She put down the phone, and made sure it was safe in its cradle, before walking back into the living room, and up the staircase. She entered the room - the walls stared back at her.
The room was as it always had been - clothes strewn on the floor, a playstation in the corner connected to the television, showing some game she had never seen before. She smiled in the memory of when she tried playing Mario Bros. for the first time and was so good at it the she almost beat him - and of how mad he had been that he didn't speak to her for an hour!
She looked up, and saw the Flag. Its beauty framed against the wallpaper. And she remembered.
The bookshelf by the side were filled with Alaistair Mcleans, and Louis Lamour - all of them dog-eared from use. Those stories delighted him! - tales of exploration and adventure, of sailing to new lands and to discover unknown treasures - to fight the good fight!
The picture on the wall of him in full armour for a school play - and she remembered the reasons.
On the bedside, a framed picture of his father. The medals of honour shining bright in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. A picture of heroism and honour! But .. what was that look in his eyes?
A guitar at the foot of the bed - such a treat to listen to! He had real talent! The guitar, painted in shades of black and khaki, its strings taut, ready to play the most melodious music, or the most terrible, ungodly wailing noises that she was starting to hear.
And then it hit her - all the pain came flaring back - all the pent-up loneliness and bitterness, almost blinding ... this agony! The anger when he left, kept up inside in the face of his happiness and excitement. The feeling of impotence when those nice men in suits had convinced her that they were doing their best to find him. The raw rage at that spineless general who came back home leaving them on their own. Those bastards!