One Perfect Summer

he used for me.
    Fuck that. Don’t go all sentimental on me now.
    Emily looks ahead, deep in thought. ‘Maybe he believes you ’ ve moved on,’ she suggests after a while in her gentle Scottish lilt. ‘Maybe he wanted to get his shit together first and it took him longer than he thought it would. Maybe he still hasn’t got his shit together.’
    ‘Well, he’d better get it together soon, because if he doesn’t, I might move on.’
    I unexpectedly think of Lukas. I violently shake my head to unthink him, but it doesn’t work.
    ‘ Cold compress . . .’
    That does it.
    I look at Emily to see her looking perplexed at my odd behaviour.
    ‘Right, your turn,’ I say. ‘Why do you think all men are bastards?’
    If she were a clam, she would have knocked herself out with the force of her shutdown.
    ‘Oh, they just are,’ she replies dismissively.
    ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this!’
    Emily and I jump at the sound of Jessie’s voice. We turn to see him standing at the doorway.
    ‘I leave you two alone for two minutes and you’re calling me a bastard! Now I remember why I took in male students last year.’
    ‘We’re not talking about you ,’ I say.
    ‘Oh, so now I’m not even a man? Thanks a lot.’
    I smirk at him. I know he’s joking.
    ‘I’d better get on,’ Emily murmurs, hopping up from the table and quietly leaving the room.
    Jessie gives me a weird look. ‘She speaks, then?’
    I nod, still quite surprised by this fact myself. He pulls up a chair and delves into the biscuit packet. ‘What did she say?’
    ‘We were talking about Joe.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    The room is filled with the sound of silent munching (him) and tea-slurping (me).
    ‘Hang on,’ he says abruptly. ‘You told her about Joe?’
    I shrug. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘You didn’t tell me about Joe for bloody ages!’ he exclaims with indignation. ‘And now a mouse moves into our house and you blurt it all out over the course of one lunch break?’
    I try to suppress a giggle. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
    He humphs in disgust.
    It’s funny how it’s so much easier to talk about Joe now. It hurt intensely just to think about him before, but after verbalising the whole sorry saga to Jessie I feel like I’ve been anaesthetised. Plus, I’m still angry at the wanker. I update Jessie on my current state of mind.
    ‘I’ve never heard you swear so much in all my life,’ he comments with surprise. ‘Can’t say I think it’s a bad thing,’ he adds.
    ‘What, the swearing or the fact that I’m angry with the fuckwit?’
    ‘Both.’
    ‘Good to hear it.’ We grin at each other.
    ‘We’ll have to get plastered tonight,’ he decides.
    ‘Any reason for this?’
    ‘We need to celebrate.’
    ‘What are we celebrating?’
    ‘The fact that you’re well on your way through the seven stages of grief.’
    ‘Am I?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘Are there really seven stages of grief?’ I ask curiously.
    ‘So I’ve heard.’
    ‘What are they?’
    ‘Fuck knows, but any excuse to get hammered, right?’

 
    ‘What a load of bollocks.’
    ‘This one says “shock” is the first stage and “denial” is the second.’
    ‘But that other website said “shock and denial” were both stage one.’
    ‘But they’re two things.’
    ‘And it says stage three is “anger” and “bargaining”.’
    ‘Again, two things. That other website had “anger” down as stage five, and “bargaining” down as stage three. What the hell is “bargaining”, anyway?’
    Emily leans forward and reads from the computer screen. ‘You may try to bargain with the powers-that-be for a way out of your despair. For example, “I will never eat chocolate again if you just bring him back”.’
    ‘Fuck that.’
    Emily, Jessie and I are huddled around my laptop. A few days have passed since I told Emily about Joe. I’m still angry, and I’m still swearing a lot.
    ‘I think this really only applies to people who have actually lost someone,’ Emily says, scrolling down. ‘As in, the person they’ve lost has died.’
    ‘Are you trivialising my seven stages?’ I demand to know. ‘Because I’ve got a right to feel –’ I peer closely at my laptop screen – ‘guilty, just like anyone else.’
    Jessie screws up his nose. ‘What have you got to feel guilty about?’
    My brow furrows. ‘Good point.’ I peer in closely. ‘Depressed, then.’
    ‘Agh, no, you don’t want to do depression!’ Emily exclaims. ‘God, no,