**Wait for Me**
James stepped off the train onto the platform and took a deep breath. The air in his hometown was different—like nowhere else on earth. He’d been to many cities and countries, but this place always called him back.
Walking through familiar streets, he noticed every tiny change. There was his old estate, tucked between four brick apartment blocks—two long ones with five entrances each and two shorter ones with just two. The courtyard was spacious, split between a children’s play area with a bright slide, a sandpit, and a few basic pull-up bars. The old swings and the metal climbing dome, nicknamed “the spiderweb,” were gone. A scar above his eyebrow was proof of a fall from it years ago.
The other half of the yard held a fenced-off football pitch with goalposts and a basketball hoop. In winter, it turned into an ice rink. Early morning meant the place was empty. If there’d been a ball, James would’ve kicked it toward the goalposts like he used to.
What happy days those were. His mate Dave had moved up north, married, had two kids. And Rob was in prison for the second time. Life had scattered them in all directions.
A man with a dog exited the building, and James called out not to let the door shut. The dim bulb inside was useless. He stood for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. No matter how often they replaced the weak bulbs, someone always switched them back—just enough light to avoid tripping.
He climbed to the second floor and paused outside a steel door on the right. This was where *Valerie* used to live. Not Val, not Valya—*Valerie*. That’s what she insisted on being called. His first and painfully unrequited love.
Back then, he’d ring the bell and bolt up to his own flat on the third floor, waiting to hear her open the door. He considered doing it again but was no longer the quick lad darting up stairs. Too old for stupid pranks. Besides, he wasn’t sure she still lived here.
With a smirk, he headed up to his own flat. His mum always answered, even when his dad was alive. He’d passed two years ago. James had been at sea then, missing the funeral.
He pressed the buzzer. The lock clicked, and the door cracked open. Seeing him, his mum flung it wide and pulled him into a tight hug.
“Son!” She stepped back, eyes glistening. “Let me look at you.” Then hugged him again.
When his dad was alive, she’d dyed her hair, styled it neatly. Now a broad streak of grey ran through the parting.
“I dreamt of you last night. Knew you’d come. How long? Oh, standing in the doorway—come in!” She closed the door and embraced him once more.
After the first rush of joy, James slipped off his shoes and grabbed his slippers from the shoe rack. Always there, waiting. His dad’s old flip-flops were gone.
“Here, Mum.” He handed her a bag of gifts.
“You’re all the gift I need,” she said, peeking inside anyway. “I’ll put the kettle on. Fancy a bite?” She bustled about the tiny kitchen, setting the table.
“Stupid me. Forgot the bread. The shops won’t be open yet—” She froze mid-step, blinking helplessly.
“It’s fine. I’ll go later.” He guided her to sit. The kitchen felt cramped—his cabin at sea was bigger. How did she keep it so tidy?
“How’ve you been?” He brushed her work-rough hand.
“Managing. And you? Still not married?” Her eyes dimmed.
“Not many women want to wait six months for a sailor.”
After breakfast, she started on his favourite stew while James nipped out for bread. Pausing at Valerie’s door, he hesitated before moving on.
Days later, he finally rang her bell. The lock clicked, and the door opened. Valerie stood there. His heart lurched, aching to leap out of his chest. She hadn’t changed much—filled out a little, but it suited her.
“Can I help you?” She scanned him.
James retreated toward the stairs.
“James? Is that you?” Her voice stopped him.
She *recognised* him. His heart soared.
***
“You cost us the game!” Dave’s voice cracked with anger, nose sniffling.
“We’ll win next time,” James muttered, guilt gnawing at him.
“Yeah, right.” Dave stomped off. “If you can’t play, don’t bother.”
“*I* can’t play? You let Lenny walk right past you!” James grabbed his arm.
“Piss off!” Dave shoved him.
James shoved back. They scuffled, rolling in the grass.
“Break it up!” A sharp voice cut through.
They froze, staring up at a pretty girl. Huffing, they stood. Dave dusted himself off and left. James just watched her. Then followed.
At her door, she turned. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not. I live here.”
“So we’re neighbours?” She eyed his torn shirt. “Come on, I’ll fix that.”
Inside, James gaped. “Thought an old lady lived here.”
“Not anymore. Take off your shoes and shirt.”
Stripped to his jeans, he glanced around. A white dress peeked from a wardrobe.
“I’m getting married,” she said behind him. He jumped. She shut the door. “Not sure I want to.”
They were the same height. He noticed the soft down on her neck, swallowed hard.
“Why’d you come?” she asked, squinting.
“No reason. You don’t sound happy.”
She kissed his cheek—not a peck, but lingering. His heart hammered.
Days later, he found her crying. Her wedding dress lay shredded on the floor. “He’s gone. For good.”
James saw her later with another man, laughing. Jealousy choked him.
After school, he left for maritime college. Returning once, he rang her bell. A muscled bloke answered. James fled.
***
Now, years later, they stood close in her hallway. He towered over her.
“Made captain yet?”
“First mate. But I will.”
“Married?”
“Women don’t wait.”
“I would.”
James kissed her—something he’d dreamed of since boyhood. She didn’t push him away.
Back home, his mum clattered dishes. “She’s not for you. Too many men, too old.”
“Mum—”
“Find a nice girl. My friend’s daughter—”
He spent every night with Valerie.
“Your mum hates me,” she whispered once.
“She’ll come around.”
“What now?”
“I’ll come back. Wait for me?”
She kissed him instead of answering.
At the station, his mum saw him off. He’d said goodbye to Valerie the night before. The sooner he sailed, the sooner he’d return.
In foreign ports, he bought her gifts, refusing doubt. He’d loved her since he was fourteen. He deserved her love.
Staring at the horizon, he imagined climbing those stairs, ringing her bell. She’d open the door—still his.
It had to be.
