“Morning, love,” he murmured, still half-asleep.
“Morning, love,” she whispered back.
Hed woken up a minute before his alarm, like alwaysan old habit from his army days. Rolling off the bed, he did a few push-ups without even opening his eyes, the blood rushing pleasantly through him, shaking off the last bits of sleep.
“Gonna wake the lads, Lyn.”
“The lads” were his twin sons, ten years old, fast asleep 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 their usual morning rundidnt want to wake them early just to freeze. He lingered for a moment, admiring how sturdy theyd gotten. At their age, hed been the opposite: scrawny, awkward, hunched over. Shy, which his mates always mistook for cowardice. Schoolwork came easy; the taunts from other kids didnt. He never fought backhe knew he was weaker. Gym class was a nightmareno matter how hard he tried, the PE teachers mocking killed his spirit. As for sports clubs? Mum put her foot down:
“I didnt raise a clever boy just so he could learn to break noses.”
Timidity held him back there too, so his dream of getting stronger lost that round. Mum wasnt usually strictmostly, she smothered him in care and affection. So much that hed bolted straight to the army after school. Two years later, he came back fit, a promising athlete. The timid, bookish boy had turned into a solid contender for a boxing titleto his mums dismay and his sports colleges delight.
Uni life was a whirlwindcompetitions, dorm rooms, new mates. Then came the new struggle: girls. Boxing trophies didnt magically cure his shyness. Asking one out, even just talking to one, felt as impossible at twenty as it had at ten. Until *her*.
Lyn was the college stara champion diver, tall and blonde with piercing green eyes. Clever, always smiling, but quiet, like she wasnt quite of this world. Everyone called her “Spacegirl.” They clicked straight away.
Being together was easy. Theyd walk for hours without saying a word. Cheered each other on at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed right there.
Their “alien wedding” was a full-course celebration. Everyone adored them for their kindness, their openness.
A year later, Lyn took a gap yearpregnant. He started evening shifts at Kings Cross, hauling luggage. Oddly, it was then he *felt* strong for the first timenot from lifting crates, but from realising: *I can do this. Ill provide. Ill raise these kids right.* He was strong, and he had her.
Lyn was nervous, but the doctor reassured hereverything was fine. He even joked,
“Only one downsideif you dont like kids, its twice as bad. Youre having twins.”
At night, theyd dream togetherimagining their kids grown up, their future selves, the seaside house theyd buy But thats what nights are fordreaming.
The day before the birth, she grabbed his hand, looked him in the eye, and whispered,
“Promise meno matter what happens, you wont leave them.”
He was stunned. Almost offendeduntil he saw her face. He just nodded.
The next day, the labour started. It dragged on, brutal. She was unconscious for nearly a daydoctors couldnt stop the bleeding. By the time they figured it out, it was too late.
What happened to him that night? A blur. He woke at dawn on Kings Cross station floor, soaked in a puddle. Head pounding, stomach churning. Still drunkuntil one thought sobered him instantly: *Two are waiting.*
He finished uni strong but quit competitions. The sports council gave him a flat, where he moved with “the lads.” At first, Mum helped. Then the boys grew, and it was just the three of them. He coached at local clubs, but once the twins started school, he took a job there as their PE teacher. Still worked nights at Kings Crossno teachers salary could cover everything. Though he wasnt hauling crates anymorelast few years, hed been shift manager.
Life settled. But inside? Still a weight. Like he needed to talkbut without Lyn, hed gone mute.
For a while, mates tried setting him up. He never lasted an hour on dates. One girl would *look* like Lyn, another would tuck her hair behind her ear just *so*
Then he started talking to her at night. Got angry at firstwhy could he speak *to* her but not *feel* her? Then he got used to it. Shared things. Asked advice.
Last night, the boys bragged about acing their exams.
“I told emreal men dont boast. And shames not in getting top marks.” But inside? Bursting with pride. *Our lads. Clever, strong, decent*
Then his old army coachs words hit him: *”Courage is the art of being scared stiffand not showing it.”*
Was he scared to praise them too much? To seem soft? Hed never even said *I love you* out loud.
*But they know, dont they, Lyn?*
The guilt hit hardtears nearly came. He almost got up then, to hug them, say it properly But no. Too late. Didnt want to wake them.
The kitchen was chilly. He checked the thermometer: minus one. Dry winter. Shame about the snow. Outside, an elderly neighbour swept the courtyard. Was she muttering to herself?
The lads burst in. The elder twinborn five minutes soonerstarted on the tea. The younger grabbed the panhis turn to cook breakfast.
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. A lot. And you too.”
