One Perfect Summer

of metal and he’s a powerful magnet. What on earth has got into me?
    ‘We’re on holiday,’ Mum tells him. ‘Can you recommend anything nice to do around here?’
    ‘Um . . .’ He stands upright and thinks for a moment, holding the glasses he’s collected between his fingers. ‘Have you been to Corfe Castle yet?’
    ‘We’ve only just arrived.’ She shrugs and smiles.
    He’s wearing black jeans and a black indie-rock T-shirt. My kind of guy.
    ‘Where are you staying?’ he asks, glancing at me. I’m unable to speak so, thankfully, Mum does.
    ‘In a little cottage over those fields. We’re here for six weeks, so if you’ve got any ideas . . .’
    A dog starts to bark and his head shoots around towards the pub. Almost on cue, the big, burly man storms out.
    ‘JOE! Sort it out,’ he shouts angrily.
    Joe . . . The gorgeous boy has a name . . . Well, of course he has a name, Alice.
    ‘Coming,’ Joe shouts back wearily. ‘Gotta take my dog for a walk,’ he says to us as he turns away.
    ‘Do you want some company?’ Mum calls after him hopefully, as the annoying nudging arm comes out to play once more. ‘Alice is desperate to meet people her own age.’
    ‘Mum, no!’ I hiss, mortified.
    He looks at me as my face turns bright red and I would give anything – anything – for the ground to open up and swallow me, or for an enormous Pterodactyl to swoop down from the sky and gobble me up. I really don’t care, I’m not fussy, I just DO NOT want to be here right now.
    ‘JOE!’ the man shouts again, interrupting any reply.
    ‘No, no, it’s okay, you go ahead,’ I manage to splutter.
    ‘Okay. See you around.’ He quickly makes an exit. My face continues to burn as I bury it in my hands.
    ‘That was so embarrassing!’ I screech under my breath.
    ‘Why?’ Mum asks.
    ‘I cannot believe you just did that,’ I moan.
    ‘Goodness sake, Alice, he’s just a boy,’ she replies, sounding all uppity.
    But he’s not. He’s not ‘just a boy’. Do not ask me how I know this, but somewhere, deep inside, my heart has already started to fracture and I know that Joe has everything to do with it.

 
    Back at the cottage, I found myself lying on my bed and staring up at the ceiling thinking about You Know Who. And then it occurs to me that I might bump into him if he’s walking his dog . . . I hurry downstairs.
    ‘I’m going to go for a walk.’
    Mum tears her eyes away from her sketchpad and looks up at me. ‘We can watch telly together, if you like?’
    ‘No, don’t worry. I need some fresh air.’
    The wind has picked up so I tie my hair into a loose bun and slip on my waterproof and wellies, in case it’s muddy. I turn left onto the track and follow a sign for Priest’s Way. After a while I see another sign for something called Dancing Ledge. That sounds pretty. I carry on walking. There are a few people out and about, and every time I see a dog before its owner I jolt with anticipation. I know I’m being an idiot, but I’m bored; I can daydream.
    I turn right into a grassy field and make my way along a stone track lined with wild flowers. The sea is visible up ahead – shimmering dark blue in the hazy evening sunlight – and I pause for a moment to breathe in the fresh air.
    God, he was gorgeous. I feel nervous at the thought of seeing him again, but I’ll be dragging Mum to that pub tomorrow, whether she likes it or not.
    I remember with sudden mortification how she told Joe I was ‘desperate’ – and how I blushed! He couldn’t escape fast enough. I instantly feel deflated and I almost decide to return to the cottage, but I’ve come so far, I may as well see this Dancing Ledge, whatever that may be. I pass through a gate and then the path narrows and becomes rockier and steeper, leading me downwards between tall gorse hedges. It’s sheltered from the wind here, and then suddenly . . . well, I have never been a nature freak, but the view as I come out of the gorse nearly takes my breath away. In front of me is a grassy slope which seems to roll away to a sudden stop. To my left, more rolling hills jut away at the cliff edge. It’s breathtaking, and slightly scary, but I wander a little way down the slope and sit on the grass. No wonder Mum chose Dorset as a destination – she should come here to paint.
    A big, black, shaggy-haired dog bounds past me, coming from the direction of the gorse walkway. He runs towards the cliff edge and I tense up, but then he turns around