«letters to the somme»

paradise.

“When did your train get in?” Rose asks breathlessly, handing him his cup of tea in the parlour. He revels in the steam, finally smelling tea that does not smell of the same water he uses to cook and wash. He starts drinking even though it burns his tongue. There is so little time he has, he must save it for as long as possible.
“This morning. Went back home, but couldn’t wait to see you any longer.” He says earnestly. Rose blushes, and James realises he would never had said something that directly a year ago. Her small hand finds his and grips it.

He looks into her eyes and sees there, in those clear blue depths, everything she wants to say but can’t find the words to, everything she has felt in the time he has gone, the words in his letters she has compressed into her mind to keep her sane. And that is why he does not contemplate anything before he kisses her full on the mouth, knocking over his chair, with his heart roaring with happiness because he has her in his arms.

They decide to go for a walk in the park, the very park they played in as children. It holds happy memories with them, and they are transported back in time into a haze of giggly childhood. The large, thick tree in the center is heavy with green leaves, the floor covered in dying pink flowers. James can almost hear their crunching footsteps as they played catch, the muffled giggles and screams as they played hide and seek, lest for the soldiers taking a walk with their sweethearts as well.

James and Rose make a striking couple, him tall and dark in his uniform, her beautiful and radiant as usual on his arm. They trip over their words as they tell everything that has happened to each of them over the last months, laugh at jokes, mourn the dead, and kiss every so often when they remember they might not get the chance for a every long time.

And then they reach the huge tree in the centre, dripping with leaves and flowers, which drop every few seconds, and fall gently onto the soil with their downtrodden siblings. The sun is shining through the trees, and is distorted into soft shadows and streaks of light which vie with each other for appearance. There is a soft breeze blowing when James stops Rose in her tracks.
“Is there something wrong?” She blinks. James shakes his head.
“Close your eyes, Rosie.”
She stares at him, wondering why he is behaving in this queer way.
And then she thinks.
“James, are you –”
“Close your eyes.”
She does as she’s told, trembling a little in excitement and nervousness. She listens to the birds chirruping happily as they flit from branch to branch, and she smells the fresh summer air.
James takes her hand, equally nervous. But he knows that what he is doing is right, and he kneels down a little awkwardly.
“Er, you can open them. Rose Harriet Edwards, will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?”
Rose cannot stop herself from laughing at the sheer posh absurdity of his words. It doesn’t sound like him, but it does, and she cries a little as well, because everything is falling into place.
“Yes. A thousand, million times yes.”
As he kisses her yet again under the same tree that they first kissed all those years ago, it almost seems like paradise.