One Perfect Summer

know I laughed about it, but I didn’t really think you would.’
    I cry harder.
    ‘Oh, Alice, what are you going to do?’
    She already knows it’s not a question that I have an answer for.
    The next day I go to Mum and Dad’s. They haven’t yet seen through their dream of moving to Brighton and opening up a B&B, but they still talk about it. I unlock and open the door to find my mum trying on some fluffy reindeer ears in front of the hall mirror.
    ‘You’re early!’ she cries. ‘We were going to come to the train station to collect you!’
    ‘I caught an earlier train,’ I explain, keeping the rest of the facts to myself. ‘Nice look,’ I say with a giggle.
    ‘I was going to surprise you.’ She puts her hand to her festive headband. A moment later the reindeer ears start playing ‘Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer’.
    I snort. ‘I think I had a lucky escape.’
    She steps forward and gives me a hug.
    ‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask.
    ‘He’s in the garden.’
    I go outside to find him.
    ‘Alice!’ he shouts, hurrying down the garden path and throwing his arms around me. ‘We weren’t expecting you until later!’
    ‘I know. Rudolph’s already told me.’
    ‘Come in out of the cold!’ Mum shouts. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
    I smile and follow Dad back into the house. It’s good to be home. The thought of leaving my parents to move to Germany . . . I should call Lukas to check up on him. Later.
    Evening comes around and the three of us find ourselves on the sofa in front of the telly drinking sherry (them) and Baileys on ice (me). My favourite Friday-night live chat show comes on, hosted by a raucous gay comedian called Andy Carl.
    ‘I love this show,’ I tell my parents enthusiastically. Dad shifts on the sofa. ‘But we can watch something else, if you prefer?’ I add reluctantly.
    ‘You can watch it, if you like,’ Mum says. ‘Can’t she, Jim?’
    ‘Sure,’ he says, reaching for his Financial Times .
    ‘ And JOSEPH STRIKE IS GOING TO BE HERE! ’
    I turn sharply to look at the television as Andy Carl grins goofily at the audience’s over-the-top reaction.
    ‘I always think that that Joseph Strike lad looks kind of familiar,’ Dad comments, glancing up at the television.
    This is ridiculous. I should be able to tell my own parents about him. But Lukas made me promise that I wouldn’t.
    Mind you, I’ve done quite a bit of promise-breaking lately . . .
    And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t break this one, I think uncomfortably.
    The first guest comes on and Dad turns back to his paper. I’m on the edge of my seat for the next horrendously long half an hour, until, finally, Andy Carl welcomes ‘JOSEPH STRIKE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!’
    Joe jogs down the winding staircase to rapturous applause and deafening screams. Andy engulfs him in a hug.
    ‘Alright, mate? You well?’ Joe asks him.
    My mobile rings. I distractedly snatch it up, expecting it to be Lizzy, but it’s Lukas. I ignore the call and turn my attention back to the telly.
    My phone rings again. Dammit! I switch it off. Sorry, Lukas. I feel bad, but not bad enough.
    The home phone starts to ring. My dad gets up to answer it and I lean in to try to hear what Andy is asking Joe.
    ‘Alice!’ Dad calls. ‘It’s Lukas.’
    ‘Can I call him back?’ I ask anxiously. Something about his new film . . .
    ‘Can she call you back?’ I hear Dad ask him. ‘Oh, okay.’ Dad calls through to me: ‘He’s going to bed shortly!’
    ARGH! I’m missing half the interview!
    ‘We can pause it,’ Mum says, reaching for the control.
    ‘Okay,’ I say hurriedly, jumping up from my seat. Dad hands over the phone. ‘Hi,’ I say offhandedly.
    ‘Hi!’ he says.
    ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Er, nothing. I haven’t spoken to you for a few days.’
    ‘All’s good here,’ I say, glancing at the door. Can I hear the telly?
    ‘I found a house today. I think you’ll like it.’
    ‘Oh, right.’
    ‘I put a deposit down in case.’
    ‘In case of what?’ Now I’m confused.
    ‘In case you like it.’
    ‘What sort of a deposit? This is a house to rent , isn’t it?’ I ask quickly.
    ‘Yes, of course, Alice.’
    ‘Phew. Sorry, stupid question. Right, then . . .’
    ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it’s like?’
    I sigh. This conversation isn’t going to end anytime soon.
    Eventually we say our goodbyes and I hurry back down the hall towards the living room. The downstairs toilet flushes as I pass, and Mum comes out. To