One Perfect Summer

thinks I’m a saddo, so be it.
    ‘I haven’t been serious with anyone.’
    ‘What does “serious” mean?’
    ‘Alice!’ he exclaims, laughing. Is he embarrassed?
    ‘Have you had many boyfriends?’ He turns the question around before I can pry further, but I will get to the bottom of this discussion; he just doesn’t know it.
    ‘No,’ I reply, then, with a smile: ‘Not really.’
    ‘What does “not really” mean?’
    ‘I haven’t been “serious” with anyone, either.’
    He’s no longer smiling, and nor am I. He kisses me gently.
    ‘I can’t go a whole weekend without seeing you,’ he murmurs.
    ‘Me neither.’
    ‘Shall I come by tomorrow night after closing?’
    I nod, and then we’re kissing again.

 
    I’m in a daze the next day as I wander around Portland Castle checking out Henry VIII’s handiwork. He had the castle built in the 1540s to protect against French and Spanish invasion, but that’s all I can tell you about it, other than the fact that it is very big and very grey. The rest of the time I’m in another world. I’m not entirely oblivious to the looks my parents keep giving each other, though. My dad attempts to broach the subject when we find ourselves on our own.
    ‘Mum says you’ve met a boy.’ My dad has short, brown hair like his father, and a brushstroke of his mother’s eyes.
    ‘Mmmhmm,’ I reply non-committally.
    ‘I hope you’re still making time—’
    ‘. . . to do some work, yes, Dad,’ I interrupt him with a yawn. ‘What you and Mum seem to forget is that I was planning to come on this holiday with Lizzy, so I wouldn’t exactly have been holed up in my bedroom reading if she were here. What’s the difference?’
    ‘Well . . .’ he splutters. ‘Lizzy’s Lizzy.’
    ‘And Joe’s Joe. He’s not taking up any more of my time than Lizzy would have been. Less, in fact, because he has to work.’
    ‘Yes, I heard about that.’
    ‘About the pub?’
    ‘His parents.’
    I sigh. ‘He’s nothing like them.’
    ‘You say that, Alice, but it’s impossible to avoid one’s genes entirely.’
    ‘Well, Joe has,’ I snap.
    I don’t want to remind him of my age, but I will if he keeps pushing me.
    ‘Look,’ I say in a gentler tone, ‘this is my last summer before I leave home. Please let me enjoy it.’
    He wraps his arm around my neck. ‘Okay, sweetie. I’ve said enough.’
    I suddenly feel gracious. ‘You should meet him. I’ll introduce him to you before the weekend is over.’
    He nods. And then we’re back to our history lesson.
    My promise to my dad has to wait, because Joe comes to see me again just before midnight, when my parents have already turned in for the night. We sit out on the bench for almost two hours. I’m absolutely shattered by the time he leaves, and I fall into bed without brushing my hair or taking off my make-up. I don’t tend to wear much – only mascara and a little eyeliner – but my lashes will certainly be stuck together in the morning.
    My alarm rouses me from a deep, deep sleep at seven. I press Snooze without even thinking and then abruptly come to, leaping out of bed and rushing to the shower. He’ll be here for a quick walk with Dyson at eight o’clock, and I’m supposed to be leaving with Mum and Dad at nine to go and see the Cerne Giant – a 180-foot-tall chalk figure carved out of the hill – before going for a drive all the way to Exmoor National Park. I wasn’t kidding when I said my mum had a jam-packed weekend planned.
    By eight o’clock, though, Joe hasn’t arrived. At eight twenty-five, I go back inside because it has started to rain. By eight forty, I’m climbing the walls, and by five to nine, I’m seriously worried.
    ‘He’s probably just slept in,’ Mum assures me. ‘Come on, darling, we need to get going. There’s no time for your walk with him now, anyway.’
    Much as I don’t want to, I agree on the premise that we drive via the pub.
    We’re in Dad’s car and starting off down the dirt track to the main road when I see him, jogging across the field towards the cottage.
    ‘STOP!’ I shout. Dad brakes. I climb out of the car and run. ‘JOE!’
    The relief he feels when he sees me is palpable.
    ‘I’m sorry!’ He bends over, panting and out of breath. ‘I ran the whole way here.’
    ‘Where were you? I was worried!’ I exclaim.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’ He looks apologetic. ‘I just slept in.’
    ‘You slept in ?’ I whack him on his arm and my face breaks into a