Freddie Mercury: The Biography (32 page)

The rest of the band’s contribution had been to provide Mercury with songs to sing, and he would, in turn, provide as much
material to work with after he was gone as he could produce. ‘Write me anything, and I’ll sing it,’ he told his three friends.
They never knew as they watched him leave, drained and desperate to lie down, if they would ever see him again. In the last
recorded interview he gave, the star spoke of hoping to cram as much fun into life as he could in the years he had left. But,
the truth was, time was measured in months now.

In August Mercury heard that Paul Prenter, the man who had betrayed him to the
Sun,
had died of AIDS. He was soon to learn, too, Jim Hutton’s secret that he was HIV positive; traumatic news that devastated
him. Mercury had tried driving himself hard and not giving in, but he became aware that he was living on borrowed time. In
the peaceful world of his Swiss lakeside house he sought solitude to reach some vital decisions, one of which was that he
didn’t want to hang on longer than his body could stand.

Mike Moran remembers this painful period: ‘A couple of months before Freddie died, I got a phone call from Peter Freestone
asking, “Are you free on 5 September?” I said, “Yes. Why?” Peter replied, “Well, it’s Freddie’s birthday,” and of course we
had never missed one – but we hadn’t thought that he would be celebrating this year. However, a handful of us went to Garden
Lodge, and Freddie was still the perfect host. He didn’t have long left, and he knew it, but he was very calm about it, very
relaxed and very pleased to see his friends. We watched old videos, told old stories and laughed, and Freddie bravely stuck
it out to the end, staying until he saw everyone off. He was amazing.

‘After that, though, he didn’t want people to see him, because he was so bad. He and I kept in touch by phone, but if I suggested
coming over he’d say to me, “No, you

don’t want to see me today, dear. I’m not looking very good.”’

Now a spectral figure, Mercury was so aware of his mortality that he began planning the details of his own funeral service.
He had already laid out
£1
million on ten houses for special friends, and now he made a will – a thirteen-page document that made the usual provisions
for realising his estate, settling debts and taxes, and for the division of his wealth. He signed it on 17 September 1991
before two witnesses, and in it had appointed as executors John Libson and Henry James ‘Jim’
Beach. Not long after that he was so weak that he remained in bed most days, mainly asleep.

On 28 October, Queen released the album
Greatest Hits Vol II.
A fortnight before that their fortieth single, ‘The Show Must Go On’ had come out. As if the lyrics were not sufficiently
haunting, the song’s video, which was premiered on
Top of the Pops,
looked like an obvious farewell – and only heightened fans’ fears that the end was near. Officially it was still denied that
anything was seriously wrong, but by then few were really fooled. Some journalists had half written their obituaries, and
in all areas of the music industry the general consensus was that Freddie Mercury was dying.

Although the star’s team of specialists did what they could to alleviate his suffering, his illness was an horrendous ordeal
for Mercury. The AIDS virus infects brain cells and the central nervous system, which causes neurological disorders beyond
the immune deficiency that renders the body effectively helpless against infection. By early November Mercury chose to come
off most of his medication. His doctors advised him against this, but he was suffering blind spells and night sweats. Plagued
by mouth and skin sores, he eventually needed to use breathing apparatus. Near the end he would not be able even to speak.
And he had come to the point where he just wanted it all to end.

Apart from his doctors, regular visitors included Dave Clark and Mary Austin, by now pregnant again, along with Jim Hutton,
Joe Fanelli and Peter Freestone. A constant vigil was kept on a rota basis at Mercury’s bedside. But an unwelcome presence
at Garden Lodge had lately arrived in the shape of a burgeoning press contingent. The media ignorantly had settled themselves
outside the house, assembling like vultures for bad news. Sometimes their tactless talk could be heard inside the sick room,
upsetting those caring for him. Mercifully Mercury himself was too ill to make out their comments.

