never really liked me, and since I'm black everybody had it in for me,' said Pete, taking a seat. At this moment a rather embarrassed looking girl came out of the kitchen wearing nothing but her pants.
'Honey, why haven't you got dressed?' said Pete.
'You two didn't give me very much time, did you,' came the reply.
'This is my oldest and best friend, Mike,' said Pete with pride.
'Hello,' said Mike.
'I've heard an awful lot about you, Mr Jerome,' said the girl with a twinkle.
'I'm sure you have,' said Mike, looking at Pete.
'Honey, the man's name is Mike,' said Pete. 'Mike, that's Guy,' he said, as the girl left the room to get dressed. 'Another drink?'
'Tell you one thing I'd like to do, and that is to eat early,' Mike said, getting up and starting to prowl around the room.
'Sure, we can nip round the corner to the Indian place,' said Pete, handing Mike his glass.
'Tell me, Pete, what's the date today?'
'Sixth of June, I think.'
'So that makes it ten years to the day that I vanished.'
'Right,' said Pete, not pushing the matter, for which Mike was grateful. Pete probably knew more about his moods, and the way Mike felt, than anyone alive. There were many times in the past when he'd had to come, cap in hand, to Pete for help. He suddenly stopped pacing when he saw his old desk. 'It's mine, isn't it?'
'Sure, it's yours. Haven't opened it since I got it. By the way, I've also got your old filing cabinet, but that's in store at the moment,' said Pete shyly.
'How did you get hold of it?' asked Mike.
'Well, Sue sold off all your stuff at an auction. Since she wouldn't let me buy it before, I went along and bought your desk, filing cabinet and all your papers,' Pete said, turning the desk key in the lock.
Mike pulled open one of the drawers and revealed a mass of untidy papers. He put his arm over Pete's shoulder as he turned over a page or two of a manuscript. 'God, look at this. It was an idea for that TV series I was meant to do.'
'Yes, I had a few problems persuading the TV company not to sue you for breach of contract,' said Pete.
'Thanks,' Mike said, pushing the papers back into the drawer and closing it. The old upright piano caught his eye, and he went over to it and started to rattle off a twelve-bar boogie blues.
'You play very well,' said Guy, coming into the room. 'Where did you learn?'
'From him,' said Mike jerking a thumb at Pete.
'Careful, Mike. Guy's looking for a good accompanist,' Pete said.
'Singer?' said Mike, playing a jazzed-up version of 'God Save the Queen*.
'Right, you could earn some good money . . .' Guy started to say.
'I might hold you to that,' said Mike interrupting.
'Come on, you two. We've got some eating to catch up on,' Pete said, picking up his coat.
It was almost four in the morning when Mike got into bed on the converted couch in the living-room. He had been pleased to find that food hadn't really changed, or at least not Indian delicacies. After their meal Guy had gone off to do her singing spot, at some new jazz club in the West End. Only then did Pete settle back to hear Mike's story. He listened to the whole saga without comment, merely asking Mike if he'd gone back to find Smitt. When he learned that he hadn't, he was relieved and advised Mike not to search him out. A heated argument ensued. Mike wanted to find out what had happened to him and was reluctant to remain in ignorance. Pete, on the other hand, counselled him to leave well alone.
Then it was Pete's turn to fill in the missing ten years of news as far as he could. Pete cared for very little of what went on in the world, except the world of music, but even Pete was now aware that the politicians hadn't been able to effectively control the population growth and were blaming the explosion on the scientists, who, in their turn, were having to find ways of producing food stuffs in even greater quantities.
Mike slept well, and was feeling very cheerful when Guy brought him a cup of tea.
'What do you want for
'Honey, why haven't you got dressed?' said Pete.
'You two didn't give me very much time, did you,' came the reply.
'This is my oldest and best friend, Mike,' said Pete with pride.
'Hello,' said Mike.
'I've heard an awful lot about you, Mr Jerome,' said the girl with a twinkle.
'I'm sure you have,' said Mike, looking at Pete.
'Honey, the man's name is Mike,' said Pete. 'Mike, that's Guy,' he said, as the girl left the room to get dressed. 'Another drink?'
'Tell you one thing I'd like to do, and that is to eat early,' Mike said, getting up and starting to prowl around the room.
'Sure, we can nip round the corner to the Indian place,' said Pete, handing Mike his glass.
'Tell me, Pete, what's the date today?'
'Sixth of June, I think.'
'So that makes it ten years to the day that I vanished.'
'Right,' said Pete, not pushing the matter, for which Mike was grateful. Pete probably knew more about his moods, and the way Mike felt, than anyone alive. There were many times in the past when he'd had to come, cap in hand, to Pete for help. He suddenly stopped pacing when he saw his old desk. 'It's mine, isn't it?'
'Sure, it's yours. Haven't opened it since I got it. By the way, I've also got your old filing cabinet, but that's in store at the moment,' said Pete shyly.
'How did you get hold of it?' asked Mike.
'Well, Sue sold off all your stuff at an auction. Since she wouldn't let me buy it before, I went along and bought your desk, filing cabinet and all your papers,' Pete said, turning the desk key in the lock.
Mike pulled open one of the drawers and revealed a mass of untidy papers. He put his arm over Pete's shoulder as he turned over a page or two of a manuscript. 'God, look at this. It was an idea for that TV series I was meant to do.'
'Yes, I had a few problems persuading the TV company not to sue you for breach of contract,' said Pete.
'Thanks,' Mike said, pushing the papers back into the drawer and closing it. The old upright piano caught his eye, and he went over to it and started to rattle off a twelve-bar boogie blues.
'You play very well,' said Guy, coming into the room. 'Where did you learn?'
'From him,' said Mike jerking a thumb at Pete.
'Careful, Mike. Guy's looking for a good accompanist,' Pete said.
'Singer?' said Mike, playing a jazzed-up version of 'God Save the Queen*.
'Right, you could earn some good money . . .' Guy started to say.
'I might hold you to that,' said Mike interrupting.
'Come on, you two. We've got some eating to catch up on,' Pete said, picking up his coat.
It was almost four in the morning when Mike got into bed on the converted couch in the living-room. He had been pleased to find that food hadn't really changed, or at least not Indian delicacies. After their meal Guy had gone off to do her singing spot, at some new jazz club in the West End. Only then did Pete settle back to hear Mike's story. He listened to the whole saga without comment, merely asking Mike if he'd gone back to find Smitt. When he learned that he hadn't, he was relieved and advised Mike not to search him out. A heated argument ensued. Mike wanted to find out what had happened to him and was reluctant to remain in ignorance. Pete, on the other hand, counselled him to leave well alone.
Then it was Pete's turn to fill in the missing ten years of news as far as he could. Pete cared for very little of what went on in the world, except the world of music, but even Pete was now aware that the politicians hadn't been able to effectively control the population growth and were blaming the explosion on the scientists, who, in their turn, were having to find ways of producing food stuffs in even greater quantities.
Mike slept well, and was feeling very cheerful when Guy brought him a cup of tea.
'What do you want for
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