Pressing the button on the entry phone, I recalled the last time I'd stood here. A lot had happened since then, not the least of which was the forthcoming marriage of Uncle Hobart and Aunt Martha. Why he'd insisted on coming all the way to London for his stag-night celebrations, instead of staying at home for a quiet drink at the Duck and Anvil was beyond me. But then a lot of things about my enigmatic uncle were beyond my comprehension.
"Well, whata ya know, it'sa Hobart." The giant who opened the front door enveloped Uncle Hobart in a bear hug that lifted him completing off his feet. "Come. Come thisa way," he urged us.
We followed the Greek's broad back down the long, red-flocked hallway, towards the deep sounds of a thumping bass guitar. The party was in full swing and the room was tightly packed with heaving bodies. A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke swirled lazily overhead and as I entered the room, I quickly found myself jammed into a corner, drinking beer from a plastic cup, wondering where Uncle Hobart had suddenly disappeared to. I felt a finger tickle my ear and turned around, wondering who was trying to attract my attention.
"Well fancy seeing you here, big boy." The honey-toned voice sent shivers up-and-down my spine.
I smiled an hello at Jill, who was just as gorgeous as I remembered her. "Jill, how're you doing? So nice to see you again." I leaned into her shoulder to make myself heard and the deep musk of her perfume had my senses reeling.
"Pretty good," she replied. "And you?"
"Jogging along, jogging along. You know how it is," my conversation was up to its usual high standards.
She wrinkled her nose at me over the rim of her glass and it did strange things to the back of my knees. "We were all pretty surprised to hear that Hobart was getting married," she confided.
"Not half as surprised as me," I replied with feeling. "I don't know what's got into the silly old sod. I mean, getting married at his age." I grimaced. "Doesn't seem decent somehow, does it?"
Jill tipped her head to one side, wrinkling her nose again, this time effecting a different part of my body. "Well, I think it's kind of cute," she breathed huskily.
Not half as cute as you, I thought, wondering how I could bring the conversation around to what I really wanted to talk about. But before I could do that, an attractive black woman joined us.
"Hello Maggie. What a great party," I greeted her, nodding at the dancers.
A broad smile lit up her face as she recognised me. "Hello Peter," she replied, "and have you been taking care of my favourite boyfriend for me?"
"That depends on whether you think letting him get married is taking care of him or not, I suppose," I answered sulkily.
Maggie raised her neat eyebrows, fixing me with a knowing stare. "I'll tell you something Peter, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you just might be a touch jealous."
"Don't be daft woman," I protested. "Me? Jealous of Uncle Hobart? Do me a favour!"
Her smile told me she didn't believe a word I was saying, and her penetrating look left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
I turned to Jill for support. "Don't look at me darling," Jill responded with a giggle." I got married myself last week."
Before I realised what I was doing, I reacted in my usual selfish, self-centred way. "Oh no!" I protested, my voice full of disappointment. "And I was really looking forward to... er... well... er..." Quickly coming to my senses, I tried to apologise: "Sorry Jill, I didn't mean that quite the way it sounded. I was trying to... er..." I foundered to a stop again, realising that by trying to extradite myself, I was only digging myself in deeper. I flapped my hands about, searching for the right words. "Do you suppose your husband would mind if we... er... for old times sake? No, of course he would. What the hell's wrong with me? What am I thinking about?"
Jill finally took pity and touching me lightly on the cheek with her fingertips, she pursed her full lips. "That's really very sweet of you Peter, but why not ask him yourself, he's right behind you."
"Aska me what?" a deep voice boomed in my ear.
Looking up into Makis' big face, I felt my knees tremble. "Oh nothing Makis, I was just wondering if anyone knew the results of last year's world-cup series? That's all."
He shrugged at me, threw Jill a puzzled look, then wandered off to get another drink. I excused myself, following him over to the bar. I needed a drink too. A big one.
"What's it to be, love?" The girl serving the drinks leant on the fake marble-topped bar, shouting at me above the pounding music.
"I'll have a beer," I replied. Pulling a can from a large tub of half melted ice, she stood it on the bar. "So what's your name?" I asked.
Pointing at her ear to indicate that she couldn't hear me, she shook her head.
Taking a deep breath, I shouted, "WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" at the top of my voice, just as the record ended. The room exploded with catcalls and jeers, and my face turned bright red.
"Take no notice of them, they're all drunk," the girl commiserated. "My name's Jane, what's yours?"