By the third week of November the star was existing on liquids alone and had almost entirely lost the use of his muscles.
On the 22nd, Jim Beach arrived to go over the terms of an official statement that Mercury is said to have wanted to issue
– and had supposedly worked on personally. Roger Taylor reckons that as Mercury had often remarked that he could ‘pop off
at any time’, he hadn’t wanted to be cheated of his opportunity to make an announcement.

But Jim Hutton had no prior knowledge of this. Why, after years of obsessive secrecy, would he suddenly wish to confess all
to the world? Hutton held the view that his lover was originally put under pressure to make this move. He contended that once
convinced of the need to say something, Mercury then stipulated that he wanted it released worldwide – to prevent a scoop
for the British gutter press.

On Saturday, 23 November, Queen’s PR officer, Roxy Meade, read out an official statement outside Garden Lodge, in which she
stated on behalf of Queen’s lead singer that he had been tested positive for HIV and that he had AIDS. He felt it had come
to the point at which he wanted his friends and fans to know the truth. And he hoped everyone would join him and his doctors
in fighting to combat the killer disease. The statement made headline television news and filled newspaper front pages around
the world the following day.

Sunday was a bleak day. The star’s doctor had been in attendance on and off for hours. Dave Clark had arrived, and Mary Austin
shuttled urgently back and forth between Garden Lodge and her home nearby. Mercury was slipping in and out of consciousness.
An attempt tenderly to move his emaciated body for a change of bed linen had resulted in one of his brittle bones breaking
like a dry stick. He needed help to stroke his favourite cat, which had sat sentinel all day with her doting owner.

In the past week Mercury had felt himself fading. He realised he would never leave his house alive again. Just days before,
weighing very little, he had insisted on enduring the agony of being carried downstairs to take one last long look around
at his beautiful home packed with treasures, crammed with memories. After that he never moved from his bed again, and both
Jim Hutton and Dave Clark were in the room with Mercury, when, just before seven o’clock in the evening, he died in his sleep.

Although hardly unexpected, his death was a great shock, and grief was immense. Joe Fanelli had gone to fetch the doctor,
who had been leaving to pack an overnight bag, but he was too late. Mary Austin had not long said her goodbyes to Mercury,
kissing him and holding his hand as she told him she loved him and respected his bravery. He couldn’t reply, and she had fled
his bedroom in tears. His parents, although summoned from Feltham, had not managed to arrive in time, and Jim Beach, who had
left for America directly after meeting Mercury that Friday, had to be contacted in Los Angeles.

The rest of Queen were also told, and just before midnight the news was announced publicly. There was a brief statement that
read: ‘Freddie Mercury died peacefully this evening at his home. His death was the result of bronchopneumonia, brought on
by AIDS.’ After twelve years as Mercury’s personal aide, making sure he always left the house perfectly dressed, Peter Freestone
provided a final service for his friend and helped with the laying out. Shortly afterwards the star’s body was removed from
the house and taken to a secret location in west London. There was a police escort to prevent the more aggressive members
of the press from tailing them.

Reporters converged on Mary Austin at the first opportunity. Tearfully she told them that Mercury had known that the
end was coming, adding, ‘But he kept his sense of humour right to the end. He told me he had no regrets.’

For months the tabloid pressure on Taylor, May and Deacon had been relentless. It was so intense that, as Taylor later admitted,
they had often debated among themselves whether or not they could – or should – honour their promise to the singer. But after
twenty-one years together, they had bonded more than ever in the face of his illness and had kept his secret. Now unwilling
to endure an interrogation from the very journalists to whom they’d repeatedly had to lie, they issued a joint press statement,
expressing their overwhelming sadness at losing Mercury.

With the public announcement, distraught fans arrived in Kensington in their droves, some carrying placards, to gather outside
the walled garden. Although they had feared the worst for a long time, now that Mercury had died they felt devastated. It
was a kind of solace for them just to join together in their grief and stand in tribute to the star they had adored. The floral
tributes flooded in, too, from mourners in all walks of life, and the Hammersmith Odeon, scene of many Queen triumphs, displayed
the neon message
FREDDIE MERCURY. WE
WILL MISS YOU!

