“Good morning, love,” he murmured, as he always did, waking just a minute before the alarm. An old habit from his army days. Rolling out of bed without opening his eyes, he pushed himself up from the floor a few times, the blood rushing pleasantly through his limbs, shaking off the last traces of sleep.
“Ill go wake the lads, Ellen.”
The “lads”his ten-year-old twin sonsslept in the next room. Two smaller versions of himself, mouths slightly open as if sharing the same dream. The heating had been acting up all night, so hed decided against their usual morning run, letting them sleep a little longer. He lingered, admiring their sturdy frames.
At their age, hed been the oppositescrawny, awkward, hunched. Shyness had been mistaken for cowardice by his peers. Schoolwork came easily, but the taunts of classmates didnt. He never fought back; he knew he was weaker. In P.E., he pushed himself, but the gym teachers mockery crushed his spirit. Sports clubs were out of the questionhis mother had been firm.
“An English boy with a mind like yours isnt meant to go around breaking noses,” shed say.
Timidity held him back, and his dream of strength lost that round. Still, his mother was rarely sternmostly, she smothered him in care and affection. It was that very smothering that drove him to enlist straight after school. Two years later, he returned a trained athlete, the frail boy replaced by a solid contender for a boxing titlemuch to his mothers dismay and his colleges delight.
University brought a new lifecompetitions, dormitories, friends. And a new problem: girls. Despite his boxing success, his shyness remained. Asking a girl out at twenty felt no easier than at ten. Until he met Ellen.
She was the colleges rising stara champion diver, slender, fair-haired, with striking green eyes. Clever, smiling, but quiet, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. They called her “the Star-Gazer.” They became fast friends.
Together, they were at ease, walking for hours without a word, cheering each other on at meets. After their first kiss, he proposed without hesitation.
Their weddingdubbed “the Celestial Union”was celebrated by the whole year. Everyone loved them for their kindness and openness.
A year later, Ellen took a leaveshe was pregnant. He began working nights at Kings Cross, hauling cargo. Oddly, it was then he first felt truly strongnot from lifting crates, but from knowing he could provide for his family.
Ellen worried endlessly, but the doctor reassured her. “Only one thing might upset you,” he joked. “If you dont like children, its twice as badyoure having twins.”
At night, they dreamed aloudof the childrens futures, of their own, of a seaside home. But nights are for dreaming.
On the eve of the birth, she gripped his hand. “Promise me,” she whispered, “no matter what, you wont leave them.”
He was startled, almost offendedbut seeing her eyes, he simply nodded.
The next day, the labour began. It was long, gruelling. For nearly a day, she lay unconscious; the doctors couldnt stop the bleeding. By the time they understood, it was too late.
The night that followed was a blur. He woke at dawn on Kings Cross, sprawled in a puddle, sick and aching. The drink still fogged his mind, but one thought struck clear: the boys needed him.
He finished his degree but quit competitions. The sports council gave him a flat, where he raised the lads. At first, his mother helped, then they managed on their own. He coached at the local club, but when the boys started school, he joined as their P.E. teacher. He still worked nights at the stationno teachers wage could cover everythingthough hed long since traded lifting crates for supervising.
Life settled, but the weight never left. He longed to speak his heart, but without Ellen, the words stuck.
Friends tried setting him up, but he couldnt sit through a date. One womans glance reminded him of Ellen; another tucked her hair just so.
Eventually, he began talking to her at night. At first, it angered himhe could speak but not feel her near. Then it became routine. Last night, the boys had boasted about topping their exams.
“I told them a man shouldnt boast,” hed said to the empty air. “And that its a shame not to aim for top marks. But I was proud. Theyre growing up clever, strong, decent… My old army sergeant used to say, Courage is the art of being scared stiffand not showing it. Im afraid to spoil them, to seem weak. Ive never even told them I love them… But they know, dont they, Ellen?”
For a moment, his throat tightened. He nearly went to hug them, to say the wordsbut it was night. He didnt want to wake them.
The kitchen was chilly. He checked the thermometerminus five. A dry winter. A shame about the missing snow. Outside, an elderly woman from the floor below swept the courtyard. Was she muttering to herself?
The lads burst in. The elderby five minutesset the kettle. The younger manned the stove; it was his turn to cook.
Suddenly, one nudged the other. Awkwardly, they approached their father, hugging him.
“Dad,” the elder said, “we know you talk to Mum sometimes… Tell her we dont remember her well, but we love herso much. And we love you too.”
