Twin Tales

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Move out of the way, you’re blocking the steps,’ they said, and when Connie didn’t budge one of them pushed her.

  It was only a little push, but Connie lost her grip on the handrail. She fell forward, screaming. She went splosh into the bright blue water. It closed over her head and she clawed and kicked in this new terrifying blue world. Then something grabbed hold of her. She was whirled upwards and her head burst out in the air, ears popping with the sudden noise.

  ‘Poor old Connie! Were you trying to dive in?’ said Dad.

  Connie coughed and spluttered and clung to Dad. She put her arms tight round his neck and her legs tight round his waist, clinging to him like baby Charles or baby Claire.

  ‘Hey! What’s up? It’s OK, you’re not out of your depth here, Connie. This is the shallow end,’ said Dad. ‘Come on now, don’t be such a baby.’

  The girls who had pushed her were staring and giggling.

  ‘Put your feet down on the bottom, Connie,’ said Dad.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ Connie said. ‘Don’t be silly now,’ said Dad, and he pulled her legs down.

  ‘No, no, don’t, I’ll go under!’ said Connie, panicking.

  ‘Of course you won’t,’ said Dad. ‘There. See? You can stand up easily. Your whole head’s out of the water.’

  Connie stuck her chin up as high as it would go. The water lapped around her neck.

  ‘I want to get out now,’ said Connie.

  ‘You’ve only just got in! I thought you were going to show me what a good swimmer you are.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Connie.

  ‘Well, let’s try one or two strokes, eh?’ said Dad. ‘I’ll hold you up, don’t worry. I’ll put my hand under your chin, OK? I’ve got you. Just relax now.’

  Connie didn’t see how she could possibly relax when her eyes were stinging, her ears were popping, her throat was hurting, her swimming costume was digging right into her, lots of girls were laughing at her, Dad was starting to get cross, and she was in a huge enormous pool of water and could drown any minute.

  But she did try one feeble little kick, one pathetic sweep of her arms. And then there was an announcement and a shriek of excitement and suddenly the water started tugging and heaving as if it was alive, a great water monster ready to gobble Connie up. They’d switched the wave machine on.

  ‘I’m getting out!’ said Connie, and she fought her way to the steps.

  Dad was cross because they’d only had five minutes in the water and it was a waste of money. Connie didn’t care. She knew one thing. She was never ever ever going swimming again.

  2. Spaghetti Worms

  ‘Coming swimming on Sunday?’ said Dad.

  ‘No fear,’ Connie said.

  Dad looked at Mum. Mum looked at Dad. They both looked at Connie.

  ‘Why don’t you give it another try, love?’ said Mum.

  ‘I don’t like swimming now. I hate it,’ said Connie.

  She stared at her plate. Mum had cooked spaghetti bolognese for tea, Connie’s all-time favourite, for the first time since the twins were born. Mum hadn’t had much time for proper cooking.

  Claire and Charles had actually been very good for a while, cooing and kicking their legs. They’d started to get a bit niggly the moment Mum started serving up the spaghetti, but Dad had popped their dummies in place and they acted like stoppers.

  Connie had been all set to enjoy her meal but now her tummy had gone tight at the very mention of swimming.

  ‘I think it’s time you learnt to swim properly,’ said Dad. ‘You were very nearly swimming before. Just a few lessons and you’ll be bobbing about in the water, no bother.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Connie.

  ‘I’ll make sure you don’t go under again, I promise,’ said Dad.

  ‘I know I’m not going to go under. Because I’m not going in,’ said Connie.

  She wound a portion of spaghetti round and round her fork. It was starting to look awfully like a lot of orange worms.

  ‘Don’t play with your food, darling. Eat it,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m not very hungry any more,’ said Connie, putting down her fork.

  ‘For goodness sake, Connie,’ said Dad. ‘Mum’s spent ages cooking you spag. bol. as a special treat. Now eat it up at once.’

  Connie picked up her forkful of orange worms. She put them in her mouth. Just for a moment they tasted delicious. But then, as her teeth got working and she felt the forkful spread out over her tongue, she thought she felt the worms going wriggle wriggle wriggle.

