The Smell After It Rains

2.

"James? Are you coming?", Anna called down the corridor, her voice echoing through the doorway, bouncing off of the walls and bursting into my room.
I was standing in front of the bed where my suitcase sat, closed. My room seemed so bare, unlike the busy familiar mess I was used to. My roommate had gone home a few days ago, and all that was left of his half of the small space was a bare mattress, a clear desk and a creaky wooden chair.
My side wasn't all that different. Now that all of my personal belongings were packed away into the few bags in front of me; the books that usually lined the shelves; the photo of Anna and I that sat on my desk; the Spider-Man poster my mum had insisted I took with me, that I had put up for the hell of it and never gotten round to taking down; the room looked empty and lonely. Ready for the next load of students that would arrive in September and make this place their own. This room that had been mine for the year, and as soon as I left, I'd probably never set foot in it again.
"One second!", I shouted back, throwing the last few items into my over-filled rucksack. I tugged hard on the zip, fighting against the strength of the things inside, wrestling with the material until the bag finally gave in and reluctantly closed.
Hauling it over my shoulder, I picked up the rest of my luggage, and, taking one last, mournful glance, left the dorm room.

The journey home was long, but fairly uneventful. I travelled alone, Anna was going home first to see her relatives. She wouldn't be here for a few days, so until then I'd have to endure my family alone. I wasn't sure I wanted her to come anyway, but she'd insisted. I'd only agreed because I knew it would be one of the last times I'd get to see her. Her university course was only two years, and she was leaving for London where she'd been offered a job.
At least she would be some company.
The train heaved into the station, it's engines rumbling as it came to a heavy stop. I stepped out onto the platform, pulling my bags behind me.
The air was different here. That was the first thing that I noticed. It was lighter and fresher, and a clear reminder that I had truly left the city behind. But the main thing I couldn't see past, was how, despite the fact that I hadn't been here, hadn't come home in a year, just the air was enough to bring back memories that I hadn't thought about for longer than I realised. In a strange way, it was as if I'd never left.
The station looked the same as it always had- small, run down and a reminder that I was back in the middle of nowhere. It consisted of a single pair of tracks with plants growing in and around them, snaking in and out of the gaps like they were trying to pull it back to restore the earth to how nature made it; and a small building where an old man sat selling tickets. Behind it, I could see the village, sprawling backwards and eventually coming to nothing but fields and trees. I'd loved that when I was younger, before I grew sick of the constant, unchanging world I was trapped in. Now it just reminded me of not being able to escape.
Dragging my bags behind me, I shuffled slowly away from my only route back to civilisation, and towards my family home; the home that I had avoided since I'd had the chance to leave two years ago. I'd visited a couple of times, popping in when I had run out of sofas to sleep on belonging to my university friends, but never for more than a couple of nights. Never as long as I would have to now.
It took me around 15 minutes to trek down the winding roads, past the post office, local shop, tiny church and attached graveyard before I reached my parents home. I passed ageing neighbours and exchanged short hellos with both those who recognised me and those who didn't.
The house seemed to just appear out of nowhere, faster than I was able to comprehend, one minute I was looking at row upon row of small cottages, the next: there it was.
It looked the same as the other houses on the street: faded grey brick with rough windows, the once-white paint chipped and flaking. The door was the only thing that made the house any different. Where the others were painted black, green, blue, my parents door was a bright, shining yellow, like the sun on a warm day, like the buttercups that littered the nearby fields in spring, like the lemon sponge my mother used to bake, back in the days when we were a happy family, before Dad was called to service, before my world was torn apart. We'd painted that door together, I'd chosen the colour, and Dad and I had splashed the bright paint all over the old wood.
Claire had been there too, with her own paintbrush, delicately filling the gaps where I'd messily slopped the liquid on.
I felt a strange pang in my stomach as I glanced over at her old house, the one next to mine. We'd spent hours darting between the two buildings, running in and out of the gardens. I hadn't seen Claire in years. Not since that day that the phone call came in, sharp and harsh, bouncing off of the windows. Not since she'd left.
Brushing the memories away, I took a deep breath and slowly made my way up the small path and towards the front door.
I could hear the bell ringing throughout the house as I stood on the doorstep, the afternoon sun wandering in and out of the  clouds. It's sound was so familiar, the noise bringing back even more memories as a shadow filled the glass pane, and then my mum was there, scooping me up into the biggest hug, so tight that I could barely breathe.
"Oh my James I've missed you so much!", she cried, her face pressed into my shoulder. "How have you been? How are you? I can't believe you're finally home!"
I hugged her back, unable to answer any of her questions before she asked another. My mum has always been the most happy, carefree spirit, and even through the dark, tough times, the days where I'd hear her crying herself to sleep, she never failed to put on a smile. She tried to hide our problems, pretend everything was ok for me. She never wanted to hurt me, or for me to be unhappy. She didn't realise that I saw through the charade. I knew everything.
Eventually she let me go, and I properly saw her for the first time in a year.
She looked older than I had remembered, her wavy brown hair littered with grey strands, and I could see small wrinkles next to her watery blue eyes as she smiled at me.
"I've missed you too mum", I replied, and despite everything, I meant it. She had always been there for me, and for a second I felt a pang of regret for leaving her alone. But I had to go eventually. I couldn't stay there forever.
"So how's your course going, how's uni?", she said, ushering me down the corridor and into the kitchen as if everything was normal and I was just another visitor.
"Its good, I'm getting the grades I need", I replied bluntly. "Where's Dad?"
The question slipped out before I had the chance to stop it, but Mum didn't seem shocked at all.
"He's out at work", she replied chirpily.
"He's working now?", I questioned. I couldn't understand why he'd do that, considering that he'd been receiving an allowance from the government every month for the last 7 years.
"Part time", she said. "Assisting in training the local cadets. He's working towards becoming a proper teacher"
"With one leg? I thought he'd want to get away from it all", I said, surprised.
"He's getting good with the prosthetic. Anyway he enjoys it", Mum replied, offering no further explanation. I quickly dropped the subject.
"When's your friend visiting?", she asked. She'd been skeptical about the idea of having Anna over to stay. I'd never really brought girls home before. Dad didn't like it.
"Wednesday", I said bluntly.
"Well I look forwards to meeting her" Her tone was cheery, like she was trying to force herself to like this person that she had never met. I appreciated her efforts I guess.
The silence that followed was awkward, a looming tension hanging over us. I quickly excused myself to go and unpack, lugging my cases up the cream-carpeted stairs.
I trudged into my room, unsure what to expect.