It had been Mercury’s wish to be cremated. The twenty-five-minute service took place three days later at the West London Crematorium
in Harrow Road. It was a private affair on a bitterly cold day with only a few special friends joining the star’s family and
relations. The ceremony was conducted in the ancient Avestan language, in accordance with the Zoroastrian faith, with both
priests dressed in white robes, chanting traditional prayers. Adhering to Mercury’s instructions, gospel music by Aretha Franklin
was also played, as well as an aria from Verdi by Montserrat Caballé.

In the aftermath many people queued to pay their public tribute to Freddie Mercury. Elton John maintained that
‘Quite simply he was one of the most important figures in rock ’n’ roll in the last twenty years.’

Francis Rossi added, ‘Freddie was one of the élite few who could really set a stadium alight.’

And pop pundit Paul Gambaccini declared, ‘What a star! They don’t make them like him any more!’

Among Mercury’s friends, Sir Tim Rice said, ‘His death was a great loss to music.’

While Wayne Eagling thought that ‘Freddie was always extremely brave in everything he did. He was never afraid to face up
to the world and what was perceived as conventional. It was a great shame that he had to go.’

But for Mike Moran it had gone much deeper: ‘Freddie was such a great loss to me that I still find it very hard to get over.
It’s almost harder for me to get over Freddie dying than it was to get over losing my father. With parents, they’re older
and in some ways you expect it. But not with Freddie.’

A week later Roger Taylor and Brian May were interviewed on TV, during which they were invited to elaborate on a reference
at the end of their joint press release – that the remaining band members hoped to plan a tribute to Mercury. All either would
say at that stage was that it would perhaps take the form of a live concert.

On 9 December, Mercury’s masterpiece ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ was rereleased, this time as a double A-side, along with the hitherto
unreleased ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’. As expected it stormed into the charts at number one and still stands as the
only song to be number one twice over a Christmas period. It also sold in sufficient quantities by the end of the year to
become the second bestselling single of 1991, behind Bryan Adams’s ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It For You’.

This time Mercury was doing it for charity, as he had stipulated that all royalties should be donated to the Terrence
Higgins Trust. With the singer released from all pain, the future of Queen had to be in serious doubt. Closer to home, for
those he left behind still trying to cope personally with his passing, other ordeals lay in store.

Cynics say that in music it’s the greatest career move in the world to die – record sales rocket and legendary status is almost
always guaranteed. Certainly Freddie Mercury had no death wish and could hardly have suffered a more agonising fate, but for
the next year barely a month passed without either a Queen or a solo Mercury release.

Queen’s
Greatest Hits Vol I
was already multi-platinum when Hollywood Records released ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’/’The Show Must Go On’ as a double A-side on
6 February 1992. All its royalties were donated to the Magic Johnson Aids Foundation. Days later, it was award time again.

At the BPI Awards, held that year at the Hammersmith Odeon, ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’ won the award for Best Single
of 1991 – and Mercury took the posthumous award for an Outstanding Contribution to Music. Accepting this on the star’s behalf,
Roger Taylor announced that they were to stage a huge concert in Mercury’s memory on 20 April at Wembley Stadium. It was to
double as an AIDS Awareness Day, and all monies would go to charity.

Within hours of going on sale next day, all tickets for this gig, already touted as potentially the biggest show since Live
Aid, sold out. In theory it was the kind of tribute Freddie Mercury would have loved. Unfortunately, as plans swung into
action to organise the big day, other schemes were afoot, which friends felt would have had the star spinning in his grave.

Probate in Mercury’s estate was officially granted on 13 May, but the contents of his will were known to those concerned long
before. Apart from generous legacies to selected friends and Jim Hutton, the bulk of his estate was divided 50 per cent to
Mary Austin, with the remainder split equally between his parents and his sister, Kashmira. As expected, Austin was the principal
beneficiary. Garden Lodge, together with all contents and personal possessions free of inheritance tax, was made over to her,
as was other property. What has bothered some since is what happened to the people who had for years called Garden Lodge their
home.