**The Older Brother’s Wedding**
The strip of sky above the horizon had already turned pink—sunrise was just around the corner. Everyone in the train compartment was asleep except for Rodney, who lay on the top bunk, watching the world wake up through the window. The villages and empty station platforms flashed by more frequently now. Could it really be? Was he nearly home?
The compartment door slid open, and the train attendant peered in.
“Your stop’s in half an hour. The train only waits two minutes,” she said before shutting the door again.
Rodney heard her waking passengers in the next compartment. He turned back to the window, but the magic of dawn had faded. Sitting up, he swung down lightly, landing with barely a sound. The man on the lower bunk sighed and rolled toward the wall.
Grabbing his towel, Rodney stepped into the corridor. Most compartment doors were slightly ajar, the air stuffy. A few passengers were already up and moving.
The toilet was occupied. Rodney turned to the window. Four years. Four years since he’d been home. They weren’t expecting him—he thought surprising them would be fun. Now, he wasn’t so sure. His own nerves had kept him awake all night. What about Mum? Would the shock be too much?
Since Dad passed, she’d been poorly. Too much joy could be just as hard on her heart as grief. Maybe he should’ve called Michael, given him a heads-up. He’d know how to break the news gently.
Back in the compartment, Rodney got dressed and slung his backpack over one shoulder. A quick glance to check he hadn’t forgotten anything, then he stood by the corridor window, waiting for his stop.
*Michael.* Mum never called him anything else. After Dad died, he’d stepped into his shoes—Mum consulted him about everything now. Her proud, serious, sensible firstborn.
Rodney had always been Roddy, the cheeky little brother, the troublemaker. Sometimes, he wondered if Mum loved Michael more. But Dad? Dad had always preferred Roddy.
“What’s got into you?” Mum would sigh whenever his school report mentioned misbehaviour.
“Every family needs a clown. Like in the fairy tales. Don’t worry, you’ll be proud of me one day too,” Roddy would boast.
Mum would just shake her head.
Michael left school with top marks, sailed into uni to study economics. Mum swelled with pride, holding him up as the example Roddy should follow. But Roddy? He’d rather play football, go to the cinema, lose himself in adventure books and pirate tales. He dreamed of traveling the world.
Mum’s adoration of Michael rankled. The more she praised him, the more Roddy dug his heels in, determined to be nothing like his brother—though he couldn’t deny Michael was clever.
When Michael graduated, Roddy got his A-levels. They were opposites in looks, too: Michael took after Mum—blond, blue-eyed, soft features. Roddy was all dark, unruly hair, eyes like a cat’s. Mum used to call him “kitten.” What had she called Michael? Roddy couldn’t remember. Probably just “Michael,” even as a kid.
And of course, Roddy was expected to follow in Michael’s footsteps. He lied about applying to uni, then pretended he hadn’t got the grades.
“At least go to college. Or you’ll get drafted,” Mum fretted. “Michael, talk some sense into him.”
“Roddy, you won’t get far without qualifications. Mum’s right. Try college. Want me to come with you? You can work and study part-time later. Don’t disappoint her.”
“Still figuring out what I want. One smart bloke in the family’s enough. Somebody’s got to serve. If everyone’s a professor, who’ll defend the country?” Roddy shot back.
“Your funeral. Think of Mum.”
So Roddy joined the army. Tough at first, then he found his feet—made friends. After his service, he followed one mate up to Scotland for a big construction project. Called Mum to say he’d stick around for work. She sobbed, begged him to come home. Even Michael chewed him out. But Roddy stood his ground.
Why should he live in Michael’s shadow? Hand-me-downs his whole life—Michael never played football, never ripped his trousers. Why buy new ones when there were piles of his brother’s cast-offs? Enough. He had his own life. Let Michael sit in an office; Roddy liked working with his hands. He’d prove his worth. Dad would’ve backed him.
