“Good morning, love.”
“Good morning, love.”
As always, he woke a minute before the alarm. A habit left from his army days. Rolling off the bed without opening his eyes, he pushed himself up from the floor a few times. The blood rushed pleasantly, shaking off the last traces of sleep.
“I’ll wake the lads, Ellen.”
The “lads” were his ten-year-old twin sons, asleep in the next roomtwo smaller versions of himself, mouths slightly open as if sharing the same dream.
The heating had been acting up all night, so hed skipped their usual morning run, letting them sleep in. He lingered for a moment, admiring their sturdy frames. At their age, hed been the oppositescrawny, awkward, hunched. Shy, which his classmates mistook for cowardice. Schoolwork came easy, but the taunts didnt. He never fought back; he knew he was weaker. In PE, he gave it his all, but the coachs sneers crushed his spirit. As for sports clubs, his mother had been firm:
“I didnt raise a bright, bookish boy just so he could learn to bloody noses.”
Timidity held him back there too, and his dream of strength lost another round. His mother rarely put her foot downusually, she smothered him in care and affection. It was why hed fled straight to the army after school. Two years later, he returned a trained athleteno longer a delicate, bookish boy but a solid candidate for boxings middleweight division. To his mothers dismay and his universitys delight, he pursued a sports career.
University opened a new worldcompetitions, dorm life, friends. Then came the next challenge: girls. Boxing trophies didnt erase his shyness. Asking one out at twenty felt no easier than at ten. Until Ellen.
She was the universitys rising stara diving champion, slender, fair-haired, with green eyes. Clever, smiling, but quiet, as if from another world. They called her the Alien. They became friends instantly.
They could walk for hours without a word. Cheered for each other at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed straightaway.
Their “Martian Wedding” was celebrated by the whole year group. People loved them for their kindness, their openness.
A year later, Ellen took a breakpregnancy. He started evening shifts at Kings Cross, loading freight. Oddly, it was then he first felt truly strong. Not from the heavy sacks, but from knowing: he could provide. He *was* strong. And he had her.
Ellen worried terribly, but the doctor reassured herthe pregnancy was smooth. He even joked, “The only bad news is, if you dont like kids, its twice as badyoure having twins.”
At night, they dreamed together. What the boys would be like. What *they* would be like in years to come. The seaside house theyd buy. But night is for dreaming.
The day before the birth, she took his hand and made him promise: “Whatever happens, dont leave them.”
He almost bristledthen saw her eyes and nodded.
The labour was long, difficult. She lost consciousness; the doctors couldnt stop the bleeding. By the time they found the cause, it was too late.
He doesnt remember that night. Woke at dawn at Kings Cross, lying in a puddle. Sick, head pounding. The alcohol still in his veins, 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.” His mother helped at first, then the boys grew, and they managed alone. He coached at a local club, but once the boys started school, he took a job there. Still worked nights at Kings Crossa PE teachers wages being what they were. No more hauling sacks, though; hed been promoted to shift supervisor.
Life settled, but the weight never left. He wanted to talk, but without Ellen, he felt mute.
Friends tried setting him up. He couldnt last an hour. One woman would glance like Ellen; another would tuck her hair the same way
Then he started talking to her at night. At first, he hated that he couldnt *feel* her. Then it became habit. Sharing, confiding. Like last nightthe boys bragged about acing a test:
“I told them boasting isnt manly. That its not about top marks. But I was proud. Theyre good ladsclever, strong, decent My army coach used to say, Courage is the art of being scared stiffand not showing it. Im afraid to praise them too much, show weakness. Never even said I love them But they know, dont they, Ellen?”
For a second, his throat tightened. He nearly went to hug them, say it out loud But it was night. He let them sleep.
The kitchen was chilly. Minus five outsidea dry winter. Shame about the snow. Outside, an elderly woman from the second floor swept the yard. Was she muttering to herself?
The “lads” burst in. The elderborn five minutes earlierput the kettle on. The younger grabbed the frying panhis turn to cook.
Suddenly, one nudged the other. Awkwardly, they hugged their father.
“Dad We know you talk to Mum sometimes. Tell her we dont remember her much but we love her loads. And you too, Dad.”
**Sometimes, the words you never say are the ones they hear the clearest.**
