**Diary Entry – 20th September, 1995**
“Mum, if you can’t accept my choice, I’ll leave. For good…”
James stepped onto the commuter train and glanced around. Plenty of empty seats—he chose one by the window. The doors slid open intermittently with a mechanical hiss, letting in fresh waves of passengers.
An older couple settled across from him. The woman rustled through a paper bag, pulled out two buttery scones, and they began eating. The rich smell of fresh pastry filled the air. James turned politely toward the window.
“Young man, have one,” the woman offered, holding out a scone.
“No, thank you,” James smiled.
“Go on, it’s nearly two hours to London.”
He took it and bit into the soft, warm treat. Bloody delicious. Over the crackling tannoy, a disembodied voice announced, *”This service to London Paddington will depart in… stopping at… except for… Repeat…”*
“Did you catch that, love? Which stations are we skipping?” the woman fretted. James shrugged—he was riding to the end of the line.
“I told you we should’ve taken the stopping service,” she scolded her husband. “Never listen, do you? Now we’ll have to change at Reading!”
She only calmed when a bloke across the aisle confirmed their stop was still on the route. The bickering fizzled out. James finished the scone and gazed at the blur of trees and sunlight streaking past the window. The carriage grew stuffy; sweat trickled down his back under the thick fabric of his army fatigues.
He imagined arriving home—Mum’s teary hug, a scalding shower, swapping his uniform for jeans and trainers. No more dawn drills or roll calls. He’d sleep a full day on the sofa, and in the morning, find golden stacks of pancakes under a tea towel, just like Mum used to leave.
*Wonder how Emily’s doing. A year’s not long—she can’t have changed much.* The image of her flickered in his mind: wispy auburn hair, sharp green eyes. A year younger, lived three doors down, still in sixth form when he left. Just another girl back then.
The night before his deployment, their lot had gathered at the park. Tom berated him for dropping out of uni to enlist. Michael backed James, muttering he’d have done the same if not for his mum. The girls sighed about the group breaking up but mostly scrolled their mobiles, giggling.
Then Emily—tiny, quiet Emily—said softly, *”I’ll wait for you.”* Silence. Her cheeks flamed.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a fiancée, mate!” Michael howled.
“Sod off,” Emily snapped, bolting.
James shoved Michael off the bench. “Let her wait. I’ll marry her when I’m back.” Half-joking. Half-not.
He’d never told them the real reason he enlisted—not even Tom or Michael. He’d started uni to please his dad. Then, last spring, the old man walked out. Turned out he’d been seeing some woman who was now pregnant. His world crumbled overnight. Enlisting was his rebellion.
Mum cried, of course. He promised he’d figure things out when he returned—maybe finish his degree remotely.
Now, a year later, the army was behind him. The rage toward his dad had dulled. He missed home—Mum, his mates, even the dodgy lift in their building. He’d done the right thing. Life stretched ahead.
At the next stop, the couple disembarked. A young pair took their seats, fingers laced together. James thought of Emily again. That night hadn’t felt like a joke for months.
***
The train hissed to a halt. James jogged through the underpass, loving the echo of his footsteps like a crowd marching beside him. Dad used to laugh and call it “acoustics, lad.”
Emerging into the station square, he walked home, savouring the crisp air. Neighbour Mrs. Wilkins spotted him. “James! Your mum’ll be chuffed!”
He took the stairs three at a time, rang the bell. Only then did it occur to him—Mum might be out. But the lock clicked. The door flew open. She gasped, pulled him in, hugged him, held him at arm’s length. *”You didn’t call!”* She flitted to the kitchen while he showered. Towel and fresh clothes waited on the dryer.
The jeans were tight. The T-shirt rode up his wrists.
“You’ve grown!” Mum laughed. “Right, let’s feed you, then I’ll pop to Primark—”
“Don’t bother,” James said, sitting at the table.
“You can’t go about like that! No girl’ll look twice.”
Between mouthfuls, she filled him in.
“Michael had a crash. Drunk. Took his dad’s car. Six months in hospital—he’s in a wheelchair now. Doctors say he’ll never walk. Thank God no one else was hurt. If he’d enlisted with you…” She sighed. “Haven’t seen Tom in ages. Sarah’s married now.”
James waited for Emily’s name. Mum avoided it pointedly.
After she left for the shops, he paced, touching familiar things—relearning home.
***
Mum returned. James pulled on the new shirt, his old trainers, and went to Michael’s. His mum answered. Michael sat stiffly in the wheelchair, face closed off. The conversation limped.
“Seen Tom?” James asked, scrambling.
“Twice in hospital. That’s it.” Michael watched him warily, like he expected a blow.
James left, promising to return.
Tom, though, hugged him hard. James asked what had soured between him and Michael.
“Not my place,” Tom said. “You’ll find out.”
“And what’s *that* mean?”
“Drop it. What’s next for you? Job? Uni?”
“Dunno. Both, maybe.”
It was too late to knock for Emily. But the next morning, after Mum left for work, he went straight to her flat. His pulse hammered as he rang the bell. Silence. He almost walked away—then the lock turned.
There she was. Just as he remembered.
“You said you’d wait. I’m back,” he said softly.
For a second, joy lit her eyes—then died. She stepped back. The floral dressing gown couldn’t hide the swell of her stomach.
“Come in,” she murmured.
“You’re married?” he asked, toeing off his trainers.
“No.”
“Then… who’s the father?”
“Michael.”
James froze. *”What?”*
“He crashed two days after. I put the kettle on.” She hurried to the kitchen. He followed.
“Uni exams?”
She shook her head. “Dropped out. Can’t study with a baby.”
“Does Michael know?”
“I told him. In hospital.”
James gritted his teeth. “Did he force you?”
Emily’s hands trembled around the teacups. “I don’t… know. We ran into each other at the park. He and Tom were already pissed. Michael invited me to his birthday. Said others were coming. No one did. I had one glass of wine, then… everything went hazy. Might’ve spiked it. He bragged about buying pills at some club.”
Her parents pressured Michael to marry her. Then the crash happened. “I wanted an abortion, but the doctors said it’d risk my fertility. I didn’t wait for you. I’m sorry.”
James stormed out. Didn’t remember sprinting to Michael’s. His mum answered, terrified. Michael wheeled back as James advanced.
“You knew?” James growled.
“If I could stand, I’d punch your teeth in.”
“James, don’t!” Michael’s mum shielded him. “He’s suffered enough!”
*”What did you give her?”*
“Nothing! Just—just some pills from the club. Tom and I tried ’em. I wasn’t right in the head either—”
James’ fist connected. Blood gushed. Michael howled. His mum screamed.
“Sorry, Mrs. Carter,” James muttered, walking out.
At home, he called Tom. “Why didn’t you stop it?”
“I left early. Dad took ill. Had no clue what Michael planned.”
“Right. We’re done.” He hung up.
When Mum returned, he said, “I’m getting married.”
“Slow down! She’s carrying another man’s—”
“I don’t care. She’s blameless. Tomorrow, I’m getting a job. The factory has digs.”
“James, *think*. There’s other girls—”
“I’ve thought. It’s her or no one. That baby needs a father.”
Mum blocked the door. “I won’t allow it.”
“Then I walk out for good.”
Her shoulders slumped. He hugged her. “It’ll work. You’llThey named their son Thomas, after the friend who’d once stood by him, and though the past could never be undone, James found his peace in the family he’d chosen.
