By the time next summer rolls around, the earlysummer light hangs long over the gardenbacked flat on a quiet lane in a Midlands town. Green leaves cling to the windows, dimming the room just enough to keep the glare at bay. The sash windows are flung open, and in the hush you can hear sparrows chirping and the occasional shout of children playing down the road. In this tidy little flat, where every cupboard and chair has long settled into its place, live two people fortyoneyearold Helen Smith and her seventeenyearold son, James.
June feels a little different this year. Instead of fresh breezes theres a tightness in the air that lingers even when a draft sweeps through the room.
Ill never forget the morning the ALevels results arrived. James was slumped over the kitchen table, his phone screen glowing, shoulders stiff. He said nothing, and Helen stood by the kettle, unsure what to say. Mum, I didnt pass, he finally said, his voice even but heavy with fatigue. That weariness has become a familiar companion for both of them over the past twelve months.
Since finishing school James has hardly left the house. Hes been grinding through revision on his own, attending free study sessions at the local college. Helen tries not to add pressure; she brings mint tea, sometimes sits beside him just to keep him company in silence. Now the cycle has started again.
For Helen the news was like a cold shower. She knew a retake would only be possible through the schools resit programme, meaning another round of paperwork and deadlines. Theres no money for pricey private tuition. Jamess father lives down the lane and isnt involved. That evening they ate dinner in quiet, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Helen ran through possible options in her head cheap tutors, how to persuade James to give it another go, whether she had the strength to keep both of them afloat.
In those days James seemed to be running on autopilot. A stack of worksheets lay beside his laptop. He kept thumbing through maths and English practice papers the same set hed tackled in the spring. Hed stare out the window so long it seemed he might step right through it. His answers were brief. Helen could see the pain of having to revisit material hed already mastered, but there was no other route no university place without the grades.
The next evening they sat down together to hash out a plan. Helen opened her laptop and suggested they start looking for tutors.
Maybe we could try someone new? she asked cautiously.
Ill manage on my own, James muttered.
Helen exhaled slowly. She knew he was too proud to ask for help, and the first time he tried alone the result had been exactly this. She felt the urge to hug him, but held back, steering the conversation toward a schedule: how many hours a day he could study, whether the approach needed tweaking, what had been hardest in the spring. The talk softened as both realised there was no turning back.
Over the next few days Helen phoned old contacts, hunting for teachers. In a school WhatsApp group she spotted a message from Mrs. Tilly Hart, a maths coach. They arranged a trial lesson. James listened halfheartedly, still on guard. That evening Helen handed him a list of potential English and sociology tutors; he grudgingly agreed to glance at the profiles with her.
The first weeks of summer fell into a new routine. Mornings started with a shared breakfast porridge, tea with lemon or mint, occasionally a handful of fresh berries from the local market. Then came the maths tutor, either via video call or a visit, depending on the tutors calendar. After lunch came a short break and some solo practice papers. Evenings were for reviewing mistakes or phone calls to the other tutors.
Fatigue mounted for both of them. By the end of the second week the tension showed up in small things forgetting to buy bread, leaving the iron on, snapping over trivial matters. One night at dinner James slammed his fork down.
Why are you breathing down my neck? Im an adult! he shouted.
Helen tried to explain that she needed to know his schedule to keep things organised, but he just stared out the window in silence.
Midsummer made it clear the old method wasnt working. Tutors each had their own style some demanded rote memorisation, others threw complex tasks without explanation. After a session James often looked completely drained. Helen blamed herself, wondering if shed been too hard on him. The flat grew stuffy; though the windows stayed open, nothing seemed to lift the weight from their bodies or spirits.
A few times she suggested a walk or a quick trip to the shop to break the monotony, but most conversations spiralled back to study plans and gaps in knowledge.
One evening everything came to a head. The maths tutor had given James a particularly tough practice test and the score was worse than expected. He trudged back home, his demeanor grim, and shut himself in his room. Later Helen heard a soft knock on the door and stepped in.
May I? she asked.
What? he replied.
Lets talk
He sat in silence for a long while before finally saying, Im scared of messing up again. Helen sat on the edge of his bed.
Im scared for you too, she admitted. But I see you giving it your all.
He met her eyes. What if I fail again?
