THE TASTE OF AUGUST AND YOUR LIPS
That August tumbled through the suburbs, thick, golden and heavy, the colour of English honey. The air shimmered under the weight of afternoon, and in the dusky hour, the sky bled the bruised purple of an overripe plum.
They stood together on the creaking veranda of an old, long-forgotten cottage at the edge of Wiltshire. All around stretched the unkempt wild garden, apples falling into the tangled grass with a muffled, satisfying thump. It felt as though the wider worldwith its anxious headlines and pressing office memoswas only drapery accidentally left behind after the curtain call. Here, in the pulsing heart of August, time slowed down to a bead of amber sliding lazily down pine bark.
Mark drew her closer, the faded cotton of her dress brushing his arm. She smelled of sunlight, parched bridleways, andquite impossiblyof a freshly split nectarine.
September is nearly here, Alice murmured, her voice threaded with the familiar tinge of mugwortjust that slight, bittersweet edge that always ghosted over summer’s final moments.
September? Thats just a myth, he replied softly, theres only thisright now.
He brushed his lips against hers. That kiss was the dying chord of August itself: sugared with late blackberries, tangy with sun-warmed skin, and edged by the faint threat of encroaching dew. It tasted of life breathed in, conscious of the exhale to follow.
Beyond the little picket gate, real life loomedunresolved quarrels and the ticking down of the clock. In 48 hours, they would be yanked apart: Mark to a posting up in Northumberland, Alice back to university in Oxford. London and its logic gnawed at them, offering practicality where they craved feeling.
Every vibration from the mobile buzzing on the table pressed a jagged splinter of reality into their sanctuary. But here, on the porch, they held the perimeter.
Can you feel it? she asked, inching away by the smallest breath.
The breeze? Mark guessed.
No. What weve managed to keep.
Standing so close, they cast a single shadow onto the warped wooden floorboards. The August wind crept up, slipping between their forms with the acrid tang of distant heath firesa sharp little reminder that everything in the world is fragile. The taste of her lips, however, overwhelmed any threat.
It was their illicit cargo: pocketing this warmth to carry into the winter.
Mark once trusted only in physics, but now he believed in morebelieved the flavour of August could ward off deep darkness. That beside was not distance but a state of being, unshaken by miles of railway and motorway.
When dusk finally blotted the horizon, copper fading to ink, they remained there together. Tomorrow, theyd drag out suitcases and rehearse goodbyes. But in that wild garden, they were stronger than any separation. Because summer love in England is the truest loveflaring higher for knowing winter waits just ahead.
February stalked the city like a cold stray. Pavements slick with drizzle, black cabs hissing past, exhaust curling up with road-weary promises never kept. The wind didnt whisper sadly through pine, but cut across faces, driving everyone deeper into woolen scarves and upturned collars.
Mark leaned against the steamed pane of a Covent Garden café. His Northern contract had ended a month ago, but hed kept the habit of squinting at the bright snow in his mind, where something restless and empty had taken root.
The world outside had won: the calls dwindling, then vanishing, leaving only sparse holiday greetings. Two hundred miles turned sentiment brittle.
He stirred his cooling black coffee, gazing as the river of busy Londoners passed. The citywith its rushing Tube, its countless shouldershad pushed almost everything out of memory. Almost.
The door banged open, setting off a flurry of cold air. Mark shivered. In that moment, the draught carried not city smoke, but a whispersweet summer grass, alive beneath Julys sun.
She arrived, dusting snow from her coat. Alice.
She was different now: reserved, wrapped in a dark wool coat, a new frown pressed between her brows. The city had written its own signature across her. She slid into the chair opposite, and the empty space between them hummed with the memory of winds that once filled it.
Hello, she said, the hint of a chill in her voiceLondon in her vowels.
Hello.
They spoke of deadlines, work, the agony of city parking. Two strangers with a shared secret, fencing off reality with small, safe facts. But the conflict between who theyd been last August and who they were now crackled almost painfully.
You know, Mark broke into her story of a coursework deadline, I’ve tried all year to remember just one thing.
Alice traced patterns on her empty cup. What?
The flavour.
He leaned over the table, diminishing the wall theyd spent months building. The café was a clattering, howling thingcrockery, laughter, machinerybut all of it blurred at the edge.
He covered her icy hand with his own. Beneath his touch, warmth slowly gatheredancient and hopeful.
I remember August, she breathed, and her eyes, for a heartbeat, became as clear as theyd been on the cottage veranda. I remember peaches, dust. And how I wasnt afraid.
They stepped out into the street. Februarys wind lashed their faces, determined to pull them apart, to push each to their own darkened carriage. But Mark gathered her to him, right there in the salted gutters, heedless of frowns and glances.
When he kissed herher lips chapped, cold, tinged with frosthe tasted it, sudden and bright beneath the rind of winter.
That very taste.
Over-ripe summer berries, the tart glow of sunlight, and the pure, unbreakable sense of togetherness. August hadnt endedit had simply gone quiet, waiting for them to hush the world and hear each other once more.
The wind can scatter words, but not what has soaked deep into the blood.
February roared down the rain pipes, intent on reigning. Yet inside the battered old minicab that ferried them through city gridlock, a strange hush fell. The windows fogged, blurring Londons lights to a soft, private cocoon. Only the two of them remained, swaddled in the pewter glow.
Mark wouldnt let go of her hand. He felt the warmth seeping back into her fingers, and with it, a resolve he’d nearly lost among all those business trips.
We cant just go our separate ways, he said.
It wasnt a plea. It was the point of no return.
Alice looked down, then up at him. In her eyes, the citys night lights flickered, blue and electric.
The rest of the world will still be there, Mark. My course work, your new job The wind will whip up as soon as we leave this cab.
Let it howl, Mark offered her half a smile. The wind was never the problem. The problem was that we thought we had to weather it alone. We scheduled togetherness like appointments.
He switched off his phone; Alice, in solidarity, did the same. In that instant, a thousand threadsduties, pressures, other people’s planssnapped.
At her flat, the wind pressed them forward, but they didnt veer off.
Ive still got some raspberry tea in the cupboard, she whispered, when theyd climbed the narrow stairs. It almost smells like those berries in the garden.
Put the kettle on, Mark breathed, locking the door tight behind them. Weve got all night.
The plan they made was reckless, clear: refuse to be captives to circumstance. Mark vowed to stay, swapping northern contracts for a post in London, even at a pay cut. Alice realised her placement could be moved, closer to his new job.
It wasnt compromiseit was claiming their ground.
That night, in the cramped kitchen, steam curling from the spout, they kissed again. Not with the ache of goodbye, but with the crisp taste of beginning.
Jobs, money, detailsall left outside the door, rendered paperwork. Deciding to be together not in spite of, but because of, turned every problem into a mere puzzle.
You know, Alice murmured, resting her forehead to his, August isnt just a line on a calendar.
What is it then?
Its when you taste your own life on someone elses lips. And who cares which February is knocking.
The wind battered at the window, but now it was only background noise. Inside the flat, summer settled softly around them, a season no one else could claim.
