Page 37 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“He doesn’t look spoilt,” said Reg.“He looks splendid.”
“In contrast to you,” said Martin.“You look like Sebastian Flyte when he let himself go.”
“Perhaps someone didn’t catch him,” said Reg, looking at Martin.
“Shall we go now?”said Martin.
The pub was a short walk up the road.Joel walked slowly, lagging behind.Reg walked beside him to keep him company.Martin and Juliet walked ahead, casually brushing against each other.Martin reached for Juliet’s hand, and Juliet clasped it.
Reg wondered if Joel shared his sense of exclusion just then.
“Do the shoes fit all right?”said Reg.
“They’re fine, thanks,” said Joel.“I’m just tired.”
“That’s the jet lag.You should be over it by tomorrow.”
They ate on the patio at the pub, sitting on wicker chairs at a glass-topped table, Juliet beside Joel.
At Reg’s suggestion they had the fish and chips.Joel ate slowly, without obvious appetite.His eyes, which had looked an ordinary brown before, had a soft mahogany glow, owing to his mulberry shirt.
Martin talked about the sights he wanted to show Juliet over the next two weeks.Juliet kept glancing at Joel and asking him if he was all right.
“Do both of you still have family here?”said Juliet.
“My mother’s family are from England and Scotland,” said Martin.“Reg’s mum’s family hail from the other place.”
“Hell?”said Juliet.
“Wales,” said Reg.“I’ve got a semi-detached house overlooking the channel.Vacant most of the year.”
“Situated in the most boring tourist town on Earth,” said Martin.“But Reg is too sentimental to sell.Why don’t we visit Sherlock Holmes’s place?”
“He’s not a real person,” said Reg.
“He was based on an actual doctor,” said Juliet.“Someone who taught Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at medical school.”
“Hmm,” said Reg.“I expect he scored a thousand on his QDOG.”
“His what?”said Juliet.
“MCAT, then,” said Reg.
“You can’t score a thousand on the MCAT,” said Juliet.“The highest you can get is five hundred and twenty-eight.”
“I see,” said Reg.“So, five hundred and twenty-six is quite good, then?”
“Five hundred and twenty-six would get you into Harvard,” said Juliet.
Joel quietly mashed a piece of fish batter with his fork.
“My uncle’s got a country cottage where we can stay for a few days,” said Martin.“You and me, Juliet.You could meet my family, and they could meet you.”
“How well does Juliet know you, Martin?”said Reg.“Have you told her the Christmas pudding story?”
“Don’t!”said Martin.
“What Christmas pudding story?”said Juliet.
