Outside, early summer stretches the day; green leaves cling to the glass as if deliberately dimming the flat. The windows stand flung wide, and in the quiet the birds chirp and distant children’s voices drift from the street. In this flat, where every object has long settled into its place, live two people fortyyearold Emma Clarke and her seventeenyearold son Jack. This June feels a little different: the air holds more tension than freshness, and even a draught cannot shake it.
The morning the Alevel results arrive sticks in Emmas mind. Jack sits at the kitchen table, phone pressed to his face, shoulders hunched. He says quietly, Mum, I didnt pass. His voice is level but weary. Fatigue has become a familiar companion for both of them this year. After school Jack rarely goes out; he studies alone, attends free sessions at the local sixthform college, and Emma tries not to push too hard, bringing mint tea and sometimes sitting beside him just to be there in silence. Now the whole thing starts again.
For Emma the news feels like a cold splash. She knows a retake is only possible through the school, with another round of paperwork. They cannot afford private tuition. Jacks father lives separately and is not involved. That evening they eat dinner in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Emma runs through options in her head: where to find affordable tutors, how to coax Jack to try again, whether she has the strength to keep both of them afloat.
Jack drifts through the next days on autopilot. In his room a stack of worksheets sits beside a laptop. He flips through maths and English practice papers the same tasks he tackled in spring. He sometimes stares out the window so long it seems he might step through it. His answers are short. Emma sees the discomfort of revisiting the same material, but there is no other path; without Alevels there is no university place. So they must prepare anew.
The following evening they sit down together to map a plan. Emma opens her laptop and suggests searching for tutors.
Maybe we could try someone new? she asks gently.
Ill manage on my own, Jack mutters.
Emma sighs, knowing he is embarrassed to ask for help. He has already tried alone once and this is the result. She feels the urge to hug him, but holds back, steering the conversation toward a schedule: how many hours a day he can study, whether a different approach is needed, what was hardest in the spring. The dialogue softens; both understand there is no turning back.
In the next few days Emma contacts acquaintances and looks for teachers. In the schools group chat she spots a post from Susan Harris, a maths tutor. They arrange a trial lesson. Jack listens halfheartedly, still on edge. Later that night Emma brings him a list of possible English and humanities tutors, and he grudgingly agrees to glance at the profiles together.
The first weeks of summer settle into a new routine. Mornings begin with breakfast at the kitchen table porridge, tea with lemon or mint, occasionally fresh berries from the market. Then a maths session, either online or at home depending on the tutors schedule. After lunch comes a short break and independent test work. Evenings are spent reviewing mistakes or calling other tutors.
Fatigue climbs each day for both of them. By the end of the second week the tension shows up in small slips: someone forgets to buy bread, another leaves the iron on, irritations flare over trivial matters. One night at dinner Jack hurls his fork onto the plate.
Why are you watching me? he snaps. Im an adult now!
Emma tries to explain that she needs to know his timetable to help organise his day, but he just stares out the window, silent.
Midsummer makes it clear the old approach isnt working. Tutors vary some demand rote memorisation, others hand out difficult exercises without explanation and after each lesson Jack looks exhausted. Emma feels anger at herself, wondering if she has been too hard. The flat feels stifling; even with the windows wide, the air doesnt feel any lighter.
She attempts a few talks about taking a walk or a short break, hoping a change of scenery might help. Most often the conversation slides back to disputes: Jack sees no point in spending time outdoors, Emma lists gaps in his knowledge and outlines the weeks plan.
One particularly heavy day, a maths tutor gives Jack a challenging mock paper and the result is worse than expected. He returns home gloomy and shuts himself in his room. Later Emma hears a soft knock on the door and steps in.
Can I come in? she asks.
What? he replies.
Lets talk
He stays silent for a long moment, then finally says, Im scared Ill mess everything up again. Emma sits on the edge of his bed.
Im scared for you too, she admits. But I see how hard youre trying.
Jack looks straight at her. What if I fail again?
If that happens, well figure out the next step together, she says.
