13March
The hallway still smelled of damp shoes and a jacket that hadnt quite dried after my wife, Margaret, hung it on the lower hook she left the top one empty for James. He slipped in almost silently, his uniform crisply folded, hair cut short, all in the same dark, proper attire he always wore. Margaret noticed his gaze had changed not angry, just wary. She hurriedly straightened the rug at the door and gave me a small smile.
Come in everythings ready. Ive aired your room and put fresh sheets on the bed.
James gave a nod that could have been gratitude or mere politeness; it was hard to tell. He set his suitcase against the wall and lingered in the doorway, eyeing the familiar wallpaper with its faded diamonds, the shelf of his childhood books. It seemed everything was as it had been, except the air felt cooler the central heating had been switched off a week ago.
In the kitchen Margaret was laying out plates: cabbage soup at his request, new potatoes with parsley from the market. She tried to keep her tone even at the table.
You could have called earlier I was waiting for you at the station.
James shrugged.
I thought Id get there on my own.
A pause stretched; the only sound was the spoon tapping the edge of his bowl. He ate slowly, almost without speaking, answering briefly about the road, about the unit everything was fine, the commander was a decent man. Margaret caught herself looking for an opening to ask about his future, but she didnt dare bring up work or any plans directly.
After dinner she began clearing the kitchen the familiar motions of her hands soothed her more than any conversation could. James retreated to his flat, the door left ajar, the only thing visible from the hallway was the back of a chair and the edge of his suitcase.
Later he went to fetch a glass of water and paused by the livingroom window. A gentle draught from the slightly opened casement reminded me of early summer: the sun set late, casting a soft glow over the windowsill where a few potted herbs stood.
The next morning Margaret woke before James. She could hear his shallow breathing through the thin bedroom wall and tried not to clatter dishes unnecessarily. The flat felt tighter; Jamess belongings had reclaimed their old spots in the hallway and the bathroom; his toothbrush beside Margarets chipped mug looked oddly bright.
Most of the day James spent at his desk, either on the computer or scrolling his phone, only coming out for breakfast or lunch. Margaret tried to keep the chat going about the weather or the neighbours; he answered in fragments and then slipped back to his screen.
One afternoon she bought fresh dill and spring onions at the market.
Look, your favourite herbs
James glanced up, distracted.
Thanks maybe later?
The greens wilted quickly on the table the flat grew warmer as evening fell, and Margaret was reluctant to air it too long; James had always hated draughts.
Dinner times became a series of awkward pauses that stretched longer than the conversation itself. James rarely praised the food; most nights he ate in silence or asked to keep his plate until breakfast because he had no appetite. He sometimes forgot to clear his cup or left the bread tin open after a midnight snack.
Margaret noted these small changes. He had always cleared the table without being asked. Now she felt uneasy correcting a grown man, so she simply wiped the crumbs herself.
Little domestic mysteries multiplied unnoticed: a towel vanished from the bathroom James had taken it to his room; someone misplaced the postbox key they both searched the flat among bags and bills.
One morning Margaret found the bread tin empty.
We need to buy some bread
James muttered something from his room.
Fine
She planned to go after work, but a long queue at the chemist held her up and she returned home exhausted by evening.
In the kitchen James stood by the fridge, phone in hand. Margaret opened the tin automatically there was no bread. She sighed, weary.
You said youd get bread, didnt you?
James turned sharply, his voice louder than usual.
I forgot! Ive got other things to do!
Margarets irritation snapped out despite her fatigue.
Of course you always forget everything!
Their voices rose, words sharpened, and the flat suddenly felt stifling. Each tried to prove a point, but underneath lay something else: fatigue with each other, the inability to find common ground, the fear of losing a closeness that had once felt effortless.
When the argument ended, a heavy silence settled. The desk lamp cast a faint glow onto the empty tin, stretching a long shadow across the kitchen floor. Margaret lay on her back, listening to the occasional click of a light switch, the hum of water in the bathroom. James moved cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the walls that now felt both familiar and foreign.
She thought back to the days before his service things had been simpler. You could ask directly, scold for a missed bin or a late dinner. Now every word seemed a risk: dont hurt, dont upset the fragile balance. The tension hid the tiredness that sat on both of us after long days hers from work, his from weeks of confinement behind four walls.
It was almost two oclock when I heard soft steps down the corridor. The kitchen door creaked as James poured water from the jug. I propped myself up on an elbow, unsure whether to stay in bed or get up. I slipped on my bathrobe and shuffled barefoot across the cool floor.
The kitchen still smelled of the damp cloth Id used to wipe the countertop the night before. James stood by the window, his shoulders slightly slumped, a glass clenched in his hand.
Cant sleep? I asked quietly.
He flinched just a touch, then turned slowly.
Neither can I
Silence hung between us, dense as a cloud, broken only by a drop of water sliding down the glass of the jug.
Im sorry about this evening I raised my voice for nothing, Margaret said, her voice soft. Youre tired and Im tired too.
James turned fully now, his voice hoarse from the quiet.
Its my fault everything feels odd now.
He avoided meeting my eyes.
We fell quiet again, but the tension seemed to dissolve with those simple words. Margaret moved to sit opposite him, placing a box of tea between us an automatic, calming gesture.
Youre an adult now, she said gently. I need to learn to let you go a bit further Im always scared Ill drop something or do it wrong.
James looked at her, earnest.
I dont get it yet either back then it was: they said, I did; here its different. The rules have changed without me.
Margarets lips twitched into a faint smile.
Were both learning to live together again maybe we should agree on a few things?
He shrugged.
Worth a try.
The relief of that willingness eased me. We spelled out the basics: who buys the bread (hed pick it up every other day), who clears the dishes after supper, and we agreed to give each other a little evening alone without the constant where are you going? questions. Both of us understood this was only the first step, but the honesty mattered.
I asked about his plans for work.
You wanted to look for something, right? Your discharge papers are in your bag?
He nodded.
They gave me the papers right after I left the service. Now Im not sure where to go.
I mentioned the local Jobcentre, the free advice sessions, the programmes for exservice personnel.
Do you think its worth a go? he asked, a hint of caution in his tone.
Why not? If you like, I can go with you in the morning for company, or help sort the paperwork.
He thought a moment, then said,
Lets try together first.
The kitchen felt a little warmer perhaps because wed turned off the hob lights, leaving only the soft lamp, perhaps because for the first time in days wed spoken calmly and honestly. Outside, the neighbours lights flickered in the dusk, a few nightowls still awake in the latespring quiet.
When the conversation naturally faded, we cleared the cups and wiped the counter with a damp cloth.
Morning arrived with gentle light filtering through heavy curtains; the city outside was waking slowly, schoolchildrens chatter drifting up from the courtyard, birds chirping by the open kitchen window. Ventilating the flat no longer felt scary; the air was a touch warmer, the nights chill gone with the lingering worries.
Margaret set the kettle on and pulled a packet of crispbread from the cupboard for breakfast in place of the missing loaf. She laid out Jamess documents the redcovered service record, the discharge certificate, his passport and looked at them calmly. They now signalled a new chapter in his life, starting right here, right now.
James emerged from his room, halfasleep but no longer distant. He sat opposite Margaret, gave a brief smile.
Thanks, Mum.
She replied simply,
Shall we go together today?
He nodded. That yes meant more to me than any promise could.
Today I learned that when you return from a long absence, the hardest battle isnt the one fought abroad, but the quiet war of rebuilding everyday trust. Patience, honest small agreements, and a willingness to listen can turn a house of tension into a home again.
