One Perfect Summer

Joe coming over?’ Mum asks when my father has gone, reading my thoughts.
    ‘After closing time,’ I reply, ‘which is earlier on Sundays.’
    ‘Eleven o’clock?’
    ‘More likely to be eleven thirty once he’s cleaned up.’
    ‘Gosh, Alice, that’s late.’
    She doesn’t even know that he’s been coming here after work every night. She’s always asleep by then. I wonder if I should have kept this information to myself, but I guess it’s futile.
    It’s cold out on the bench that night as I wait. To my surprise, the kitchen door opens and Mum appears.
    ‘Alice!’ she exclaims. ‘What are you doing out here?’
    ‘Waiting for Joe,’ I tell her.
    ‘Come inside. You’ll catch your death!’ she cries. ‘I’m going up to bed, anyway,’ she adds knowingly.
    I shiver and stand up, but return to tape a note to the bench telling Joe to come inside.
    I wait in the kitchen. When I hear the gate latch I run to the door.
    ‘Joe?’ I whisper into the darkness.
    ‘Hey,’ he says, coming around the corner.
    ‘Mum’s asleep,’ I tell him. ‘She said to come inside.’ He looks wary. ‘Leave Dyson on the driveway,’ I suggest.
    I take his cold hand and lead him into the living room, acutely aware that my mum’s bedroom is directly overhead.
    We sit on the sofa together and I cuddle in close. He looks shattered.
    ‘You’re so tired.’ I reach up and stroke his face, compassion washing over me. ‘Lie next to me.’
    I shift to the edge of the sofa and he slides down, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to keep me from falling off. He turns his body in towards mine and holds me close. I shut my eyes. It’s blissful in his arms.
    ‘I wish we had this place to ourselves,’ I whisper after a while, the slow steady sound of his breathing making me feel dozy. He doesn’t reply. ‘Maybe we should run off together.’
    Again, no answer. I pull away and look up at him. He’s fast asleep. He looks so peaceful. I push his hair away from his face. His eyelashes are long and dark, and there are the beginnings of stubble on his jaw. His skin is perfectly smooth and tanned. I study the silver ring through his brow. I gently kiss his lips. He’s out cold. I smile at him as love floods me. And then the ache returns. I know it’s a dull and distant replica of what’s to come.

 
    I stay with Joe on the sofa that night until almost four o’clock in the morning, when he jolts awake. I put my hand on his chest to calm him.
    ‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. ‘You fell asleep.’
    He sits up abruptly and I do the same. My eyes are stinging painfully. I’ve dozed in and out of sleep for the last three hours, but haven’t been able to nod off properly.
    ‘I’d better get back,’ he mumbles groggily.
    ‘Stay until the morning,’ I plead.
    He looks around at the dark living room. ‘Where’s Dyson?’
    ‘I brought him into the kitchen.’
    He nods and goes to stand up. I pull him back onto the sofa. ‘Stay until the morning,’ I persist.
    He shakes his head and his eyes dart up at the ceiling.
    ‘Mum won’t mind,’ I assure him.
    ‘No. I’d better get back.’
    I sigh heavily as he stands up. I follow him into the kitchen, where an unusually tired Dyson slowly rises to his feet.
    ‘I’ll see you later?’ he says at the door.
    ‘Are you working all day?’
    ‘Only the evening.’
    ‘So come at lunchtime. Maybe we can take a picnic to the ledge.’
    He nods and bends down to kiss me, then opens the door and ushers Dyson out.
    ‘I love you,’ I call quietly after him.
    ‘I love you more.’
    ‘No, you don’t.’
    ‘Yes, I do.’
    He smiles back at me, some of the worry gone from his face. I stand in the doorway for a moment before going upstairs to bed.
    The cold, windy weather holds through to the next day. Mum is working in the conservatory when I wake up and the smell of her oils permeates the house.
    ‘I’m going for a picnic with Joe,’ I tell her after finding myself sleeping in until almost eleven o’clock.
    ‘A picnic!’ she exclaims. ‘In this weather? Why don’t you just stay here?’ I hesitate. ‘Am I cramping your style?’ she asks with a raised eyebrow.
    ‘Your paints stink,’ I joke, walking through to the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches.
    Joe comes inside to say hello before we set off. My mum wants the full low-down on his brother. Joe is surprisingly perky.
    ‘It’s been alright, actually,’ he says.
    ‘Are they talking to you now?’ I ask.
    ‘No,’