One Perfect Summer

either slightly embarrassed, or worried that she might take offence.
    I shrug, trying to play it down. ‘Lukas had it made for me.’
    ‘ What? ’ Her mouth falls open. ‘What was wrong with the dress we bought together?’
    It appears I was right about the latter reason.
    ‘Nothing,’ I say quickly. ‘It was lovely. It’s just that . . . Well, he thought I could do . . .’ My voice trails off, but she finishes my sentence.
    ‘ Better? ’
    I glance at the dress and run my fingers down the material. ‘Somebody else might have had the same one,’ I say.
    ‘Welcome to the world,’ she says sardonically. ‘Well, I’m sure you looked amazing.’
    I close the wardrobe doors.
    ‘What the hell happened to your fingers?’ she asks with horror as she spies the plasters.
    ‘Cooking casualty,’ I explain. ‘Lukas wanted me to cook . . . Well, I wanted to, as well. But I gave up in the end.’
    ‘Who else is coming tonight?’ she asks, sitting down on the end of the bed and bouncing up and down.
    ‘A couple of Lukas’s friends: Harry and Matthew. It’s not exactly the girls’ weekend you might have hoped for . . .’
    ‘No, it’s fine!’ she exclaims, her shoulders slumping as she stops bouncing. ‘Any distraction will help.’
    ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ I ask.
    ‘Is four o’clock too early to start drinking?’ she bats back, getting to her feet. I can tell that she’s fighting back tears.
    ‘God, no. Just don’t let me forget to put dinner in the oven!’
    Back in the kitchen, I pull a bottle of Veuve Clicquot out of the fridge.
    ‘Is that real champagne?’ she asks with widened eyes, peering at the label.
    ‘Yeah.’ I shrug. ‘Lukas buys it.’
    ‘Bloody hell. Handmade ball gowns . . . champagne . . . a thatched cottage all to himself . . . He’s not your average student, is he?’
    I give her a wry look. ‘Not exactly.’ I lift up the bottle. ‘Want some?’
    ‘Go on, then. If you’re sure he won’t mind.’
    ‘No, he got it in for tonight.’ I peel off the foil at the top.
    ‘How are things going with him?’ she asks as she lifts herself up onto the countertop. She met him only briefly that time she came to stay with me last year to go shopping for ball gowns.
    ‘Excuse me,’ I say, and she ducks her head so I can open the cupboard behind her to get out a couple of champagne glasses. ‘Really well,’ I reply to her question.
    ‘I bet you stay over here all the time, don’t you?’ she says with a knowing look.
    ‘Oh, totally,’ I reply casually. ‘I moved the last of my stuff out of Jessie’s a few weeks ago.’
    ‘You moved out of Jessie’s?’
    ‘Yeah.’ I’m instantly uneasy at the look on her face. ‘His parents came back from the States,’ I explain.
    ‘So you’re living with Lukas.’ It’s more of a statement than a question.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’re living with your boyfriend.’ She seems a bit dumbfounded.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Bloody hell, Alice!’
    ‘What?’ Now I’m feeling put out.
    ‘That was a bit fast, wasn’t it?’
    I don’t say anything as I pour the champagne.
    ‘I don’t mean to have a go,’ she says hurriedly. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’
    ‘Why not?’ My lips are set in a straight line. ‘I don’t see what the big deal is.’
    ‘What did your dad say?’
    ‘I haven’t . . . He doesn’t . . .’
    ‘You haven’t told them?’ she gasps.
    ‘It’s not like that,’ I reply firmly. ‘It’s not that big a deal.’
    ‘It’s a huge responsibility.’
    ‘Jesus, Lizzy! When did you turn into my mother?’
    She frowns at me and then looks away, hurt.
    ‘Sorry,’ I say, although I’m not really sure why I’m the one apologising.
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she replies, not meeting my eyes. ‘I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all.’
    ‘I don’t know why,’ I snap. ‘It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.’
    ‘I should hope not!’
    I hand her a glass.
    ‘ Would you marry him?’ she asks with narrowed eyes.
    ‘I don’t know.’ I shrug.
    ‘Do you love him?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘More than you loved Joe?’
    ‘What sort of a question is that?’ I take a deep breath and exhale loudly.
    This time she’s the one to apologise. ‘Sorry,’ she says, hopping down from the countertop. ‘I’m being a cow. I’ve had a shitty week and I’m taking it out on you.’
    ‘It’s okay.’ I indicate the door to the living room. She leads the way through. ‘So what