One Perfect Summer

nineteen in May, but we decided to wait until now to celebrate.
    ‘Thanks!’ I grin as she hands over a gift, which turns out to be some delicious-smelling bath goodies from the Sanctuary. ‘Mmm, lovely.’
    She tops up my glass. We’re drinking white wine for a change.
    ‘I can’t believe you’re not coming home this summer,’ she moans.
    ‘You can see why.’ I motion around me.
    Jessie lives in a Gothic terrace on Mount Pleasant, a hill. From the outside the house is dark and mysterious, but inside the walls are white and the floorboards sanded – the result of a renovation project by his parents before they went abroad.
    ‘It’s an amazing house,’ she concedes. ‘Incredible location. I had no idea Cambridge was as pretty as it is.’
    ‘You haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until I take you for a tour along the Backs.’
    ‘Are we going punting?’ she asks excitedly.
    ‘Absolutely,’ I reply. ‘But not until tomorrow. Tonight we’re going out on the town.’
    She grins at me. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
    ‘You too,’ I say with a smile. ‘How’s your mum?’
    Her face lights up. ‘She’s brilliant. Honestly, she’s doing so well. Even her hair has almost grown back.’
    ‘Oh, that’s great!’ I say. ‘And your sister?’ At sixteen, Tessa still lives at home.
    ‘She’s good. I think she misses me more than she thought she would.’
    ‘I bet she does. Do you miss her too?’
    ‘Yes. And I’ve really missed you ,’ she says a little sadly.
    ‘Me too.’
    We smile at each other across the table.
    ‘Let’s have a good time tonight!’ I say cheerfully.
    I know she wants to ask me about Joe, but I’d rather she didn’t. I don’t want to go back to that dark place.
    I’ve still got half of my stuff in halls, but I’m slowly shifting it across. One of Jessie’s third-year tenants – Gerard – has already moved out, so I’ve taken his room, which is the second largest of the three and looks out over the back garden. I’m excited about making it mine. I never did put my stamp on my room in Nightingale. It was a great location, but it took me too long to feel settled there. It didn’t really seem worth it to put up posters and decorate for the sake of a few months. I feel much more committed about starting afresh in Jessie’s pad.
    Jessie’s hooked up a few times with Blondie from the pub, but it hasn’t turned into anything serious, yet. Her name is Darcy, but Jessie calls her Blondie, so if it’s good enough for him . . . Not that she speaks to me much. I think she still feels threatened by me, which is crazy.
    ‘Where’s Jessie?’ Lizzy asks.
    ‘He’s going out straight from the river,’ I tell her.
    ‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ she gushes.
    ‘I can’t believe you haven’t, actually,’ I say, pulling a face. It’s terrible that this is the first time I’ve seen Lizzy aside from our holidays at home. With my work and studies, I just haven’t had time to visit her in Edinburgh. And I haven’t exactly pressed for her to visit me until more recently. I haven’t felt myself enough, and I knew she wouldn’t understand that I was pining for Joe.
    I suddenly see him, crystal clear inside my mind. My heart automatically thuds more dully. I’m still pining for him. But I stifle my thoughts. I’ve become more proficient at doing this.
    It didn’t take much for Jessie to convince me to move in. In the end, I chose happiness over heartbreak, and I feel quite proud of myself for making that decision. I know, deep down, that London is not a good place for me to be. I want to move on from my pain, even if I can’t. Not yet, anyway. Not fully.
    I don’t know why he hasn’t come for me . . .
    Stop.
    ‘Let’s go and get ready!’ I suggest brightly.
    ‘Ooh, check out the hottie at eleven o’clock . . .’ Lizzy says a few hours later. We’ve ended up in a nightclub. I’m wearing skinny black jeans and a silvery grey top. My long, dark hair is down and Lizzy succeeded in getting me to wear eye-shadow: silvery-grey, this time. Her chocolate-brown hair has grown a little since I last saw her. Tonight it’s wavy.
    I look over her shoulder, but can’t see the hottie in question. Unless her taste has dramatically altered and she’s now interested in women.
    ‘Not eleven o’clock your time,’ she says with a roll of her eyes. ‘ My eleven o’clock.’
    I’m vaguely curious, but not interested in the slightest, if that makes sense, so I look