doses, and the number of boxes that were needed.

“I'm prescribing her five boxes, so she won't run out of them for at least two or three months.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“By the way, how is she?”

“Apparently she's fine. I just came back from a two weeks tour in America, so I didn't see how it went for her. But she tells me that thanks to the medicines, her kidneys feel better.”

John's lips stretched into a smile, and he felt tears of joy coming to his eyes.

“And yesterday, she announced me that she was pregnant. We're having a child, haha!”

Doctor Maylor stopped writing and immediately looked up at him, quite taken aback. He frowned and cleared his throat.

“But... With what she has, it's dangerous!” he finally said.

“What? I thought that a simple cyst could not prevent her from having a child!”

The doctor put down his pen and closed his eyes briefly, gently tapping his fingers on his forehead. He sighed and looked back at John, pouting a little. He pressed his back against this of the chair and crossed his arms.

“So... She did not tell you...”