One Perfect Summer

by Paige Toon

‘DYSON!’ he shouts with a furious wave of his hand. ‘AWAY!’

  Dyson, who I’m assuming is the dog, starts to bark like a nutcase before chasing his own tail. Joe shakes his head with amusement and then Dyson launches himself at me and knocks me backwards.

  ‘Oh, shit! Sorry!’ Joe exclaims, rushing over and dragging his dog off me. ‘DOWN, BOY!’ he shouts at his dog. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks with concern.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I manage to splutter.

  His face breaks into a grin as he looks at me directly. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Yep, it’s me.’

  My nerves – strangely – have dissipated. Then he collapses down on the grass next to me and I nearly have a heart attack.

  ‘Alice, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m Joe.’

  ‘Hi.’ My face heats up so I look at Dyson. ‘I thought he was going to fall off the cliff.’

  ‘It’s a steep slope all the way down. There’s a fence at the bottom.’

  ‘Aah, okay. Dyson is a funny name for a dog.’ Said dog is now sprawled out in a coma-like position next to him.

  ‘I named him after the vacuum cleaner.’ Joe reaches across and pats him. Dyson’s tail pounds the grass as it wags.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He snaffles up rubbish on the pavement like it’s steak.’

  ‘Yuck!’ I pull a face and laugh.

  ‘He’s one gross dog,’ he says affectionately. ‘So you’re here for six weeks?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I focus on his chunky black boots. I feel tongue-tied. Come on, Alice, talk or he’ll walk! ‘My mum’s a painter,’ I explain quickly.

  ‘Oh, right. That’s cool.’

  ‘Was that your dad working at the pub?’

  He rolls his eyes and pulls up a handful of grass. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t you get on?’

  He looks across at me. His eyes are so dark. ‘Not particularly,’ he replies.

  And then there’s that feeling again, that magnet, pulling me in. For pity’s sake, I said I was psychic, but at this rate psycho would be more apt.

  ‘Have you lived here for long?’ I ask, trying not to act like a crazy person.

  ‘Only since May.’ He breaks eye contact and I feel an immediate sense of relief. He rests back on his elbows.

  ‘Where were you before?’

  ‘Somerset, then Cornwall. We’ve lived in Dorset before, though. We used to have a pub in Lyme Regis.’

  ‘Wow. You move around a lot.’

  ‘Not by choice,’ he admits, turning the tables before I can press him further. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘North London. East Finchley. Do you know it?’

  ‘No. I don’t know London very well. But I’m going to move there soon.’

  ‘Really?’ My heart leaps and then crashes when I remember I’m off to Cambridge in September. I tell him this.

  ‘Are you? Why?’

  ‘I’m going to university.’ His eyes widen. ‘The former polytechnic,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘I’m not smart enough for the actual university.’

  ‘I’m not smart enough for any university,’ he replies.

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I feel compelled to say.

  ‘It is.’ He shrugs and stares ahead. ‘But I’m getting out of here, anyway.’ He stands up. ‘I’ve gotta get back. Tomorrow night is Quiz Night,’ he says with derision. ‘And I’ve got to write the questions. Which way are you going?’

  ‘Back up there.’ I scramble to my feet and point to the gorse walkway.

  ‘I’ll walk you.’ Re-sult! ‘You know, seeing as you’re desperate for company, and all that,’ he adds. I blush, but he elbows me jokily.

  ‘Bugger off,’ I reply and his corresponding laugh fills me with warmth.

  He has a grey hoodie tied around his waist and his bare arms are tanned from the rare heatwave we’ve been enjoying this summer. I unzip my waterproof to let some air in – the exercise has warmed me up, too. We walk side by side as we navigate the rocky path.

  I return to our conversation. ‘This place is so beautiful. Why would you want to leave?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty nice, but . . . I don’t know. Im leaving as soon as I get a car, I’m out of here.’

  ‘Are you taking Dyson with you?’

  ‘Of course.’ He frowns. ‘I wouldn’t leave him with my parents. ’

  ‘Why do you work for them?’ I ask, seeing as they clearly don’t get on.

