The Wedding of the Eldest Brother
The strip of sky above the horizon had already turned pink; soon, the sun would rise. In the train compartment, everyone slept—except for Roddy, wide awake, watching the birth of a new day. He lay on the upper bunk, staring out the window. Villages and empty platforms flickered past more frequently now. Was he really almost home?
The sliding door nudged open, and the train attendant peered in.
“Your stop in half an hour. Two-minute halt,” she said before shutting the door again.
Roddy heard her rousing someone in the next compartment. He turned back to the window, but the dawn had lost its charm. He sat up, then dropped lightly to the floor. The man on the lower bunk sighed and rolled toward the wall.
Roddy grabbed his towel and stepped into the corridor. Most compartments had their doors ajar; the air was thick with heat. Passengers stirred inside some of them.
The lavatory was occupied. Roddy faced the window instead. He hadn’t been home in four years. No one was expecting him—he’d wanted to surprise them. Now, he wondered if that was a mistake. His own nerves had kept him awake all night. What would his mum do when she saw him at the door?
She’d been poorly since Dad passed. Too much joy could be as dangerous as grief—heart palpitations, a spike in blood pressure. He should’ve called Michael, warned him. Michael would’ve prepared her.
Roddy returned to the compartment, dressed, slung his rucksack over his shoulder. At the door, he glanced back—had he forgotten anything? Then he stood by the corridor window, waiting for his stop.
Michael. Mum always called him that. After Dad died, Michael had taken his place in the family. Just as she’d relied on her husband for everything, she now turned to her eldest son. She was proud of him—serious, clever, dependable.
Roddy had always been Roddy, the youngest, the scamp, the troublemaker. He’d sometimes wondered if Mum loved Michael more. Dad, though—Dad had always preferred Roddy.
“Where did you come from?” Mum would sigh whenever she found another note about his misbehaviour in his school diary.
“Every family needs a fool. Like in the fairy tales. Don’t worry, one day you’ll be proud of me too,” Roddy would boast.
Mum would just shake her head.
Michael had left school with top marks, breezed into university to study economics. Mum held him up as an example—while Roddy preferred football, pirate novels, and dreams of adventure.
He hated how she worshipped Michael. Whenever she praised him, Roddy burned to do the opposite, just to spite her. He was who he was—no imitation of his brother, though he admired Michael’s brains.
When Michael graduated, Roddy scraped through his exams. They looked nothing alike—Michael took after Mum, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with soft, full lips. Roddy was dark, tousled, with eyes like a cat’s. Mum used to call him “kitten.” What had she called Michael? Roddy couldn’t remember. Probably just Michael, even as a boy.
Of course, he was expected to follow Michael to uni. Instead, Roddy lied—said he’d applied, claimed he hadn’t scored high enough.
“At least go to college. Or you’ll end up in the army,” Mum fretted. “Michael, talk some sense into him.”
“Roddy, you can’t get anywhere without qualifications. Listen to Mum. Try college. I’ll go with you if you like. Work first, study later. Don’t upset her.”
“Haven’t figured out what I want yet. One clever one’s enough for this family. Someone’s got to serve, haven’t they? If everyone’s a professor, who’ll defend the country?” Roddy shot back.
“Don’t push your luck. Think of Mum.”
Roddy enlisted. At first, it was tough—then he made friends, even followed one to Scotland after his service. Big construction projects there. He called Mum, said he’d stay awhile. She sobbed, begged him to come home. Michael rang to shout at him. But Roddy stood his ground.
Why should he live in Michael’s shadow? Always wearing his hand-me-downs. Michael didn’t play football, didn’t tear his trousers. Why buy new ones when Michael’s old ones fit? Enough. He had his own life. Let Michael push papers—Roddy liked working with his hands. He’d prove his worth. Dad would’ve backed him.
He rarely called home, always said he was fine, too busy to visit. Now, after four years, he was finally returning. Only now did Roddy realise how much he’d missed Mum—missed Michael, even.
