it. The whole atmosphere was rather like walking through a thick, damp fog. Mike shivered. Bip, Bip, went the phone, so he picked the instrument up from it's hook.
'Your number is ringing,' said the voice. Mike heard the Bip, Bip, Bip and then silence for a moment before the signal repeated itself.
'Park, no I mean 727 9209,' suddenly said a very familiar voice. Sudden tears welled up in his eyes and his throat felt tight and dry.
'Pete, are you thoroughly awake?' Mike said, clearing his throat with some difficulty.
'Yes, of course I am, who is it?' came a rather testy reply.
'Pete, this is Mike Jerome,' Mike said, trying to hold back the tears.
'Mike?' Then there was silence. 'Pete, are you all right?' asked Mike urgently. 'Man, if it's really you, then I'm O.K.,' came a very unsteady voice down the phone. 'Where are you?'
'I'm at Warren Street Station, or thereabouts. Where are you?'
'Same old place. Look, it isn't worth me getting out the limousine, as the traffic is really f . . . awful. Can you make your way over, I think it would be easier.'
'Of course. Look, if the traffic is that bad, then I might have to walk, so expect me in say an hour or so,' said Mike beginning to feel contact with the world at last.
'About an hour, great, Mike, that's just great. Till then,' said Pete.
'Till then,' Mike said excitedly, and replaced the phone.
Mike was just about to leave the Post Office when he remembered that he would have to pay for the call. He went back to the counter, and waited his turn.
'That's ten pence.'
Mike felt in his pocket and took out all his loose change. He counted out ten pence and pushed the money over the counter. He didn't wait to hear what the woman called after him.
The streets were still crowded and Mike's patience was beginning to wear thin. He looked round until he saw an empty cab but the driver was nowhere to be seen. He would have been happy to pay well over the top, not to have to walk to Pete's. He went to the tube station just in case, but it looked hopeless. The vast numbers of people walking were not shoppers, as he'd originally thought, but workers. He wondered whether there was a special reason or if the chaos was normal.
As Mike walked on into Marylebone Road, all the old buildings he remembered were gone. In their place towered huge sky scrapers. He stopped from time to time to see what they were used for. To him they looked like office blocks, but from studying the long lists of names inside the buildings it became apparent that there was a large residential population. This struck him as very logical. If one couldn't commute to work, then one would have to live near one's work. How pleasant, thought Mike, he could find himself a superb new flat. A penthouse, perhaps. Resilience returned.
3
‘Love ... Love is money, Cheri.’
Jaques Prevert
Mike turned buoyantly into Craven Hill and walked across the road to Pete's flat. There, standing on the front steps of the house, was a dark form.
'Man, I couldn't believe it, I couldn't believe it,' said Pete, leaping down the steps to greet Mike. The two hugged each other in a long embrace.
'How are you?' said Mike, seeing the tears in Pete's eyes.
'Great. A little over-weight,' said Pete, patting his trim looking stomach. 'Come on, come in, you bloody bastard.'
Mike followed Pete up the stairs and into his flat. Inside, Mike took hold of Pete and gave him another bear hug.
'You know, you really had me worried,' said Pete, going over to a low table and pouring out two of the usual drinks.
'You're not the only one,' said Mike, helping himself to a splash of soda. 'Did you have a bad time?'
'Man, did I have a time. I was accused of hiding you, killing you, encouraging you to run away, and after all this I had the damned police on my back for months,'
Pete said with a big grin. 'You know, the worst person was that damned bitch, Sue.'
'What the devil was she doing?'
'She was the one who put the police onto me. She
'Your number is ringing,' said the voice. Mike heard the Bip, Bip, Bip and then silence for a moment before the signal repeated itself.
'Park, no I mean 727 9209,' suddenly said a very familiar voice. Sudden tears welled up in his eyes and his throat felt tight and dry.
'Pete, are you thoroughly awake?' Mike said, clearing his throat with some difficulty.
'Yes, of course I am, who is it?' came a rather testy reply.
'Pete, this is Mike Jerome,' Mike said, trying to hold back the tears.
'Mike?' Then there was silence. 'Pete, are you all right?' asked Mike urgently. 'Man, if it's really you, then I'm O.K.,' came a very unsteady voice down the phone. 'Where are you?'
'I'm at Warren Street Station, or thereabouts. Where are you?'
'Same old place. Look, it isn't worth me getting out the limousine, as the traffic is really f . . . awful. Can you make your way over, I think it would be easier.'
'Of course. Look, if the traffic is that bad, then I might have to walk, so expect me in say an hour or so,' said Mike beginning to feel contact with the world at last.
'About an hour, great, Mike, that's just great. Till then,' said Pete.
'Till then,' Mike said excitedly, and replaced the phone.
Mike was just about to leave the Post Office when he remembered that he would have to pay for the call. He went back to the counter, and waited his turn.
'That's ten pence.'
Mike felt in his pocket and took out all his loose change. He counted out ten pence and pushed the money over the counter. He didn't wait to hear what the woman called after him.
The streets were still crowded and Mike's patience was beginning to wear thin. He looked round until he saw an empty cab but the driver was nowhere to be seen. He would have been happy to pay well over the top, not to have to walk to Pete's. He went to the tube station just in case, but it looked hopeless. The vast numbers of people walking were not shoppers, as he'd originally thought, but workers. He wondered whether there was a special reason or if the chaos was normal.
As Mike walked on into Marylebone Road, all the old buildings he remembered were gone. In their place towered huge sky scrapers. He stopped from time to time to see what they were used for. To him they looked like office blocks, but from studying the long lists of names inside the buildings it became apparent that there was a large residential population. This struck him as very logical. If one couldn't commute to work, then one would have to live near one's work. How pleasant, thought Mike, he could find himself a superb new flat. A penthouse, perhaps. Resilience returned.
3
‘Love ... Love is money, Cheri.’
Jaques Prevert
Mike turned buoyantly into Craven Hill and walked across the road to Pete's flat. There, standing on the front steps of the house, was a dark form.
'Man, I couldn't believe it, I couldn't believe it,' said Pete, leaping down the steps to greet Mike. The two hugged each other in a long embrace.
'How are you?' said Mike, seeing the tears in Pete's eyes.
'Great. A little over-weight,' said Pete, patting his trim looking stomach. 'Come on, come in, you bloody bastard.'
Mike followed Pete up the stairs and into his flat. Inside, Mike took hold of Pete and gave him another bear hug.
'You know, you really had me worried,' said Pete, going over to a low table and pouring out two of the usual drinks.
'You're not the only one,' said Mike, helping himself to a splash of soda. 'Did you have a bad time?'
'Man, did I have a time. I was accused of hiding you, killing you, encouraging you to run away, and after all this I had the damned police on my back for months,'
Pete said with a big grin. 'You know, the worst person was that damned bitch, Sue.'
'What the devil was she doing?'
'She was the one who put the police onto me. She
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