The Visitors' Book

It's evening. The World Championship Paddy Melon Bowls has begun on the killer couch grass.

Arthur's team mate is Tom, and they are up against Emma and Irma. They are all ten years old, except Arthur.

Had Arthur been paying attention, he would have been put out by this. But he is miles away, thinking about bald Paul Verlaine. Where is he now? And will he come back? And why is he still with his wife?

Arthur bowls his paddy melon towards the jack, inside the white circle. It veers far away to the right.

Sheesh! says Tom, who has played every year since he was a little tacker. You didn't allow for the grass!

What? says Arthur. What about the grass?

It's not called killer couch for nothing, says Tom, bowling his melon accurately up to the jack.

Well played! says Irma.

Shut up Irma, says Emma. Just bowl.

Irma bowls accurately too.

The grown ups are sitting on the grass watching. They think Arthur is letting the children win. They like Arthur.

But Arthur is thinking dark thoughts.

........

Moloch can't google Verlaine. But Moloch has ways and means of finding out about people. It is called The Visitors' Book.

Moloch creeps under the door of the front office and in two shakes is on top of the desk. The visitors' book is open at today.

He sees the usual comments: Awesome! Best Fossicking Ever! Love the wildlife! Birdspotting was great! I found gold!!!!! Well kept campsite. I won Paddy Melon Bowls!

Nothing by Verlaine. He turns back a few pages. Aha!

Do you call that bowling? Ridiculous ! In the billabong, tiny fish not worth eating. And you must even bring your own water! Pah! We shall not return! Paul Verlaine.

Underneath, a remark from his wife, in tiny handwriting: In fact, we shall be back on Saturday morning. Please ignore my husband's ill temper. I enjoyed your campsite very well. Mathilde Verlaine.

Moloch scuttles back to tell Ageless.