**Diary Entry 12th December**
“Good morning, my love.”
He woke up a minute before the alarm, as alwaysan old habit from his army days. Rolling out of bed, he pushed through a few press-ups without opening his eyes, feeling the rush of blood chase away the last traces of sleep. “Ill go wake the lads, Helen.”
The “lads” were his ten-year-old twin boys, asleep in the next roomminiature versions of him, mouths slightly open as if sharing the same dream. The heating had been dodgy all night, so hed skipped their usual morning run, letting them sleep in. He lingered a moment, admiring their sturdy frames. At their age, hed been the oppositescrawny, awkward, hunched over books. Shyness had been mistaken for cowardice by his classmates. Schoolwork came easily; the taunts didnt. PE was a nightmare, the coachs sneers sapping any motivation. His mum had been firm: “I didnt raise a clever Jewish boy to go about breaking noses.” And so, the dream of strength faded.
Mum wasnt usually so sternmostly, she smothered him in affection. Too much, perhaps. Hed escaped straight into the army after school, returning two years later as a promising boxer, a far cry from the timid boy shed known. University brought competitions, dorm life, new mates. But girls? That was another battle. Even with a boxing title, his shyness clung like a shadow. Until Helen.
She was the unis rising stara champion diver, slender, with wheat-blonde hair and green eyes. Quiet, almost otherworldly, earning her the nickname “Stargirl.” They clicked instantly. Hours passed in comfortable silence, cheering each other on at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed straight away.
Their weddingdubbed “The Cosmic Nuptials”was a raucous affair. A year later, Helen took a gap year for the pregnancy. He picked up shifts at Kings Cross, hauling cargo. Oddly, it wasnt the weight that made him feel strongit was the certainty hed provide for his family.
The doctor had joked, “Bad news if you dislike kidsits twins.” Nights were spent dreaming aloud: the childrens futures, a seaside cottage, the years ahead. But on the eve of the birth, Helen gripped his hand. “Promise me, no matter what, you wont leave them.” Hed nodded, confused.
The labour was long. A day unconscious, unexplained bleeding. By the time they found the cause, it was too late.
He doesnt remember that night. Woke at dawn on a bench at Kings Cross, head pounding, sick with drink. Thenthe jolt: *the boys*. He finished his degree, quit competing. The council gave him a flat near Arsenals training ground. His mum helped at first, then it was just the three of them. He coached at the local club, switched to teaching when the boys started school. Still picked up shifts at the stationa PE teachers wage being what it is.
Life settled. But the words clogged in his throat. Without Helen, he felt mute. Friends tried setting him up. He never lasted an hourone womans glance, anothers laugh, always *hers*. So he talked to her at night. Raged at the emptiness, then learned to live with it.
Last night, the boys bragged about acing their exams. “I told them boasting isnt manly. But God, I was proud.” Hed nearly gone to hug them, say the words he never did*I love you*. But it was midnight. Hed hesitated.
This morning, the kitchens chilly. Minus five outsidedry winter, but no snow. The neighbour from Flat 2 sweeps the courtyard, muttering to herself. The boys burst in. The elderborn five minutes firstputs the kettle on. The younger heats the pan; its his turn to cook.
Then, a nudge. They shuffle over, wrap their arms around him. “Dad we know you talk to Mum sometimes. Tell her we dont remember much, but we love her loads. And you too.”
The toast burns. He doesnt notice.
