Andy, who offered to give me a lift to my parents’ house, turned out to be terribly cross-eyed. He dropped me off at the orphanage instead—what a daft chicken!

The stork meant to bring me home to my parents turned out to be spectacularly cross-eyed. Dumped me right outside the orphanage, the silly bird. Feathers all ruffled, as if it had somewhere more important to be.

From that moment, nothing in my life went as it should.

By the time I reached forty, though, Id clawed my way out of the pit that bird hurled me into. Built a home with bricks and graft, found a wife, bought a car granted, it was second-hand, but it was mine. All that was left was to plant something and raise someone.

Raising one, that I could manage with Sarah. Wed never dared think of a second.

It was thoughts of planting, of growth, and that wretched rainy morning that filled my mind as I brewed my coffee. The breeze gently lifted my old boxers family boxers, I called them, because Id owned them long before Id even had a family. Lifes little ironies.

A tapping rattled the balcony window. The local kids again, probably taking aim at the pigeons with whatever pebbles they could scavenge. No stork about to set you straight, you little scoundrels.

Another tap, and then again. Who on earth is up there? Its the third floor.

I pulled back the curtain. There, pacing nervously on my balcony, was the very same cross-eyed stork from the wild tales of my childhood.

Get away, you wretched thing! I shouted, startled, hurling my sandwich headfirst to the floor.

Sorry, mate, the stork poked its beak through the crack in the balcony door. Truly, I am. My fault, hands up, I admit it. Go on, pull a feather right wings got more to spare.

Get out, I tried to push that ludicrous neck back outside, both hands grappling with it.

Dont be daft, Peter! the stork coughed out. Just hear me out, would you?

Youve got words now, do you? I spat back. Ill tie a knot in your scrawny neck, you menace.

I came to say sorry, the bird wheezed. Truly sorry.

Bit late for all that, you long-beaked muppet.

The doorbell gave a shrill, insistent ring. It was Sarah.

Off you go, I said, giving the bird one final shove onto the balcony. Be gone by the time I return, got it?

I dashed for the door on autopilot.

Sorry, Peter, the stork called, clinging to the window. I really mean it. My mistake, all sorted now.

Sarah burst into the flat, soaked through but beaming. Hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes alight. Had she seen the bird as well?

Before I could get a single word out, she tossed her umbrella aside and hurled herself into my arms.

Four! Four! she screeched, voice echoing round the flat.

Four what? I stared, lost.

Were having quadruplets! she gasped, barely containing her joy. Four tiny babies!

In that instant, the storks apology and Sarahs news melded into one truth. I shot onto the balcony like a man possessed. The cross-eyed stork was taking flight, just out of reach. I made a desperate snatch for its tail.

Too slow.

Stop, you great daft bird! I bellowed after it. Come back, you long-nosed nuisance!

All fixed! it called down in reply.

I turned back inside. There was Sarah, crying with happiness.