One Perfect Summer

left and scan the bar.
    ‘That’s three o’clock, you moron.’
    ‘Jesus Christ, you don’t half make this hard,’ I chastise, looking in the opposite direction.
    ‘Don’t make it too obvious!’ she screeches. ‘He’s looking this way!’ I quickly avert my gaze. ‘Did you see him?’ she asks.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Dur!’
    ‘You told me not to make it obvious!’ I cry.
    ‘Look now,’ she commands.
    I tentatively turn around. ‘Where?’
    ‘There. With those guys, there. There!’
    ‘You’ve had way too much to drink.’
    ‘Not him. Him!’ This time she points. So much for not making it obvious.
    ‘Oh, I see who you mean.’ Luckily he’s not looking.
    Yes, he is quite cute, I concede in a detached manner. He’s wearing dark-blue denim jeans and a grey T-shirt, with short hair and a graze of stubble on his jaw. Luckily, he’s looking down. Scrap that, he’s just looked right at me. Oh, my God, it’s the German!
    I quickly spin around to Lizzy.
    I’ve thought about him a lot since that day a month ago, but I haven’t seen him again. I’m sure my guilt is to blame, but I’ve found myself walking past Trinity’s Great Gate more often than I’ve needed to.
    ‘Has he looked away?’ I ask nervously.
    She shifts her position and sneakily glances over my shoulder. ‘Yes. Wait, no.’
    I can’t resist. I look around. He meets my gaze momentarily before leaning in to listen to something his friend is saying. His normally neatly combed hair has fallen down across his forehead. I turn back, feeling a bit silly.
    I feel compelled to say sorry, but I don’t want to go over to him with all his friends there. And I certainly don’t want him to think that I fancy him.
    ‘I think I know him.’ I fill Lizzy in.
    ‘Oh, you should say sorry!’ she exclaims. She’s been making me feel increasingly worse since I began my story. For a start, she couldn’t see what was funny about ‘cold compress’. Apparently her mum uses the phrase all the time.
    ‘Do you think so?’
    ‘Definitely! He sounds lovely!’ She looks over my shoulder again. ‘Oh.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He’s gone.’
    I spin around in time to see the last of his friends’ backs winding out through the tables. The disappointment feels strange and unfamiliar.
    ‘What a shame,’ Lizzy says with dismay. ‘Maybe he’s pissed off with you.’
    I shrug, trying not to let it bother me. ‘Maybe. Or maybe he didn’t recognise me,’ I suggest hopefully.
    I barely recognised him without his jacket on, plus it’s dark in here.
    ‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Oh, well, plenty more fish in the sea, I suppose.’
    I nudge her good-naturedly. ‘What about Chris? He couldn’t keep his eyes off you earlier.’
    ‘Not for me, you idiot,’ she scoffs. ‘For you!’
    ‘What?’ I splutter. ‘No! I’m not interested in anyone else!’
    ‘Anyone else?’ she asks wryly. ‘Anyone else apart from whom ?’
    ‘Joe,’ I reply with a frown.
    ‘Thought so,’ she says, unimpressed.
    ‘Why are you saying it like that?’ I’m feeling a bit annoyed now.
    ‘I don’t get it.’ She shakes her head. ‘You barely knew him.’
    ‘I did know him,’ I say fervently. ‘I knew him better than I ever knew anyone.’
    She pulls a face. ‘How can that be? It was only a few weeks.’
    She doesn’t understand.
    Luckily, Jessie intervenes. ‘VAGINA!’ He grabs me from behind and lifts me up.
    I wriggle out of his grasp and hit him on his chest, before brandishing my forefinger in his face. ‘I told you to stop calling me that!’
    He grins and grabs me again, plonking a big wet kiss on my cheek.
    ‘Gross! You’re all sweaty!’ I push him away and he hoots with laughter – literally hoots.
    He’s been on the dance floor with Chris, Mike and Sammy. Blondie is still at work, but will no doubt be joining us later. Jessie proceeds to rave dance overenthusiastically in the middle of our gathering. Everyone cracks up laughing, including me. Lizzy and I smile at each other, peace thankfully restored. We won’t be talking about Joe again anytime soon.

 
    A week later I wake up early in the morning. I’ve now moved fully into Jessie’s house where the curtains are blissfully white instead of murky orange, and I open them up to see that dawn has broken. There’s a fine mist drifting across the city’s rooftops. It will be beautiful on the Backs. The river beckons.
    I throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt and set off to the Magdalene Bridge punting