One Perfect Summer

here?’
    ‘Hell, no. Not bright enough for that. Where are you from?’
    I glance at his passengers again. He looks down at them and shrugs. ‘They can wait. It’s not like they can understand a word of what I’m saying. So where are you from?’
    ‘London.’
    ‘No, I mean, where originally?’
    ‘London,’ I reply with a smirk. I know what he’s getting at. He gives me a wry look. ‘My grandmother was Chinese,’ I explain.
    ‘Can you speak any Chinese?’ he asks eagerly, jabbing his thumb in the direction of his passengers.
    A pang goes through me. Joe suggested I take Mandarin as a language module if the university offered it. It turns out that they do, but I felt too raw to follow through with it, so I chose Introduction to Imaginary Writing instead.
    ‘I’m afraid not,’ I reply.
    ‘Never mind. Hey, do you want to hop on?’
    I’m taken aback. ‘Really? I just told you I won’t be able to translate for you.’
    ‘Come and keep me company, anyway.’ He holds out his hand, but sees me hesitating. ‘What have you got to lose? I’m hardly going to commit first-degree murder in front of all these people.’
    I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m drawn to him. I’m aware of how strange that sounds, because I’m in no way attracted to him, but he seems so affable, so unthreatening, and I know that this isn’t a come-on. Impulsively I stand up and gather my things. ‘As long as you don’t push me overboard.’
    ‘Can you swim?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘There goes that idea.’
    He grins and I take his hand, cautiously stepping onto the end of the punt.
    ‘You won’t tip it over,’ he assures me. ‘It’s got a flat bottom.’
    ‘Oh. Okay.’
    ‘Budge up,’ he barks at the man and woman seated below him. They seem to understand that command, at least, as they swiftly move over for me. I smile apologetically at the other passengers and sit down as he punts away from the bank.
    ‘Have you been doing this job for long?’ I ask.
    ‘A few years. It started off as a school-holiday gig and became a profession.’
    ‘You must enjoy it.’
    ‘Not in the middle of winter. But that’s okay, because I go snowboarding then.’
    I smile up at him. ‘Sounds like a pretty good life.’
    He shrugs. ‘I like it.’
    It’s been a while since I’ve conversed so easily with anyone. I stare out of the boat at the jaw-droppingly beautiful buildings lining the river.
    ‘What’s that?’ I ask curiously.
    ‘The Wren Library,’ he replies.
    ‘Wren as in Christopher Wren?’
    ‘I didn’t invite you aboard so I’d have to work,’ he jokes, before adding in a sing-song voice: ‘Designed by Sir Christopher Wren and completed in 1695, the Wren Library houses many special collections, including over a thousand medieval manuscripts, early Shakespeare plays, books from Sir Isaac Newton’s own library and –’ he pauses for dramatic effect – ‘A.A. Milne’s manuscripts of Winnie-the-Pooh .’
    ‘Wow,’ I say in awe. He looks unfazed. ‘Don’t you find it interesting?’ I ask.
    ‘I did the first ten times.’
    ‘How many tours do you do in a day?’
    ‘Depends on how busy it is. Once I did twelve.’
    ‘Twelve?’
    ‘That was in the height of summer, though. It’ll be a while before it gets that busy.’
    We continue to chat amiably until we reach Clare Bridge.
    ‘I’d better let you off here,’ he says, punting close to the bank. He digs his pole in to anchor the boat. ‘I don’t want my boss to give me a grilling for inviting a non-paying passenger aboard.’
    ‘Sure, of course. Thanks for the ride,’ I say with a smile as he helps me onto the grassy bank. I quickly look to check that the gate leading to Clare Bridge is open so I’ll be able to get out.
    ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘Same time tomorrow?’
    ‘Really?’ I hesitate. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be tipping it down?’
    ‘Aah, see, I’m here whatever the weather.’
    ‘You’re committed.’
    He rubs his thumb and middle finger together. ‘No, I’m broke.’ He pushes off from the bank. ‘See you later, China Girl.’
    I grin. ‘It’s Alice.’
    ‘Don’t care. China Girl sounds better.’
    ‘What’s your name?’ I call after him.
    ‘You decide!’ he calls back, as his boat starts to go under the bridge.
    ‘Watch your head!’ I shout, and sure enough he pretends to bash it, to the shock of his passengers. They may not speak English, but they certainly get the joke because I can hear