Summer Blossom

I had been listening to the radio before I left the house, leaving my parents with ears pricked up to the voice of the radio speaker. My brother had been sat in his room staring at the uniform hanging from his door when I found him. He had returned the afternoon before and we had all gone out for a picnic at the beach. Lillian had skimmed stones with Sebastian and I and our parents had sat and watched us. There were so many interpretations of what I felt as I stood with my older brother and younger sister by the sea that I realised none of them could have been put in to words. My parents were watching their three children growing on the beach; their first born about to leave for a war hosted by a country not his own, their first daughter having emerged from an experience feeling guilty but still a completed, and the innocence of Lillian hosting all of the love that they could have ever given. Peter had not come with us on this picnic. Sebastian had told me he wanted to meet me at a bar, out of the way of any family feelings. He said Peter would not have felt comfortable intruding on such a moment held between our family, and I partly agreed. The idea of him coming with us would have been wonderful, and the fact that he was alone all day on his last free day hurt us all, but we accepted the feeling he bore. He had arranged with Sebastian to tell me to meet him at a bar. I had never been to the bar before, but I would go.
I had already arranged my hotel in Paris and was scheduled to meet Eliza again in the city just two days after Peter and Sebastian were leaving. My job had been arranged whilst I visited her, and I was now a registered intelligence worker for the SOE hosted in Paris. I was a part of it all now; and there was no returning to what I knew at the moment.

The smoke might as well have been billowing from the crack in the black door. The rusted frame gave the impression that the bar was a dingy place full of drunks who would look you up and down more than once with the taste of more than liquor on their breaths. Under the door the light came crawling out as if drunken and slurring into the quiet street. The music was softly soaring through the wavering atmosphere towards my body, my soul gripping it as if a magnet had replaced my heart, detecting the mellifluous notes and keys that tapped into my blood. I needed this night to be a good one. I wanted to think of it as nothing to do with the last night I would see normality; as there was a great possibility this would be the way of events.
The door opened and a young fellow stepped into the splash of darkness that I was hiding in, contemplating how awkward I could make myself look by entering alone and gazing around the place hoping no one would notice my normality compared to the angels of the night that swayed to the jazz music. The blues escaped as he bent his head low, his cigar lighting like an invite to the heat of the bar. He noticed me standing and I watched him turn slightly towards me, as if showing me the flattened shirt and his enticing azure eyes watching me from below his elegant black trilby hat. Fright gripped me, and I felt my throat tighten; I lost all words and realised how much I had missed him. I had not seen him in three weeks and that last night I had spent with him flushed through me, leaving me with a blush that was burning and hot. I stepped towards the door, my music impulses pulling me towards it by my chest, my blouse ruffling as I swept my hand up to my face and felt the heat of my blushing cheeks. He had not recognised me yet, too entranced by the smoke of his cigar, like a drug that he had not had for a few working hours; though I knew he was not at work here. He looked up then, as if to look me up and down to search me out, and fright overtook his eyes also. He inhaled quickly, choking on the smoke, and pulled the cigar from his lips.
'Madeline!' His voice sounded unfamiliar, and he stepped into me. His lips found mine in the darkness and I felt limp in his arms. I had longed for this every second since I had last seen him, his figure blurring into the crowd on the street after we had docked. We stayed like this for moments, the bar inhaling and exhaling people every now and then. After he let go of the kiss, he held me close to him and laughed into my hair, and I felt his face nuzzle into my neck and curls. Pulling away from me, he opened the door. The door creaked open gently as if it was easing me into the smoky club. I glanced around at the alcoves which were dimly lit by lamps and candles, the one directly in front of me having the candles pinched at the flame whilst the man with the unburned hands smiled gently at a woman in a beautiful red gown that sat opposite him in a ladylike manner. Her eyes swept over the ceiling as her head leant back to laugh at the mans obviously flirtatious joke. I followed her gaze, the chandeliers catching my gaping eyes which were being swamped with the growing brightness yet smoky air which burnt but made me want to stare even more through the mist. Coating the room like a natural soundproof barrier, wooden walls with carved patterns of musical notes and cellos lead a pathway around the room, which had been coated in booths with people leaning over red tables. The ruby leather surfaces that they perched and swung themselves onto glowed through the smoke, and I felt an urge to run my fingernails along the unmarked yet old leather covers.
