One Perfect Summer

station. No one will be there now, but I have a key and I can unlock one of the punts.
    Soon, the only thing I can hear is the occasional sleepy duck quacking and the sound of the water as my pole dips in and out of it. I was right. It’s breathtaking on the river this morning. The Bridge of Sighs looms up ahead and I go slowly, trying to drink everything in. I breathe in deeply and feel calm.
    I pass under St John’s two bridges and look back to see the mist drifting across the lawn in front of New Court on the western bank. It will be a while before it burns off in today’s predicted sunshine. I slow down in the middle of the river, making the most of the fact that it’s deserted and that I’m not in anyone’s way. I wish I had my camera, but at the same time I know that no lens could do justice to this sight. I jolt at the sound of someone clearing their throat up ahead. I pass under Trinity Bridge to see a man perching on the bridge wall to my right. I don’t bloody believe it.
    ‘Good morning,’ he says.
    The German.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘Here we are again,’ he adds with a raised eyebrow.
    ‘Indeed.’ I smile drily and drop my pole onto the riverbed to anchor my boat.
    ‘You mean, you’re staying ?’ he says with surprise. Is that sarcasm? Big words and sarcasm – impressive.
    ‘I’m sorry I ran off that time. It’s just that my friend came along and offered to give me a ride back to the punting station and then he made sure I got back to my halls of residence okay because I didn’t really feel up to walking after all of that . . .’ I know I’m rambling. He regards me with amusement.
    ‘That’s quite alright.’
    ‘I did put ice on it,’ I feel compelled to add.
    He grins and looks down and my insides feel funny. Lizzy is right. He is good-looking.
    ‘Are you a student here?’ I nod to Trinity on the other side of the river.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What are you studying?’
    ‘Physics.’ There goes my theory about him being a medical student. ‘What about you?’ he asks.
    ‘English Literature.’ I usually just say English Lit, but something about him makes me feel more formal. ‘Not here,’ I add hastily. ‘At Anglia Ruskin.’
    He nods. He’s not surprised. Students from the revered university are not supposed to work during term time. All their spare time is supposed to be spent on their studies. Where’s the fun in that? I shift on my feet. The boat wobbles slightly underneath me.
    ‘Well, then,’ I say, nodding upriver and giving my pole a sharp twist to release it from the riverbed.
    ‘What’s your name?’ he asks.
    ‘Alice,’ I reply, hesitantly pushing my pole back into the mud. ‘Yours?’
    ‘Lukas.’
    Lukas. That sounds better than ‘the German’.
    ‘What are you doing out here at this time?’ I ask him.
    ‘I couldn’t sleep. I sometimes come out here to read.’ I notice a textbook in his hands. Something to do with electrodynamics, whatever that is.
    ‘It’s weird bumping into you again,’ I comment.
    ‘Cambridge is a small city.’
    ‘True.’ I gaze around me and back at him. He’s wearing jeans and a black jumper. ‘It’s pretty here this morning, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes.’ His stare is unnerving. It strikes me that he’s extremely confident.
    I shift on my feet again. I feel oddly uneasy in his company. ‘Were you . . . Was that you at that nightclub last week?’
    He purses his lips and looks away. ‘Yes, that was me.’
    ‘Good night?’ I ask feebly.
    ‘I’ve had better,’ he replies.
    Talk about a stilted conversation. I wrack my brain for something to say. Of course, I could just leave, but something is keeping me here and I don’t know what.
    ‘Have you broken up yet?’ I ask. ‘From university, I mean?’
    ‘I know what you mean,’ he says. ‘I’ve finished my exams, yes.’
    ‘How do you think you did?’
    ‘I’ll find out today.’
    ‘Aah, so that’s why you can’t sleep?’
    ‘Part of it.’
    Intriguing. ‘What year are you in?’
    ‘Two.’
    ‘Only one more to go, then.’
    ‘I’m doing a four-year course.’
    ‘Oh, okay. How old are you?’ I’m curious.
    ‘Twenty.’
    Hello? Help me with the conversation, here! Nope, he says nothing.
    I try again. ‘Are you going to the May Ball on Monday?’
    ‘Yes. Yourself?’
    ‘Not likely.’ The tickets are like gold dust. ‘No, I’ll be working.’ I indicate the punt.
    ‘Aah, yes,’ he says knowingly.
    The description ‘May Ball’ is misleading, because