Summer Blossom

Undressing the words of the waiter was difficult that evening, and I paid more attention to the content of the meals that he listed one after another. The words weren’t making any sense as they left his mouth, why were the meals so dressed up? I couldn’t interpret what was actually about to be eaten! I focused on what he was trying to say, his Irish accent sounding jerky but still appealing. Someone dropped a glass behind our table, and Lillian’s head spun around quickly to catch a glance of the excitement, as a woman exclaimed then laughed nervously at the accident. I saw the waiter pick up a large piece of glass and begin to pinch smaller pieces and place them into the large piece, whilst apologising incessantly; the couple he was speaking to seemed little bother had come to them. I turned back to the waiter and slowly inspected his face; he was incredibly stunning looking, though I could not decide whether this was due to good or bad looks. His freshly shaven face was smooth and gentle looking, his skin in a perfect condition. He had a good colouring to his face which looked natural and permanent, rather than the one my brother had from days lounging outside.
Wisps of Soft golden hairs weighed his head down, his thick locks looking glossy and tough. I smiled as I realised he was looking at me; and then realised he was asking me for my order. I turned to look at my parents, who were staring at me.
‘Stop day dreaming. What do you want to order?’ My father said firmly, in an attempt to prove that he imposed some manner of authority over his family, and then he smiled at me, failing to uphold this authority. I frowned, I had no idea, and I still hadn’t deciphered what the meals consisted of. I searched for a menu in the waiters hands, and realised he had extraordinarily memorised the entire menu. How odd. I looked back to his face and felt like shrugging my disconcerted feeling at him.
‘I’ll have the same as Mother,’ I nodded; I realised I could depend on her similar taste to mine. Her eyes laughed, and the way she smiled informed me that she knew I had no idea what she had ordered, and didn’t really care. The waiter nodded and turned fluently in the other direction, before heading towards the doors that lead to the kitchen quarters. He leant on the door before the kitchen door as I watched, and pushed it with strong hands, glancing back and scanning the room for something I didn’t know.
A chorus of acoustics filled the room, and I had not noticed before, but now it sounded musical. Voices carried fuss and gossip around the atmosphere, and the high ceiling did not help to prevent this noise; though it shouldn’t as the sound was comforting and warm. The windows were still open, letting in nothing but the warm breeze of the east Atlantic, as darkness swallowed the surroundings of the ocean. A cacophony of chirpy voices lifted the noise even more when both doors in the kitchen quarters opened simultaneously; something I assumed the design of two doors was intended to avoid. Our waiter exited again with a bottle of cooled wine, its body covered in a frosty mist which his hands looked uncomfortable being in contact with. I shifted in my seat, pulling at the tight neckline of my dress across my chest. I felt clammy and hot in the room, which was full of recycled air that was pressing against the pale pastel walls and longing to escape. My eyelids felt weighed down by the hot air, I shifted again as the wine arrived over my shoulder; the waiter pressing himself between my arm and Peter’s. I felt the cool temperature of the bottle as it passed my head, and moved with it to the table, longing to press it against my cheeks. I needed fresh air. I looked up at my mother, who was watching me with curiosity. I sighed from the heat and pushed my chair out behind me, which was noticed by the exiting waiter as he turned back and helped me stand from my chair.
‘I need to go and stand somewhere very, very cold very soon, if that’s okay?’ I gasped; fanning my face with my right hand, failing to blow any air towards my face other than warm, stale air exhaled from many a person’s lung inside the wide room. I pressed my hand against the back of my chair as I waited for the reply, which was only a nod and a smile from my preoccupied father, who was deep in conversation with Sebastian. I wobbled slightly, a dizzy blur running through my head as the heat overwhelmed me; then I made my way to the large double doors framed in white wood far on the east side of the ship that lead directly onto deck. As I pushed the second one open, the first was already gaping out onto the Atlantic air; the breeze hit me and the scent of tobacco on the deck beckoned me. Cherry and vanilla, the sweet saccharine touch to the thick, warm smell made it seem far more appealing than it ever had before, and I followed the scent with eager anticipation to see who was smoking a pipe nearby. Flowing out onto the deck, the light was then trapped inside, leaving a little spray of its glow on the varnished wood panels of the deck.