  Connie spat them out in terror.

  ‘Connie!’ Dad thundered.

  ‘Connie!’ Mum shouted.

  Mum didn’t often get cross but she was very keen on table manners. And she was very hurt because she’d made the meal specially.

  Connie tried to explain, but they just thought she was being naughty. It wasn’t fair. Baby Charles and baby Claire spat spoonfuls of food all over the place every single mealtime and no one ever turned a hair. Connie pointed this true fact out to her parents.

  ‘Well, you’re not a baby,’ said Mum. ‘Even though you’re acting like one now.’

  ‘And you’re coming swimming with me on Sundays whether you like it or not,’ said Dad.

  ‘But it’s so stupid if I don’t want to go,’ said Connie, nearly in tears. ‘You don’t really want to go either, Dad. Not early on Sunday mornings. You’d much sooner have a lie-in.’

  ‘I want you to learn how to swim. It’s very important. Every child has to learn. And it’s high time you did,’ said Dad.

  ‘Why?’ said Connie.

  ‘Because you need to learn to swim so you won’t ever drown,’ said Dad.

  ‘If I stay on dry land then I can’t possibly drown,’ said Connie. ‘But if I go swimming then I could easily drown. I very nearly did last Sunday.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, Connie. You just went under for a second, that’s all. And I keep telling you, I won’t let it happen again.’

  ‘I know you’ve got a bit scared of swimming because of what happened last time,’ said Mum. ‘That’s why we want you to go again. So you can see that there’s truly nothing to be scared of. Swimming is great fun. Just give it one more try with Dad. OK?’

  It wasn’t at all OK with Connie, but she knew she was beaten.

  Connie started shivering just at the smell of the swimming-baths. She was shaking so badly she could hardly wriggle into her tight swimming costume. The dolphin on the front was still smiling so she swatted him hard – and punched herself in her own tummy.

  Connie had to be dragged to the big pool. Dad held her hand and did his best to be very very patient with her. He helped her down the steps himself, letting her go very slowly. When some other children clambered round impatiently, Dad told them to use the steps at the other side.

  ‘You take your time, Connie,’ he said.

  They were both shivering by the time Connie eventually got in the water. And then the wave machine was switched on, so Dad hauled Connie out of the water on to the side and let her sit there until the waves had stopped pounding up and down the pool.

  ‘Now, Connie,’ said Dad, when they switched the wave machine off at last, ‘we’ll have a little swimming lesson now. You’re going to be a big brave girl, right?’

  Wrong. Connie tried, but the moment the turquoise water started lapping round her she couldn’t be big or brave. She squealed and shook and shivered. Dad tried pulling her gently along with one hand under her chin and one hand under her tummy, but Connie was so scared of the water she kept arching her back and rearing her head up.

  Dad had to give up in the end. He tried sitting Connie on his back so that he could swim along with her.

  ‘You can pretend I’m a great big whale if you like.’

  This seemed quite a good idea. Connie clambered on to Dad’s back and held tight. Too tight. Dad swam several strokes and the water splashed right in Connie’s face.

  ‘Conn
ie! Let go! You’re pulling my hair!’ Dad yelled. ‘And get your other arm off my throat, you’re strangling me!’

  Dad put his feet on the ground. Connie slid off. Into the water. Under the water. In the terrifying blue world where she couldn’t breathe.

  Dad had her up and out of the water in a second, but it was no use. Connie was still crying when they got home.

  3. Water Babies

  ‘I’m not going swimming tomorrow,’ Connie said on the next Saturday night.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Mum.

  ‘Because we are.’

  ‘We?’ said Connie.

  ‘Yep. Claire and Charles and Dad and me,’ said Mum.

  Connie blinked.

  ‘I think this parent-and-baby session sounds a good idea,’ said Mum. ‘I want to take the twins. But I can’t dangle them in the water together. So I wondered if you’d help me out, Connie? We’ll take the babies into the little pool – and Dad can go and have a good swim in the big pool. Yes?’

