One Perfect Summer

bench, without once taking her eyes off him. I give her a wry look – it’s not what she’s thinking.
    ‘Sammy, this is Lukas. Lukas, this is Sammy.’
    ‘I haven’t seen you around,’ she comments with a smile as she leans up against the doorframe and folds her arms.
    ‘No, well, I’ve yet to go punting,’ he replies with slight discomfort.
    ‘See you tomorrow,’ I say to Sammy before turning away.
    ‘Are you not coming for a drink?’ she calls after us, sounding disappointed.
    ‘No,’ I reply. ‘Not tonight.’
    I walk away from the punts and turn right onto Magdalene Street.
    ‘Where are you going?’ Lukas asks, struggling to keep step with me as I cross the bridge. Diners sit out on the balcony of a restaurant overlooking the river. The autumn leaves have started to fall and they look like little brown boats floating on the water. It’s busy this evening; ever since the students returned Cambridge has come back to life. At times, in the summer, it felt like a ghost town.
    ‘Home,’ I reply. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘I . . . I wondered if I might take you for a drink?’ he stammers as we pass the Pickerel Inn. I glance through the wrought-iron gates to the courtyard at the side. It’s already heaving with people.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I . . . I thought it might be nice. I’d like to know how your summer was, what you got up to.’
    ‘You could have asked me that earlier.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I lost track of time talking to my tutor and then I realised I was late for an important phone call.’
    I shake my head and scoff: ‘What student has important phone calls?’ I intentionally place the emphasis on ‘student’ – who does he think he is?
    ‘If you must know . . .’
    Ooh, have I annoyed him? Don’t care.
    ‘. . . my mother was calling me from hospital. My brother’s wife has just had a baby who is premature. We weren’t sure if he was going to make it through the night.’
    I stop in my tracks. ‘Oh.’ How bad do I feel? ‘Is he okay? The baby?’
    ‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘He’s still having some difficulty breathing on his own, but they think he’ll survive.’
    ‘That’s good.’ I smile awkwardly with relief.
    ‘So, can I take you for a drink?’ He regards me intently with those very blue eyes of his.
    ‘Like I’m going to say no now.’ I laugh uneasily.
    ‘Good.’ He starts to walk again. I hurry to catch up.
    ‘Where do you want to go?’ I glance sideways at him.
    ‘There’s a pub around the corner . . .’ He points up ahead. ‘The Punter. I believe it’s quite nice inside.’
    ‘It is.’ Jessie and I stop there occasionally on our way home.
    We reach the pub and Lukas opens the door for me.
    ‘What would you like to drink?’ he asks.
    For some reason I think twice about ordering a pint of lager. I don’t really want to drink it in front of Lukas, but I’m damned if I’m going to change for him.
    ‘A pint of lager, please,’ I stubbornly reply.
    He doesn’t comment. He heads to the bar, while I go off to find us a table. I sit down and wait. I’m surprisingly on edge.
    ‘Here you are,’ he says a short while later, placing a pint glass on the table in front of me. It looks so large and uncouth. Suddenly I really wish it were a glass of white wine instead.
    He pulls up a chair and sits down. I’m relieved to see that he’s also drinking lager.
    ‘So,’ he says with a smile, ‘how was your summer?’
    ‘Fab.’
    ‘What did you do?’
    ‘A lot of reading, and a lot of punting.’
    ‘Did you make it home at all?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Really?’ He sounds intrigued. ‘Where is home?’
    ‘London. That’s where my parents live.’
    ‘You didn’t make it back there to see them at all?’
    ‘They came here for a long weekend.’
    ‘You’re not close?’
    I shift in my seat and look down at the table. That’s a bit personal. Not as much as we used to be, if truth be told.
    He notices my reaction. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’
    ‘That’s okay.’ I take a sip of my pint and don’t enjoy it. ‘What about you? Oh, hey!’ I remember something. ‘How were your exam results?’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘What did you get?’
    ‘A First.’
    ‘Brilliant, well done.’ I’m impressed. ‘And did you spend your summer in Germany?’
    He nods and smiles. ‘I did. Part of it.’
    ‘Where else did you go?’
    ‘We also had a few weeks in Monaco.’
    ‘Monaco? That’s nice.’ I process this information. Hang on . . . He said