Wondering about the smoker outside I continued to look, glancing at a couple stood with three young children, the eldest all of seven years old, with the father pointing out to a tiny pinprick of bobbing light towards the horizon as he crouched beside the little girl who gripped the railings; her frilled petticoats dancing in the breeze, and her tiny buckled shoes pattering on the wood as she excitedly jumped. Inhaling the clear, incredibly fresh feeling air, I turned to wander around the edge of the deck, running my hand over the metal railing as I walked. It was unusual to think of the ship as a luxury, which I did, as the lack of freedom was like a trap; everyone on board had to stay within these railings, these bars, like a cage on the water. The scent grew thicker, denser, as I turned to peer around the walls of the dining room I had just exited. I was expecting an elderly man and his elegant wife, a pipe poised between his lips, the smoke puffing from a slit in the edge of his mouth and billowing like a funnel of steam into the crisp air; and I was welcomed by a young woman dressed in a suit and hat, placed roughly on the side of her head.
The straight pipe looked perfectly natural on her mouth, and I stared at her, a smile creeping over my face at her stature and poise; she looked perfectly coordinated with her pipe smoking manner. Smoke puffed from between her painted lips, full and deep red, like a tomato skin, smooth and supple also. She opened her eyes, they had been closed in pleasure at the taste of inhaling the tobaccos breath; and she looked straight at me with a relaxed gaze.
‘Evening,’ her accent wavered, its strength hitting me in an unexpected burst. High pitched but welcoming; the thrust of the cockney London voice didn’t fit her, though seemed natural to a young woman smoking a pipe on the deck of a grand ship as this. ‘You fancy a smoke?’ She produced a packet of cigars from her skirt pocket, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise at her collection of expensive tobacco. I sat myself on the empty bench beside her, inspecting the illustrated packet of unfamiliar cigar company’s packet. The packet was half full, and I counted four remaining cigars inside; stretching their bodies outwards as she tipped the packet towards me, offering one. I declined, having never smoked and never knowing the appeal of smoke in my lungs; after my experience in the stuffy hot dining room, I wanted to avoid anything hot and unclean entering my lungs again at that moment.
‘No, thank you.’ I ended the cigar conversation accidently, sounding blunt and uninterested in the objects she offered, and regretted my unexpected ignorance to her assumed hobby. She nodded, accepting this, and closed her eyes again momentarily. I heard the music from the band drifting through a window far down the white wall, and the light shone out and reflected off the darkness of the water for a few feet before being swallowed by the blackness.
‘Lovely evening, ain’t it?’ She took the cigar from her mouth and held it between two red tipped fingers, her nail varnish dancing around the cigar as she twirled it. Her voice sounded chirpy, perhaps she was, or perhaps her accent defied any mood she happen to take on; her unmistakable accent. ‘See, I’ve never seen a night this dark!’ she exclaimed, surprising me.
‘London is so damn bright nowadays. Bloody annoying if you ask me.’ She hesitated a little and looked down at the glowing end of her cigar as she sucked on the tip in her mouth, her eyes widening with interest as the tip glowed and brightened in the darkness. I hadn’t noticed how dark the sky was, and how bright the stars were until she had commented on this, and I let my head fall back to peer up at the sky above. It was entirely clear, and I leaned back against the planks of the bench, feeling the coolness against the back of my thighs. Scattered across the darkness the stars peered through the dark dome of the sky, engulfing the ocean and merging into one gigantic plate of black around the bobbing ship we sat atop of. ‘Anyway, ii best be off, my father thinks I’ve come out here for fresh air,’ She winked, stubbing the cigar on the deck beneath the bench, and I saw the glow diminish through the slats of wood I sat on, and she stood and threw the tiny remaining stub out for the sea to swallow. ‘Much like you, I imagine. Fresh air, eh? Nothing quite like it.’ She savoured the remaining taste in her mouth, then reached into her skirt pocket and produced a fancy tin of mints; popping it open and dropping a few into her mouth before crunching noisily. ‘Goodnight,’ she looked at me, searching me as if she was trying to figure out what my name could be.
