Page 41 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Just then, he heard the familiar crunch of gravel on the pebbled drive and looked out the window to see Martin’s rental car, two days before it was due to return.Reg bounded down the stairs to the front door and hauled it open.Martin was first out of the car and began pulling luggage out of the boot.Juliet got out next, stretched, and took one of the bags from him.
“Joel, dear,” said Juliet.“We’re back.”
Joel was fast asleep in the back seat.
“I’ll give you a hand,” said Reg to Martin.
Martin handed Joel’s bag to Reg, then picked up his own, and he and Reg went inside while Juliet tried to wake Joel.
“You’re back early,” said Reg.
“New Bug put a damper on things,” said Martin.“His bedroom was right between mine and Juliet’s—she insisted.I got fed up, but what else could I do?I couldn’t leave the little cockblocker by the side of the road with a note saying ‘Please look after this new bug’ taped to him, could I?So, I suggested we cut the visit short, because you were likely to be feeling lonely.”
“Ha!”said Reg, feeling caught out.
“I know,” said Martin, “but I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I?”
Reg felt so elated Joel was back that he couldn’t suppress his good mood.After lunch, which Joel attended, blinking and bleary-eyed, Reg proposed a game of croquet.The lawn had been freshly cut and watered, and it looked so lovely and green that, at Reg’s insistence, they removed their shoes and socks and went barefoot on the grass, cool and wet, the clippings sticking to their skin.
“I’ve never played croquet before,” said Juliet.“Nor has Joel.”
“Then let’s play in teams,” said Martin.“Juliet can play with me, and Reg can play with N—Joel.”
Reg brought out the croquet set and pre-emptively selected colours for everyone.
“Joel, you’re orange,” said Reg.“I’ll be red, naturally.Juliet can be yellow—matches your hair.And Martin, this is you.”Reg handed Martin the blue ball and winked at him.
Martin threw Reg a death glare.
It was one of those perfect summer days, a chorus of leaves shuffling in the breeze, the lawn dappled in shadow, and no sound but birdsong and the clack of mallets on balls.With occasional swearing.
Joel had no idea what to do, so Reg coached him.
“The most important aspect of croquet is being an absolute dick to your opponents,” said Reg.
After Joel, on Reg’s advice, tapped Martin’s blue ball with his orange one, Reg picked up Joel’s ball and set it beside Martin’s.“Put your foot on your ball and use your mallet to hit Martin’s ball.”
“How hard?”said Joel.
“Launch it into space, if possible,” said Reg.
“Steady on,” said Martin.
Joel wound up.
“Channel your killer instinct,” said Reg.
Joel hit the ball with such speed and vigour that Martin’s ball flew off the grass and punched a hole through a nearby garden gnome.Joel and Reg burst out laughing and kept laughing until they collapsed on the lawn.
“Right in the nut sack,” said Martin.“Spot on, Joel.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Joel, wiping tears out of his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“He can always adopt,” said Reg.
They folded up with laughter again.
Martin retrieved his ball from amidst the shards of gnome.“I refuse to play this ball from between his legs.”
