The stork that decided to drop me off at my parents place turned out to be hopelessly cross-eyed. He dumped me right at the orphanage, mangy old chicken. And from that point, nothing in my life went right.
By the time Id reached forty, Id managed to crawl out of the ditch that daft bird had rolled me into. Built myself a house, found a wife, even managed to buy a secondhand car. All I had left was to plant something and raise someone.
Grace and I reckoned we could manage to raise one child. A second was never really on the cards.
That morning, I was preoccupied with thoughts of gardening, raising kids, and the miserable rain drumming against the window as I made coffee. My family-sized Y-fronts swayed in the draught. Funny thing, Id owned those pants long before there ever was a familylifes little joke.
A sudden knocking rattled the window of the balcony. The local kids again, probably lobbing pebbles at our pigeons. Those little rascals could do with a stork to straighten them out.
The knocking returned, then againa third-floor flat, mind you. Who could it be? I drew back the curtain, and there stood the very same cross-eyed stork from my childhood daydreams, hopping about on the balcony.
“Off with you, you wretch!” I shouted, spooked out of my wits. My toast took a nosedive to the floor.
“Sorry about this, Mr Thompson,” the stork poked his skinny neck through the crack in the balcony door, “I hold my wings up. My fault, I admit it. Peck me if you like! Try the right wingits meatier.”
“Push off,” I grunted, trying to shove that bony neck back outside, wrestling with it red-faced.
“Oy, Tommo! Dont be daft,” the stork rasped, nearly choking, “just hear me out, mate!”
“Now you wanna have a chat?” I grumbled, twisting his neck like a rope. “Ill tie you in a proper knot, you daft thing!”
“Im here to say sorry, honest,” he wheezed.
“Youre decades too late, you winged nose-job.”
The doorbell shrilled just thenGrace was home.
“Out you go!” I said, finally wrestling the bird back onto the wet balcony. “Be gone by the time I come back.”
He stretched his head back through the window, trying one last time. “Forgive me, Mr Thompson,” he pleaded. “Ive made it right, honest!”
Grace burst into the flat, dripping and beaming. Hair stuck to her cheeks, eyes shining. Had she run into the stork too?
Before I could ask, she tossed her umbrella aside, wrapped her arms round my neck, squealing:
“Four! Four of them!”
“What do you mean, four?” I stared at her, lost for words.
“Were having quadruplets! Four babies, Tom!” she hardly paused for breath, “Four little angels!”
Suddenly, the storks words and Graces news clicked together. I dashed out onto the balcony, just as the cross-eyed stork was taking off, flapping for all he was worth. I lunged for his tail feathers
Missed.
“Come back here, you feathered git!” I yelled after him, “Dont you fly off now!”
“Ive fixed it!” came his reply, echoing down from the sky.
When I turned, Grace was there waiting for me, tears of happiness streaking her rain-wet face.
