The sky above the horizon had already turned pink, the sun ready to rise. In the train compartment, everyone slept except Roddy, who lay on the top bunk, watching the dawn through the window. The villages and empty platforms flickered past more frequently now. Would he really be home soon?
The compartment door slid open, and the train attendant peeked in.
“Your stop in half an hour. Train waits two minutes,” she said before closing the door again.
Roddy heard her wake someone in the next compartment. He turned back to the window, but the sunrise had lost its charm. He sat up, then dropped nimbly to the floor. The man on the lower bunk sighed and turned toward the wall.
Roddy grabbed his towel and stepped into the corridor. Most compartment doors stood ajar, the air stuffy. Other passengers stirred inside, rising for the day.
The toilet was occupied, so he turned to the window instead. He hadn’t been home in four years. No one expected him—he’d decided to surprise them. Now he wondered if that was a mistake. He hadn’t slept all night, nerves churning. What would Mum do when she saw him? After Dad died, she’d been fragile. Joy or grief—either could spike her blood pressure. He should’ve at least called Michael, given him a heads-up.
Back in the compartment, he dressed, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and double-checked for forgotten belongings. Standing by the window, he waited for his stop.
Michael. Mum always called him by his full name. After Dad’s passing, he’d stepped into his shoes—her sounding board for every decision. She took pride in her serious, clever firstborn.
Roddy had always been just that—Roddy, the mischievous younger brother. It felt like Mum loved Michael more. Dad, though—he’d favoured Roddy.
“Who do you take after?” Mum would sigh, shaking her head at another school note about his behaviour.
“Every family needs a joker. Like in the fairy tales. Don’t worry, you’ll be proud of me one day,” he’d boast.
Michael left school with top marks, breezed into university to study economics. Mum held him up as the example. Meanwhile, Roddy dreamed of adventures—football matches, pirate tales, far-off lands.
Her adoration of Michael rankled. The more she praised him, the more Roddy dug in his heels. He was who he was—no imitation needed, though he respected his brother’s brains.
By the time Michael graduated, Roddy had scraped through his exams. They looked nothing alike—Michael fair-haired and blue-eyed like Mum, Roddy dark and wiry with wild hair and feline eyes.
“University for you next,” Mum insisted.
Roddy lied about failing his exams.
“You could still try college,” she fretted. “Or you’ll get drafted!”
Michael chimed in: “Education’s essential these days, Roddy. Think of your future.”
Roddy shrugged. “We’ve got one brainiac already. Someone’s got to serve. If everyone’s a professor, who’ll defend the country?”
Predictably, the army came calling. Tough at first, but he made friends—one even talked him into heading to Newcastle after discharge for a big construction job. He called Mum, told her he’d work awhile. She wept. Michael scolded.
Why should he follow Michael’s path? Even his clothes had been hand-me-downs. He’d prove his worth his own way. Dad would’ve backed him.
Calls home were rare. “Everything’s fine,” he’d say. Four years later, he was finally returning. Only now did he realise how much he missed Mum and Michael.
He’d earned his own flat, furnished it decently—respectable enough to bring a girl home. But romance eluded him. He’d fallen for an accountant, Emma, only to find she was married. Heartbroken, he booked leave and headed home.
Tall buildings loomed outside the train window. Roddy moved to the vestibule. The train shuddered to a halt. Shouldering his backpack, he stepped onto the platform and strode into the city.
Sunup now, the day promised heat. Roddy inhaled childhood scents, scanning familiar streets. Michael would still be home, not yet left for work. Mum would open the door, gasp, throw her arms around him…
His block came into view. He lingered outside the flat, then rang the bell. The lock clicked. Mum, groggy, squinted at him—then recognition dawned. She swayed, grabbing the doorframe. Roddy caught her, guided her to the sofa.
“You’ve changed,” she murmured, touching his face. “Why didn’t you call?”
“Wanted to surprise you.”
She bustled to the kitchen. “Tea first—you must be starving.”
A plate awaited him: omelette with tomatoes, coffee with milk, cheese sandwiches. He ate hungrily while Mum watched. Then the doorbell rang.
“Who now?” She reluctantly rose.
Female voices drifted in. Roddy peeked into the hall.
“—come for dinner with Michael,” Mum was saying. “His brother’s back.”
A young woman gasped. “Really?”
Then she spotted Roddy and blushed.
“Chloe, this is Roddy,” Mum said.
Chloe. Pretty, fresh-faced. Michael’s fiancée.
That evening, Michael arrived with Chloe. Broader now, bearded.
“Look at you,” Roddy said, extending a hand.
Michael yanked him into a bear hug. “Still a troublemaker, I see.”
Roddy talked, stealing glances at Chloe. Their eyes kept meeting. She didn’t suit Michael at all.
Next day, he ran into her carrying shopping bags. “Need help?”
They sat on a bench. “How’d you end up with Michael? He’s so… stiff.”
Chloe laughed. “He helped me. After my parents’ accident, I came to stay with Gran. Then she died—heartbreak, they said. Michael handled everything—funeral, paperwork, selling my parents’ house. When he proposed, I said yes.”
“You’re marrying him out of gratitude. That’s not love.”
“I do love him,” she insisted, standing abruptly.
Roddy watched her go, resolved to stop the wedding.
Days passed. He visited Chloe’s flat—Michael’s handiwork evident in the fresh paint and furniture.
“You’re sure about this?” Roddy pressed.
She bit her lip.
That night, Mum confronted him. “Leave, Roddy. Before you ruin everything.”
At the station, he bought a ticket. Chloe found him returning home.
“Leaving tonight,” he said.
Her face fell. “Not staying for the wedding?”
“Can’t watch you marry him. You don’t love him.” He seized her hands. “Come with me. I’ve a flat—we could—”
She recoiled. “I won’t betray him.”
He shoved the ticket in his pocket. “Think about it. I’ll wait outside at midnight.”
She didn’t come.
Morning. A white car, ribbons fluttering, idled outside. The driver smoked nearby.
“Wedding?” Roddy asked.
Michael and Chloe emerged. She was radiant in white. Roddy’s chest ached.
“You stayed.” Michael clapped his shoulder.
Chloe looked tense.
Roddy stepped forward. “She doesn’t love you, Michael.”
Mum gasped. Michael turned to Chloe. “Is this true?”
She stared at her shoes.
Roddy pressed on. “I asked her to leave with me. She refused—too loyal. But that’s no foundation for marriage.”
Michael walked away, shoulders slumped.
The registry office was swift. Michael skipped the reception.
On the train, Chloe changed into Roddy’s T-shirt. They talked all night, dreaming aloud.
His flat smelled of paint. “A cot here,” he said, pointing. “A little girl—just as beautiful as you.”
She laughed. “First, let me out of this dress.”
The shops after were a blur of bags and laughter.
Six years later, at Mum’s funeral, Roddy and Michael reconciled. Chloe, pregnant again, stayed home.
Michael never married. But he promised to visit for the christening.
