One Perfect Summer

boring that happened to her at work.
    ‘Have you heard from Lukas?’ Jessie asks.
    ‘Yesterday,’ I confirm.
    ‘How did the wedding go?’
    ‘He didn’t really talk about it, but it went well, I think.’
    ‘Why’s he coming back early?’
    I glance at the girl. I’ve never heard anyone talk so loudly. It’s very off-putting.
    ‘I don’t know, exactly,’ I reply. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
    The girl gets up to go to the toilet. I exhale loudly, glad of the peace and quiet.
    ‘Do you ever think about Joe?’ I’m instantly tense again.
    ‘Of course I do,’ I tell him.
    ‘Do you ever consider trying to contact him?’
    I shift in my seat. ‘I wouldn’t know how to start, anymore.’
    ‘You don’t want me to call the pub?’
    I look up at him sharply. There’s something in his expression.
    ‘What is it?’ I ask.
    He looks uneasy and a terrible sinking feeling settles over me.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, glancing up at me. Jessie rarely apologises for anything.
    ‘What for?’
    ‘I don’t know why I did it . . . I guess I was just curious . . .’
    ‘What?’ I say again. The girl returns and strikes up another loud one-way conversation, but I’m barely aware of her.
    ‘I called the pub a few months ago,’ he admits.
    My heart skips a beat and my insides fire up with hope. ‘And?’
    ‘His parents don’t work there anymore.’
    The flames in my stomach are instantly snuffed out. ‘Where did they go?’
    ‘Manchester, apparently.’
    They were my last link to Joe. While I couldn’t stand them, just knowing they were there gave me some comfort. Now I have none.
    ‘What made you call?’ I ask flatly.
    He looks awkward. ‘It was after that night of your birthday . . .’
    A chill goes through me. We’d all gone out to a club, but Lukas didn’t want to be there. I was drinking lager, which I know he hates. He considers it unfeminine, but it was my birthday and I was intent on doing as I pleased. Anyway, I got a bit too drunk and Lukas had to carry me home. The next day Jessie sniped that Lukas had ‘dragged’ me out of there. That was the way he put it. We had a huge argument – Jessie has always had it in for him, without anywhere near enough justification. I didn’t speak to him for a week after that.
    The waitress brings our food, but I’ve lost my appetite. I can tell Jessie regrets bringing Joe up.
    ‘What do you want to see at the movies?’ He tries to change the subject.
    I feel numb. ‘Don’t care.’
    ‘In that case, how about Strike ? It’s a documentary on kick-boxing,’ he explains when I don’t react.
    Normally I’d make some sarky remark about how riveting that sounds, but now I just say: ‘Whatever . . .’
    In the end, we decide to see The Last Kiss because Strike doesn’t start until Friday. But we could have gone to see anything, because my thoughts are elsewhere.

 
    I’m at work when Lukas returns from Germany. It’s starting to drizzle so I cycle home as quickly as I can. He opens the door before I’ve even pushed my bike up the garden path.
    ‘Hi!’ I say. He comes outside and engulfs me in a hug. ‘Are you okay?’ My voice is muffled by his shoulder.
    ‘I missed you,’ he murmurs, stroking my hair.
    I pull away and look at him. He seems anguished. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
    ‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Not now.’
    I smile at him and glance down to see that he’s in his socks. ‘Your feet will be wet through!’ I usher him back inside. He tries to hug me again, but I tentatively step out of his grasp.
    ‘Why did you come back early?’ I ask, searching his face. He presses his lips to mine. I resist for a moment, but as his kiss becomes more passionate I gently, but firmly, put my hands on his chest and push him away. His behaviour is freaking me out a bit. He’s only been away five days. He stares at the carpet, looking crestfallen.
    ‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?’ I ask, because I don’t know what else to say or how to handle him. He hesitates, but then nods. I hurry into the kitchen.
    He’s in the living room when I return, sitting in an armchair and staring out of the window. I place a cup and saucer on the table next to him and sit on the sofa, facing him.
    ‘Thanks,’ he says.
    ‘Are you alright?’ I ask anxiously.
    Then he looks up, right into my eyes, and there’s an intensity there that I don’t recognise. ‘I want to marry you.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I want to marry