One Perfect Summer

then?’
    The next morning Joe and I return to Dancing Ledge. The jittery feeling has been in my stomach all night and it’s even more intense now. I don’t want to keep my hands off him. He’s so warm and perfect. To my amazement, he seems to feel the same.
    ‘I could kiss you all day,’ he says.
    ‘Don’t you need to eat?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Drink?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Me neither,’ I say.
    ‘I really can’t get over your eyes,’ he says, staring into them, almost searchingly. ‘They’re the greenest green.’
    ‘I like yours too,’ I admit.
    ‘Boring brown.’
    ‘They could never be boring. No, it’s like they have an inner light or something. They’re dark, but they still seem to sparkle.’
    He starts to laugh at me.
    ‘Don’t be mean!’ I cry, whacking him on his arm. ‘Maybe that did sound a little corny, but it’s true.’
    ‘Where are your parents from?’ he asks suddenly.
    ‘They’re both British, but my grandmother on my father’s side was Chinese.’
    ‘Where was she from?’
    ‘Beijing originally, but her parents took her to Britain when she was young. My grandfather was British.’
    ‘I didn’t think Alice Simmons sounded very Chinese.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Do you speak it?’
    ‘Mandarin? No. I wish I could, but my dad always speaks English.’
    ‘Maybe you could take it as a subject at university.’
    I look ahead, thoughtfully. ‘That’s a really good idea. They do have an option to take a language module. I’ll check it out when I get there.’ I gaze across at him. ‘ Xie_xie .’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘Thank you.’ I smile. ‘For the idea.’
    He shakes his head with amusement. ‘You are such a brainiac!’
    ‘So, Joe Strickwold,’ I say. ‘When are you coming to visit me in Cambridge?’
    ‘Joe Strickwold – you even said it without tripping over it.’
    ‘I’ve been practising: Joe Strickwold, Joe Strickwold, Joe Strickwold.’
    ‘Impressive. Alice Simmons, Alice Simmons, Alice Simmons – actually, yours is a bit of a tongue-twister too.’
    ‘Alice Strickwold. Jesus, that’s even worse.’
    ‘I’ll have to change my name to something simpler before you marry me,’ he jokes.
    A thrill goes through me. I know, I’m getting way ahead of myself.
    ‘Oi, you haven’t answered my question.’
    ‘About coming to visit you in Cambridge?’ he checks. ‘You might be sick of me by then.’
    ‘I doubt it.’
    ‘You won’t want me cramping your style when you’re meeting all these smart know-it-alls.’
    ‘I’m absolutely certain that’s not going to happen.’
    ‘You can’t be certain.’
    ‘Yes, I can. I don’t want to go out with some ponce from Cambridge University. They wouldn’t want to go out with me, anyway.’
    ‘No guy would ever turn you down.’
    ‘Stop it!’ I laugh. ‘How can you say that?’
    ‘You’re beautiful.’ He shrugs as if it were obvious, even though no one has ever said that to me before.
    ‘I think you’re gorgeous too.’
    ‘Come here and kiss me.’
    I do as I’m told.
    I can’t bear it when he leaves me that afternoon. The hours without him drag by like nothing I’ve ever known. I’ve never had a crush like this before. And yes, I am calling it a crush, even though the L word has popped into my mind on more than one occasion. My head tells me it’s far too soon to be using words like that, but, God, I like him so much. ‘Like’ really doesn’t cut it. I adore him . . . I fancy him . . . None of those phrases do it justice, either. I need him. I’m obsessed by him. That’s more like it. I’m not going to tell him this, though, for crying out loud. I sound like a nutcase and he’d run a bloody mile. I suppose I’m still in the honeymoon period.
    My dad arrives on Friday afternoon and it’s damn near impossible to concentrate during dinnertime when he’s talking about his week at work. My mum knows what’s up with me, I’m sure of it. She’s planned a jam-packed weekend for the three of us and I swear that she’s trying to keep me from Joe, unaware that he’s busy at the pub. After dinner, I try to watch telly because reading is futile, but even that won’t take my mind off him. I keep thinking about walking across the field to the pub so I can see him, but I’m too wary of facing his parents when I get there.
    When Mum and Dad go upstairs to bed I go outside to the gate and stand there, looking out into the blackness. In some small and silly way I feel like it’s bringing