One Perfect Summer

him I have to be there, even if the bad thing happens to me too.
    I can’t stand this. I shove the car door open and fall out onto the road. Joe hears my footsteps as I run, but it’s too late.
    ‘ALICE!’ he shouts. And at that moment, the pub door opens and Ryan stumbles out, fury contorting his features.
    He lunges at Joe, wrapping his arm around his neck and dragging him backwards. Then, suddenly, Joe’s dad appears.
    He tears his eldest son away and nails him against the pub wall. Joe’s mum runs out of the door.
    ‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’
    It takes a moment for me to realise that she’s screaming this question at her husband. She turns to Ryan, yanking her husband’s crushing arm away from her son’s chest. She caresses Ryan’s blood-splattered face, calming him down, quietening him. Then Joe’s dad turns on Joe.
    ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE RUNT?’
    ‘I . . . I . . . I wanted to check he was okay,’ Joe stammers.
    ‘Well, he’s not okay, is he? You hit him over the fucking head with a bottle.’ Yes – just like Ryan did to Joe!
    ‘You CU—’ Ryan’s angry words are cut off by his father.
    ‘SHUT IT!’ Joe’s dad points his finger at Ryan as his wife shushes him soothingly. ‘Take him inside,’ he directs her.
    She walks Ryan to the door. His blond hair is matted with blood from behind, but he looks over his shoulder and smiles at Joe. A chilling smile. An evil smile. ‘ I ’ m gonna get you ,’ he says in a sing-song voice. And then he looks at me and my blood runs cold. ‘ I ’ m gonna get you too .’
    ‘Shush!’ Joe’s mum snaps at him as she leads him inside.
    ‘Get out of here!’ Joe’s dad pushes at Joe’s chest. ‘Go on, scat! I never want to see you again, you good-for-nothing little shit. You’ve always been a wuss. A fucking pansy with your long hair and your earring. You’ll never be a real man like your brother. And if I hear you’ve gone to the police about him –’ he looks at me, then looks back at Joe, meaningfully – ‘I won’t stop him.’
    Joe backs away, then turns and hurries towards me. He takes my arm and ushers me to the car, waiting until I’m safely inside before going to the driver’s side. He pauses before climbing in, and I turn to look at what he’s seeing up there by the pub: his dad’s departing back as he walks through the door. And then Joe is in the car, beside me, his hands shaking violently once more as he turns the key in the ignition.
    We only get a mile down the road before he pulls over, and this time it’s him throwing up outside the car while I rub his back. But his tears are not brought on by the vomiting. His sobs are real and heart-wrenching, and they make me cry too.
    In an odd way it occurs to me that he’ll despise himself in the future. He’ll think of things that he could have said to his father, clever things, cool things, cutting things, but he said nothing. He’ll never get that moment back. And I know that he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

 
    ‘You have to leave,’ Joe says when he’s calmed down a bit. ‘You have to leave, today. You can’t stay here.’
    ‘I’m not leaving you,’ I say.
    ‘I’m not staying, either,’ he replies.
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘London.’
    ‘But your car! Your money!’
    ‘I’ll catch the train. I have to go now, Alice. And so do you. I won’t be able to relax until I know you’re safe.’
    ‘I’m not going without you!’
    ‘Stop it! Give it a fucking rest, would you?’
    My mouth falls open.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he snaps, not sounding it. ‘But I have to go. I have to go to London.’
    ‘What about Cambridge?’
    ‘I’M NOT COMING TO CAMBRIDGE!’ he shouts at me. I’m lost for words. Totally and utterly lost for words. ‘I can’t, alright?’ Now he sounds frustrated. ‘I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’ve got myself sorted. I have to go to London.’ He sounds adamant.
    ‘But why?’ I ask hopelessly. ‘Why London?’
    ‘It has to be London!’ he shouts.
    ‘But why ?’ I plead with him.
    ‘It’s my plan! It’s my fucking plan! I’ve got to get something right. Stop going on at me!’
    I stare at him as he puts his hands to his head. He looks almost shocked when he feels bandages there instead of hair, and then he’s trying to rip the bandages off.
    ‘Stop it!’ I cry, reaching across to him. He knocks me away roughly.
    ‘You have to go,’ he says in a low, serious voice. ‘You have to