One Perfect Summer

than I realised and there are so many politics . . . In the end I gave in, only because I had to concede that he’s right: I do hardly see her these days.
    ‘The hairdresser is already here,’ Frieda tells me.
    ‘Is she?’ I ask with alarm, getting out of bed.
    ‘Don’t worry!’ she exclaims. ‘There’s no rush.’
    If my room was on the other side of the house I would have seen her arrive, but I face the lake.
    Lizzy, Callum and my parents were all completely blown away by the house. The gardens are so lush and green at the moment, although they’re not as pretty as they were back in April when Lukas and I came here for Easter. That trip was supposed to involve some serious wedding planning, but his mother had organised practically every last detail by then. Like I said, this doesn’t really feel like my wedding. But that’s not to say it won’t be spectacular. You should see the size of the marquees that have been erected on the back lawn overlooking the lake. They’re dripping with fairy lights and I know it will look beautiful. But right now everything feels very surreal. I hope I’ll feel more connected to the proceedings when it comes to saying, ‘I do.’
    There’s another knock at my door.
    ‘Come in,’ I call again.
    Lizzy pushes open the door. My face falls when I see her expression, but then she spots Frieda and quickly recovers.
    ‘Oh, hello!’ she says.
    ‘ Guten Morgen ,’ Frieda says with a grin.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask her with concern.
    ‘Nothing,’ she replies dismissively, her eyes flitting towards Frieda.
    ‘The hairdresser is already downstairs,’ Frieda tells her. ‘Would you like a quick cup of tea?’
    ‘Sure.’
    They try to make small talk, but I’m distracted. Her face . . . She looked . . . terrified.
    The hours whizz past like minutes. The wedding is at one o’clock today, but there’s so much to do, so much to think about. Not that I need to do or think about anything – it’s all being done for me. I keep wishing I had five minutes to myself to collect my thoughts, but there are bridesmaids, make-up artists, hairdressers, dress designers and God knows who else permanently buzzing around my room. I feel so abstract and so disconnected from all of it – I’m craving time and space to get my head together, but neither is forthcoming. I keep catching Lizzy looking at me with a strange expression on her face, but if I ask her what’s wrong she rearranges her features. Finally my hair and make-up are sorted and there’s nothing left for me to do other than force down a light snack so I don’t faint at the altar. I’ll be buttoned into my dress after that – I’m currently still in my dressing gown. I take Lizzy to one side.
    ‘You’re going to have to tell me what’s bothering you before I walk down the aisle,’ I say gravely. She regards me with that expression again: fear.
    ‘Can we go to my room?’ she asks quietly, her eyes darting around at all the people.
    I grab my mum and confide that I’m going to escape with Lizzy for some quiet time.
    ‘I think I’ll do the same with your father,’ she tells me. ‘I’ll let everyone know not to bother you for a while.’
    ‘Thanks, Mum.’
    I give her a kiss and follow Lizzy out of my room. Callum is getting ready at the hotel where Jessie and Emily are staying, so as to keep out of the way. He and Lizzy had a few drinks with them after the rehearsal dinner last night, while I came back here to get an early night.
    Lizzy gently closes the door behind me and I turn on her immediately.
    ‘What is it?’
    She takes a deep breath. Her expression has changed. Now it’s . . . pity?
    ‘It might not be him,’ she starts.
    I’m confused. ‘Who?’
    She walks to her dressing table and picks up a DVD case. She turns around and hands it to me. It’s a movie called Strike . I vaguely remember hearing something about it. On the front there’s a picture of a man’s muscled back, partly cast in shadow.
    ‘What’s this?’ I ask.
    ‘It’s a documentary about kick-boxing. Jessie lent it to Callum for us to watch last night.’
    Now I remember. This is the film that Jessie wanted to see last autumn. It hadn’t come out yet so we saw something else instead.
    ‘What about it?’ I have no idea what’s going on.
    ‘The guy in it . . . He looked like . . . Joe.’
    I knew she was going to say his name a split second before she said it. I sink down onto the bed and stare at the DVD case.
    ‘Put