Good Morning, My Love.

“Good morning, love.”

“Good morning, love.”

As always, he woke a minute before the alarm. A habit left over from his army days. Rolling off the bed onto the floor, eyes still closed, he pushed himself up a few times. The blood rushed pleasantly through him, shaking off the last traces of sleep.

“Ill go 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 decided against the usual morning run and let them sleep longer. He paused to admire their sturdy frames, already taking after him. At their age, hed been the oppositescrawny, awkward, hunched. Timid, which his classmates mistook for cowardice. Schoolwork came easily, but the taunts of his peers didnt. He never fought back; he knew he was weaker. In gym class, he pushed himself hard, but the coachs sneers crushed his spirit. As for sports clubs, his mother had been firm:

“I didnt raise a bright, well-mannered boy just for him to learn how to bloody noses.”

Timidity held him back there too, so his dream of becoming strong lost that round as well. His mother rarely showed such sternnessusually, she was all warmth and tenderness. Smothered by it, hed fled straight to the army after school, and two years later, returned a trained athlete. The shy, delicate boy had become a solid contender for a boxing title, much to his mothers dismay and his sports colleges delight.

University opened a new lifefrequent competitions, dormitories, new friends. Then came a new problem: girls. Boxing trophies didnt cure his bashfulness. Asking a girl out, even just talking to one at twenty, felt as impossible as it had at ten. Until Ellen.

She was the colleges rising stara champion diver, slender, fair-haired, with green eyes. Clever, smiling, but quiet, as if her mind was elsewhere. They called her “the Alien.” They became friends instantly.

With her, things were easy. They could walk for hours without a word. Cheered for each other at matches. After their first kiss, he proposed straight away.

Their “Martian wedding” was celebrated by the whole class. Everyone loved them for their kindness, their openness.

A year later, Ellen took a leaveshe was pregnant. He started working nights at Kings Cross, hauling cargo. Oddly, it was then he first felt truly strong. Not from lifting crates, but from knowing he could provide. He could raise a family. He was strong, and he had her.

Ellen worried terribly, but the doctor reassured herthe pregnancy was going well. He even joked, “The only bad news I have is if you dont like children, because theres two of them in there.”

At night, they dreamed togetherimagining their children grown, the seaside cottage theyd buy But thats what nights are fordreaming.

The day before the birth, she took his hand, looked him in the eye, and said, “Promise me, no matter what, you wont leave them.”

He was stunned. Almost took offense. But seeing her eyes, he just nodded.

The next day, the labour began. It was long, difficult. She was unconscious for nearly a daydoctors couldnt stop the bleeding. By the time they knew why, it was too late.

He doesnt remember that night. It passed in a haze. He woke at dawn on Kings Cross station floor, sick, head pounding. The alcohol still in his veins, but one thought sobered him instantlyhe had two boys waiting.

He finished college well but quit competitions. The sports committee gave him a flat, where he moved with “the lads.” At first, his mother helped. Then the boys grew, and the three of them carried on. He coached at the Army Sports Club, but once the boys started school, he took a job there. Still went to Kings Crossa gym teachers pay being what it is. Though he wasnt hauling crates anymorefor years now, hed been foreman.

Life settled, but the weight in his chest never lightened. Sometimes he ached to speak, but without Ellen, he felt mute.

For a while, friends tried setting him up. But he couldnt sit through an hour. One would glance like Ellen; another would tuck her hair behind her ear just so

Then he started talking to her at night. At first, it maddened himspeaking to nothing, feeling no answer. Then he got used to it. Sharing, asking advice. Just last nightthe boys bragged about topping their exams.

“And I told them men dont boast. That its a shame not to aim for top marks. But inside, I was proud. Theyre good lads, Ellen. Clever, strong, decent My old army coach used to say, Courage is the art of being scared stiffand not showing it. So Im afraid to praise them too much, show weakness. Havent even told them I love them But they know, dont they?”

For a moment, his heart ached so badly tears nearly came. He almost got up then, to hug them, say how much he loved them But he didnt. It was night. Didnt want to wake them.

The kitchen was chilly. He checked the thermometer outside: minus five. A dry winter. Pity about the snow. Across the yard, an elderly woman from the second floor swept the pavement. Was she talking to herself?

The lads burst in. The elderby five minutesput the kettle on. The younger grabbed the frying panhis turn to cook.

Then one nudged the other. Awkwardly, they approached, hugged him, and said,

“Dad We know you talk to Mum sometimes. Tell her We dont remember her much, but we love her. And you too, Dad.”