He called home rarely, insisting everything was brilliant, too busy to visit. Four years later, here he was, heading back. Only now did he realise how much he’d missed Mum and Michael.
He’d earned enough for a flat, furnished it nice—no shame bringing a girl round. But luck with girls? Terrible. 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 into the vestibule. The train shuddered to a stop. The attendant opened the door, and he stepped onto the platform, adjusting his backpack before strolling into the city.
The sun was up now, promising a scorcher. Rodney breathed in the familiar scents, turning his head at every corner. Imagined bursting in—Michael still home before work, Mum opening the door, gasping, throwing her arms around him… God, he’d missed her.
There was the building. He hesitated at the front door, then pressed the buzzer. Just as he lifted his finger to ring again, the lock clicked. A drowsy, dishevelled Mum blinked at him, tying her dressing gown over her nightie.
Then, recognition. A gasp. She sagged against the doorframe. Rodney caught her, half-carried her to the sofa. She cupped his face, eyes brimming.
“Roddy! Why didn’t you call?”
“Wanted to surprise you, Mum.”
“You’ve changed. Grown up. Are you back for good? Oh, listen to me—you must be starving.” She hurried to the kitchen while Rodney locked up, kicked off his trainers, and grabbed his backpack of gifts.
*Home.*
A plate of his favourite tomato omelette waited on the table, alongside milky coffee and cheese toasties. He wolfed it down as Mum watched, chin propped on her hand. The doorbell shattered the moment.
“Who now?” She tore herself away reluctantly.
Rodney heard female voices. Curious, he peeked into the hallway.
“Yes, do come for dinner with Michael tonight. His brother’s back.”
“Really?” A young, pretty girl—*Lily* suited her—beamed. Then she spotted Rodney and flushed.
“’Course we will! I’ll call Michael right now—he’ll be over the moon!”
“Off you pop, Lily.” Mum shut the door.
“Who was that?” Rodney stared at the door, half-expecting Lily to reappear.
“Michael’s fiancée. Didn’t you recognise her? Lily Barlow—used to visit her gran, Mrs. Thompson, on the second floor?”
“Gorgeous,” Rodney murmured. “Why not invite her in? What’d she come for?”
“Nosy bugger. She’s your *brother’s* fiancée. Don’t even think about it. They’re getting married next month.”
“Living together already? Perfect timing,” Rodney mused.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Mum sighed.
That evening, Michael arrived with Lily. Broader, bearded—almost unrecognisable.
“Look at you, all respectable,” Rodney grinned, offering a hand.
“And you’re still a little devil.” Michael yanked him into a bear hug. “How’ve you been? Spill.”
Rodney talked, stealing glances at Lily. Their eyes kept meeting. A shame, he thought. She didn’t suit Michael at all.
Next day, he bumped into her carrying shopping.
“Fancy a sit?” He nodded to a bench. “You and Michael. Can’t wrap my head round it. Isn’t he dull as dishwater?”
Lily laughed. “He saved me, really. After my parents’ car crash, I came to my gran’s. Then she died—heart gave out. I was lost. Michael handled everything—the funeral, the paperwork, selling my parents’ place. I couldn’t go back. He proposed.”
“You don’t love him. You’re marrying him out of gratitude. Gratitude isn’t love.”
“I *do* love him,” she insisted, standing.
Rodney watched her go, deciding he wouldn’t let this wedding happen.
Next day, he dropped by her flat. She answered in a vest and shorts—so young, so lovely, his chest tightened.
“Mind if I…?”
She hesitated but let him in. The flat mirrored theirs, freshly done up.
“Michael’s handiwork?”
“Yeah. Bought the furniture too. Tea or coffee?”
“Tea.” He spotted Michael’s jacket, his slippers. Jealousy burned.
“Sure aboutAs the years passed, with two children now filling the flat with laughter, Rodney often glanced at Lily—her eyes still lighting up just for him—and wondered how he’d ever been stupid enough to envy his brother.