'Excuse moi, Madame,' the enticing smell of man swept into my face and blurred my eyes momentarily, I was always knocked aback by that elegant, sophisticated spell, it reminded me of Peter, when I had first met him, and I was still in the days of enjoying the eloquent, lustful smell of man. Peter pressed against me from behind, holding me around my hips as he eased me into the crowd. I had no way of moving forward any further and so I turned to face Peter, lifting my arms above my head and setting them around his neck. His eyes were a deep blue, tinted slightly with green around the edges, which I could just make out as a dart of light flew from the door shutting and quickly closing so that the music wasn't wasted to the night. Covering the lower half of his face, untidy stubble let on that he hadn't shaved for a few days now; he was untidy, unshaven, and slightly rugged with his wisps of dark hair escaping below and around his hat in curls and darts of waves. He smiled, his lips parting gently, and his teeth touching his bottom lip as he looked at me. Shirt collar open, the bow tie that he must have put on before coming out for the night was undone and loose hanging from his neck, whilst his suit jacket was flung over his right shoulder in his hand, holding a small cigarette which puffed smoke into my face and I choked, yet still loved the dirtiness of a man who could look so good carrying a cigarette. I felt like it was all new again; it felt like that night at home when he first kissed my hand privately, in the room with my family. It felt like I was experiencing the nights on the ship again; we had not come such a long way since then. Familiarity with his face and body came flooding back to me, and I caught my breath as he bent forward, letting someone push past, and his stubble scratched across my forehead.
I stood staring at the door, which closed gently as if letting water through in a rhythmic, repetitive motion. I could taste my own perfume then, suddenly blown into my face with Peter's breath, along with the lingering smell of his aftershave which enticed me; as always. The impulse that I felt then forced me to press my lips to his exposed neck. The room suddenly became as dark as the ocean, and the music from the bar beckoned me for a moment. The spotlight above the stage illuminated a band, dressed in black and white suits, fronted by a man whose skin was deep black. He turned to look at me, twisting his microphone head which glinted in the light; though he was not looking at me, just scanning the crowd with interest at his audience for the night. I pulled my purse up to my chest, lowering my hand down to sit around Peter's torso, feeling his warm skin beneath the white shirt. He glanced up at me again, taking the cigar from his mouth, and parting his lips to let the smoke escape into the air. I watched him, enraptured by the sight of him, his eyes darting from mine and back to the cigarette which he turned in his fingers, over and over.
‘Have you been here before?' He asked; his gaze un-breaking in the darkness.
'No, I only just found out about this place,' I said, between letting my purse drop to my elbow and hang limply, its metal chain jangling momentarily.
'Ah, well, it’s an interesting place, the people, they're,' He breathed out more saccharine scented smoke. 'They're unusual, I'm more than certain you'll be in love with this place soon enough, if I know you as well as I think I do,' He stared at me slightly too long then, and I felt the well known gaze I had experienced. He brought his hand up to my neck and pressed two fingers on my collar bone, I had no idea why he did this, but let him continue as his gentle touch on my bare collar bones of my chest was cooling, but felt so welcoming and normal.

Waiters weaved between the people who were crushed in around us and as they served out the beverages they tapped against furniture and glasses, leaving an elegant beat from the clinking of glasses to follow the trumpets, trombones and saxophones of the band of men at the back of the bar. They swayed with each other, staring down from a slightly raised stage, all of them watching the twisting dancers on the floor between the booths. I tapped my heels on the wooden flooring, and I could feel Peter's body gently pressing on mine, the crisp shirt pressing against the silk of my dress on my stomach. Over the music I could somehow hear the clicking of my heels, their metal plates like tap shoes falling on the wooden floor in my own walking beat. I leant against Peter and looked at a woman in a long blue dress, its delicate silk traipsing across the clean floor. I turned around and leant against Peter with my back, content in our closeness once again after almost a month. His hand stretched around and brushed across my chest, the same hand that had done this the first time we had dance; its strong fingers pressing on my stomach again. I thought I was going to be overcome with excitement like I would imagine myself doing if the situation had been put together in my head, but the music soothed me and I tried to lean forward to head to the dance floor, and I heard him laugh at the excitement that resonated from me gripping his fingers. He smiled, his hat now removed from his head. I met his smile with mine; reflecting my joy for his.
'The mood of the music makes you feel pretty good,' I stated, feeling the bass pulse through my arms. He looked over at the band, then down at my dress, its silk material swiftly swaying in a breeze that I could not find the source of. He grinned, looking back to the crowds of dancing people. I was forgetting the lingering foreboding of the war. I was forgetting what I needed to do. I was forgetting anything that matter, just for this one night before the storm arrived in my life.
'Makes you look pretty good too,' at this remark I thought I saw him laugh at his own pathetic excuse for flirting, it felt so cheesy; we were far past that stage. I was a little lost for how to reply to this comment, so I just stared ahead, trying my hardest to also not laugh at his comment, but failing. I let out a slight laugh which he seemed surprised by, and he brushed past me and tugged on my arm towards the floor.
