Hey love, listen Ive got to tell you about whats been happening at our place these past few weeks. Its early summer, the days are long and the green leaves are pressed up against the kitchen window like someones trying to keep the sunshine out a bit. The flat is practically a breezebox the windows are thrown wide open and you can hear birds singing and the occasional kids shout from the street below. Everything in the flat has its own spot, and its just me, Helen Carter, 45, and my 17yearold son, James.
June feels a little off this year. Theres this tension in the air that doesnt lift even when a gust of wind comes through. The morning we got Jamess Alevel results is one I wont forget. He was hunched over his phone at the kitchen table, shoulders tight, and he just stared at me. Mum, I didnt pass, he said, his voice flat but heavy with fatigue. Its been a tired year for both of us, and now its hit a new low.
Since school started, James has barely left the house. Hes been grinding alone, doing extra practice, going to the free afterschool tutoring sessions the college offers. I try not to push too hard I bring him mint tea, sometimes sit with him in silence just to keep him company. But now were back at square one.
For me the news felt like a cold shower. I know the only way to retake the exams is through the school, which means another round of paperwork and deadlines. We cant afford private tuition the cash just isnt there. Jamess dad lives elsewhere and isnt involved. That night we ate dinner in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I kept running through options in my head: cheap tutors, how to persuade James to give it another go, whether I have the energy to keep him and myself afloat.
James has been drifting on autopilot. His room is a mess of notebooks and a laptop. Hes flipping through maths and English past papers the same ones he tackled in the spring and sometimes just stares out the window as if he might walk away. He answers my questions with oneword replies. I can see it hurts him to be back on the same material, but theres no choice. You cant get into university without Alevels, so we have to start again.
The next evening we finally sat down and tried to map out a plan. I opened my laptop and suggested we look for a new tutor.
Maybe we could try someone different? I asked cautiously.
Ill manage on my own, James muttered.
I sighed. Hes embarrassed to ask for help, but he already tried solo and this is the result. I wanted to hug him, but I held back and steered the chat toward a schedule how many hours a day he could realistically study, whether we needed to change his approach, what had been the hardest part last spring. Slowly the conversation softened; we both realised there was no turning back.
A few days later I rang up contacts and scoured the schools parent chat. I found Susan Clarke, a maths tutor who runs sessions at the community centre. We arranged a trial lesson. James listened halfheartedly, still on edge, but when I handed him a list of potential English and humanities tutors later that evening, he grudgingly agreed to glance through the profiles with me.
The first weeks of summer slipped into a new routine. Mornings were a family breakfast porridge, tea with lemon or mint, sometimes fresh berries from the market. Then maths tutoring either online or at home, depending on Susans availability. After lunch a short break, then James worked through practice tests on his own. Evenings were for reviewing mistakes or a quick call to the other tutors.
Fatigue built up for both of us. By the end of the second week the tension crept into the little things someone forgetting to buy bread, the iron left on, a sharp edge of irritation over something trivial. One night at dinner James slammed his fork onto the plate.
Why are you breathing down my neck? Im an adult now! he snapped.
I tried to explain that I just wanted to keep track of his schedule so I could help him organise his day. He just stared out the window, silent.
Midsummer it became clear the old method wasnt working. The tutors had different styles some forced rote learning, others handed out brutal worksheets without explanation. After a session James would look completely spent. I blamed myself maybe Id been too pushy. The flat felt stuffy, even with the windows wide open, and neither our bodies nor our spirits felt any lighter.
I tried a couple of times to suggest a walk or a break together, just to change the scenery for a bit. Most of the time the chat devolved into a spat about whether a stroll was a waste of time or me rattling off the gaps in his knowledge and the next weeks timetable.
Then one especially rough evening the tutor gave James a hard mock maths paper and the score was worse than expected. He came back home looking glum and shut himself in his room. I heard the soft click of his door and knocked gently.
Can I come in? I asked.
