One Perfect Summer

pushing him backwards until finally he gives in and lies there, with me in his arms.
    ‘Okay, I won’t get changed,’ he says.
    ‘Phew.’
    ‘But we should go downstairs soon.’
    ‘Okay.’ Not yet, though.
    I hold Lukas’s hand as we walk down the corridor together, going back the way we came. There’s not a soul to be seen as we step down the sweeping staircase, and turn left at the bottom. Lukas drops my hand and I follow him to a large door. He pushes it open. I instantly hear voices and instinctively step behind him, before berating myself for trying to hide. He reaches out and takes my hand again, leading me into a huge room where the walls are dark red and hung with oil paintings. There are several unfamiliar people seated on antique gilded chairs and once more I feel like I’m in a dream, then, suddenly:
    ‘LUKAS!’ A dark-haired man in his late twenties shouts with joy and leaps to his feet, rushing over to swamp my boyfriend in a bear hug. They pat each other’s back and slap each other’s cheeks with delight as they chatter away in German. I am too on edge to concentrate on understanding, and before I know it the man has turned to me.
    ‘You must be Alice,’ he says affectionately, taking my hand. ‘I’m Markus.’ And all of a sudden we’re surrounded by people. I meet Markus’s wife, Eva, who is serene and beautiful, but seems nice. Their son, Max, is a cuddly toddler with blond hair and a cheeky grin, and Lukas’s sister, Frieda, is warm and welcoming. I barely have a chance to speak to Lukas’s matronly aunt, gruff uncle or two cousins, one of whom has a wife and a little girl of about five, because Frieda ushers me away to one of the antique sofas. She’s taller than me by a couple of inches and is reasonably big-boned. She has light-blonde hair cut in a jaw-length bob, her eyes are green and her smile is blinding. She’s two years older than Lukas, which makes her twenty-six.
    ‘I’m so happy to finally meet you!’ she exclaims as soon as we’re seated. Lukas is in the midst of his extended family. ‘I can’t believe my little brother kept you from us for so long!’ I laugh awkwardly and shrug. ‘But you’re here, now.’ She pats my hand. ‘Tell me everything about yourself!’
    ‘Um . . .’
    ‘Frieda, leave her be!’ Markus exclaims as he and the rest of the family return to join us on the opulent chairs and sofas.
    Frieda snaps something in German which I can’t understand and Markus tuts. She quickly turns back to me.
    ‘Ignore my brother. He’s a bore.’
    He seems nothing like a bore to me, but I think she’s joking.
    ‘We have so much to talk about!’ she cries.
    ‘You have four days,’ Markus says in German, before apologising to me in English.
    ‘It’s okay, I understood,’ I tell him. ‘My German is not very good, but I’m trying to learn.’
    ‘Aw!’ Frieda rubs my arm with great affection. ‘She’s so sweet, Lukas!’
    ‘Never mind,’ Markus says. ‘We will speak in English for the duration of your visit.’
    I feel bad. ‘You don’t have to . . .’
    ‘Absolutely we will!’ Frieda exclaims. ‘It gives us a chance to practise.’
    ‘It doesn’t sound like you need to practise,’ I say. Their English appears perfect to me.
    The door opens and everyone starts as Lukas’s mother walks through, accompanied by a slight grey-haired man about ten years her senior. Along with everyone else, I quickly get to my feet. The atmosphere is wholly changed.
    ‘Be seated, be seated,’ Frau Heuber says in German, waving her hand to illustrate her words. Lukas nods at me to indicate that I should remain standing. I do so, trying not to fidget.
    ‘Aah, Lukas,’ she says, spying her younger son.
    ‘Hello, Mother,’ he replies. ‘Father.’ He goes to kiss her hand and shake his father’s, before beckoning to me. I step out through the feet of his extended family, aware, as though in a dream, that even the children have fallen silent.
    ‘Welcome to our home, Alice,’ his mother says with an icy, penetrative stare.
    ‘Thank you.’ I find myself bowing slightly. What the hell?
    ‘Father, this is Alice.’ Lukas speaks in English. I hope they don’t mind too much.
    His father grunts an acknowledgement.
    ‘Perhaps we should go through,’ his mother says. It’s not a question. Once more the others scramble to their feet. We wait patiently as Lukas’s parents lead the way to the adjoining dining room, where a long mahogany table has