'Look better on the dance floor though,' He turned and removed my bag from my side, placing it behind the bar in a small alcove obviously reserved for bartenders belongings, next to his black suit jacket; he did not work here, but I noticed a nod from a bartender. He took my hand, lifting it from my side; feeling him intertwining his fingers with mine, he dragged me towards the centre of the dance floor, before letting his hands wander to my waist where they hung as he stepped into me. I could hear the music dying down slightly in the middle of the song, and he swayed into me as I danced into him. The girls around me watched as I let my hands stretch around his neck, feeling my ring catch on his waves of ebony hair. He had replaced his hat as we had made our way to the dance floor, and as he stared down not looking at anything in particular, I was met by the top of his hat and its thick material, and then he looked up and I caught the azure pureness of his blue eyes again, which seemed to suck me in closer to his body. The song then begun to speed up again unknown to me, as I was slightly entranced by his gaze. Suddenly he took my hand from his neck and spun me around and around, my skirt floating up and spinning as if caught on the wind. As I was spinning I saw the room become a blur of colour, the girl’s dresses becoming a rainbow surrounding the jazz bar, and the men's dark suits were statues holding onto beautiful women in elegant gowns. Abruptly, I was stopped and he looked straight at me with all of the seriousness he could find in him. I smiled, I had missed him; I wondered if he knew.
'I've missed you. I'm sorry. I have something to explain to you of why I left after we docked, can we leave soon?' He said, an apologetic tone rising from his voice. I nodded; I wouldn't mind where we were as long as I got to stay with him. We stayed for the remainder of the dance, and after, he took my to his side with his arm draped around my waist, his fingers unable to stay still and creasing the silk of my dress, and we left. I had no idea where we were going, but his stead pace relaxed my curiosity and I enjoyed the compatibility of us being together and the cool chill of the night in Lannion town centre. My parents were at our temporary home, the summer house that they had commandeered from my Grandmother many years ago. It had lain empty since last summer, apart from the brief visit my parents had made last month when they tidied and left it clean; they did not stay for some reason unknown to me.

We left Lannion on a train that smelt like fresh bread, the late night warmth of the Southern area of France pressing on the windows from the outside, before we opened the window to our small carriage section and let it in. The journey was quick, and we soon arrived in the sunken coastal town of Le Yaudet. I had not realised that Peter had been staying so close by us, although I knew this was not where his family were, as all of his suitcases were packed and piled behind the bedroom door. I looked at them, wondering why this small bed and breakfast room had not been made comfortable by unpacking, and then the thought flashed across my mind, its blade just kissing my eyes, making them well up. He saw my disruption towards sitting myself on the bed, and I could not help but just stand and look at the suitcases. The two large cases, packed and ready to leave for Paris the next morning, like my brother was scheduled to. I should have known that I would realise some signs of his leaving tonight, when I saw him outside the bar. Sebastian had told us he was leaving early the next morning for Paris, to regroup with his section, and then leave for the border where the disruption was due to begin. Disruption; were they trying to avoid the word fighting? Their example was pitiful; did they truly believe people would understand this disguising with words? Peter stepped closer to me and held me to him.
‘I’m leaving tomorrow with your Brother for Paris. I’ll be going early. I can leave you here if you want, I won’t wake you.’ He stated, although I knew from that moment that I wanted to leave for the station with him, to see my brother and my family who would also be at the station in Lannion.
‘No, wake me. I want to come with you. I can get the train with you to Lannion and then meet my parents there and go home with them.’
‘Are you sure, Madeline? They’ll see you with me, unless that’s what you want?’ He watched me with dismay, guilt running through his eyes as he darted his from my left to my right again.
‘My mother knows. I’m almost positive she knows. I can tell by the way she looks at me. It’s no worry, just please wake me.’
He nodded, smiling at me and rubbing the wet patch on my cheek as he held me to him again. He lifted me and I pressed my face into his shoulder, dripping tears on to his white shirt. As he blew the candle out at the bed side table, the last thing that I saw was the uniform hanging on the open wardrobe door, looking limp and weak.

Light coming through the thin curtains had a blue tint to it, giving the cream curtains a hint of colour. As Peter twisted the material to open them, the pink and blue sky emerged faintly from between the row of trees outside of the window. On the ground floor of the bed and breakfast, of which I could see the French wording for the sign from the bed, the world looked calm and composed. The thin, pastoral looking street outside was deserted apart from an elderly baker who was beginning to open his shop; presumably this was the hour that he began making the fresh bread of the day. I took a deep breath and slipped from between the covers, avoiding looking directly at Peter who stood looking at me from the window, leaning on the wall so that his silhouette was all I could see in the dark room where the light illuminated his shape. He was wearing his uniform, I could tell that, and I pulled on my stockings with ease, slipping them over my knees and pulling them up to my waist, rearranging the band across my stomach. Lifting my black dress from the floor, I slipped it over my head and shook it down over me. It felt strange wearing such a dress early in the morning, when I was about to leave for the station with Peter, to say goodbye to him on the platform with my family, and also say goodbye to my brother, as they left for the capital in new uniforms that were coarse and unworn. I lifted myself from the edge of the bed, leaving the covers in a mess and tangle, and paced towards the small bathroom where I could see the light was already on behind the door. I was watched the whole time by Peter, and I could hear him attempting to steady his breathing, just as I was currently attempting to control mine.