  Connie wasn’t sure.

  ‘You like the little pool,’ said Mum.

  Connie wasn’t even sure about that any more. And besides, she had a sneaking suspicion that once they were at the baths Dad would try to get her into the big pool after all.

  ‘You promise I don’t have to swim?’ she said.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. You just have to hold Claire or Charles in the little pool.’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll like it,’ said Connie.

  ‘They love it in the bath,’ said Mum.

  Connie snorted. It wasn’t as if the babies were super-brave. The least little thing startled them. When Dad played growly bears with them and went ‘Grrrr!’ they both burst into terrified tears.

  ‘I always loved it when you played growly bears with me, Dad,’ said Connie.

  Mum bought the twins sweet little swimming costumes, red and navy stripes for Claire and green and navy stripes for Charles.

  ‘Would you like a new swimming costume too, Connie?’ said Mum. ‘Your old dolphin one must be getting a bit small for you now.’

  ‘I don’t need a new swimming costume, seeing as I’m never ever going swimming.’

  So she wriggled into her tight old costume on Sunday morning. She had to help Mum get the twins undressed and into their new costumes. The swimming-baths had special red plastic changing tables. The twins liked to lie back, kicking their legs.

  ‘They’re practising their swimming strokes already,’ said the attendant, smiling.

  Connie couldn’t smile back. The smell and the sound of the baths had made her go all shivery.

  ‘You poor old thing,’ said Mum, putting an arm round her. ‘You’re really frightened, aren’t you?’

  There were some girls getting changed nearby. They were listening. They nudged each other and grinned.

  ‘Of course I’m not frightened,’ said Connie fiercely. ‘I just think swimming is an incredibly boring thing, that’s all.’

  It came out sounding much ruder than she meant. Mum sighed.

  ‘Really, Connie! Do you have to talk to me in that sulky tone of voice all the time?’

  Connie blushed and stuffed Claire’s waving pink legs into her small swimming costume. Claire started to whimper and moan because she wanted to stay kicking, stark naked.

  ‘There! You don’t want to go swimming, either, do you?’ said Connie, picking her up and giving her a cuddle.

  Charles started crying too, getting a bit fed up with all this dressing and undressing. Both twins were still yelling when Mum and Connie carried them to the little pool.

  ‘Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea after all!’ said Mum.

  The attendant looked at Connie. ‘I thought we agreed before – you’re far too big a baby!’

  ‘She’s acting as a sort of parent today,’ said Mum.

  ‘All right,’ the attendant said reluctantly.

  Connie held tight to baby Claire. Somehow even the little pool had started to look quite big.

  ‘I don’t think Claire wants to go in,’ said Connie. ‘She keeps crying.’

  Charles was crying, too, but when Mum got in the pool and very gently lowered him so that the water lapped round his legs he stopped in mid-squawk. He kicked. He splashed. He smiled.

  ‘Try Claire in the water,’ said Mum. ‘Charles thinks it’s great fun.’

  Connie held even tighter to Claire. She put out one foot, dipping the tip of her toe in the little pool. ‘Come on,’ said Mum. ‘Charles, tell your sister that the water’s lovely.’

  Charles certainly seemed to think so. He wriggled determinedly, doing his best to get away from Mum. He waved his arms and legs in the water. He dipped his head and didn’t seem to mind a bit when he got wet. He was smiling from ear to ear.

  Claire was fidgeting and fussing, obviously feeling she was missing out.

  ‘Come in the pool, darling,’ Mum called.

  But Connie couldn’t.

  In the end Mum had to fetch Dad. He took baby Claire. Mum looked after baby Charles. And Connie sat shivering on the side.

  4. Colouring Sharks

  ‘You should see the twins in the pool. It’s quite incredible!’ said Mum.

  ‘The little pets! They can really swim?’ said Gran.

  ‘Well . . . not properly, of course. But they bob up and down like ducklings,’ said Mum.

  ‘They must look so sweet,’ said Gran.

