I already hate having to leave my two most important people in the world for a sodding friendly.
Madrid is already warm when we step outside. Early morning sun, that dry heat that still feels strange to someone raised on northern rain. The lads are half on their phones, half complaining about the flight, staff counting heads like we might lose someone between baggage claim and the bus.
Routine.
The kind that used to be my whole world.
I switch my phone back on without really thinking about it. Just habit. Flight mode off. Messages flooding in. Notifications I don’t care about.
And then the lock screen appears.
Us.
My mouth pulls into a small smile before I can stop it.
This morning had started at five.
Which had gone about as well as you’d expect.
“Alfie… mate… time to get up.”
“No.”
“It’s morning.”
“It’s still night.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is if it’s dark.”
Hard to argue with that logic when you’re barely awake yourself.
It had taken fifteen minutes, gentle persuasion, and eventually the promise that he could choose the music in the car.
Which had meant dinosaur songs. At five thirty in the morning. At a volume that probably violated several international treaties.
Still worth it.
Dropping him off had been the harder part.
Not because he was upset. Because he wasn’t.
His friend Josh had answered the door still in his pyjamas, his dad behind him with a mug of coffee and that tired single-parent nod that sayswe’re both just doing our best here.
“Don’t worry,” he’d said. “I’ll get them both to school.”
I’d believed him. You learn to recognise the reliable ones.
Alfie had already been halfway inside.
“Bye Dad!”
“Oi,” I’d said. “Come here.”
He had come back for a quick hug, distracted already.
“Don’t forget to call.”
