One Perfect Summer

get back to see Lizzy,’ I say as he slides his hands up inside my T-shirt.
    ‘We’ll be quick,’ he murmurs into my mouth before kissing me passionately.
    Trinity’s May Ball takes place every year on a Monday evening towards the end of June, and on the Monday morning Lukas comes to the house with what he says is a surprise for me. He’s more animated than I usually see him and I can tell he’s excited. He ushers me upstairs to my room and closes the door, before handing me a black plastic bag.
    ‘What is it?’ I ask.
    ‘Open it,’ he replies.
    I peek inside to see a white box. I pull it out and lift up the lid to discover another package wrapped in white tissue paper – as though a shop assistant at a nice shop has wrapped up a purchase. But this tissue paper is crumpled and the package has already been opened once. Lukas is almost jumping on the spot. I’ve never seen him like this. Curiously, I peel back the paper to find a fold of shimmering greeny-gold fabric. I pull it out and realise it’s a dress.
    ‘What . . . How?’ I’m a bit lost for words.
    ‘Try it on,’ he says.
    ‘What’s it for?’ I ask, perplexed. When am I ever going to get a chance to wear something like this?
    ‘For the ball,’ he says simply.
    ‘But I already have a ball dress.’ I’m bewildered. He knows this. I showed it to him.
    ‘I thought you could do better.’ He reaches forward to start unbuttoning my shirt. I push his hand away. He freezes and stares at me.
    ‘Hang on,’ I say, wanting to clear this up. ‘Where did you get it from?’
    ‘I had it made.’
    ‘You had it made ?’
    ‘Yes.’ He nods. ‘I had it made in Paris. It arrived this morning.’
    ‘You had it made in Paris?’ I say the words slowly.
    ‘Yes,’ he replies, regarding me with a deadpan expression.
    What student has a dress made for her, let alone in Paris?
    ‘Don’t you like it?’
    ‘No, I do ,’ I say, putting the emphasis carefully on ‘do’, ‘but I’m just a little confused.’
    ‘Try it on,’ he says again.
    I hesitate and then do as he suggests, out of interest more than anything else.
    It fits like a glove and skims the floor. I need heels.
    ‘You need heels,’ he says before I can go to the wardrobe.
    ‘I know,’ I reply bluntly. I don’t understand why I’m annoyed with him – he bought me a dress, no, he had a dress made for me – but still I feel a bit put out.
    I slide my feet into some black heels and then open the wardrobe door further to reveal the hanging mirror inside. I regard my reflection with surprise. It is the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen. The colour is sublime. Lukas appears in the reflection behind me.
    ‘What do you think?’ he asks quietly, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder.
    I nod. I’m lost for words for the second time that morning.
    ‘You look beautiful,’ he says seriously, turning me to face him.
    ‘What about my other dress?’ I ask, aware of it hanging on the rail beside me. It’s as if I’m going to hurt its feelings.
    ‘You can still wear it,’ he says. ‘Out to dinner, sometime.’
    ‘Didn’t you like it?’ Now my feelings are hurt.
    ‘Yes.’ He shrugs. ‘But it isn’t special. This –’ he spins me around again to face the mirror – ‘is special. There’s no other dress like it.’
    He’s right, of course. I debated with Lizzy about whether or not someone else might wear the same black dress as me – always a concern.
    ‘I’ll pick you up at six,’ he says, pecking me on the cheek.
    ‘You don’t need to,’ I reply, struggling to tear my eyes away from the girl in the mirror. ‘I’ll come to you.’
    ‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute when you look like this.’

 
    Lukas gives me flowers – cream-coloured roses to match the one in his buttonhole.
    ‘Should I bring them?’ I ask hesitantly. I remember last year seeing some girls walking around with small bunches of flowers, but I’m not sure what Lukas expects of me.
    ‘Put them in a vase.’ He nods to the kitchen. I do as he says, then return to him. He looks dashing – that’s the word I’d use to describe him – in a well-fitted black suit and white bow tie.
    ‘Where are your shoes?’ he asks, glancing at the bottom of my dress. The hem is dragging on the floor.
    ‘Here.’ I grab my heels from under the hallstand and lift them up, then grin as I kick my legs out to show