  ‘Even when they’re in a really niggly mood and nothing else will comfort them, the moment they go in that little swimming-pool they start gurgling happily,’ said Mum. She paused. ‘Not like some people.’

  Mum and Gran were talking very quietly, but Connie could still hear every word they were saying. She was drawing a picture of the twins swimming. It had started off a very good picture. Connie was clever at drawing. She drew Claire and Charles looking very cute in their stripy swimming costumes.

  Mum and Gran had said it was a beautiful picture. But then they’d sat on the sofa together and went on and on and on about the twins and swimming.

  Connie suddenly drew a great big enormous shark in the swimming- pool with the twins. The shark had a great big enormous mouth glittering with sharp teeth. It was swimming very near the twins. It looked as if it was about to have a delicious baby-snack for breakfast.

  ‘Poor Connie! So this being scared of swimming has developed into a real phobia?’ said Gran.

  Connie didn’t know exactly what a phobia was, but it sounded feeble and pathetic and babyish. She felt feeble and pathetic and babyish. She bent her head over her drawing. There was suddenly a spot of real water puddling the swimming-pool picture.

  ‘Connie?’ said Mum. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Connie.

  ‘I’ve just been talking things over with Gran,’ said Mum.

  ‘That’s right, dear,’ said Gran. ‘I’ve been telling your mum I’d love it if you came round to visit me on Sunday mornings. Would you like that, Connie? You can bring all your bits and pieces to play with – and maybe you’ll draw me some lovely pictures to pin up in my kitchen. Let’s see your picture of the twins swimming. Have you finished it?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Connie quickly. She took her blue felt tip and scribbled hurriedly over the great big enormous shark.

  ‘Connie, don’t do it like that! You’ll go over all the lines,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’m just colouring in the water,’ said Connie.

  The shark simply wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she coloured over him.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Gran, getting up. ‘Whoops,’ said Connie. ‘Oh dear, yes, I’ve spoilt it.’

  She tore the page out of her drawing book and crumpled it up in her fist.

  ‘Oh, Connie!’ said Gran. ‘What a shame!’

  ‘Never mind, Gran. I’ll draw you another one next Sunday,’ said Connie.

  Next Sunday she did draw Gran a picture. She drew herself, on dry land.

  ‘It’s a lovely pict
ure, dear!’ said Gran, and she pinned it up on the kitchen wall.

  Then Connie drew a picture of Gran.

  ‘Why have you drawn all those dark bits on my forehead?’ Gran said. ‘I look as if I’ve got a dirty face.’

  ‘That’s all the wrinkles,’ said Connie.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Gran, and she sighed.

  ‘Aren’t you going to pin that picture up too?’ said Connie.

  ‘Yes, of course, dear,’ said Gran, looking at her face in the shiny kettle, and sighing again. ‘How about doing a portrait of Grandpa now?’

  Grandpa wasn’t very well. He spent a lot of his time having a little doze. He dozed all the time Connie was drawing his portrait. Connie went to show Gran the finished picture.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t drawn him with his mouth open,’ said Gran, but she pinned that picture up too.

  Connie wanted to watch television now but Gran’s set was very old and kept twitching. Her video recorder hadn’t worked properly for ages either.

  ‘The hire firm is replacing them on Monday,’ said Gran, and her face creased into a whole new set of wrinkles.

  ‘What’s the matter, Gran?’ said Connie.

  ‘Nothing, nothing. Tell you what – you help me peel the vegetables for lunch and then I’ll read to you, eh?’

  Connie wasn’t too thrilled about this idea. Gran had a whole shelf of children’s story-books but they were all very long and old-fashioned. Gran wasn’t very good at reading aloud either, not a patch on the people who read on Connie’s collection of story- tapes. But Connie smiled and acted pleased. She was trying to be good for once because she was fed up with Mum and Dad thinking her bad.

  But Gran picked the worst possible book. It was called The Water Babies.

  ‘I don’t want that book!’ said Connie.

  ‘It’s a lovely book, dear, all about this little boy Tom who’s a chimney sweep and then he becomes a water baby. Look, it’s got beautiful pictures.’