By early June the light was already long, the green leaves pressed against the glass as if theyd purposely tried to keep the flat dimmer. The windows of the flat were flung wide; in the quiet you could hear sparrows and the occasional distant laughter of children from the street below. In this flat, where everything had long settled into its proper place, lived two people 40yearold Helen Clarke and her 17yearold son James. That June felt a little different: the air carried more tension than the usual freshness, a strain that lingered even when a draft sneaked in.
Ill never forget the morning the Alevel results arrived. James sat at the kitchen table, phone glued to his face, his shoulders tight. He said nothing, while Helen stood by the cooker, at a loss for words. Mum, I didnt pass, he finally said, his voice steady but tired. The fatigue that had settled over the past year was now a constant companion for both of them. Since school he hardly went out; he spent his evenings preparing alone and attended the free afterschool courses at the local college. Helen tried not to press too hard she brought mint tea, sometimes sat beside him just to be present in silence. Now everything was starting again.
For Helen the news was a cold splash of water. She knew a retake could only be arranged through the school, meaning another round of paperwork. There was no money for private tuition the £ were tight. Jamess father lived separately and offered no help. That evening they ate dinner in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Helen ran through options in her mind: where to find cheap tutors, how to convince James to give it another go, whether she still had the strength to support both him and herself.
James drifted through those days like he was on autopilot. A stack of notebooks lay beside his laptop. He flipped through the same maths and English practice papers hed tackled in spring. Sometimes he stared out the window so long it seemed hed vanish into the sky. His answers were short, his mood sour. Helen saw the pain of having to revisit material hed already struggled with, but there was no alternative you couldnt get into university without Alevels. So they had to start the preparation anew.
The next evening they sat down together to sketch a plan. Helen opened her laptop and suggested they search for a new tutor.
Maybe we could try someone else? she asked gently.
Ill manage on my own, James muttered.
Helen sighed. She knew he was embarrassed to ask for help; hed already tried once and the result was clear. In that moment she wanted to hug him, but held back. Instead she steered the talk toward scheduling: how many hours a day he could study, whether a different approach was needed, what had been the toughest part of spring. The conversation softened gradually both understood there was no turning back.
Over the next few days Helen phoned acquaintances and scoured contact lists for teachers. In the schools group chat she spotted a Mrs. Thompson, a maths tutor. They arranged a trial lesson. James listened halfheartedly, still on guard. When Helen later handed him a list of potential English and humanities tutors, he grudgingly agreed to glance at the profiles with her.
The first weeks of summer fell into a new routine. Mornings began with breakfast at the kitchen table porridge, tea with lemon or mint, sometimes a handful of fresh berries from the market. Then came the maths session, either online or at home, depending on the tutors availability. After lunch a short break, then some independent work on practice tests. Evenings were for reviewing mistakes or phoning other tutors.
Fatigue grew each day for both of them. By the end of the second week the tension showed up in the smallest things: someone forgot to buy bread, someone left the iron on, tempers snapped over trivial matters. One night at dinner James slammed his fork onto the plate.
Why are you always checking up on me? Im an adult! he snapped.
Helen tried to explain that she needed to know his schedule to help him organise his day, but he simply stared out the window in silence.
Midsummer it became clear the old method wasnt working. Tutors varied wildly some demanded rote memorisation, others dumped difficult tasks without explanation. After some sessions James looked utterly exhausted. Helen saw this and blamed herself: maybe shed been too pushy? By evening the flat felt stifling; the windows were wide open, yet neither body nor spirit felt any lighter.
She attempted a few times to suggest a walk or a short outing to break the monotony, but conversations usually slid back into arguments about his studies. He dismissed the idea of spending time outside, while she kept listing the gaps in his knowledge and the weeks plan.
One particularly heavy day the maths tutor gave James a tough mock paper and his score was disappointing. He returned home gloomy and locked himself in his room. Later Helen heard a soft knock on the door and stepped inside.
May I? she asked.
What? he replied.
Can we talk?
He stayed silent for a long while, then finally said, Im scared of failing again.
She sat on the edge of his bed. Im scared for you too but I see youre giving it your all.
He met her eyes. What if I mess up again?
Then well figure out the next step together, she replied.
