The hallway still smelled of damp shoes and a jacket that hadnt quite dried, the one Margaret had hung on the lower hook, leaving the spot for her son empty. He slipped in almost silently: neatly trimmed, shortcropped hair, dressed in a tidy dark coat. Margaret saw his expression had changed not harsh, but wary. She hurriedly straightened the mat at the door and gave a small smile.
Come in everythings ready. Ive aired your room and put fresh sheets on the bed, she said.
He nodded, half out of politeness, half out of gratitude it was hard to tell. He set his suitcase against the wall and lingered on the threshold, glancing at the faded diamondpatterned wallpaper and the shelf of his childhood books. It all seemed as it had been, only the air was cooler; the heating had been turned off a week ago.
In the kitchen Margaret laid out the plates: cabbage soup, just as hed asked, and potatoes with herbs from the market. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke.
You could have called earlier I was expecting to meet you at the station.
James shrugged.
I thought Id get here on my own.
A pause stretched, broken only by the clink of a spoon against a bowl. He ate slowly and almost without speaking, replying curtly about the road, about the unit the commander had been a decent man. Margaret caught herself looking for a chance to ask about the future, but she didnt dare bring up his work or his plans directly.
After dinner she cleared the table the familiar motions soothed her more than any conversation could. James retreated to his flat, leaving the door ajar; from the corner only the back of a chair and the edge of his suitcase were visible.
Later he went to fetch a glass of water and stood by the livingroom window. A gentle draught from the slightly open sash reminded him that summer was beginning: the sun set late, casting a soft glow on the windowsill where a few potted herbs swayed.
The next morning Margaret rose before James. She could hear his quiet breathing through the thin bedroom wall and tried not to make extra noise with the dishes. The flat felt tighter now: Jamess belongings had reclaimed their old spots in the hallway and bathroom; his toothbrush next to her chipped mug looked oddly bright.
He spent most of the day at his computer or scrolling on his phone, emerging only for breakfast or lunch. Margaret tried to keep the conversation going about the weather or the neighbours; he answered at random or slipped back to his screen after a few words.
One afternoon she bought fresh dill and spring onions at the market.
Look, your favourite herbs, she said.
James glanced away, distracted.
Thanks maybe later?
The herbs wilted quickly on the table the flat grew warmer as evening approached, and Margaret feared opening the windows for long; James had never liked draughts.
Evenings were spent at the dinner table, the silences stretching longer than the conversations. He rarely praised the food; more often he ate in silence or asked to leave his plate for the next morning his appetite was gone. Sometimes he forgot to clear his cup or left the bread tin open after a latenight snack.
Margaret noticed these small changes. He had always cleared the table without being asked. Now she felt awkward reminding an adult man, so she wiped the crumbs herself.
Little things multiplied unnoticed: a towel disappeared from the bathroom James had taken it to his room; the mailbox key was misplaced they both scoured the flat among parcels and bills.
One morning Margaret found the bread tin empty.
We need to buy some bread, she said.
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 got home exhausted just as dusk fell.
James was standing by the fridge, phone in hand. Margaret opened the tin automatically; there was no bread. She exhaled heavily.
You said youd get bread, didnt you?
James spun around, his voice louder than usual.
I forgot! Ive got other things to do!
She felt a flush of irritation despite her fatigue.
Of course you always forget everything!
Their voices rose, words sharper, and suddenly the cramped kitchen felt suffocating. Each tried to prove his point, but behind the shouting lay something else: exhaustion, a fear of drifting apart, a dread of losing the closeness that had once seemed so simple.
When the argument ended, the flat was quiet, as if the angry energy had dissolved into the night air. The desk lamp cast a faint glow over the empty tin, throwing a long shadow across the floor. Margaret lay on her back, listening to the occasional click of a switch, the distant hum of water in the bathroom. James moved cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the newly uneasy peace of walls that now felt both familiar and foreign.
She recalled their talks before he left for service back then it was easy to ask, to scold for a missed bin or a late dinner. Now every word seemed risky; she didnt want to hurt him, didnt want to upset the fragile balance. Their fatigue, hers after a long day at the office and his after months of silence behind those four walls, lingered beneath the argument.
The clock read almost two in the morning when she heard soft footsteps in the corridor. The kitchen door creaked as James poured water from a jug. Margaret lifted herself onto her elbow, debating whether to stay in bed or get up. She chose to rise, slipped on a robe and padded barefoot across the cold floor.
The kitchen still smelled of the damp cloth shed used to wipe the counter the night before. James stood by the window, shoulders slightly slumped, a glass clenched in his hand.
Cant sleep? she asked quietly.
He flinched just a fraction, then turned without looking.
Neither can I
A heavy silence settled between them; only a droplet of water slid down the side of the jug.
Sorry about tonight I raised my voice unfairly, Margaret said. Youre tired I am too.
James turned slowly.
Im to blame everything just feels strange now.
His voice was hoarse from disuse; he avoided her eyes.
They fell silent again, but the tension eased with those simple words. Margaret pulled up a chair opposite him and slid a box of tea toward him an automatic, soothing gesture.
Youre an adult now, she said gently. I need to learn to let you go a bit Im always scared Ill let something slip or do something wrong.
James looked at her attentively.
Im still figuring it out Back there (he gestured toward the wall) it was simple: they said do this, we did it; home is different. Here it feels like the rules have changed without me.
Margaret smiled faintly.
Were both learning to live together again maybe we should agree on a few things?
James shrugged.
Im willing to try.
She felt a relief at his willingness to find common ground. They agreed aloud that James would buy bread every other day, that theyd each clear the dishes after dinner, and that theyd give each other a little evening alone without questioning where the other was going. Both understood it was just the start of a new routine, but the honesty mattered.
She careful asked about his job prospects.
You wanted to look for work, right? Do you still have your service card?
James nodded.
After demob they gave me the discharge papers; theyre in my bag with my service certificate I just dont know where to start.
Margaret mentioned the local Jobcentre, the free advice and programs for veterans. James listened, a hint of wariness in his tone.
Do you think its worth a go?
She shook her head.
Why not? If you like, I could go with you in the morning for support, or help sort the paperwork.
He thought for a moment, then said,
Lets try together first.
The kitchen seemed a little warmer perhaps because the overhead light was off, leaving only the soft lamp, perhaps because they had spoken calmly for the first time in days. Outside, neighboring house lights flickered in the darkness; some people were still up in their modest flats, late spring lingering.
When their conversation ended on its own, they cleared the cups and wiped the counter with the damp cloth.
Morning arrived with gentle light filtering through heavy curtains; the city outside woke slowly, the courtyard echoing with schoolchildrens chatter and birdsong from the open kitchen window. Now opening the windows no longer felt frightening. The air was a touch warmer, the nights chill having left with the lingering anxiety.
Margaret put the kettle on and pulled out a packet of crisp toast for breakfast in place of the missing loaf. She spread out Jamess documents on the table: a redcovered service card, his discharge certificate, and his passport. She looked at them calmly they now symbolised a new chapter for her son, beginning here and now.
James emerged from his room, still sleepy but without the previous distance, sat opposite her and gave a brief smile.
Thanks, Mum, he said.
She replied simply,
Shall we go together today?
He nodded, and that yes meant more to her than any promise could.
