One Perfect Summer

Mandarin.’
    It’s been two years since Joe suggested I learn my grandmother’s language at university. Two years that I’ve wasted. I mentioned my regrets to Matthew recently and he insisted it wasn’t too late – I could still learn some of the basics in my third year.
    ‘Yet you’ve never attempted to learn a word of German,’ Lukas adds.
    His comment strikes me dumb.
    ‘Let’s go to the comedy club,’ he says.
    I don’t feel much like smiling. I hope the comedians are good. Harry and Matthew join us in the marquee. I make a point of putting my hand on Lukas’s leg and cuddling up to him more than I usually do. He doesn’t respond, but he does seem to relax more after that.
    The comedy does the trick, and later, much later, we return to the champagne bar, just the two of us. I’ve been trying to pace myself, but I feel decidedly tipsy. I don’t know how I’ll make it through to six a.m., when the ball ends. Lukas passes me a glass of champagne and puts his arm around my waist.
    ‘Cheers.’
    ‘Cheers.’ We chink glasses.
    ‘Are you having fun?’ he asks.
    ‘Yes.’ I smile. ‘I love seeing it from the inside. Thank you for inviting me tonight.’
    ‘Who else would I ask?’ he replies with amusement.
    A thought occurs to me. ‘Did you bring anyone last year?’
    He shrugs. ‘No.’
    ‘I remember looking for you.’
    ‘Looking for me?’
    ‘Yes. I was down on the river.’ I suddenly remember Jessie. ‘Hey, let’s see if we can spot my punting pals!’
    I drag him towards the bridge. The fireworks are due to start soon, so it’s even more crowded than before. I manage to squeeze between a couple of people leaning on the stone wall. The punts are well and truly crammed in now. I spot Chris leaning on his pole at the back of a boat.
    ‘CHRIS!’
    He doesn’t hear me.
    ‘CHRIS!’ I shout louder. And then I see Jessie. I wave with delight.
    He puts his hands to his mouth and shouts with glee at the top of his voice: ‘VAGINA!’ My mouth falls open. Little shit! I’m aghast. I quickly recover and am about to give him the finger when Lukas roughly drags me back from the wall.
    ‘What the hell is he thinking?’ he hisses, angrier than I’ve ever seen him.
    ‘He’s only joking!’ I exclaim, horrified by his reaction. I rub at my arm – it feels tender from where he grabbed me.
    ‘He’s pathetic!’
    Right, that’s it. The night is under definite threat of ruination. People around us turn to stare. Lukas gives me a look that makes my blood run cold and then storms off through the crowd, shoving past people as he goes. I’m absolutely mortified. I hurry after him, not knowing what else to do. Fireworks start to go off behind me, but I’m far too distracted to pay them any attention.
    ‘Lukas!’ I shout, my eyes on his departing back. We’re pushing against the crowd because everyone is coming this way to watch the fireworks. ‘LUKAS!’ I shout again, but his pace doesn’t slow. Eventually there’s a break in the crowd and I manage to totter after him in my heels. ‘STOP!’ I shout, reaching for his hand and tugging it, hard. He spins around.
    ‘Stop it!’ I gasp. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Home,’ he spits.
    ‘What? Why? ’ He doesn’t answer. ‘Because of Jessie?’
    ‘I’ve had enough,’ he says, glaring at me.
    ‘Enough of what? Me? ’
    He shakes his head and keeps walking.
    ‘Wait!’ I call after him desperately. He pauses in his tracks, and then turns around to face me.
    ‘I’m going back to Germany on Friday,’ he says over the sound of the explosions. The sky above our heads is glowing with colour.
    ‘I didn’t think you were leaving for two more weeks?’
    ‘I’m going on Friday,’ he reiterates.
    ‘Why?’
    His expression softens, but only slightly. ‘There’s so much . . .’ His voice trails off.
    ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
    He takes a deep breath, but won’t look at me.
    ‘Lukas,’ I say gently, taking his hand and willing him to open up to me. ‘What is it? Is it your parents?’
    A long moment goes by before he nods. ‘But not just them.’
    ‘What else? Who else?’
    He meets my eyes. ‘We should go back to my room,’ he says solemnly.
    I follow him out of the gate, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach.
    We get up to his room and he indicates one of his armchairs, sitting down in the other. The firework sounds are muted, but still present in the background.
    ‘I need to tell you