Until Next Summer
Outside the window, the first days of summer stretched long and lazy, green leaves pressing against the glass as though shielding the room from too much light. The windows were wide open, letting in the quiet hum of birdsong and the occasional sound of children playing in the distance. In this flat, where everything had long settled into its place, lived twoforty-five-year-old Evelyn and her seventeen-year-old son, Thomas. This June felt different somehownot just the warmth in the air, but a tension that lingered even with the breeze drifting through.
The morning Thomas received his results from his A-Levels, Evelyn would remember for years. He sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his phone, shoulders tight. He said nothing, while she stood by the stove, unsure of what to say.
Mum, I didnt make it, he finally said, his voice steady but weary. That weariness had become familiar over the past yearto both of them. Since finishing school, Thomas had barely gone out, burying himself in revision, attending free lessons at the college. She had tried not to pushbringing him tea with mint, sometimes just sitting beside him in silence. Now it was starting all over again.
For Evelyn, the news was like a bucket of cold water. She knew retakes were possible through the school, but it meant navigating bureaucracy all over again. They couldnt afford private tutors. Thomass father had long since moved out and played no part in their lives. That evening, they ate dinner in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She turned over possibilities in her mindwhere to find affordable tutors, how to convince Thomas to try once more, whether she had the strength to keep supporting them both.
In those days, Thomas moved like a shadow. His room was littered with notebooks beside his laptop, the same practice papers hed worked through in spring now spread open again. Sometimes he stared out the window so long it seemed he might vanish. He answered questions in clipped words. She could see the frustration in him, having to retrace the same material. But there was no choice. Without his A-Levels, university was impossible. So they had to begin again.
The next evening, they sat down to make a plan. Evelyn opened her laptop and suggested looking for tutors.
Maybe someone new? she asked carefully.
I can manage on my own, he muttered.
She sighed. She knew he was too proud to ask for help. But hed tried alone beforeand this was the result. For a moment, she wanted to pull him into a hug, but she held back. Instead, she gently steered the conversation toward practicalitieshow many hours he could study each day, whether his approach needed changing, which topics had been hardest last time. Slowly, the tension eased. Both understood there was no going back.
Over the next few days, Evelyn rang acquaintances and scoured contacts for tutors. In a school group chat, she found a womanMargaret Carterwho specialised in maths revision. They arranged a trial session. Thomas barely reacted, still wary. But when his mother later handed him a list of potential tutors for English and sociology, he agreedreluctantlyto look through them together.
The first weeks of summer settled into a new rhythm. Breakfast togetherporridge, tea with lemon or mint, sometimes fresh berries from the market. Then maths revision, either online or in-person depending on the tutors schedule. A short break after lunch, then practice tests. Evenings were for reviewing mistakes or calling tutors for other subjects.
Fatigue crept in for both of them. By the second week, tension simmered in small thingsforgotten bread, the iron left on, snapped words over nothing. One evening at dinner, Thomas slammed his fork down.
Why do you keep checking on me? Im not a child!
She tried to explainshe only wanted to help him stay on track. But he just stared out the window, silent.
By mid-summer, it was clear their old approach wasnt working. The tutors variedsome demanded rote learning, others set impossible tasks without explanation. Sometimes Thomas came home drained. She hated seeing ithad she pushed too hard? The flat grew stuffy by evening; even with the windows open, the air felt heavy.
A few times, she suggested walks or outingsjust to break the monotony. But the conversations always circled back to revision, to the gaps in his knowledge, to the schedule stretching ahead.
One evening, the strain reached its peak. Thomas had done a mock exam with his tutorhis score was worse than expected. He came home grim-faced and shut himself in his room. Later, Evelyn heard the soft click of his door and stepped inside.
Can we talk? she asked.
What about?
Just talk.
He was silent a long time. Then:
Im scared Ill fail again.
She sat beside him on the edge of the bed.
Im scared for you too But I see how hard youre trying.
He met her eyes.
What if its not enough?
Then well figure it out together.
They talked for nearly an hourabout the fear of falling behind, about how exhausted they both were, about feeling trapped by exams and grades. They decided to be honest: perfection wasnt the goaljust a plan that worked for them.
Later, they redrew his revision timetablefewer hours each week, time set aside for walks, for rest. They promised to speak up before frustration built into anger.
Thomass window stayed open more often nowcool evening air replacing the days stifling heat. After that difficult conversation, the house settled into a fragile calm. Thomas pinned his new timetable to the wall, marking rest days in bright ink so neither would forget.
At first, it was hard to adjust. Evelyn still caught herself wanting to check if hed done his mocks or called his tutor. But she stopped, remembering their talk. They began taking short walksto the shops or just around the block, chatting about nothing in particular. Thomas still tired easily, but the anger faded. He started asking for help with tough questionsnot out of fear, but because he knew shed listen without judgment.
The first small victories came quietly. One day, his maths tutor, Mrs. Carter, messaged Evelyn: Thomas solved two complex problems on his own today. Hes learning from his mistakes. She read the words over and over, smiling as though it were something far greater. At dinner, she mentioned itjust a quiet praise. Thomas shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Next came an essayhis highest mark yet in English. He showed her without prompting, a rare gesture.
Think Im starting to get the structure, he murmured.
She nodded and squeezed his shoulder.
Bit by bit, the house grew warmernot suddenly, but in subtle shifts. Late-summer berries appeared by the teapot; sometimes they brought tomatoes or cucumbers from the market stall. They ate together more often, discussing school news or weekend plans instead of revision lists.
Even mistakes were easier nowno longer disasters, but opportunities to laugh. Once, Thomas scribbled a joke about an absurd exam question in his draftEvelyn laughed so hard he joined in.
Gradually, their conversations stretched beyond examsfilms, the music on Thomass playlist, vague plans for September. They were learning to trust each other again.
The days shortened; the sun no longer burned late. The air carried the scent of late summer, mingling with childrens voices from the courtyard. Sometimes Thomas went out alone or met friends at the parkEvelyn let him go without worry, knowing the work would wait.
By mid-August, she realised she no longer checked his schedule at night. She believed him when he said hed done the work. Thomas, too, snapped less at questions or choresthe tension had lifted with the chase for perfection.
One evening, they sat by the open window, tea in hand, talking about the year ahead.
If I get in Thomas started, then trailed off.
Evelyn smiled.
If not, well find another way.
He looked at her, serious.
Thanks For sticking with me through all this.
She waved a hand.
We stuck with it together.
They both knewthere was still work ahead, still uncertainty. But the fear of facing it alone was gone.
In the last days of August, mornings were crisp; the first yellow leaves speckled the trees outside. Thomas gathered his books for another session; Evelyn filled the kettlefamiliar motions, but calmer now.
Theyd already arranged his retakes through the school, avoiding last-minute panic. Each day held not just revision, but plans for walks or errands together. Sometimes they still bickeredover small things, over wearinessbut theyd learned to stop before frustration turned to silence.
By September, one thing was clearwhatever the results next summer, something had already changed. Theyd become a team where once theyd struggled alonelearning to share small joys instead of waiting for approval from grades or exam boards.
The future was still uncertain. But it was brighter nowbecause neither would walk into it alone.