"Peter," I replied. Things seemed to be going nicely so I thought that I’d better strike while the iron was hot. "Look, why don't you come out from behind there and have a dance with me?" I suggested.
Jane sidled out, flowing into my arms, flattening her body against mine. Closing my eyes, I lost myself to the rhythm of the sixties love song, imagining I was back in the halcyon days of my youth; a time of hippies, flower-power and pot. For the next two hours I was lost in a heady world of perfume, flashing smiles and innuendo, as Jane and I got to know each other a little better, and I'd just reached the point where I was trying to edge her towards the bedroom, intending to play, 'Me Tarzan: You Jane: This mighty python!', when I was rudely brought back to reality.
A large, knobbly hand descended onto my shoulder and a whisky laden breath washed over my face as Makis shouted in my ear, "Hobart, he'sa gone miss."
I shrugged the hand off. "Yeah, I know he's pissed," I shouted back, annoyed at such an inopportune interruption to my well-laid plans of seduction.
"No, ya don unnerstand," Makis insisted. "He'sa miss. Can't find."
"Oh, you mean he's missing?"
Makis' large head bobbed up and down, and that familiar tension start up in the pit of my stomach.
*
"And you just came home and left him there?" Aunt Martha scowled at me.
"I didn't have much choice, did I?" I responded quickly. "They locked him up for the night. Look, don't worry," I tried to placate her, "he'll be alright. He'll be in court first thing in the morning and they'll give him bail or something." Aunt Martha chewed her lower lip, a frown creasing her forehead. "Don't look so worried, Aunt Martha. He'll be okay," I insisted, "I promise. Trust me."
"But supposing they find him guilty?" she reflected. "Think of the shame!"
My eyes lit up as an expansive grin creased my face. "Oh I don't think there's much chance of that happening," I said enthusiastically.
Aunt Martha's sharp nose zeroed in on me. "Why not?" she asked pointedly. "Why wouldn't they find him guilty, after what he's done? I've got an awful feeling that you're not telling me everything, Peter."
"Well, yes, in a way," I admitted reluctantly. Topping up my beer, while Aunt Martha stood over me waiting for an explanation, I took a long quaff before replying. "Well you see, Uncle Hobart and a few of his mates went round to the late-night store to pick up some extra beer for the party, and while they were there, he was nicked for trying to leave the shop without paying."
"Yes, yes," Aunt Martha interrupted me impatiently. "You've already told me all that. But why did he steal it in the first place? It's just not like him, especially as he had plenty of money on him at the time."
"But that's the whole point, Aunt Martha. He didn't steal it."
Aunt Martha looked very confused. "But you said that the people at the party had a whip-round to pay for..."
"No, not the money," I corrected her. "I mean, he didn't try and steal the beer."
"Well, why was he arrested then?" she sounded really puzzled now. "If he didn't try and steal the beer and he didn't try and steal the money, why did the police arrest him? The police don't just go around arresting people for no reason, do they?"
I raised my eyebrows. "Well I'd say that depends on who was doing the arresting, wouldn't you?"
"But what's that got to..." Aunt Martha stopped as a sudden thought struck her and I was able to follow her train of thought by the expression clouding her face. "You mean it was...?" She had figured it out at last.
"Bingo, Aunt Martha," I nodded vigorously. "Our old friend, Detective Inspector Hives, who just happened to be in the shop at the time. I reckon he thought it'd be a golden opportunity to get his own back."
"But the court's not going to take Hobart's word against that of a policeman," Aunt Martha protested, close to tears. "They're bound to find him guilty."
"Not if they've got no evidence, they won't," I assured her quietly.
"How do you mean, no evidence? Why wouldn't they have evidence?" anxiety flooded her voice. "You haven't done something illegal, have you?"
Blowing on my fingertips, I examined them closely, polishing them on the lapel of my jacket before replying. "Well not exactly illegal, Aunt Martha," I said. "After all his hard work, Uncle Hobart and I decided that Detective Inspector Hives deserved a little holiday, so we sort of introduced him to a friend of Makis. Who just happens to be the captain of a Russian tramp-ship."
Aunt Martha looked shocked, then slowly her face broke into a huge grin. Finally, giggling girlishly, she asked, "What on earth's going to happen to him, Peter? Do you think he'll be alright?"
"God knows," I laughed along with her, "but whatever happens, I think he'll be a real big hit with the KGB, don't you? I'd say they've got a hell of a lot in common."