The Fountain

 

The Fountain

 

The birds call in greeting as I run through this floral, overgrown tunnel. The wildflowers gathered are held tightly in my fist as they attempt to escape with each step. The airy lilac fabric clings to my body. The affectionate wind combs its fingers through my hair, turning tightly wound curls into lush brown waves. While the joyful sun dances along the leaves and petals, watching me go past, strong trees stand steadfast on this warm mid-summer day, bearing their wisdom to my distracted mind.

 

 

When I enter, the kitchen is much more refreshing; Grace Turner stands preparing food for tonight's dinner. I avoid her kind eye as shame erupts deep down in my stomach. "Never mind that right now." I think to myself again and again.

 

The twins' auburn hair disappears from view as I stride into the lively drawing room. While I would never dare say this aloud, the room assaults your senses whenever you walk in. Clashing patterned wallpapers waltz along the walls, chairs embroidered with blossoms and intricately decorated lamps spread across the room. Smells of perfume, dust, and smoke waft out the grand open windows, which bathe the plush carpet in light. I place my bouquet in the detailed moody vase on the grand piano. I admire my handiwork as I catch my breath. Tall blush lupins reach for the ceiling while lovely cream and periwinkle wildflowers sit below on a bed of green.

 

Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I sit by the window and remove my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot him. His back faces me as he dusts his hands off. Robbie Turner has always been there, always busy in the garden, always there to offer a warm greeting, and always in the back of my mind.

 

Sighing, I grab the vase and prepare to face the heat again. Until I'm caught by my reflection, staring back at me with the same wide hazel eyes, cherry-blushed cheeks and chestnut brown hair.

 

 

Robbie sits on the weathered steps in his work clothes. It's almost as if he has been waiting to see me, but I mustn't let my imagination run wild.

"Will you give me one of your Bolshevik roll-ups?" I say while continuing to stride forward to not risk eye contact. Yet I feel his gaze follow me through the silence as we walk down the garden steps.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" I hear my voice offer up to him, almost begging him to break the quiet.

"I suppose so, too hot for me." He replies as his steps fall in next to mine. His abrupt accent flickers past my ears, much sharper than the lazy breeze.

"Are you enjoying your book?"

"No, not really," I blurt out as I finally turn to look at him, longing for this tension to disperse. He offers me the cigarette while his other hand searches for a lighter in his pocket. He's rolled up his worn blue shirt to reveal his freckled forearms. His nails have dirt in them, and yet that doesn't stop me from accepting the cigarette. 

"It gets better." He promises as his piercing blue eyes soften and his lips inch upwards into a soft smile. His gaze is as sincere as the sun, watching us intriguingly as I approach the stoic fountain.

 

"Leon's coming down today, did you know?" I ask, exhaling smoke. 

"I heard a rumour." He walks backwards, facing me. I try to ignore how his eyes wander.

"Bringing a friend with him, Paul Marshall, a chocolate millionaire." 

"Are the flowers for him?" His playful eyes flick to the flowers held in my arms. 

"Why shouldn't they be? Leon says he's very charming." I watch his slight smirk grow as we continue walking in comfortable silence.

 

"The old man telephoned last night; he said you plan on being a doctor." I remember suddenly.

"I'm thinking about it, yes." His voice is much more hesitant than before, like always, when asked about the future.

"And six years of student life?"

"How else do you become a doctor?" His voice increased with a quiet intensity. 

But I paid him no mind, “you could get a fellowship now, couldn't you? With your first."

"I don't want to teach," He stops walking, his face shifting back into that guarded expression I know so well,

 

"I said I would pay your father back."

 

There it was; that hot shame erupted in my stomach once again. Briony's question echoes in my head, "why don't you talk to Robbie anymore?" But try as we might, our conversations will always circle back to our division, our difference in class. They did at Oxford and will continue as long as we live on. The terrible things I would hear people say about his background run around my mind as I turn back towards him.

 

"That's not what I meant at all." I want him to believe me. Yet Robbie's pride refuses to meet my eye; his hands stay firmly in his pockets as he looks just past me.

 

We've finally made it to the circular fountain. The grand sculpture in the centre shields himself from the unforgiving heat. Lily pads dot the surface of the clear water. I place the flowers on the scorching stones.

 

"Let me do that." Robbie soothes as he attempts to grab the vase from my grasp.

"I'm all right, thanks." I insist in a much more muted tone.

Still, he irritatingly persists. "You take the flowers."

 

"I'm all right!"

 

With a yelp, I feel the delicate pottery snap with a shard falling into the water's murky depths. Robbie looks at me, a sheepish expression clouding his face, which does nothing to slow my anger.

"Oh, you idiot." I force out of gritted teeth and watch in horror as a laugh escapes his mouth, "You realise this is probably the most valuable thing we own!"

 

"Not anymore, it isn't." He attempts to smother another laugh as he watches my reaction, fascinated. That hot shame in my stomach mutilates to fiery fury at his smug smile and subtle twinkle in his eye. In a sudden movement, I place my feet on the concrete.

 

"Careful!" In an instant, his voice turns commanding; his hand stretches out as his expression turns serious. I feel the shards of ceramic nip at my feet. However, I pay him no mind, and with one final glare in his direction, I plunge into the water, gasping one last breath at the sudden chill. 

 

 

Once fully submerged in the aqua tears of the statue, I scan the bottom for the shard. The summer rays echo like ribbons in the wind as they reflect around me. The ceramic navy flower is tangled in the vines of the lily pads. Bubbles ripple towards the surface as I grasp the shard.

 

I burst out of the water onto the edge of the fountain. I feel the water drip down my skin as my hand tightly holds the broken flower. Robbie's gaze traps me in place; his chest rises and falls. The surroundings hush, and the wind and birds hold their breath. I want to reach out my hand to him; I want him to be mine.

 

But then time continues. My eyes widen, mirroring his panicked face as he adverts his view. Hurriedly, I redress; the lilac fabric sticks to me, and then I grab the fragmented vase. Robbie is still clasping the handle; his finger runs along it as he waits for me. I begin to walk past.

 

"I-" He starts.

 

But I snatch the handle off him. Our fingers momentarily touch before I continue walking back towards the house.

 

With one final glance behind me, I see Robbie bent over the fountain. I sigh before entering inside, escaping the heat and my feelings once again.

HOPE YOU ENJOY!! this was for my writing portfolio cry i love atonement and i love cecelia and robbie yayay lot of love