What? he replied.
Lets talk
He sat there in silence for a while, then finally said, Im scared of failing again.
I sat on the edge of his bed. Im scared for you too, love but I see youre giving it everything youve got. He met my eyes. What if it still doesnt work?
Then well figure out the next step together, I said.
We talked for almost an hour about the fear of being less than others, about how exhausted we both felt, about the endless race of the exam system. We admitted it was foolish to expect a perfect result; we needed a realistic plan that fit our energy and means.
Later that night we rewrote his study schedule fewer hours a week, builtin rest, a couple of walks each week, and a promise to flag any trouble straight away so it wouldnt fester.
Jamess bedroom now has the window open more often; the evening cool slowly pushes out the days heat. After that tough conversation the house settled into a fragile calm. James put the new timetable on the wall and highlighted his rest days with a bright marker.
At first it felt odd to stick to the new rhythm. Id sometimes reach for my phone to check if hed called his tutor, but I reminded myself of our talk. In the evenings wed pop out for a quick shop or just wander around the block, chatting about nothing more than the weather or a funny video wed seen.
The first signs of progress crept in unnoticed. One day Susan messaged me, James solved two of the secondsection problems on his own today! Hes really learning from his mistakes. I read that line a few times, smiling as if it meant the world. At dinner I gave him a lowkey pat on the back, just pointing out the improvement. He brushed it off, but the corners of his mouth lifted.
A few weeks later, during an online English session, he scored high on a practice essay. He shyly showed me his result a rare move these days and whispered, I think Im finally getting how to build an argument.
I just nodded and gave him a quick hug on the shoulders. Each day the atmosphere at home warmed a little more, not dramatically but like the slow shift of light through familiar rooms. Our kitchen table started to see lateseason berries from the market, sometimes cucumbers or tomatoes wed picked up after a stroll. We ate together more often, swapping school news or weekend plans instead of endless revision lists.
Our attitude toward the exams changed too. Instead of treating every mistake as a catastrophe, we started dissecting them calmly, even cracking jokes. Once James scribbled a cheeky comment about the absurdity of a question in the margin of his notebook; I laughed so hard that he joined in.
Soon our conversations drifted beyond Alevels movies, the playlist hed been building, plans for the upcoming September (though still vague, no firm university names yet). We learned to trust each other not just with studies but with everyday life.
The days grew shorter, the sun no longer burning late into the evening, but the air smelled of late summer and distant childrens voices from the playground. Sometimes James would head out alone to meet friends at the schools field; Id let him go, knowing the house chores could wait a couple of hours.
By midAugust I caught myself no longer sneaking a peek at his timetable after dark. I started believing his word about what hed done, without constant checks. James, too, seemed less irritable when I asked about his plans or offered a hand with chores the tension had eased.
One night, just before bed, we sat at the kitchen table with the window cracked, sipping tea. He started, If I get into university and then fell silent.
I smiled, If not, well keep looking together.
He looked serious, Thanks for hanging on with me through all this.
I waved my hand, Weve got this together.
We both knew there was still a lot ahead more work, more uncertainty but the fear of facing it alone had faded.
In the last few days of August the mornings were fresh, and the first yellow leaves were showing up on the trees, a reminder that autumn was on its way. James gathered his textbooks for another tutoring session; I set the kettle for his breakfast. Our motions felt steadier now.
Wed already registered for the resit through the school, avoiding the lastminute scramble, and that small step gave us both a boost of confidence.
Now each day isnt just about a timetable or a todo list; its about shared walks, grocery runs together after my shift, occasional bickers over trivial things, and most importantly, being able to speak our feelings before they turn into a wall.
As September looms, whatever the exam results turn out to be, the real change has already happened inside our little family. Weve become a team, not lone fighters, celebrating tiny victories instead of waiting for scores to validate us.
The futures still a bit hazy, but theres more light now, simply because none of us has to walk the road alone.
