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Tommy
Tommy lowered himself into the warm water slowly, letting the soft ripples lapse over his skin. It wasn't hot enough to burn him, nor was it cold enough to send shivers down his arms and raise his hairs. Instead, heat from the fireplace prickled his bare skin, refusing to touch the calm lake that engulfed below his chest.
The bath was pristine and white and placed in the middle of the bathroom. It was nothing like the one in Watery Lane, where the copper basin was icy to touch despite the boiling water that filled it. At home, they would be lucky if a child could fit in it. But it had never mattered: there was always more important things, to everyone.
He couldn't imagine anything else from Lucille. She was clean cut, delicate and beautiful- he knew every aspect of her life would be exactly the same. And from what he had seen so far, he had been proven correct. Apart from her father. Maron, to Tommy, seemed harsh and mean, nothing like his angelic daughter. He wouldn't think of him though.
Carefully, Tommy pulled himself under the water, leaving his fingers clenching the tub above the surface. He watched the ripples glide over his blurred vision, the light from the small window across from him flickering ever so slightly. All sound was blocked from his ears. It was silent.
And when silence was paired with solitude, the shovels always came eventually.
He wanted to push the walls of the bath away, stop them from encasing him. He hoped that when he resurfaced, he would no longer be in France. He would no longer be in the middle of a war that seemed to have to no end in sight. Instead, he would emerge from the murky waters of the canals that slithered through Birmingham.
Tommy could tell that the image he saw, of the smoke and fog of his home around him, was fake. To his right was Lucille, her hair curled perfectly, under a pretty hat, and her shoes still untouched by the mud that surrounded them. She radiated light, as if her skin was a mirror to the rays of sun that managed to penetrate the clouds of muck. To his left was Dawson, his smile as big and bright as ever. Even in Tommy's own thoughts, the blond boy seemed to push him toward Lucille, suggestively. John and Arthur were in front of him too, smoking their cigarettes and laughing as they always do.
Tommy broke through the water, his chest heaving from the lengthy time without air and his eyes blinking and adjusting to the sudden clearness of his surroundings. Although his vision was still obscured, his location was as obvious as possible. The french grey walls welcomed him and the familiar scent of lavender tickled at his nose, insisting he would smile.
With a slow hand, Tommy reached toward the cream coloured soap bar that sat on the side of the bath. It was also lavender, and Tommy smiled. He would never have imagined himself using such a flowery scent. After lathering it over his skin, Tommy pulled himself under the water once again, feeling as the soap melted from him.
As was covered by the water once again, Tommy noticed that the sound wasn't blocked like the first time. After a moment, he could hear a sudden and low hum, from where, he couldn't tell. As he dragged himself to sit upwards for the last time, Tommy's heart skipped at the sound of a car engine.
He tried to tell himself that he was over reaching, that the Germans had left and they were fine. But the instinct didn't leave him. Before he could even pull himself up from the bath, Lucille had burst through the door.
"I'm sorry. You need to get up." She said, he hands reaching his wet arms pulling them upward so he could stand.
She quickly closed her eyes, handing him a towel and waiting as he wrapped himself. Lucille didn't the even blush, there was no time to worry about abruptness, when there wasn't even time for him to dress.
"The Germans?" Tommy asked.
Lucille nodded, not bothering to reply with words. She pulled him by the hand, his other hand firmly on the bunching of the towel that was wrapped around his waist. The cool air met his chest unkindly, despite them being inside. Dawson had already managed his way to the loft from where he had been stood and was waiting in the loft, ready to give him a hand up.
"Maybe you should-" Tommy began, pointing up to the loft and motioning for her to go before him. "If you are."
"Oh- oh! Yes." She stuttered, as she realised why he had suggested it.
In the matter of seconds, they had both managed to force themselves into the loft once more. Tommy had hurried to pull a pair of trousers on, but was left with bare feet, bare chest and tousled hair and he sat himself next to Lucille against the wall where he had been stuck the past weeks. Beside him, her breathing was heavy, the air escaping from her nose as rattles.
Tommy edged his hand toward hers gingerly and looked down at her face as he did so. He watched as a smile tugged at her lips and the heaving of her chest slowed to a normal rhythm. It was enough to keep his own worries pushed from his mind. He had somehow managed to calm her.
Her other hand had been placed on his abdomen, her pale fingers icy against his damp skin. Without thought, they traced shapes lightly as she bit her lip, waiting for the harsh sounds of boots or foreign accents that would inevitably reach their ears.
But with Lucille tucked beside him, Tommy felt fine. If there was ever a comfortable way to go in war, it was like this: in the arms of a kind woman who Tommy reckoned he could like.
This is pretty much a first part to a two part chapter just didn't want to write pt 1 on the title lol x
