One Perfect Summer

try to convince you to leave me?’ I ask in a small voice.
    He nods abruptly. ‘Yes. She insisted I act quickly before it’s too late, but it’s already too late.’
    ‘You mean, Rosalinde wouldn’t take you back now?’ I’m not sure I would in her position. She must feel humiliated.
    ‘No,’ he says, coming to a stop in the middle of the pavement and spinning around to face me. ‘It’s too late because I want you, Alice. They can’t make me give you up.’
    I don’t know why I think of Joe at that point, but I do. Lukas turns and keeps walking.
    ‘You are going to learn German, aren’t you?’ he asks tersely.
    ‘Yes.’ It’s the least I can do.

 
    ‘Argh!’
    I wake up with a jolt at the sound of Lukas exploding. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask him. It’s the middle of a cold and frosty night in January and I’m in his room at Burrell’s Field.
    ‘I can’t sleep!’ He pounds the mattress. ‘My mother was right. This room is too small.’
    ‘You’ve managed in a room this size for over three years,’ I say reasonably. He once told me he enjoyed experiencing student life like any other student. But he’s been living it up at home for weeks. Maybe that’s the problem.
    ‘I’ve had enough. I can’t stand this bed. It’s ridiculous!’
    I sit up. ‘I’ll go back to Jessie’s, then.’
    ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he snaps, pulling me back down. ‘But I need to sleep. I have a lecture tomorrow and I won’t be able to concentrate.’
    ‘Why did you insist on me coming here tonight, then?’ I’m annoyed now. I met up with the literary society girls earlier at the pub to talk about a Dickens quiz we’re organising for next month. I declined Lukas’s offer to collect me, but he turned up, anyway. In his Porsche. He’s got to stop doing that.
    ‘I missed you,’ he laments.
    Christmas passed by without any hitches. I went home and Lukas returned to Germany, but this time he called me every couple of days so I didn’t lose my head like the last few times.
    ‘Well, I’ve also got a big year ahead of me, so I could do with a decent night’s kip too, you know.’
    ‘Do you have to write another essay on Harry Potter ?’ he asks in a derogatory tone.
    ‘Children’s Literature still involves work, you know!’ I exclaim. ‘Bugger this, I’m off.’
    He grabs my arm. ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry.’ He caresses my face with his hands and gazes at me in the darkness.
    ‘I know you think my work pales in comparison to yours, and it probably does, but it still means a lot to me,’ I say earnestly. ‘I have to think about my career options and . . . God, I’m too tired for this.’
    My eyes are stinging and my body feels like it’s weighted down.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I’m sorry.’ He presses his lips to mine and I feel him twitch beneath me as his kiss deepens.
    ‘Not now,’ I groan.
    ‘It will help you relax . . .’ he murmurs, moving against me.
    It will help you relax, you mean. I push him away and hold him at arm’s length.
    ‘No, Lukas, I need to get some sleep.’
    He curses in German. I haven’t learned all the swear words yet, but I’m guessing this is one of them.
    ‘What is wrong with you tonight?’ I ask crossly. ‘First you drag me away from my meeting—’
    ‘Meeting about a pub quiz!’ he interjects.
    ‘ So? It’s still an event and I’m helping to organise it so I don’t appreciate you turning up in that bloody Porsche again and embarrassing me!’
    ‘I’m sorry if you find my Porsche so embarrassing.’ He’s not sorry in the slightest.
    ‘It’s not the car, it’s you!’ I get out of bed and start to drag on my clothes. I’ve had enough of this. ‘You can’t control me; you can’t make me do what you want me to do. I’m my own person. I haven’t made many friends here and—’
    ‘Rosalinde is engaged.’
    His interruption is firm, but his tone is flat.
    I instantly stop what I’m doing. ‘What?’
    ‘Rosalinde is engaged.’ He stares up at the ceiling.
    ‘She’s engaged ? Who to?’
    ‘Frederick Schulz.’ Before I can ask who that is, Lukas says: ‘He’s from a very good family.’
    ‘What is it with you and very good families?’
    ‘He’s far too old for her,’ he continues, ignoring me. ‘He’s thirty-three and he’s a banker. Extremely successful .’ He elongates these last two words, almost as though he’s drunk.
    ‘How do you know all this?’ I ask with confusion.
    ‘My mother told