Then well keep figuring it out together, she said.
They talked for nearly an hour about fear of falling behind, mutual exhaustion, and the hopelessness that sometimes comes with the exam machine. They agreed it was foolish to wait for a perfect result; they needed a realistic plan that matched their energy and resources.
That night they redrew the study schedule, cutting back the weekly hours, carving out time for walks and a couple of evenings off, and promising to raise any problem straight away rather than letting resentment build.
Now Jamess room often had the window cracked open, letting the evenings cool air chase away the days stuffiness. After their honest talk a calm, if fragile, settled over the flat. James stuck the new timetable to his wall, highlighting rest days with a bright marker.
At first the new rhythm felt odd. Helen would sometimes reach for her phone to check if James had called the tutor, but she stopped herself, recalling their agreement. In the evenings they took brief strolls to the corner shop or just ambled around the courtyard, chatting about nothing more than the weather or a new song on the radio. James still felt the strain after lessons, but outbursts became rarer. He began asking for help with a tricky problem, not out of fear of being scolded but because he trusted Helen would listen without judgment.
Progress arrived quietly. One afternoon Mrs. Hart texted Helen: James solved two secondsection questions on his own today hes really learning from his mistakes. Helen read the line several times, a smile spreading across her face as if shed just heard news of a huge breakthrough. At dinner she slipped a quiet compliment into the conversation, noting his improvement. James brushed it off, but the corners of his mouth lifted.
A few weeks later, during an online English session, James earned a high mark on a practice essay. He marched over to show his mother, a rare gesture in recent months, and whispered, I think Im starting to get how to build an argument. Helen nodded and gave him a brief hug around the shoulders.
Day by day the atmosphere at home warmed, not in dramatic bursts but through tiny shifts in the familiar details. Latesummer berries from the market returned to the kitchen table; after a walk theyd bring home cucumbers or tomatoes from the stalls near the tube station. Meals became more frequent together, conversations drifting to school news or weekend plans instead of endless revision lists.
Their attitude toward preparation changed too. Mistakes were no longer catastrophes; they were dissected with a touch of humour. Once James scribbled a sarcastic note in the margins of a practice paper about the absurd wording of a question; Helen laughed so genuinely that James joined in.
Soon their talks drifted beyond the exams. They chatted about the latest film, a playlist James loved, or tentative plans for September, even if the exact university and course were still up in the air. Both learned to trust each other not just with textbooks but with everyday life.
The days grew shorter, the summer heat faded, and the air filled with the scent of early autumn and distant childrens shouts from the playground below. Occasionally James would meet friends at the school yard; Helen would let him go, confident that the household chores could wait a few hours.
By midAugust Helen noticed she no longer felt the need to sneak a look at Jamess timetable late at night. She trusted his word about the work hed done, and he, in turn, complained less when she asked for a hand with the dishes. The tension that had once hung over them seemed to lift along with the lingering race for a perfect score.
One night, before turning in, they sat at the kitchen sink with mugs of tea, the window cracked to let in the cool breeze. If I get a place James began, then fell silent. Helen smiled, If not, well keep looking together. He met her gaze, Thanks for staying the course with me. She waved her hand, We did it together.
Both knew more work lay ahead and the future was still uncertain, but the fear of facing it alone had faded.
In the final days of August, fresh mornings greeted them; the trees outside the flat sprouted the first yellow leaves among the green, a reminder that autumn and new challenges were on the horizon. James gathered his textbooks for another session with his tutor, while Helen set the kettle for breakfast, each movement now steadier than before.
Theyd already lodged the resit application through the school, avoiding a lastminute scramble as the next exam season approached a small step that gave them both a measure of confidence.
Now each day held more than a timetable or a weekly todo list; it held shared plans for evening walks or a joint trip to the supermarket after Helens shift. Arguments still flared over trivial things or the monotony of preparation, but theyd learned to pause, speak openly about their feelings, and stop resentment from turning into distance.
As September loomed, it became clear that whatever the exam results, something essential had shifted within the family. Theyd become a team, no longer each trying to ride the wave alone, but sharing small victories and leaning on each other instead of waiting for validation from scores alone.
The future remained an open road, but it now shone a little brighter because theyd learned to travel it side by side.
