The front hall still smelled of damp shoes and a jacket that hadn’t quite dried yet Mum had hung it on the lower hook, leaving the spot where my sons coat usually goes empty. He slipped in almost silently, all neatly trimmed, shortcropped hair, dressed in that strict dark uniform everyone in the regiment wears. Mum noticed his eyes had changed not angry, more cautious. She fussed with the rug by the door, gave me a small smile.
Come in everythings ready. Ive aired your room and put fresh sheets on the bed, she said.
He gave a slight nod it was hard to tell if it was gratitude or just politeness. He set his suitcase against the wall, lingered on the threshold, stared at the familiar wallpaper with its faded diamonds and the shelf full of childhood books. It all felt the same, except the air was cooler theyd switched off the central heating a week ago.
In the kitchen Mum was laying out plates: cabbage soup because hed asked for it, and potatoes with garden herbs shed bought at the market. She tried to keep her voice steady at the table.
You could have called earlier I was waiting for you at the station, she said.
He shrugged.
I thought Id get there on my own.
A pause stretched out; the only sound was a spoon clinking against the edge of his bowl. He ate slowly, almost without talking, gave brief answers about the road and the unit everythings fine there, the commanders a decent bloke. Mum caught herself looking for a chance to ask about his future, but she couldnt bring herself to bring up work or plans directly.
After dinner she started clearing the kitchen the familiar motions of her hands calmed her more than any conversation could. He retreated to his room, leaving the door ajar; from the corner you could just see the back of a chair and the edge of his suitcase.
Later he went to get a drink, paused by the livingroom window a light draft from the halfopen casement reminded him of early summer, the sun low and soft, spilling light onto the sill where his potted herbs sat.
The next morning Mum woke before him. She could hear his quiet breathing through the thin bedroom wall and tried not to clatter dishes. The flat felt tighter: his stuff had reclaimed the hallway and the bathroom; his toothbrush next to her old mug looked oddly bright.
He spent most of the day at his computer or scrolling his phone, only emerging for breakfast or lunch. Mum tried to keep the chat going about the weather or the neighbours; he answered with short, offhand remarks and then slipped back to his own world.
One afternoon she came back from the market with fresh dill and spring onions.
Look, your favourite herbs, she said.
He glanced, distracted.
Thanks later, maybe?
The herbs wilted quickly on the table the flat grew warmer as the day went on, and Mum hesitated to open windows for too long; James had never liked draughts.
Evenings turned into awkward dinner silences that stretched longer than the conversations. He rarely praised the food, often just ate in silence or asked to leave his plate for the next morning his appetite was gone. Sometimes hed forget to clear his cup or leave the bread tin open after a midnight snack.
Mum noticed those little things; before hed always cleared the table without being asked. Now she felt odd pointing it out to a grown man, so she just wiped the crumbs herself.
Small domestic mysteries piled up unnoticed: the towel vanished from the bathroom hed taken it to his room; someone misplaced the mailbox key they both ended up hunting for it among piles of parcels and bills.
One morning Mum found the bread tin empty.
We need to buy more bread, she said.
James muttered something from his room.
Fine
She planned to pop to the shop after work, but a long line at the pharmacy delayed her and she got home exhausted by evening.
In the kitchen James stood by the fridge, phone in hand. Mum opened the tin automatically there was no bread. She let out a tired sigh.
You said youd get bread, right?
James turned sharply, his voice louder than usual.
I forgot! Ive got other things to do!
Mum flushed, irritation breaking through her weariness.
Of course you always forget everything!
Their voices rose, words overlapping, and suddenly the kitchen felt stuffy, hard to breathe. Each tried to prove a point, but underneath it all was exhaustion, a fear of losing the closeness they once took for granted.
The flat fell quiet, as if the energy from the argument had evaporated into the night air. The desk lamp cast a faint glow, throwing a long shadow over the empty bread tin. Mum lay on her back, listening to the occasional click of a switch, then the hum of water in the bathroom. James moved carefully, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace that now felt both familiar and foreign.
She thought back to the conversations before his service things were simpler then, you could ask straight, scold for a missed bin round or a late dinner. Now every word seemed risky: dont offend, dont upset the delicate balance. The argument hid a deeper tiredness hers after a long shift, his after months of silence behind those walls.
It was nearly two in the morning when she heard light footsteps down the hallway. The kitchen door creaked; James poured himself a glass of water from the jug. Mum propped herself up on an elbow, debating whether to stay in bed or get up. She chose to get up, slipped on a robe and padded barefoot across the cool floor.
The kitchen smelled of damp cloth shed wiped the counter the night before. James stood by the window, back to the door, shoulders slightly slumped, his hand gripping the glass tightly.
Cant sleep? she whispered.
He flinched just a fraction, not turning right away.
Neither can I
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by a droplet sliding down the side of the jug.
Im sorry about tonight I raised my voice for no reason, Mum said. Youre tired Im tired too.
He turned slowly.
Its my fault everything just feels odd now.
His voice was hoarse from not speaking much; he avoided looking straight at her.
They fell silent again, but the tension eased a little with those simple words. Mum sat opposite him, slid a box of tea toward him a small, soothing gesture.
Youre an adult now, she said gently. I need to learn to let you go a bit more I keep worrying Ill miss something or do it wrong.
James met her eyes.
I dont get it yet, how to be here Back then it was simple: they said do it, and I did; at home its a different game. It feels like the rules have changed without me.
Mum smiled faintly.
Were both learning to live together again maybe we should sort out a few things?
James shrugged.
Can try.
She felt a lift from his willingness to at least look for common ground. They agreed out loud on basics: hed buy bread every other day, hed clear the dishes after dinner, theyd give each other a little evening space without asking where are you going? or what are you doing?. Both knew it was just the start, but saying it plainly felt like a real step forward.
Mum gently asked about his job plans.
You wanted to look for something? You still have your army discharge?
James nodded.
Yeah. I got the paperwork straight after I left the service its in my bag with the service certificate just not sure where to start now.
She mentioned the local Jobcentre, the free advice sessions and programmes for exservice folks. He listened, a bit wary.
Think we should go?
Mum shook her head.
Why not? If you want, I can go with you in the morning, just for company or to help sort the papers.
He thought it over, then said,
Lets try together first.
The kitchen felt a shade warmer maybe because the overhead light over the hob was off, leaving only the soft lamp glow, maybe because theyd finally spoken honestly. Outside, neighbour windows flickered with latespring lights; some people were still up in their little flats.
When the chat faded naturally, they cleared the cups together and wiped the counter with a damp cloth.
Morning came with gentle light through the heavy curtains; the city was waking slowly, the courtyard echoing with schoolchildrens chatter and birdsong at the open kitchen window this time opening the flat to fresh air didnt feel scary. The chill of the night lifted with the lingering anxiety.
Mum put the kettle on and pulled out a packet of crispbread for breakfast, a standin for the missing loaf. She laid out Jamess papers on the table: his army discharge in a red folder, his service certificate, and his passport. She looked at them calmly they were now symbols of a new chapter starting right here, right now.
James shuffled out of his room, still a little groggy but less distant, sat opposite Mum and gave a short smile.
Thanks, Mum
She answered simply.
Want to go together today?
He nodded. That yes meant more to her than any grand promise.
