“Good morning, love.”
“Good morning, love.”
He woke up, as always, a minute before the alarm. A habit left over from his army days. Rolling out of bed onto the floor, eyes still shut, he pushed through a few press-ups. Blood rushed pleasantly, shaking off the last remnants of sleep.
“Ill go wake the lads, Ellie.”
The “lads”his ten-year-old twin boysslept in the next room. Two smaller versions of him, mouths slightly open as if sharing the same dream.
The heating had been dodgy all night, so hed skipped the morning run, not wanting to wake them early. He paused for a moment, admiring their sturdy frames.
At their age, hed been the oppositescrawny, awkward, hunched. Timid, which his classmates mistook for cowardice. Schoolwork came easy; the cruelty of other kids didnt. He never fought backhe knew hed lose. In PE, he pushed himself hard, but the coachs sneers killed his spirit. As for sports clubs, his mother had been firm:
“I didnt raise a clever Jewish boy just for him to go around breaking noses.”
His shyness won that round. His mother rarely stood her groundusually, she smothered him in care and affection. So much so that hed fled straight to the army after school. Two years later, he returneda trained, promising athlete. The frail, timid boy had become a solid contender for a boxing title. To his mothers dismay (and his coachs delight), he pursued sports professionally.
University opened a new lifecompetitions, dorms, new mates. And a fresh problem: girls. Despite his boxing success, his old shyness clung on. Asking a girl out at twenty was no easier than at ten. Until *she* appeared.
Eleanor was the unis rising stara diving champion, slender, fair-haired, with sharp green eyes. Clever, smiling, but quietlike she wasnt quite of this world. They called her “the Alien.” They became fast friends.
They were easy together. Walked for hours without a word. Cheered each other at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed immediately.
“The Wedding of the Martians,” their course dubbed it. Everyone loved them for their kindness.
A year later, Ellie took a gap yearpregnancy. He started evening shifts at Kings Cross, hauling cargo. Oddly, it was then he first felt truly strong. Not from lifting sacks, but from knowinghe *could* provide. He *would* raise his children. He was strong, and he had her.
Ellie fretted, but the doctor reassured herthe pregnancy was fine, even joked:
“Only one thing might upset youif you dont like kids, its twice as bad. Youre having twins.”
At night, they dreamed togetherwhat their children would be like, what *theyd* be like in years to come, the house by the sea theyd buy But thats what nights are fordreaming.
The day before the birth, she gripped his hand, eyes locked on his, and whispered:
“Promise meno matter whatyou wont leave them”
He froze. Almost took offence, but seeing her eyes, just nodded.
The next day, the labour began. It was long. Hard. She lay unconscious for hoursdoctors couldnt stop the bleeding. By the time they knew why, it was too late.
What happened that night, he doesnt remember. Woke at dawn on Kings Cross station floor, soaked, head pounding. Still drunk, but one thought sobered him instantly: *Theyre waiting.*
He graduated well but quit competitions. The sports council gave him a flat, where he moved with the “lads.” His mother helped at first, then the boys grew, and they managed alone. He coached at local clubs, but once they started school, he took a job there too. Still worked Kings Crossa PE teachers wage wasnt much. Though hed stopped hauling sacks; now he ran the shift.
Life settled. But inside, the weight never liftedlike he needed to speak, but without Ellie, hed gone mute.
Friends tried setting him up. But he couldnt sit through a date. One would *look* like Ellie, another would *move* like her
Then he started talking to her at night. Angry at firstwhy could he speak but not *feel* her? Then he got used to it. Sharing. Asking.
Just last nightthe boys bragged about acing a test:
“And I told themreal men dont boast. And its not about top marks. But God, Ellie, I was *proud.* Theyre bright. Strong. Kind My old army coach said, Courage is the art of hiding fear. So I dont praise them much. Dont say I love them But they *know,* dont they?”
For a second, his throat tightened. Almost got up to hug them, say it aloud But it was night. Didnt want to wake them.
The kitchen was chilly. He checked the thermometerminus five. A dry winter. Pity about the snow. Outside, an elderly woman swept the yard. Talking to herself?
The “lads” burst in. The elderby five minutesput the kettle on. The younger grabbed a panhis turn to cook.
Then one nudged the other. Awkwardly, they hugged him.
“Dad We know you talk to Mum sometimes. Tell her We dont remember her much. But we love her. And you. So much.”