He’d saved for a flat, furnished it. Not ashamed to bring a girl home. But no luck with girls—he’d fallen for a clerk named Lucy, only to find out she was married. Heartbroken, he’d booked leave and headed home.
High-rises loomed outside the window. Roddy stepped onto the platform, adjusted his rucksack, and walked into the city.
The sun was up; the day would be scorching. Roddy breathed in the smells of his childhood, turning his head at every familiar corner. He imagined bursting in—Michael still at home, Mum opening the door, gasping, throwing her arms around him… God, he’d missed her.
There was the building. He stood too long at the door, then rang the bell. Just as he raised his finger to press again, the lock clicked. Mum, bleary-eyed, clutched her dressing gown over her nightie—then recognised him, gasped, and sagged against the doorframe. Roddy caught her, guided her to the sofa. She cupped his face, tears in her eyes.
“Roddy, why didn’t you write? Call?”
“Wanted to surprise you.”
“You’ve changed. Grown up. Are you staying? Oh, listen to me—you’ve just got here. I’ll put the kettle on.” She bustled off. Roddy locked the door, kicked off his trainers, and grabbed the rucksack full of gifts. Home.
His favourite omelette with tomatoes, coffee with milk, cheese sandwiches—he wolfed it down while Mum watched, chin in hand.
The doorbell shattered the moment.
“Who on earth—?” Mum tore herself away to answer.
Roddy stood to look.
“Oh, do come tonight with Michael. His brother’s back,” Mum was saying.
“Really?” A pretty young girl—hardly more than twenty—beamed. The name *Emily* suited her.
Then she spotted Roddy and flashed him a shy smile.
“We’ll be there. I’ll ring Michael now—he’ll be thrilled.”
“Off you go, Emily.” Mum shut the door.
“Who was that?” Roddy stared at the door as if she might reappear.
“Emily. Michael’s fiancée. Didn’t you recognise her? She used to visit old Mrs. Thompson downstairs.”
“Pretty,” Roddy murmured. “Why didn’t you invite her in? What did she want?”
“Nosy, aren’t you? She’s your brother’s girl—don’t even think about it. They’re getting married next month.”
“Living together already? Lucky timing, me coming back.”
“You haven’t changed,” Mum sighed.
That evening, Michael arrived with Emily. He’d filled out, grown a beard.
“Look at you,” Roddy said, offering his hand.
“Still a bloody menace, aren’t you?” Michael dragged him into a hug. “How are you? Tell me everything…”
Roddy talked, stealing glances at Emily. Their eyes kept meeting. He couldn’t shake the feeling she was all wrong for Michael—too different.
The next day, he bumped into her outside a shop.
“Fancy a sit?” He nodded toward a bench. “You and Michael—I can’t picture it. Doesn’t he bore you? He’s such a bore.”
Emily laughed.
“He helped me. When my parents died in that crash, I came to see Gran. Then she passed too—heart gave out. I was lost. He sorted everything—funeral, selling Mum and Dad’s place. I couldn’t go back there. Then he proposed.”
“You don’t love him. You’re just grateful. That’s not love, Emily.”
“I do love him,” she insisted, standing abruptly.
Roddy watched her go, already plotting.
The next day, he knocked on her door. She answered in a crop top and shorts, so young and sweet he nearly choked on tenderness.
“Can I come in?”
Emily hesitated but stepped aside. The flat was just like his mum’s, freshly done up.
“Michael’s handiwork?”
“Yes. Tea or coffee?”
“Tea.” He spotted Michael’s jacket on the peg, his slippers by the door. Jealousy flared.
“Sure about this?” Roddy mimicked Michael’s tone.
“Positive,” Emily laughed. “He’s steady.”But steady isn’t enough—not when your heart beats for someone else,” Roddy whispered, stepping closer as the whistle of the kettle faded into the hum of the city beyond the walls.
