One Perfect Summer

agent, but he wouldn’t give me your number, and I was already with . . .’
    ‘Lukas.’
    Each of us regards the other with desolation. There’s a knock at the door. Joe jumps to his feet – literally jumps from knees to feet with a catlike martial arts move – and goes to the door. I quickly get up. He peers through the peephole and opens the door to reveal Melanie standing there.
    ‘Do you want me to order you some breakfast?’ she asks hesitantly, glancing through at me.
    ‘No,’ he replies shortly. ‘Not for me. Alice?’ he calls.
    ‘No, thank you,’ I respond.
    ‘Joe, you need to eat,’ Melanie chides. She calls him Joe too, I realise with a start. Maybe all his friends do. I suppose they would.
    ‘I’m not hungry,’ he reiterates firmly. He starts to close the door on her.
    ‘Don’t forget about the interview!’ she shouts as the door shuts in her face.
    ‘You have an interview?’ I ask.
    ‘Fuck the interview,’ he snaps. Suddenly he looks contrite. ‘I shouldn’t have been rude to her.’
    ‘She’s your PA, right?’ I ask.
    ‘Yeah. She’s great.’ He comes back towards me.
    ‘You told her about me?’
    ‘Well, a bit.’ He shrugs and smiles with embarrassment as he looks at me. ‘Not everything.’
    I feel my face heat up. ‘What time is your interview?’ I try to sound nonchalant.
    ‘Nine. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was scheduled that early when I asked you to come this morning.’
    ‘It’s okay. Another exclusive, hey?’ I ask knowingly.
    ‘You saw that about my parents, did you?’ His tone is wry.
    ‘It was hard to miss. I’m sorry,’ I add quietly. ‘I thought about you a lot during that time.’ Who am I kidding? I think about him all the time.
    ‘I thought about you a lot too. Still do,’ he half laughs. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ He changes the subject. I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve.
    ‘I’m staying with my parents.’
    ‘Where’s your . . .’
    ‘He’s in Germany.’ I save him the trouble of saying his name.
    ‘You’re spending Christmas apart?’ Again: hope.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’ His brow furrows and he comes closer.
    ‘Lukas got a promotion and he moved back to Germany. I’m still working in Cambridge.’
    ‘You’re living apart?’ The look on his face . . . I don’t want to hurt him, but . . .
    ‘For now. He wants me to move there as soon as I can. I’m going to Germany for the holidays.’
    He falters a few steps away from me. There’s another knock on the door.
    ‘What is it now?’ he mutters, returning to the door and wrenching it open.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Melanie says. ‘She’s early.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The journalist.’
    ‘Tell her to wait!’ he bites, about to shut the door.
    ‘It’s Christmas Eve,’ Melanie hastily tries to reason with him. ‘She just wants to go home to her family.’
    Joe scratches his eyebrow with frustration. He nods abruptly. ‘Give me five minutes.’
    Melanie flashes me an apologetic look as the door shuts once more in her face.
    ‘I’ll go,’ I say, reaching for my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
    ‘No,’ he says resolutely, shaking his head. ‘You haven’t even had breakfast.’
    What a small thing to be worried about.
    ‘I’m not hungry, anyway.’
    ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he says.
    ‘I have to, Joe. If the press find out about us . . .’
    ‘Fuck!’ he exclaims. Did he used to swear this much? I guess so. Lukas rarely uses bad language. I’m not used to it.
    ‘When do you go back to America?’ I ask.
    ‘Next week, but . . .’ He looks at me. ‘When are you going to Germany?’
    ‘Tuesday.’
    ‘Please, Alice, this can’t be it. We need more time . . . Without all these interruptions.’
    ‘What do you suggest?’
    His eyes light up. ‘We could go back to Dorset! To your cottage! I wonder if it’s free?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Can you find out? Would you go with me?’
    ‘Um, I . . .’
    ‘Please!’
    ‘I don’t know!’
    ‘Please. Please! There’s so much more we need to say. Please!’
    What the hell am I doing? I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’ I nod.
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘ Really? ’ He can’t quite believe it.
    ‘I said yes!’
    ‘When?’
    ‘I’m not sure . . . Boxing Day?’
    ‘Yes! How will we get there?’
    ‘Train?’
    I can see his mind ticking over ten to the dozen. ‘I can’t travel with you. I’ll have to meet you there. Melanie will sort it out. I trust her. It’s