The flat smells of damp street shoes and a jacket that hasnt quite dried, hanging on the low hook where Jamess coat should be. Margaret pulls the jacket onto the hook, leaving the spot for her son empty. He steps in almost silently: shortcropped hair, a tidy dark uniform, the way the army dresses him. Margaret notices his eyes are different not hard, but wary. She quickly straightens the rug at the door and gives a small smile.
Come in everythings ready. Ive aired your room and put fresh sheets on the bed, she says.
James nods, half out of politeness, half out of gratitude; its hard to tell. He sets his suitcase against the wall, pauses in the doorway, and looks at the familiar faded diamondpattern wallpaper, at the shelf of his childhood books. It all feels the same, except the air is cooler now that the heating was switched off a week ago.
In the kitchen Margaret lays out plates: cabbage soup because he asked for it, and potatoes with parsley bought from the market. She tries to keep her voice calm at the table.
You could have called earlier I was expecting to meet you at the railway station, she says.
James shrugs. I wanted to get there on my own.
A silence stretches; the only sound is a spoon tapping the edge of a bowl. He eats slowly, almost without speaking, offering brief answers about the road home, about his unit the commander was a decent bloke. Margaret catches herself looking for a way to ask about his future, but she doesnt dare bring up work or plans outright.
After dinner she tidies the kitchen the familiar motions of her hands soothe her more than any conversation could. James retreats to his room, leaving the door ajar; only the back of a chair and the edge of his suitcase are visible from the hallway.
Later he stands by the kitchen window, feeling the light breeze from the slightly cracked sash. The early summer light lingers, casting a soft glow on the windowsill where a few potted herbs sit.
The next morning Margaret wakes before James. She hears his shallow breathing through the thin bedroom wall and tries not to clatter dishes. The flat feels tighter now; Jamess belongings have reclaimed their old spots in the hall and bathroom, and his toothbrush next to her chipped teacup looks oddly bright.
James spends most of the day at his computer or scrolling his phone, only emerging for breakfast or lunch. Margaret attempts small talk about the weather or the neighbours; he answers in fragments before slipping back to his own world.
One afternoon she buys fresh dill and spring onions at the market.
Look, your favourite herbs, she says, holding the bunch out.
James glances, distracted. Thanks maybe later?
The herbs wilt quickly on the table as the flat warms toward evening. Margaret hesitates to open the windows fully; James has never liked draughts.
Evenings turn into awkward meals, the pauses growing longer than the conversation. James rarely praises the food; he often leaves his plate untouched or asks to save it for the next morning because he has no appetite. Sometimes he forgets to put his cup away or leaves the bread tin open after a midnight snack.
Margaret notices these small changes. He used to clear his plate without being asked. Now she feels strange correcting an adult son, so she quietly wipes the crumbs herself.
Little everyday mysteries pile up: a towel disappears from the bathroom James has taken it to his room; someone misplaces the keys to the letterbox, and they both end up searching through bags and receipts.
One morning Margaret finds the bread tin empty.
We need to buy some bread, she remarks.
James mutters from his room, Alright.
She plans to go out after work, but a long queue at the chemist delays her, and she returns home exhausted by dusk.
In the kitchen James stands by the fridge, phone in hand. Margaret opens the bread tin automatically; its empty. She sighs wearily.
You said youd get the bread, didnt you? she asks.
James spins around, his voice louder than usual. I forgot! Ive got other things to do!
Margaret feels a flush of irritation despite her fatigue. Of course you always forget everything!
Their voices rise, the flat feels suddenly suffocating. Each tries to prove a point, but underneath lies a shared weariness, a fear of losing the closeness that once seemed simple.
The flat falls quiet, as if the tension from the argument has dissolved into the night air. The desk lamp casts a faint glow, throwing a long shadow over the empty bread tin. Margaret lies on her back, listening to occasional sounds a click of a light switch, the hum of water in the bathroom. James moves carefully, as if afraid to disturb the new, strange familiarity of the walls.
She remembers their talks before his service: things were straightforward then she could ask, scold him for a missed rubbish collection or a late dinner. Now every word feels risky, as if it might upset the fragile balance. Their exhaustion, hers after a long day at the shop, his after weeks of silence in the barracks, lies hidden beneath the argument.
The clock reads almost two a.m. when she hears soft footsteps in the corridor. The kitchen door creaks; James pours water from a jug. Margaret lifts herself onto her elbow, undecided whether to stay in bed or get up. She decides to rise, slips into a robe and walks barefoot on the cool floor.
The kitchen smells of a damp cloth she wiped the countertop the night before. James stands by the window, shoulders slightly slumped, a glass clenched in his hand.
Cant sleep? she whispers.
He flinches, then answers without turning fully. Cant either
A heavy silence hangs between them; only a drop of water slides down the jugs glass.
Sorry about this evening I raised my voice for nothing, Margaret says. Youre tired and I am too.
James turns slowly. Im to blame it just feels odd now.
His voice is hoarse from the long quiet; he avoids her eyes.
They sit in silence again, but the tension eases with those simple words. Margaret slides a box of tea toward him an automatic, soothing gesture.
Youre an adult now, she says gently. I need to learn to let you go a bit farther Im scared Ill miss something or do it wrong.
James looks at her. Im still figuring out how to be here back when I was in the unit, it was clear: they said, we did. At home its different. It feels like the rules have changed without me.
Margaret smiles faintly. Were both learning to live together again maybe we should agree on a few things?
James shrugs. We could try.
Relief washes over her at his willingness to find common ground. They decide aloud who buys groceries (hell get a loaf every other day), who clears the dishes after dinner, and that each will have a bit of personal time in the evenings without being asked where theyre going.
Later Margaret asks about his job plans. You wanted to look for something? Do you still have your discharge papers?
He nods. Yes. Theyre in my rucksack with my service certificate I just dont know where to start.
She mentions the local Jobcentre, the free career advice and programmes for veterans. James listens, a little cautious. Do you think I should go?
She shakes her head. Why not? If you like, I can go with you in the morning for company or help sort the paperwork.
He thinks it over, then says, Lets try together first.
The kitchen feels a little warmer perhaps because the stove light is off and only the soft lamp glows, perhaps because they finally spoke calmly. Outside, neighbours windows flicker with lights; some people are still up in these modest flats of late spring.
When their conversation ends naturally, they clear the cups and wipe the countertop with a damp cloth.
Morning light streams through thick curtains; the city wakes slowly, schoolchildrens voices drift from the courtyard, and birds chirp at the open kitchen window now airing the flat no longer feels frightening. The air is a touch warmer; the nights chill has left with the lingering anxiety.
Margaret puts the kettle on and pulls a packet of toast from the cupboard, replacing the missing loaf. She spreads out on the table Jamess discharge papers: the redcover service card, his certificate, and his passport. She looks at them calmly they now signify the start of a new chapter for her son, right here, right now.
James emerges from his room, still sleepy but without the previous distance, sits opposite Margaret and gives a brief smile. Thank you, he says.
She replies simply, Shall we go out together today?
He nods, and that yes means more to her than any promise could.
