Page 61 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“Tell me to slow down.Remember your elements.Or if you want, I can stop.”
“Don’t stop,” said Joel.
“Not for the world,” Reg murmured, hand still moving.Joel strained against him.
Afterwards, Reg had to hold him up, he was so wrung out, shaking, breath stuttering.
“Well done, my boy,” Reg said softly and couldn’t believe his luck.They had each other all to themselves and the whole summer ahead of them.
Fifteen minutes later, Reg’s phone rang.
He snatched it up.“Hello!”
“You sound cheerful,” said Martin.“Had a good morning?”
“One could say that.”
“What have you done to New Bug’s body?”
“What?”Reg spluttered coffee over the kitchen table.
“Have you buried him behind the tennis court?”
“No.”Reg laughed nervously.
“Showing marked restraint for you.How is he, then?”
“Joel is splendid.He made it past tin this time.”
“You know, Reg, on your best day, I can only understand you fifty per cent of the time.”
“That’s the tragedy of poets.We’re never fully understood.”
“You’ve stopped calling him New Bug.That’s a good sign.You’re not bored with him, are you?Not planning on sending him home?”
Reg burst out laughing.
“What?”said Martin.“Did he break another garden gnome?”
Reg was afraid he was giving himself away.A distraction was called for.“How’s the thesis coming?”
“In drips and drabs.I’ve written a few pieces I’m happy with.”
“Only a few?”said Reg.
“I was making headway until I met Juliet.Speaking of—she wants to know when you’re coming back.”
“As late as possible,” said Reg.“End of August.”
“Is Joel there?Juliet wants a word.”
“He’s upstairs having a shower.”
“Tell him Juliet says to switch on his phone once in a while so she can reach him directly.”
“Righto,” said Reg.“Bye.”
Joel entered the kitchen.He was wearing the sapphire blue silk shirt Reg had bought him, buttoned to the throat, and he was holding that morning’s clothes in a bundle in his arms.