They talked for nearly an hour about the fear of not measuring up, the shared exhaustion, the helplessness in front of a system that seemed endless. They agreed it was foolish to wait for a perfect result; they needed a realistic plan that matched their capacity.
That evening they drafted a new study schedule: fewer hours per week, builtin rest days, time for a walk together at least twice a week, and a promise to raise any problem straight away rather than let resentment build.
Jamess room now often had the window cracked open, letting the evening cool chase away the days stuffiness. After the honest conversation and the schedule overhaul a calm, albeit fragile, settled over the flat. James pinned the fresh timetable to his wall, highlighting rest days with a bright marker so the agreement wouldnt be forgotten.
At first the new rhythm felt odd. Occasionally Helen reached for her phone to check whether James had called his tutor, but she reminded herself of their recent talk and let it go. Evenings were spent walking to the corner shop or simply strolling around the courtyard, chatting about trivial things instead of exams. James was still weary after lessons, but his anger and irritation appeared far less often. He began asking for help with difficult problems not out of fear of a scold but because he knew his mother would listen without judgment.
Small victories started to appear. One day Mrs. Thompson messaged Helen, James solved two problems from the second section on his own today you can see hes learning from his mistakes. Helen read the line several times, a smile spreading across her face as if shed just heard news of a much larger triumph. At dinner she slipped a quiet word of praise, simply noting his progress. James brushed it off, but the corners of his mouth twitched the compliment hit the right spot.
Later, during an online English session, James earned a high mark on a practice essay. He shyly showed the result to his mother a rare gesture these months. Instead of a worried glance he whispered, I think Im finally getting how to build an argument. Helen nodded and gave him a brief hug on the shoulders.
Day by day the atmosphere at home warmed, not in dramatic bursts but in subtle shifts of everyday detail. Lateseason berries appeared on the kitchen table, sometimes fresh cucumbers or tomatoes from the market after a walk. Meals were shared more often, conversations turning to school news or weekend plans rather than endless lists of revision topics.
Their attitude toward prep changed, too. Where once each mistake felt like a catastrophe, now they dissected it calmly, even with a dash of humour. Once James scribbled a cheeky comment in his notes about how absurd some exam questions were; Helen laughed genuinely, and he joined in.
Soon their chats moved beyond the Alevels: they talked about a film James had liked, a new playlist, and vague ideas about September without pinning down exact universities or dates. Both learned to trust each other beyond the realm of studies.
The days grew shorter; the sun no longer lingered until evening, but the air was scented with latesummer warmth and the distant chatter of children playing in the back garden. Occasionally James would wander off to meet friends on the school playground; Helen let him go, knowing household chores could wait a few hours.
By midAugust Helen caught herself no longer sneaking a look at Jamess timetable late at night; she was more at ease believing his word about the work hed done. James, too, grew less irritable when she asked about his plans or offered a hand with chores the tension that had haunted them seemed to dissipate with the fading race for perfection.
One night, before bed, they sat at the kitchen table with tea drifting in through the open sash, talking about how they imagined the next year.
If I get a place James began, then fell silent.
Helen smiled, If not, well keep looking together.
He looked at her seriously, Thanks for putting up with all this.
She waved her hand, We did it together.
Both knew there was still a lot ahead, plenty of uncertainty, but the fear of facing it alone had vanished.
In the last days of August the mornings greeted them with crisp freshness; the first yellow leaves appeared among the green on the hedges, a reminder that autumn and new challenges were on the horizon. James gathered his books for the next tutoring session; Helen set the kettle for breakfast the familiar motions now felt steadier.
They had already submitted the retake application through the school well before the deadline, a small step that gave them both confidence. Each day now held not just a timetable of lessons or a list of tasks, but also shared plans for an evening walk or a joint trip to the grocery store after Helens shift. Arguments still flared over trivial matters or the monotony of prep, but they had learned to pause, speak their feelings out loud, and stop resentment from turning into distance.
As September edged nearer, it became clear that whatever the exam results next spring or summer, the real change had already taken place inside the family. They had become a team where once each tried to shoulder the load alone; they learned to celebrate tiny victories instead of waiting for external validation from grades.
The future remained uncertain, but it now shone brighter simply because no one had to walk the road alone.