‘Madeline,’ I smiled, interpreting her look into a question, and she repeated it. She made my name sound exotic in a way my mothers French accent didn’t.
‘Madeline.’ She turned around and made her way back to the doors I had exited from. Then she turned back and over her shoulder she introduced herself to me. ‘Eliza,’ she cheered, as if it was a call of congratulations.
‘Good night!’ I called after her, hoping she would hear me as she turned the handle to the white, wooden doors to the dining room just as the music evacuated into the night, with the singers words lost to the ocean.
I saw her head turn as someone walked past her, but the man’s head did not turn back, and he searched the deck. I was sat in darkness I noticed, and the shadow of the ship covered the bench and me, hiding us from eyes. I could see the light splashing across Peters face as he looked around the edge of the deck, squinting in the darkness in order to see through its thick body. Seeing me, he slipped both hands into his pockets; his grey suit jacket hooked through one arm as it bent in a triangular shape with his hand in his pocket in a relaxed manner. White shirt sleeves rolled up again, and top three buttons undone and gaping a little to show his brown chest; I searched his suit and body as he approached, knowing there was a chance of him seeing me doing this, though very slim as my face was cast in darkness. I saw his nostrils flare as he took in the lingering scent of cherry and vanilla tobacco smoke, opening his mouth to taste it also. He sat down beside me, pulling at his shirt around his waist to loosen it and untuck the front section from his trousers; the tail of his shirt that he had taken out flapped a little in the wind and he held it down with his jacket as he draped it across his lap.
‘You’ve been gone a while, and your parents were wondering whether you’d fainted from the heat and fallen over board, so I volunteered to come and check.’ He smiled, though his tone was serious, and I could picture them joking about this inside around the table, Lillian finding it a little too funny.
‘Thank you for that,’ I laughed inwardly at the scene I could see unfolding in my mind, of my family and Peter’s new found understanding of their sense of humour. There was a commotion over where the young family had been before, and I saw the middle child, and young boy of around 5 years of age, displaying a humorous dance to his family; the dance performance elicited derision from his familiar and forgiving audience. Peter was watching too, and smiled an understanding display of the child. He was sat close to me, close enough for me to lift my arm to lean on the back of the bench and bump into his shoulder; which were broad to a young mans degree; still newly broad in the past few years and youthful, yet giving away muscular strength beneath the shirt, the collar at which I could glance down and see the back of his neck.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ I asked him, as I noticed his eyes were blinking rapidly, as if blinking away something he was thinking about and then he turned to look directly at me.
‘I think so, I was just thinking about the last time I was at sea like this, with my Father.’ He continued to look at me, and my eyes journeyed over his face until he looked down as the space between us, between the bench slats at the dark pool of the wooden deck that was engulfed in shadows. We sat in our secluded area of shadow behind the wall of the dining hall, the deck stretching out to my right was completely deserted, and any voices we could hear at that moment were from the other side of the deck, where the fishing boats could still be seen, as land was far closer on that side of the ship than the other; the open sea was all that lay ahead of us towards France. I saw people’s shadows cast across the deck as they moved around inside the dining hall, and further along the deck just out of view, the entrance hall area which at night I found was converted into a room for socialising with wine. I pressed my hand down on his on the bench between us without thinking, without looking, I just somehow sensed it was there since I had looked away. I turned back and my head dropped backwards as I searched the sky for a bright patch to watch.
‘I wondered why you were, erm,’ I searched for the words to comment on today’s reaction to the launching of the ship. I couldn’t find any that fit perfectly, and let my sentence free to the air.
‘I know, I do apologise for my reaction, I didn’t mean to worry or confuse you. I didn’t know I would feel quite like that.’
‘There’s no need to apologise, I just wondered what was wrong, I had no idea it was about your father.’
