“Good morning, love.”
He wakes up a minute before the alarm, as alwaysa habit from his army days. Rolling out of bed without opening his eyes, he does a few push-ups, the blood rushing pleasantly through his veins, shaking off the last traces of sleep.
“Ill go wake the lads, Ellen.”
The “lads” are his ten-year-old twin sons, asleep in the next room. Two smaller versions of him, mouths slightly open as if sharing the same dream. The heating had been acting up all night, so he decided against their usual morning run, letting them sleep in. He takes a moment to admire their sturdy framesso different from how he was at their age.
Back then, hed been the opposite: scrawny, awkward, hunched. Timid, which his classmates mistook for cowardice. Schoolwork came easily, but the taunts didnt. He never fought backhe knew he was weaker. Gym class was torture, the PE teachers jeering killing any motivation. As for sports clubs, his mother was firm:
“I didnt raise a clever Jewish boy just for him to go around breaking noses.”
Timidity held him back there too, and his dream of being strong lost that round. Not that Mum was usually sternmostly, she smothered him with care and affection. So much so that hed fled straight into the army after school, returning two years later a trained athlete. The shy, delicate Jewish boy had become a solid contender for boxing titlesmuch to his mothers dismay and his sports colleges delight.
University opened a new chapter: competitions, dorm life, new friends. And one new problemgirls. Boxing trophies didnt erase his natural shyness. Asking a girl out at twenty felt no easier than at ten. Until Ellen.
She was the colleges rising stara diving champion, slender, blonde, green-eyed. Clever, smiling, but quiet, as if from another world. Hence her nickname: “The Alien.” They became friends instantly.
They were easy together, walking for hours without a word, cheering each other on at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed on the spot. Their “Martian Wedding” was celebrated by the whole year. People loved them for their kindness, their openness.
A year later, Ellen took a leave of absencepregnancy. He started evening shifts at Kings Cross, hauling cargo. Oddly, it was then he first felt truly strong. Not from lifting sacks, but from knowing he could provide, raise a family. He was strongand he had her.
Ellen was nervous, but the doctor reassured her. “Only one thing might upset youif you dont like children, its twice as bad. Youre having twins.”
At night, theyd dream togetherimagining their children grown, their future selves, a seaside home… But thats what nights are fordreaming.
The day before the birth, she took his hand. “Promise me, no matter what, you wont leave them.”
He was stunned, almost offendeduntil he saw her eyes. He just nodded.
The labour was long, difficult. She was unconscious for hours, the doctors baffled by the bleeding. By the time they understood, it was too late.
He doesnt remember that night. It passed in a haze. He woke at dawn on Kings Cross, sprawled in a puddle, head pounding, stomach churning. The alcohol still lingered, but one thought sobered him instantly: two boys were waiting.
He graduated well but quit competitions. The sports council gave him a flat, where he moved with the “lads.” At first, his mother helped; then the boys grew, and it was just the three of them. He coached at a local club, but once they started school, he took a job there. He still worked nights at Kings Crossa PE teachers salary being what it isthough hed stopped hauling sacks, managing shifts instead.
Life settled, but the weight in his chest never lifted. He wanted to talk, but without Ellen, he felt mute.
Friends tried setting him up, but he never lasted an hour. One woman had Ellens eyes, another her way of tucking her hair…
So he started talking to her at night. At first, it angered himspeaking to emptiness. Then he got used to it. Sharing, asking advice. Last night, the boys bragged about acing a test:
“I told them boasting isnt manly. That its not shameful to get top marks. But I was proud. Theyre turning out wellclever, strong, decent… My army coach used to say, Courage is the art of being scared without showing it. So Im scared to praise them too much, show weakness. Ive never even told them I love them… But they know, dont they, Ellen?”
For a moment, it overwhelmed him. He nearly got up to hug them, say the words… But it was night. He didnt want to wake them.
The kitchen is chilly. He checks the thermometer: minus five. A dry winterjust no snow. Outside, an elderly woman from the flat above sweeps the courtyard. Is she talking to herself?
The “lads” burst in. The elderby five minutesstarts the kettle. The younger grabs the frying panits his turn to cook breakfast.
Suddenly, one nudges the other. Awkwardly, they approach their father, hugging him.
“Dad… We know you talk to Mum sometimes. Tell her… we dont remember her well, but we love her so much. And we love you too.”
