**Wait for Me**
I stepped off the train and took a deep breath. The air in my hometown smelled different—familiar, comforting. I’d been all over: Liverpool, Manchester, even a stint in Australia. But nowhere felt like this.
I walked through streets I knew by heart, noting every change. Then, my old estate—rows of red-brick terraces, some long, some short, boxing in a wide courtyard. Half was taken up by a playground with a rusted slide, a sandpit, and a couple of pull-up bars. The swings and the metal climbing frame—the one I’d scarred my eyebrow on—were gone. The other half was a fenced-in football pitch with makeshift goals. A basketball hoop stood crooked at one end. Winter floods turned it into an ice rink. Empty now. If I’d had a ball, I’d have booted it toward the net like I used to.
Happy days. Last I heard, Steve moved up to Scotland, married with two kids. And Dave? Second stretch in prison. Life scattered us good and proper.
A bloke with a spaniel came out of the entryway, and I called for him to hold the door. The dim bulb barely lit the stairwell. No matter how often someone screwed in a brighter one, it always got swapped back. How no one broke their neck on these dark, narrow stairs was a miracle.
I stopped on the second floor, outside the door on the right. Valentina used to live there. Not Val, not Tina—Valentina. That’s what she insisted on. My first, hopeless, unrequited love.
When I was a lad, I’d ring her bell and bolt up to my flat on the third floor, waiting to hear her door open. Thought about doing it now, but I wasn’t as quick on the stairs these days. And grown men don’t play silly buggers like that. Besides, no guarantee she still lived here.
I smirked and climbed to my old door. Mum always answered, even when Dad was alive. He passed two years back. I was at sea then—missed the funeral.
I pressed the buzzer. The latch clicked, and the door cracked open. Mum’s face lit up, and she threw it wide, pulling me into a hug right there in the doorway.
“Son! Let me look at you.” She held me at arm’s length before hugging me again.
She’d stopped dyeing her hair after Dad died. A streak of silver ran through the part now.
“You were in my dream last night! Knew you’d come. How long? Oh, standing here like strangers—come in!” She shut the door, fussing, then hugged me once more.
The first rush of reunion settled. I toed off my shoes and grabbed my slippers from the rack. Still there, waiting. Dad’s had been cleared away.
“These are for you.” I handed her a bag of gifts.
“You’re gift enough,” she said, peeking inside anyway. “Put the kettle on. Hungry?” She bustled to the kitchen, clattering dishes.
“Silly me—forgot the bread. Shops aren’t open yet—” She stopped mid-motion, blinking.
“It’s alright. I’ll go later. Sit down.”
The kitchen felt smaller than my cabin on the ship. How she kept it so tidy baffled me.
“How’ve you been?” I squeezed her work-worn hand.
“Getting by. And you? Still not married?” Her eyes dimmed.
“Not many women fancy waiting six months for a sailor.”
After breakfast, she started on my favourite stew while I nipped out for bread. Passing Valentina’s door, I hesitated.
Days later, I finally rang her bell. The lock clicked, and the door opened. My heart lurched. She’d changed—fuller in the face, but it suited her.
“Can I help you?” She eyed me up and down.
“Sorry—” I stepped back toward the stairs.
“Daniel? Is that you?” Her voice stopped me.
*She remembered.*
***
“You cost us the match!” Steve’s voice cracked with rage, nose running, face red.
“We’ll get ‘em next time,” I said, guilt gnawing at me.
“Like hell,” Steve spat, storming off. “Don’t play if you’re rubbish.”
“*I’m* rubbish? You let Lenny walk it in!” I caught his arm. “Steve, wait—”
He shoved me. I shoved back. A tangle of limbs, rolling on the grass.
“Pack it in!” A girl’s voice cut through.
We broke apart, staring up at her. Steve brushed himself off and left. I stayed, watching her walk away. Then followed.
She turned at her door. “Why’re you following me?”
“Not following. I live here.”
“Same block, eh?” She eyed my torn shirt. “Come on, I’ll fix it.”
Upstairs, she unlocked the door.
“Old Mrs. Wilkins lived here. You her granddaughter?”
“Hardly. She passed. I rent it now. Shoes off. Shirt too.”
I stripped to my jeans. Glad it was the shirt and not my trousers.
She smirked. “How old are you, footballer?”
“Fourteen,” I croaked.
“You’re built for it. Handsome, once you grow into it.” My face burned.
“Bathroom’s there.” She flicked the light. A pink satin robe hung on the door. I ran a finger over the smooth fabric.
She sat by the window, sewing. “Tea?”
I obeyed, lighting the stove.
“Put this on.” She tossed me the mended shirt.
“Ta. You live alone?”
“Planning to rob me?” She laughed. “Cups are above the sink.”
She returned with a tin of biscuits. “Sit down.”
I fumbled the scalding tea, spilling some. She took my hand and blew on the burn. Electricity shot through me. I bolted.
“Who’s chasing you?” Mum asked when I burst in.
“Football.”
“Wash up. Dinner’s ready.”
After that, I saw her often in the courtyard. Always froze.
“Oi, smitten?” Dave jeered, spitting through his teeth.
I walked off to their laughter.
Back at her door, I rang the bell. Didn’t run.
“What d’you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why come?” Her gaze bored into me.
I fidgeted.
“Come in. Name’s Valentina. Not Val. Got it?”
“Daniel.”
“Fight over a girl?”
“Lost the match.”
“Going pro?”
“Nah. Captain. Like my grandad.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Get your shoes off.”
Inside, a wardrobe door hung ajar—white fabric peeking out. A wedding dress.
“I’m getting married,” she said behind me. “Not sure I want to.”
We were the same height. The downy hair on her neck made me swallow hard.
She turned sharply. “Why’d you come?”
“You sounded sad.”
She kissed my cheek—properly, lips lingering.
Upstairs, I touched the spot. Couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Once, I found her crying. The wedding dress lay shredded on the floor.
“He’s gone. For good.”
“He might come back.”
She laughed bitterly. “Go home.”
Later, I saw her with a man. Smiling. Jealousy choked me.
Other girls seemed childish. My heart was hers.
After school, I joined the merchant navy. On leave, I rang her bell. A bloke in a vest answered.
“Who is it?” Her voice inside.
I fled. Never rang again.
***
Now, in her cramped hall, I towered over her.
“Make captain yet?”
“First mate. Soon.”
I knew she was alone.
“Married?”
“No. Women don’t like waiting.”
“I’d wait.” Her voice was soft.
“Want me to visit? Bring you things?” I used *you*, not *thee*. A man now.
“Who else waits for you?” Her eyes caught the lamplight.
“Mum. But I’d rather it was you.”
I kissed her. She leaned in, eyes closing.
At dawn, Mum clattered dishes.
“You were with *her*? She’s not for you. Too many men. Too old.”
“Mum—”
“Find a nice girl. My friend’s daughter—” She winced, sinking into a chair.
I spent every night with Valentina till my leave ended.
“Your mum hates me,” she murmured one night. “She’s right. You need someone younger.”
“Why?”
“She looks through me. Does she know?”
“Guesses.”
“What now?” She searched my face.
“I’ll sail. Will you wait?”
“Will you come back?”
I kissed her instead.
Mum saw me off at the station. Valentina and I said goodbye the night before. The sooner I left, the sooner I’d return to her. I never asked for a photoHe stood on the deck as the ship pulled away, watching the horizon blur with the promise of return, knowing she’d be there when he came back, just as she always had been.
