One Perfect Summer

open.’
    ‘Yes, but what a horrible thing to remember me by,’ I reply. ‘I bet he’d rather forget.’
    ‘Not likely now, is it?’
    ‘I can’t really talk,’ I tell her with a sigh. ‘Lukas will be back soon.’
    ‘When’s he leaving for Germany?’ she asks.
    ‘Two weeks.’
    It’s not a permanent arrangement, but for now I’m staying in the UK. He understands that I need to give my work notice, and he also wants to find us a house and get settled in. We plan to rent our house in Newnham. I couldn’t sell it – not yet. Not if he’s promising we can return to the UK after two years.
    ‘How do you feel about him going?’
    ‘Awful,’ I reply.
    ‘You’re still not coming around to the idea of moving yourself?’
    ‘No. But I guess I will.’
    ‘I’m amazed he didn’t ask you about it before he accepted the job.’
    ‘I’m not. He knew what I would say.’
    A fortnight later I stand outside our house and say goodbye to my husband. He’s driving back to Germany.
    ‘Drive safely,’ I say with tears welling up in my eyes.
    ‘I will.’
    He touches his hand to my face and I look up into his eyes. ‘I can’t believe you’re going.’
    He regards me sadly and takes me in his arms, pressing my cheek to his chest. ‘I love you,’ he whispers into my hair.
    ‘I love you too.’ I breathe in his aftershave and out of the blue I remember going to his bedsit on Trinity Street and opening his wardrobe, searching for a cold compress. I tilt my face up to him and he kisses my lips as hot tears sting my eyes. He releases me and climbs into the car. Then he starts the ignition, and I stand and watch with blurry vision as he drives away from me and the life we’ve built together.

 
    I sob my heart out that day, but as the weeks pass I get strangely used to being without him. Soon December rolls around and it will be only a couple of weeks before school breaks up and I’ll head to Germany for Christmas. Well, New Year. I’m spending Christmas this year with my parents – for the last two in a row I’ve been with Lukas’s family, so this year they made me promise. Lukas is working right up until Christmas Eve, and again the day after Boxing Day, so it’s not worth him flying to the UK to be with us for just two days. I feel oddly detached about seeing him again. He sounds unfamiliar when he calls. I’ve always hated talking to him on the phone.
    One night they show Strike on the telly and I watch it again, my heart in my mouth. There’s one point when Joe looks straight into the camera and I feel like he’s looking at me . It makes my heart flip.
    Lizzy calls me during the advert break.
    ‘Are you watching it?’
    ‘Yep.’
    She laughs. ‘Thought so.’
    I hate this. She makes me feel dirty. I know I should switch the telly off, but I can’t. Night Fox comes out on DVD next week. I’ve already one-clicked it on Amazon.
    ‘You know he’s going to be in London next week for the Phoenix Seven premiere?’
    Her comment is casual, but my heart doesn’t take it as such.
    She giggles. ‘I was thinking we could go to Leicester Square and see if we can catch his eye!’
    Her words are still ringing in my head a week later, when school breaks up for the holidays. I’m not due to go to my parents’ until tomorrow, but Joe’s premiere is tonight. I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it.
    I’m seriously thinking about going. Actually, that’s not true. I know I’m going. I made up my mind in the middle of the night.
    ‘ I love you so much. I can’t imagine ever loving anyone more . . .’
    That’s what Joe said to me. I remembered his words last night. I have to find out why he didn’t come back for me. I have to know that he no longer loves me. I need closure before I can move on. And I know that Lukas would never forgive me – I know that – but if he ever finds out I’ll have to make him understand. He has to if he wants me to move to Germany, to have a family with him, to fully commit to him . . . because he’s right: I haven’t.
    I plug in my headphones, but I can still hear the train clunking down the tracks as the fields and farms flash past. I’ve booked myself into a hotel in Leicester Square on a last-minute deal. I need somewhere to drop off my bags because I don’t want to see my parents first. I don’t want to have to explain why I’m getting dressed up – or why I’m so on edge. I need space to collect my thoughts before I see him again. And if