The sky over the horizon was already tinged pink, the sun about to rise. Everyone in the train compartment was asleep—except for Rodney, who lay on the top bunk, watching the dawn through the window. Villages and empty station platforms flashed by more frequently now. Would he really be home soon?
The sliding door creaked open, and the train attendant peered in.
“Your stop’s in half an hour,” she said. “Train only waits two minutes.” Then she shut the door.
Rodney heard her waking passengers in the next compartment. He turned back to the window, but the sunrise had lost its magic. He sat up, then dropped lightly to the floor. The man on the lower bunk sighed and turned toward the wall.
Rodney grabbed his towel and stepped into the corridor. Most compartment doors were ajar—too hot inside. Some passengers were already up, moving sleepily.
The toilet was occupied, so he turned to the window instead. Four years since he’d been home. No one expected him—he hadn’t told them he was coming. A surprise. Now, though, he wondered if it was a mistake. His own nerves had kept him awake all night. What would Mum do when she saw him at the doorstep?
Since Dad’s death, her health had been fragile. Joy could hit her as hard as grief—send her blood pressure soaring. He should’ve at least called Michael, given him time to prepare her.
Back in the compartment, Rodney dressed, slung his rucksack over his shoulder, and checked he hadn’t forgotten anything. Then he stood by the corridor window, waiting.
Michael. Mum always called him that. After Dad died, he’d taken his place in the family—the one she turned to for advice, the serious, reliable firstborn she was so proud of.
Rodney? He’d always been Roddy—the troublemaker, the scamp. The son she loved less, or so it felt. (Dad had preferred Roddy.)
“Honestly, where do you get it from?” Mum would sigh, scanning his school reports.
“Every family needs a jester,” Roddy would grin. “Just wait—you’ll be proud of me one day.”
Michael got top marks, breezed into university to study economics, excelled at everything. Roddy preferred football, pirate adventures, and dreaming of far-off places.
Her adoration for Michael chafed. The more she praised him, the more Roddy wanted to rebel—do worse, just to spite her. He’d never be like his brother, even if he respected his brains.
When Michael graduated, Roddy finished school. They were opposites—Michael, fair-haired and blue-eyed like Mum; Roddy, dark and wild, with cat-like eyes. (She’d called him “kitten” as a boy. Had she ever given Michael a nickname? He couldn’t recall.)
Of course, she expected him to follow Michael to university. Instead, Roddy lied—said his grades weren’t good enough.
“At least go to college,” she pleaded. “Or you’ll be drafted! Michael, talk some sense into him.”
“You need qualifications these days,” Michael said. “Come on, I’ll help you apply.”
Roddy shrugged. “We’ve got one scholar in the family. If everyone’s a professor, who’ll defend the country?”
“You’ll regret this,” Michael warned. “Think of Mum.”
Roddy enlisted. Army life was tough at first, then he adapted—made friends. After service, he followed a mate to the North Sea oil rigs. When he called home, Mum sobbed, begged him to come back. Michael yelled. Roddy stood his ground.
Why should he trail in his brother’s footsteps? Even his clothes were hand-me-downs. Michael never tore his trousers playing football. Well, Roddy had his own life now. Michael could keep his office job—Roddy liked working with his hands. He’d prove his worth. Dad would’ve backed him.
He rang home sporadically, always said he was fine, too busy to visit. Now, four years later, he was finally returning. Only now did he realise how much he’d missed Mum and Michael.
He’d saved enough for a flat, furnished it decently—no shame bringing a girl back. But no luck with girls. Fell for an accountant, Emma, only to find out she was married. Heartbroken, he’d booked leave and headed home.
High-rises loomed outside the window. Rodney stepped onto the platform as the train slowed, adjusted his rucksack, and walked toward the city.
The sun was up, the day warming. Rodney breathed in familiar smells, turning his head at every corner. Imagined Michael still at home, Mum opening the door—gasping, hugging him. God, he’d missed her.
At the flat, he hesitated, then rang the bell.
Mum, sleepy and dishevelled, squinted at him—then recognised him. She swayed, clutching the doorframe. Rodney caught her, guided her inside, sat her down. Her hands trembled as she touched his face.
“Roddy! Why didn’t you call?”
“Wanted to surprise you.”
“You’ve changed,” she murmured, then shook herself. “You must be starving.” She hurried to the kitchen.
Rodney locked the door, toed off his trainers, and unpacked gifts. Home.
The kitchen table held his favourite—tomato omelette, coffee with milk, cheese sandwiches. He ate hungrily while Mum watched, chin propped on her hand. A doorbell interrupted them.
“Who now?” She sighed, grabbing her dressing gown.
Female voices drifted in. Rodney peered into the hall.
“Yes, bring Michael for dinner tonight. His brother’s home.”
“Really?” A young woman’s voice, bright with excitement. The name Emily suited her.
She spotted Rodney, blushed, smiled.
“I’ll call Michael straight away!”
Mum shut the door. “Who was that?” Rodney stared after her.
“Michael’s fiancée. Emily. Remember her? She used to visit Mrs. Thompson downstairs.”
“Pretty,” Rodney mused. “Why didn’t you invite her in?”
“Don’t even think about it. They’re getting married next month.”
Rodney smirked. “Lucky timing, my visit.”
Mum shook her head. “Still the same.”
That evening, Michael arrived with Emily. He’d filled out, grown a beard.
“Look at you,” Rodney said, offering a handshake.
Michael pulled him into a hug instead. “Still a menace, I see.”
Rodney talked, stealing glances at Emily. Their eyes met often. She didn’t suit Michael—too different.
Next day, he met her outside a shop.
“Fancy a sit?” He nodded at a bench. “You and Michael—I can’t picture it. Isn’t he dull?”
Emily laughed. “He helped me when my parents died in a crash. I came to stay with Gran, then she passed too. I was lost. Michael handled everything—the funeral, selling my parents’ house. He proposed after.”
“You don’t love him. You’re grateful.”
“I do love him,” she insisted, standing.
Rodney watched her go. He wouldn’t let this wedding happen.
Next day, he visited her flat. She answered in a crop top and shorts, so young and lovely it hurt.
“Tea or coffee?”
“Tea.” He scowled at Michael’s jacket on the hook, his slippers by the door.
“You’ve really thought this through?” He mimicked Michael’s tone.
She smiled. “He’s steady. Reliable.”
“You’re too bright for him. He’ll stifle you.” He stepped closer.
The kettle whistled. She fled to the kitchen.
“Why does he get everything?” Rodney muttered, following.
They talked over tea. He couldn’t stop looking at her.
The day before the wedding, Mum cornered him. “You should leave.”
“Kicking me out?”
“I know you. Don’t ruin this for Michael.”
“Fine.”
At the station, he bought a ticket—then lingered outside Emily’s flat. She never came.
Morning came. A white limo, ribbons fluttering, idled outside.
“Wedding?” Rodney asked the driver.
The door opened. Michael emerged with Emily—radiant in white. Rodney’s chest ached.
“Emily doesn’t love you,” he told Michael. “She’s marrying you out of guilt.”
Michael turned to her. “Is that true?”
When she hesitated, Rodney pressed. “Tell him.”
Michael walked away, shoulders slumped.
Rodney took Emily’s hand. “Fancy a registry office? Same surname, just a mix-up with the first name.”
They married quietly. Michael skipped the reception. That night, Rodney and Emily slept in a train compartment—smuggled aboard with the attendant’s help.
“Never had a wedding on wheels!” the woman gushed.
Six years later, during Mum’s funeral, Rodney and Michael reconciled. Emily, pregnant again, stayed home. Michael never married. He promised to visit for the christening.