They talk for almost an hour about the fear of falling behind, the shared exhaustion, the helplessness in front of an examdriven system. They agree that expecting a perfect score is foolish; they need a realistic plan that fits their energy and resources.
That evening they draft a new study schedule: fewer hours per week, builtin rest days, time for walks at least twice a week, and a promise to raise any problem as soon as it appears rather than letting resentment build.
Jacks room now often has the window cracked open; the cool evening breeze pushes out the daytime stuffiness. After the difficult talk and the revised plan, a fragile calm settles over the flat. Jack pins the new timetable to the wall, highlighting rest days with a bright marker so the agreement isnt forgotten.
At first the new rhythm feels odd. Emma sometimes reaches to check whether Jack has emailed his tutor, but she stops herself, recalling their recent conversation. In the evenings they step out briefly to the local shop or simply stroll around the courtyard, chatting about trivial things rather than homework. Jack still feels tired after lessons, but anger and irritation surface less often. He begins asking for help with a tough problem, not out of fear of being scolded but because he knows his mother will listen without judgment.
Small victories appear unnoticed. One day Susan Harris texts Emma, Jack solved two problems from the second part on his own today hes really learning from his mistakes. Emma reads the brief note several times, smiling as if it were a major triumph. At dinner she offers a quiet compliment, acknowledging his progress without overpraising. Jack waves it off, but the corners of his mouth twitch the praise feels earned.
Later, during an online English session, Jack finally scores highly on a practice essay. He shyly shows the result to his mother, a rare gesture lately. In a low voice he says, I think Im starting to understand how to build an argument. Emma nods and gives him a brief hug on the shoulders.
Day by day the atmosphere at home warms, not suddenly but like a gradual shift in familiar colours. Lateseason berries appear on the kitchen table; sometimes after a walk they bring back cucumbers or tomatoes from the market stall near the tube. Meals become a joint affair more often, with discussions about school news or weekend plans instead of endless revision lists.
Their attitude toward preparation changes too. Mistakes are no longer catastrophes; theyre examined calmly, sometimes even with a joke. Once Jack scribbles a humorous comment about the absurd wording of an exam question in his notebook; Emma laughs genuinely, and he joins in.
Conversations gradually move beyond Alevels. They talk about films, music from Jacks playlist, or vague plans for September without pinning down exact universities or courses. Both learn to trust each other not just academically but personally.
The days grow shorter; the sun no longer blazes late into the evening, but the air fills with the scent of late summer and distant childrens voices from the nearby playground. Occasionally Jack wanders off alone or meets friends at the schools sports field, and Emma lets him go, confident that household chores can wait.
By midAugust Emma notices she no longer checks Jacks timetable covertly at night; she believes his word about completed work. Jack also irritates less over inquiries about his schedule or requests for help around the house the tension seems to have faded with the rush for perfection.
One night, just before bed, they sit at the kitchen sink with tea drifting in through the open casement and talk about the coming year.
If I get into university Jack begins, then falls silent.
Emma smiles, If not, well keep looking together.
Jack meets her gaze, Thank you for staying with me through all this.
She waves a hand, Weve weathered it together.
Both know more work and uncertainty lie ahead, but the fear of facing it alone has gone.
In the final days of August, mornings greet them with fresh crispness; the first yellow leaves appear among the green on the hedges, a reminder that autumn and new challenges are near. Jack gathers his textbooks for another tutoring session; Emma sets the kettle for breakfast, the familiar motions now feel steadier.
They have already submitted a retake application through the school, avoiding a lastminute scramble before the exam, a small step that boosts their confidence.
Now each day contains not only a list of lessons or tasks but also shared plans for an evening walk or a joint grocery run after Emmas shift. Arguments still flare over trivial matters or the monotony of preparation, but they have learned to pause, speak their feelings aloud, and prevent resentment from turning into distance.
As September approaches, the exact outcome of the upcoming exams feels less pivotal. The true change rests within the family: they operate as a team rather than as isolated individuals, celebrating tiny victories instead of waiting for validation from a grading system.
The future remains uncertain, yet it shines brighter because nobody has to walk it alone.
