**Diary Entry: Wait for Me**
James stepped off the train onto the platform and took a deep breath. The air in his hometown wasn’t like anywhere else in the world—he’d been to enough places to know. But no matter where he went, something always pulled him back here.
He walked familiar streets, noting every tiny change. There was his old estate, tucked between four brick tenement blocks—two long ones with five entrances each, and two shorter ones with just two. The courtyard was spacious, split in half: a children’s play area with a bright slide, a sandpit, and a few rusted monkey bars. Years ago, there had been swings and a metal climbing frame they’d called the spiderweb—the same one that left him with a scar above his eyebrow. The other side was a fenced-in football pitch with a set of basketball hoops. In winter, they’d flood it for ice-skating. The early morning courtyard was empty. If there’d been a ball, James would’ve sent it flying toward the net, just like old times.
What happy days those were. Simon had moved somewhere up North, married, had two kids. And John? Last James heard, he was doing time—again. Life had scattered them in every direction.
A man stepped out of the stairwell with his dog, and James shouted for him to hold the door. The dim bulb inside barely lit a thing. He stood a moment, letting his eyes adjust. No matter how often they replaced the bulb, someone always switched it back to the weakest one. How no one broke their neck on those dark, narrow stairs was a miracle.
James climbed to the second floor and paused in front of the steel door on the right. That was where Victoria had lived. Not Vicky, not Vic—Victoria. That’s what she’d insisted on. His first love, desperate and unreturned.
Back then, he’d ring her doorbell and sprint upstairs to his own flat on the third floor, waiting for her to answer. The thought passed to do it again, but he wasn’t as quick on the stairs these days. Besides, grown men didn’t play those games anymore. And what if she didn’t even live here now?
He smirked and continued up to his floor. There was his front door. His mum always answered, even when his dad was alive. He’d passed two years ago—James had been at sea then, couldn’t make the funeral.
He pressed the buzzer. The lock clicked, and the door cracked open. When she saw him, his mum flung it wide and stepped into his arms.
“Son!” They hugged right there on the threshold. She pulled back, studying his face, then hugged him again.
When his dad was alive, she’d dyed her hair, kept it neatly styled. Now a thick streak of grey ran through the part.
“You came to me in a dream last night. I knew you’d visit. How long are you staying? Oh—standing in the doorway like this, come in!” She shut the door, hugging him once more before bustling to the kitchen.
The first joyful moments passed. James kicked off his shoes, grabbed his slippers from the rack. They’d always waited for him there. His dad’s old flip-flops were gone.
“This is for you, Mum.” He handed her a bag of gifts.
“You’re the best gift I could get,” she said, peeking inside anyway. “Let me put the kettle on. Or are you hungry?” She fussed over the table, then froze mid-step. “Stupid me—forgot to buy bread. The shops won’t be open yet—”
“It’s fine. I’ll go later. Sit.”
The kitchen felt smaller than his ship’s cabin. How did she keep it so tidy?
“How are you?” James rubbed her work-worn hands.
“Getting by. And you? Still not married?” Her eyes dimmed.
“Not many women want to wait six months for a sailor.”
After breakfast, she started his favourite stew while James went out for bread. Descending the stairs, he paused again outside Victoria’s door.
Days later, he finally rang the bell. The lock clicked, and the door opened just enough for him to see her. His heart hammered, as if trying to leap out toward her. She hadn’t changed much—fuller in the face, but it suited her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, eyes skimming over him.
“Sorry,” James stepped back toward the stairs.
“James? Is that you?” Her voice stopped him.
*She remembered.* His heart soared.
***
“You let them score! We lost because of you!” Simon’s shrill voice cracked with fury, his nose running.
“So what? We’ll win next time,” James said quickly, guilt twisting in his gut.
“Yeah, right.” Simon shoved past him. “If you can’t play, don’t bother.”
“*I* can’t play? You let Lenny waltz right past you! Simon, wait—” James caught his arm.
“Get off!” Simon wrenched free and shoved him in the chest.
James shoved back. They grappled, rolling on the grass until a sharp voice cut through.
“Stop it!”
They froze, blinking up at the striking girl glaring down at them. Simon scrambled up, dusted himself off, and stormed away. James just stared after her, then followed. At her building, she turned.
“Why are you following me?”
“I’m not—I live here too.”
“So we’re neighbours? Look at the state of you. Ripped your shirt.”
James tugged at the tear.
“Come on. I’ll fix it.”
Inside her flat, he hesitated. “Thought an old lady lived here. You her granddaughter?”
“*You’re* the granddaughter. She passed. Take your shoes and shirt off.”
He did, suddenly glad it wasn’t his jeans torn.
She eyed him. “How old are you, footballer?”
“Fourteen,” he croaked.
“You’re well-built for your age. Handsome, too.” His face burned. “Stop gawking. Go wash up.”
In the bathroom, he studied her pink satin robe hanging by the door, running a finger over the smooth fabric.
At the table, she sewed his shirt, then glanced up. “Stop hovering. Make tea.”
He obeyed, finding her kitchen as cramped as his own.
“Put this on.” She tossed him the mended shirt. “Planning to rob me?”
“Just wondered if you lived alone.”
She snorted. “Set the table.”
Back with a box of chocolates, she poured tea. James couldn’t meet her eyes, fumbling his cup. Scalding liquid splashed his hand. He flinched, shaking it out. She didn’t laugh—just took his hand and blew gently. A shiver ran through him.
“I—I should go.” He bolted.
At home, his mum frowned. “Why are you panting? Been running?”
“Football.”
“Wash up. Dinner’s soon.”
After that, he saw her often in the courtyard, freezing whenever she passed.
“Oi, staring again? Smitten?” John sneered, spitting expertly. James had always envied that.
“Piss off.” He walked away to their laughter.
Upstairs, he pressed her buzzer—and didn’t run.
“What do you want?” she asked, opening the door.
“Nothing.”
“Then why’re you here?” Her gaze bored into him.
He fidgeted.
“Come in. I’m Victoria. Not Vicky—Victoria. Got it?”
“James.”
“Fighting over a girl?”
“Let the other team score. We lost.”
“Going pro?”
“Nah. Captain, like my grandad.”
Her eyes lit up. “Impressive. Shoes off.”
Inside, a half-open wardrobe revealed a white dress hem. He peeked—a wedding gown.
“I’m getting married,” she said behind him. He jumped. She shut the door. “Not sure I want to.”
She turned, meeting his eyes. He swallowed, fighting the urge to kiss her neck.
“Why’d you come?”
“Dunno. You don’t seem happy about the wedding.”
Her expression softened. “You wouldn’t understand.”
She kissed his cheek—not a peck, but slow. He touched the spot all the way upstairs.
Weeks later, he found her crying on the stairs. Inside, shredded fabric littered the floor—her wedding dress in pieces.
“He’s gone. For good,” she said dully.
“He might come back.”
She laughed bitterly. “Go home.”
Later, he saw her with another man, smiling. Jealousy choked him.
After school, James left for naval college. Visiting during break, he rang her door. A muscular stranger answered.
“Help you?”
“Max, who is it?” Victoria called from inside.
James fled. He never buzzed again.
***
Now, years later, they stood close in her narrow hallway. He towered over her.
“Make captain yet?”
“First mate. Soon, though.” He knew she was alone.
“Married?”
“Women don’”And this time, when the ship’s horn sounded in the distance, James knew she’d be waiting at the docks, her smile as bright as the day he first fell in love.”
