One Perfect Summer

and comes my way. I hold out my hand to him and smile – I like dogs – and he rewards me by manically wagging his tail and panting the biggest doggy smile I’ve ever seen.
    ‘Hello!’ I say as I pat him vigorously. Out of curiosity I glance behind to look for his owner and then . . . no way ! I must be psychic or something, because there he is! JOE! It’s bloody Joe! My stomach swirls with Amazonian-sized butterflies as he approaches.
    ‘DYSON!’ he shouts with a furious wave of his hand. ‘AWAY!’
    Dyson, who I’m assuming is the dog, starts to bark like a nutcase before chasing his own tail. Joe shakes his head with amusement and then Dyson launches himself at me and knocks me backwards.
    ‘Oh, shit! Sorry!’ Joe exclaims, rushing over and dragging his dog off me. ‘DOWN, BOY!’ he shouts at his dog. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks with concern.
    ‘I’m fine,’ I manage to splutter.
    His face breaks into a grin as he looks at me directly. ‘It’s you.’
    ‘Yep, it’s me.’
    My nerves – strangely – have dissipated. Then he collapses down on the grass next to me and I nearly have a heart attack.
    ‘Alice, right?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I’m Joe.’
    ‘Hi.’ My face heats up so I look at Dyson. ‘I thought he was going to fall off the cliff.’
    ‘It’s a steep slope all the way down. There’s a fence at the bottom.’
    ‘Aah, okay. Dyson is a funny name for a dog.’ Said dog is now sprawled out in a coma-like position next to him.
    ‘I named him after the vacuum cleaner.’ Joe reaches across and pats him. Dyson’s tail pounds the grass as it wags.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘He snaffles up rubbish on the pavement like it’s steak.’
    ‘Yuck!’ I pull a face and laugh.
    ‘He’s one gross dog,’ he says affectionately. ‘So you’re here for six weeks?’
    ‘Yeah.’ I focus on his chunky black boots. I feel tongue-tied. Come on, Alice, talk or he’ll walk! ‘My mum’s a painter,’ I explain quickly.
    ‘Oh, right. That’s cool.’
    ‘Was that your dad working at the pub?’
    He rolls his eyes and pulls up a handful of grass. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Don’t you get on?’
    He looks across at me. His eyes are so dark. ‘Not particularly,’ he replies.
    And then there’s that feeling again, that magnet, pulling me in. For pity’s sake, I said I was psychic, but at this rate psycho would be more apt.
    ‘Have you lived here for long?’ I ask, trying not to act like a crazy person.
    ‘Only since May.’ He breaks eye contact and I feel an immediate sense of relief. He rests back on his elbows.
    ‘Where were you before?’
    ‘Somerset, then Cornwall. We’ve lived in Dorset before, though. We used to have a pub in Lyme Regis.’
    ‘Wow. You move around a lot.’
    ‘Not by choice,’ he admits, turning the tables before I can press him further. ‘Where do you live?’
    ‘London.’
    ‘Which part?’
    ‘North London. East Finchley. Do you know it?’
    ‘No. I don’t know London very well. But I’m going to move there soon.’
    ‘Really?’ My heart leaps and then crashes when I remember I’m off to Cambridge in September. I tell him this.
    ‘Are you? Why?’
    ‘I’m going to university.’ His eyes widen. ‘The former polytechnic,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘I’m not smart enough for the actual university.’
    ‘I’m not smart enough for any university,’ he replies.
    ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I feel compelled to say.
    ‘It is.’ He shrugs and stares ahead. ‘But I’m getting out of here, anyway.’ He stands up. ‘I’ve gotta get back. Tomorrow night is Quiz Night ,’ he says with derision. ‘And I’ve got to write the questions. Which way are you going?’
    ‘Back up there.’ I scramble to my feet and point to the gorse walkway.
    ‘I’ll walk you.’ Re- sult ! ‘You know, seeing as you’re desperate for company, and all that,’ he adds. I blush, but he elbows me jokily.
    ‘Bugger off,’ I reply and his corresponding laugh fills me with warmth.
    He has a grey hoodie tied around his waist and his bare arms are tanned from the rare heatwave we’ve been enjoying this summer. I unzip my waterproof to let some air in – the exercise has warmed me up, too. We walk side by side as we navigate the rocky path.
    I return to our conversation. ‘This place is so beautiful. Why would you want to leave?’
    ‘Yeah, it’s pretty nice, but . . . I don’t know. Im leaving as soon as I get a car, I’m out of here.’
    ‘Are you taking