I shut the door behind me and peered into the mirror; luckily my makeup from the night before was still intact, apart from the blusher, which I produced from my purse and dabbed across my face; my skin felt clammy and warm, looking pale as if I were sick. I felt ill in a way I hadn’t felt before, something stirred in my stomach and it twisted into grotesque forms, anxiety and a little excitement at the situation that was about to unfold, gurgling inside my stomach. I emerged from the room to find Peter sat on the bed where I had moved from, his head in his hands. As the door closed behind me gently, I leant on it as I realised I did not know where to position myself in the room. He looked up at me, something in his eyes that I did not recognise, and I thought I saw him attempt to smile in the morning light from the window. I stepped towards him and he rested his hands at his sides on the bed, pressing his fingertips into the mattress so that I could see them tense. When I reached him I pressed my hands on the sides of his head, feeling his hair move under my touch, and he looked up at me. Pulling me down towards him he sat me on his leg and turned me around slowly, and he pressed his head harshly against my chest, pushing on my breast bone with his forehead. The positioning of his head was uncomfortable, but he didn’t know that. I winced and pressed my arms around his head, holding him tighter to me, the pain increasing but his tense pushing eventually loosened and I felt him go limp, his head falling down so I could stare at the back of his neck, my finger running across the line of his hair where it met his new, starched green collar.

The train station at Le Yaudet was empty, much like the main street, and we stepped on the also empty train together to head for Lannion. I held onto his hand the entire trip and felt it pressing and loosening on my own hand. He was thinking a lot, I could tell from his incessant staring at the seat before us. I leant on his arm and felt the muscle twitch when I pulled away suddenly as I realised we had already reached Lannion station. Under the shelter of the side of the station, which was quiet large and painted in the pastel blue colour of the sunrise the moment I had woken that morning, I saw my sister’s white dress as a blur of cotton material as she stepped back into the entrance hall to tell my family the train had arrived. It felt strange getting off the rain and taking Peter with me, when I knew he would be getting back on with my brother just moments from now. We stepped off the train and I saw recognition sweep across my mother’s face as she peered around the open doorway from the entrance hall. Taking a deep breath I gripped Peter’s hand and pulled him onto the platform with ease, he followed me with familiarity. My parents emerged from the doorway, my father looking proud and my mother seeming distant. She stepped towards me hurriedly and braced her arms around my arms, pressing them down to my sides so I was incapable of returning the embrace.
I could hear my father speaking in a calm voice to Peter, words that I did not intend to notice, and I started towards Sebastian. He looked reserved and handsome in his new uniform, the shoes displaying a delicate and proud gleam that my father had probably taught him how to control and present. Underneath his hat I saw his golden waves scraped back into a well-presented style, the grease still showing through as a little damp and shimmering in the morning glow that had now reached our position on the platform. I wrapped my arms around his torso and held him close to me, hearing a cough resonate from his chest and through his throat, and he held the back of my head to him, his fingers finding a loose curl and twisting it around his index finger like he used to when we were very young, and he found it amusing. Lillian was murmuring something to my mother, who reached around and held her close to her side, caressing her flowing, loose hair. I refused to let the tears come again as my eyes began to well up at that moment, after the conductor had blown his whistle, an impatient noise that he apologised for in his soothing French accent, and nodded as he noticed the two uniforms stationed on the platform outside.
Leaving my family stood embracing Sebastian; I took hold of Peter’s hands and kissed him again. I thought about how I should be trying to savour every detail of the kiss, but this thought took away the attempt and as he pulled away I realised it was never possible to be satisfied in a situation like this with one kiss. I bowed my head and felt his hands touch the sides of my cheeks. To me, this felt like an old, married couple’s farewell, although we were far from this relationship status. Perhaps all of these sort of goodbyes were the same, no matter who or how or when. I bent my head sideways as he kissed the corner of my mouth, brushing his lips across my cheek first then pressing them gently to the very edge of my lips. His skin was smooth and velvety, newly shaven and clean. He was leaving, and as he turned, Sebastian slapped his back hollowly, and they stepped on to the train. If he had turned around then he would have seen my family waving goodbye to their brother and son, and his friend; two young men who had no idea the unstable sickness of loss they were leaving in my stomach as they boarded for their journey.