  ‘I can’t afford to move out yet, but working pays my rent.’

  ‘They make you pay rent?’

  ‘Well, I am eighteen. Just.’ He snorts. ‘Not that they didn’t have me working behind a bar for a few years before that . . .’

  ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

  ‘Yep,’ he replies bluntly.

  I can’t imagine my parents ever charging me to live at home with them, or putting me to work behind a bar when I was just a kid. Maybe I’m naive.

  Dyson runs ahead and we soon catch up to see him trying to drag an impossibly large stick out from underneath a tree. He drops it and growls at it before barking at Joe and wagging his tail.

  ‘You daft dog,’ Joe says, shaking his head. ‘You can’t play fetch with that.’ Dyson barks again. ‘Find a smaller one. Go on!’

  Nope. Dyson wants that one.

  ‘I’m not throwing it,’ Joe says adamantly, and there’s something endearing about the way he speaks to his dog.

  Woof!

  ‘No.’

  Woof, woof, woof!

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Joe mutters, grabbing one end of the stick while stamping hard on it somewhere in the middle. With a crack, the wood snaps in half. I watch, smiling, as he throws it a hefty distance into the field and a deliriously delighted Dyson bounds after it.

  ‘You softy,’ I say.

  ‘Too soft.’ He glances sideways at me.

  ‘How long have you had him?’ I ask.

  ‘About two years. I found him roaming the beach when we lived in Cornwall. He followed me home and I made the mistake of feeding him. He wouldn’t leave me alone after that.’

  ‘I wonder who he belonged to.’

  Dyson returns with the stick so Joe throws it again. ‘Who knows? He didn’t have a collar. He was really scrawny, so either he was treated badly or he’d been homeless for a while. My dad nearly kicked off when he found out I was giving him leftovers from the pub kitchen.’

  ‘Why should he care? Waste not, want not, right?’

  ‘He can’t stand dogs.’

  ‘Why did he let you keep him, then?’

  ‘He was pretty distracted at the time.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘You’re going to know my whole life story at this rate.’ He grins at me and changes the subject. ‘Alright, then, Brainiac, help me come up with some questions for this stupid quiz.’

  By the time we reach the cottage, I’ve found out that Joe has the same taste as me in music, TV and film, so it’s been an amusing walk back trying to outdo each other with our knowledge of indie rock, British comedy classics and sci-fi flicks.

  ‘I’m going to have to come to this quiz now, just so I can win,’ I say.

  He laughs and leans back against the cream-painted wooden gate. My nerves swiftly return. ‘I haven’t finished with the questions yet. I might put in something about Big Brother, just to trick you.’

  ‘That would mean watching it. Are you sure you’ve got the stomach for that sort of research?’ I ask drily.

  ‘Actually, no.’ He stares at me and the butterflies go berserk. ‘So you’re coming, then? To the pub tomorrow night?’

  ‘Is that okay?’

  He smiles. ‘Definitely.’

  I smile back at him. ‘Cool.’

  ‘Right, then. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  We stand awkwardly for a brief moment until he realises he’s blocking my way. He
leaps away from the gate and then recovers by reaching over and undoing the latch.

  ‘Thanks.’ I’m still beaming as I pass. ‘See you tomorrow,’ I say again as he closes the gate after me.

  ‘See ya.’ He turns away and clicks his fingers at Dyson. ‘Come on, boy.’

  I stand and watch them until they’re out of sight.

  ‘Name the vessel aboard which Luke Skywalker meets Princess Leia for the first time.’

  I hastily scribble down an answer on my sheet of paper.

  ‘Alice . . .’

  I glance up at my mum’s disapproving face. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you really think you should be participating in this quiz if you helped with all the questions?’

  ‘I didn’t help with all the questions!’ I snap. ‘He came up with these ones on his own. It’s not my fault we’ve got the same taste.’

  I look over at Joe behind the bar. He looks amused as his mother – a heavy-set woman with frizzy, dyed-blonde hair, heavy eye make-up and an orange tan – reads the next question.

