One Perfect Summer

the end-of-term balls actually take place in late June. I thought the students here were supposed to be bright – unless they named it the May Ball to confuse the rest of us. Anyway, each college has its own shindig, with Trinity, St John’s and Clare all being renowned for their spectacular fireworks display. So much so that we offer punting tours on the nights of the balls, so those of us not invited – i.e. practically everyone alive – can still get a taste of the action, so to speak.
    I suspect, from Lukas’s tone, that he doesn’t really approve of the gatecrashers. But the river belongs to us all.
    ‘Do you have a problem with us commoners being there, then?’ I ask a little shirtily.
    He shrugs. ‘Not at all. It all adds to the ambience.’
    ‘Are you bilingual?’ I’m distracted by his use of language and consequently overlook the fact that he accepted the term ‘commoner’ as a description for me.
    ‘No,’ he replies.
    ‘Your English is very good.’
    ‘Thank you,’ he says. I get the feeling he finds me entertaining.
    Silence. A man in a suit crosses the bridge up ahead. More silence. That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.
    ‘I’d better get off,’ I say, pointing back the way I came. ‘My flatmate will think I’ve been kidnapped if he wakes up and finds me gone.’
    ‘Flatmate? I thought you said you lived in halls of residence.’
    He picked that up from my earlier ramble, then.
    ‘I did. Until last week. Now I’ve moved in with a friend.’
    ‘You’re not going home for the summer?’
    ‘No. I thought I’d stay here. What about you?’
    ‘I leave after the ball.’ He leans forward and rests his elbow on his knee.
    ‘Back to Southern Germany?’
    ‘That’s right.’ He smiles. ‘You didn’t get concussion, then.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘When you hit your head. You remember me telling you where I was from.’
    ‘Oh. Right. Yes. I still can’t believe I did that. It was mortifying.’
    ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed about.’
    ‘Yes, it is.’ I give him a wry smile. ‘My workmates gave me a major amount of grief for it.’
    ‘I’m sure it happens all the time.’
    ‘That’s what I keep telling them.’ Although I’ve never actually seen anyone else doing it . . .
    ‘I thought you did well to stay aboard,’ he says.
    ‘Er, thanks,’ I mumble. More silence. Another city worker crosses the bridge up ahead. ‘I guess I’d better go,’ I say again. This time he lets me.
    ‘It was nice talking to you, Alice.’
    ‘You too,’ I reply. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around.’
    He nods at my punt and then at Trinity. ‘Next week, perhaps.’ I gather he’s talking about the night of the ball.
    ‘If you’re not too drunk to recognise me,’ I tease.
    ‘I doubt it,’ he replies.
    ‘Okay, then. Well, bye.’ I give my pole a sharp twist and pull upwards to release it from the riverbed. ‘Good luck with your exam results today.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Hope you get some sleep tonight.’
    ‘You too.’ He smiles and gets to his feet.
    By the time I’ve turned the punt around and gone back under the bridge he’s already inside Trinity’s gates.

 
    I have a boat full of people – twelve in total. They’re friends who have clubbed together to hire a punt on the night of the ball. They’ve been steadily making their way through several bottles of champagne, laughing, chatting and soaking up the atmosphere for the last three and a half hours. It’s almost eleven o’clock and the fireworks are due to start soon. I’ve anchored my boat with my pole in the usual way, right outside the Wren Library. I wasn’t here for the balls last year, and they’re a sight to behold. Trinity’s south paddock, in front of me to my left, has a fairground and there are marquees set up for food and attractions like a comedy club and a hog roast. There’s a champagne bar situated under the cloisters of the Wren Library, and we can hear music coming from the main stage beyond that. Supergrass are one of the acts playing tonight and I’m gutted I can’t go and watch them.
    Jessie is on the boat next to mine, and our passengers have been plying us with champagne, so we’re in high spirits. There are so many punts hemmed in on this part of the river that you could step from boat to boat all the way to the banks and back. Shame about the level of security: it’s practically impossible to gatecrash. Trinity Bridge is heaving with people, and I only wish Lizzy were here so we