One Perfect Summer

there’s any chance – any chance at all – that he’ll spot me and want to speak to me, then I need somewhere private where we can go.
    One song finishes and another one starts. The gentle tap, tap, tapping of the drums is instantly familiar, followed by keyboards as the music builds up and then the bass and lyrics kick in. Kingmaker’s ‘You and I Will Never See Things Eye to Eye’ fills my ears and then I’m there with Joe at Corfe Castle when we first talked about this song. He’s wearing his Kingmaker T-shirt and looking at me across the table in the café, and we haven’t even kissed yet, and Dyson is there at our feet, and I can’t believe it was over nine years ago: he feels so real, so much more real than he feels when I see him on the big screen. I want my Joe back so much. So much that it hurts.
    I’m full of nerves and anticipation as I get ready. Leicester Square is already bustling with Strike Stalkers desperate to catch a glimpse of their idol. I wish school had finished yesterday so I could have caught an earlier train, but I’ll push my way to the front of the crowds if I have to.
    I have a quick shower and then dry myself off, pulling my clothes out of my bag. I’m wearing the outfit that I wore the night that Lizzy and I went to see Joe at the pub: dark-blue jeans and the pink and red top that I dragged out of the bottom of my wardrobe on a recent clutter clear-out. I want to wear something he might recognise and it still fits me. I do my hair and make-up the same too. Well, as much as I can without Lizzy’s vast Shu Uemura collection. My hair is shorter than it was back then, but it still comes to past my shoulders. I wonder if I’ve aged much? Urgh, what a thought.
    I look over at my mobile on my bedside table and, on a whim, go and switch it off. I don’t want to think about anyone other than Joe tonight. Sorry, Lukas. I squeeze my eyes shut and guilt prickles away at me. I need to do this! I’m doing it for him too.
    I grab my bag and rush out of the room.
    Leicester Square is heaving when I get downstairs, and the atmosphere is electric. The big screen above the cinema entrance keeps playing clips from the movie and every time Joe’s face shows the screams get louder. I duck, dive and push my way through the crowds to get as close to the barriers as I’m able. I can’t get right to the front – there are girls there holding banners and photographs and I can tell from the look in their eyes that they’d rather kill than budge. But he should be able to see me here. I hope. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
    Limousines pull up and stars begin to hit the red carpet. The screams go up a notch, but there’s no sign of Joe. And then, out of the blue, the crowd ROARS. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard, and suddenly I see him. He’s there on the red carpet ten metres away! People are pushing me from all angles. I’m not tall enough and I’m finding it hard to breathe as the crowd swamps me. I push back as hard as I can and manage to catch another glimpse of him. He’s signing autographs.
    Oh, God, the SCREAMS !
    There are so many people here. So many people wanting him to notice them. All of a sudden I feel very, very silly.
    ‘Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!’
    What am I doing here?
    ‘Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!’
    The crowd parts again and I see him grinning at a young girl as he signs her poster. She starts to sob and he poses cheek to cheek with her while her mother takes a photo.
    Oh, Joe. It’s you. It’s you.
    Love rushes through me and I desperately want to hold him in my arms again, just one more time.
    ‘JOE!’
    It takes a moment for me to realise that this scream came out of my own mouth. I watch, stunned, as Joe seems to freeze. His eyes dart in my direction and my heart stops. I’m about to scream again, but a woman appears and moves him on. He smiles and waves and then he’s gone.
    No. Come back. No. ‘JOE!’
    I can’t believe it’s over. Two teenage girls look at me and giggle. The crowd swamps me again, but this time I let them. Here I am, a twenty-seven-year-old in an eighteen-year-old’s clothes. I feel like a fool.

 
    I can’t stay at the hotel. I feel too sick, too sad. So I go to stay at Lizzy’s. She can’t believe it when I confess to her where I’ve been.
    ‘I feel so sad for you,’ she murmurs, hugging me as I cry. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.’
    ‘I should have told you I was going,’ I manage to choke out.
    ‘I