  ‘Who walked out of the Big Brother house on Day 20 of this year’s series?’

  ‘You bastard,’ I mouth at Joe. He laughs and carries on pulling a pint.

  ‘What? Don’t you know that one?’ Mum asks me wryly.

  ‘No. Happy now?’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘I suppose so.’

  Today felt like one of the longest days of my life. Mum worked and I sat around trying, but failing, to get into my university reading. All I could think about was seeing Joe again. I would have gone to the pub at lunchtime if I hadn’t thought I’d look desperate.

  ‘Ladies and gents, we’re just going to take a short break and we’ll resume in a minute,’ Joe’s mum tells us in a thick West Country accent. Strangely, Joe may have been brought up around here, but his accent isn’t nearly as broad as his parents’.

  ‘I’m going to nip to the loo. Do you want another on my way back?’ Mum indicates my drink.

  ‘Sure.’

  I scan my quiz sheet to check my answers.

  ‘Alright?’

  With a start, I look up to see Joe standing there.

  ‘Budge up.’ He nudges me so I shift along the bench seat.

  ‘Big Brother?’ I ask him with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘I had to resort to internet research. Wait until you get to the question about Pop Idol.’

  I groan comically and he laughs. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply hopefully.

  ‘Want to go to Corfe Castle with me?’

  Is this a date?

  ‘Sure!’

  ‘There’s a bus stop at the end of the road. We can catch the bus to Swanage and then take the train to Corfe Castle.’

  ‘Is this the steam train?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I could drive us to Swanage, if you like? I could borrow Mum’s car.’

  ‘In that case, you could drive us to Corfe Castle.’

  ‘Where’s the fun in that? I want to take the train . . .’

  ‘Actually, me too.’

  ‘JOE!’ his mum barks from the bar.

  ‘Coming,’ Joe replies wearily. ‘Catch you later.’ He’s about to walk off, but then he stops suddenly and bends down to whisper in my ear: ‘The answer is Darius Danesh.’

  He gives me a meaningful look, his dark eyes still managing to sparkle in the dim lighting. Then he’s gone.

  Mum returns with a fresh round.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a sip of my drink.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ she asks with a knowing look.

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply breezily.

  ‘Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone behind the bar, would it?’

  ‘Cut it out, Mum.’

  She giggles, annoyingly, then her brow furrows with curiosity. ‘Looks like his mother is giving him a bit of a talking-to.’

  My eyes dart towards the bar and at that moment both Joe and his mum look at me. Joe quickly averts his gaze, but his mother gives me a cold, hard stare. A bad feeling washes over me, and before I know it she’s storming over to our table.

  ‘You’re cheating!’ she accuses me.

  ‘No, she’s not!’ Mum scoffs on my behalf.

  ‘My son says she helped him come up with the questions!’

  I realise with horror that the bar has fallen silent and everyone is watching this exchange. It’s at times like these that I could do with my old friend the Pterodactyl. Joe rushes over to join us.

  ‘She didn’t help me with the questions,’ he says. ‘She just knows a lot of the same stuff as me. And look . . .’ He grabs my quiz sheet. ‘See? She didn’t know the Big Brother one.’

  ‘Sandy! Even I know that!’ a drunken man shouts out from the table next to us. His laughs are silenced by the look Joe’s mum gives him. She snatches my sheet from Joe and then challenges me with a new question:

  ‘Which band plays the song over the opening credits of The Royle Family?’

  I grimace before answering truthfully: ‘Oasis. “Half the World Away”.’

  ‘See? She even got the extra point by knowing the title! She’s a cheat!’

  ‘No!’ I shout. ‘I just know that one! He’s right, we have the same taste.’

  ‘Well, if you’ve got the same taste, you won’t know this; Joe can’t stand the bleedin’ show.’ She takes a deep breath and then speaks loudly so the whole pub can hear. ‘Who came third in the first series of Pop Idol?’

  ‘Um . . .’ My eyes dart towards Joe. He looks panicked. ‘I don’t know,’ I reply.