‘It wasn’t the ship launching that frightened me, I just realised that I was leaving the country without leaving anyone behind. It was realisation of having no family left but myself. It’s a very strange feeling that I hope you never have to experience, Madeline.’ My name at the end of his sentence added to the impact of what he had just said to me. Whether he had intended to impose the feeling of fright on me at the thought of being alone, I felt it. I thought about how it must feel to be that alone, if he was as close as I thought to my brother, he must not have spoken to him about this feeling much, as I felt like the topic was entirely new to him. Had he not spoken to anyone of this before me? I had no words to answer him with, though he had not asked any questions, rather stated exactly how he felt. I decided to just let him continue and offer my ears for the time being.
‘Your family have been so kind inviting me in like they did. When everything happened last summer, I expected to be left alone, but university and my studies put the feeling of distraught loneliness in the world out of my mind. I focused entirely on throwing myself into the work I had ahead of me, the degree, the writing. Then this summer everything flooded back, where was I supposed to go?’ He coughed, bringing his hand up to his lips and pressing his index finger to the space between his lips and nose, where I could see a slight shadow of stubble faintly appearing. This shadow stretched down the side of his cheek and chin, dark yet smooth looking, although probably sharp and rough to the touch.
I saw him blink again, and run his hand up and down his cheek in a sleek motion, feeling the thin layer of stubble I had just been entranced by. He turned to look at me, his dark blue eyes far from forgiving himself for letting the feeling he had just expressed rest for over a year, untamed and now unleashed on me. I felt no embarrassment, I was quite glad he had expressed to me, although I longed to help. Shadows on his face enhanced his handsome and imposing appearance. His face was becoming, and the tone to his voice was supple and gracious; I wanted to comfort him. Then, he turned and leaned towards me, gently pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. His lips stayed stationary, though parted slightly as they touched the corner of mine and I felt his warming breath flourish across my cold cheek. I blinked, dazed at his actions, and looked at him. His eyes were closed still as I had leant away from him. Once opened again, the blue had become more transparent; a colour drained from their bright tones. The doors to the dining room swung open, and I peered around his head to see my family exiting the hall, searching the decking haphazardly, and I knew they were all more interested in the dark view around us. Peter leant closer to me again, unaware of my family’s presence around the curved wall of the ship, and I pressed my lips to the space that he had just touched with his own on the corner of my mouth; mirroring his movement, though he let his control slip a little and moved his dry lips along mine and pressed them roughly against my own. I reached up and touched his cheek, the stubble as rough as I had expected, and I relished the feel of this; something I had always found appealing, especially in such an intricately handsome man. I heard Lillian exclaim something about stars and colour then, and leant backwards, standing myself up with authority which I usually lacked and pulling Peter with me. I knew at that moment that I was in danger of spending the next few weeks chasing the rest of the moment that had just lingered on my lips.
Alluring sounds entered through my open window that night as I sat awake, unable to sleep, replaying scenarios and play scripts in my mind. I could hear a couple above me on the high deck, laughing aloud at nothing in particular, commenting drunkenly on the sky and the ship. Their voices were loud, although every now and then I heard the woman tell the man to keep his voice down, immediately being overtaken by a fit of giggles. I half listened to the sounds outside, along with the sound from outside in the corridor of a baby crying, whilst staring at my book. I read the words, but nothing was making sense, I wasn’t paying attention to the words at all. I concentrated harder than I should have, and ended dropping the book closed in my lap and leaning back against the wall; I could only think of Peter’s lonely eyes, with the shade of blue having disappeared like I’d stolen something. I felt like I ought to have felt; a giddy feeling of fluttering constantly annoying my stomach and my mind had turned to mush. I felt silly, and I knew nothing could go the way I wanted it to, for nothing ever happened like it did in the literature that I buried myself in constantly. My literature loving mind wandered over memories I hoped to make, and with a laugh at my own stupidity I glanced out of the window, between the curtains, and I saw light appearing on the horizon. I guessed it was around half four, three hours after I had retired to my room, leaving my family and Peter in their end of the corridor. I pulled the curtains closer together to block out the rising sun and lay down on my bed; it was too hot for covers, and I pulled the night gown over my head and threw it at the floor, I lay in my underwear staring at the ceiling. I knew I should get some sleep before I got up later that morning, but all I could see were the blue eyes staring back at me, opening gently, watching me pull away from the comfort of his face. I would never manage sleep in this heat.