  ‘You’re lying,’ she sneers, drawing her lips, plastered with salmon-coloured lipstick, into a thin line. ‘You’re out of the quiz.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Mum exclaims.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I reply tersely. ‘I’ll sit the rest out.’

  ‘She’s not cheating!’ Joe defends me, but I can see he’s not going to convince this woman – his mother, of all people.

  We still have quite an audience and she turns around and addresses everyone in a booming voice. ‘We’ll continue. For those of you who didn’t hear those last two questions, I’ll read them again: Which band plays the song over the opening credits of The Royle Family?’

  I look at Joe, my face still flushed with embarrassment. He stares back at me, mortified.

  ‘Joe! Get back to work.’

  This time it’s his dad doing the barking. Joe turns away, but not before I see the apology in his eyes.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Mum snaps, collecting her things.

  ‘No,’ I put my hand on her arm.

  ‘Why not?’ she asks in disbelief.

  ‘I don’t want to look like I’m running away.’

  She regards me for a long moment before grudgingly picking up her wine glass and taking a sip. ‘Alright, we’ll finish our drinks first.’

  In all honesty, I do want to leave. Even Joe, with all his gorgeousness, isn’t enough of a reason to keep me here. Surely if anything can put a girl off a guy, it’s his family.

  I’m too embarrassed to walk out of the pub while the quiz is in full swing, but as soon as it’s over and the background noise pipes up again, we make an exit. I daren’t say goodbye to Joe with his parents around, but luckily he’s serving a customer at our end of the bar and he glances up and makes eye contact as we start to walk past.

  ‘We’re off,’ I say.

  He indicates the outside door and gives me a meaningful look before mouthing: ‘Wait.’

  I nod and go to the door.

  ‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ I say to Mum as she heads for the car.

  She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t comment as she walks off.

  I shift from foot to foot for a moment, and then Joe appears. He gently takes my arm and guides me around to the side of the building, and even with all the embarrassment I’ve endured over the last half an hour, my heart pounds at the unexpectedness o
f his touch.

  He turns to face me in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry about that. They’re a nightmare!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I mumble.

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to give Corfe Castle a miss.’

  ‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I still want to go.’ Awkward pause. ‘If you do . . .’

  ‘Of course I do!’ He stares at me directly. ‘Fuck this,’ he says suddenly, roughly shoving his hair away from his face. ‘I can’t stand this for much longer.’ He looks off to the dark hills and the sea in the distance. ‘Anyway,’ he says abruptly, briefly touching his fingers to my arm. ‘What time shall we go? Eleven?’

  ‘Sure,’ I reply.

  ‘I’ll see you then.’ He backs away. ‘Meet me up the hill.’

  ‘Okay.’

  After he’s gone I check my feelings. Crush back in force. Even his freakishly evil parents haven’t put me off him.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ Joe says as we approach the ticket booth at Swanage station.

  ‘No, I’ve got money.’

  ‘Forget it, I’m paying.’

  So this is a date!

  ‘You’ll never be able to afford to buy a car at this rate,’ I tell him with a smile that fades when I realise he may well have done this trip with other girls.

  ‘It’s the least I can do after last night,’ he replies, moving forward.

  ‘Have you done this trip much before?’ I ask awkwardly.

  ‘No, first time.’

  I don’t know why I should be relieved – even if he hasn’t taken another girl on this train, he will have had girlfriends in the past. Lots of them, if his looks are anything to go by.

  The steam train is already waiting at the station and Dyson bounds forward, pulling hard against the leash in Joe’s hand.

  ‘Steady, boy,’ Joe says to him in a low voice. ‘He hates being on this thing.’ He indicates the leash.

  I was a bit surprised when I turned up this morning to see Joe waiting on the hill with Dyson in tow. I wasn’t expecting we’d have company of the canine kind. Not that I mind. I get the feeling Joe is a ‘love me, love my dog’ kind of guy. I don’t think I’d stand a chance with him if I couldn’t bear his pooch.

  I look up at the rusty beams overhead and the old-fashioned signage flanking the platform. I feel like I’ve been transported to another era as we board the train and sit opposite each other, a wooden table separating us.