The Water Babies

The Water Babies

She has become my shadow; haunting me with her dark, mournful eyes, huge in her pale face. Her withered body, that glides rather than walks, and skeletal hands, twisted into hooked claws. She never says a word but she’s always there, those glassy orbs in their shadowy sockets, boring into me whether I dare to look at her or not.

*

Kate and I had always loved the water. We could swim before we could walk. Mum called us her “water babies” and the house was full of photos of us at different ages but almost always in the water. Our parents were always really supportive, both encouraging and enabling us to fulfil our potential.

 One or other, or both, of us won every award offered at our local pool, going way beyond the “rescue a rubber brick in your pyjamas” level. It was then that our instructor suggested we make the most of our talent and train to compete at county level. We were the youngest pupils ever to do so.

 From that point on, if we weren’t asleep or at school, we were in the water.

*

I don’t look at her but I know she’s looking at me. She’s always looking at me. I go to the wall to do a few warm-up stretches, hoping that her stare won’t follow me. Before I tilt my head to see her in my peripheral vision, I know she’s looking. I can feel it.

 She never moves or makes a sound but she’s always there.

*

Long course, short course, solo, relay, breaststroke, backstroke, butterfly or crawl, we were fast and sleek like minnows in our matching silver swimming costumes and we were never out of the medals. We even earned a slot on local television, named “The Water Babies” after Mum’s nickname for us, where we promoted the sport and encouraged everyone to learn this life-saving skill.

 I can only remember one race that we didn’t finish because whether we were swimming with or against each other, we had an almost telepathic awareness of where the other was. It was my fault. I should have known better than to eat before a race but I missed lunch and I was starving. One sandwich I might have got away with but secretly wolfing down two was asking for trouble.

 The starting pistol fired and we were away. The first length was okay; Kate was out in front of me but I was making good time.

 As I kicked off the side into the second length, I was gripped by terrible stomach pain. I knew what it was but I’d had it before and just pushed through. But this time… The next spasm took my breath away. My body doubled up and my gaping mouth started to take in water. I couldn’t wave my arms, I couldn’t shout, I couldn’t even breathe.

 Nobody seemed to notice, watching the clock and caught up in the action. Everyone was looking at the leaders who were at the other end of the pool. Even the lifeguard!

 My body stopped writhing and I felt myself sinking. My life didn’t exactly flash before my eyes but I did feel a sudden sense of peace. If I was going to die here, now, at least it would be doing something that I loved. I could-

 Kate’s face was suddenly in front of mine, her wide brown eyes full of fear. I opened my mouth but only managed to swallow more water. She hooked her arms under mine and kicked off the floor of the pool. The journey back to the top seemed really slow, the way that time elongates in a risky situation, but I remember feeling safe in my sister’s hold.

 As soon as we broke the surface of the water, the silence was shattered by shouts and screams and strong hands lifted me up to the side of the pool where I vomited and coughed up all the water I had taken in. I could hear my father berating the lifeguard, as well he might, but Kate was the first one who knew I was in trouble.

 My twin sister saved my life.

*

She is relentless. Being haunted all day, every day, is hard enough but the night is worse. Trying to sleep when you can feel yourself being watched by this pale ghost is almost impossible. I try not to peek at the lifeless eyes, the grey hollow cheeks and the blue lips open in an endless silent scream but just knowing that she is there, feeling impotent rage radiating from her, is enough to keep me awake.

 She may not be resting in peace but neither am I.

*

As if swimming virtually 24/7 was not enough, when we were teenagers, Kate and I decided to add a little variety and start diving too. It was the refresher we needed and we were in and out of the water like a couple of kingfishers. By now we were already winning at county level swimming events so it was good to have some new skills to learn.

 And to show off in front of the boys.

 Our parents thought, probably hoped, we wouldn’t have time for boys but, as they say, love finds a way. We weren’t competing against them so we had time to loiter in the stands and admire them. And vice versa!

 My eye was caught by a lean, blond Adonis named Sam. He was gorgeous and he knew it, preening and posing poolside. Kate laughed at both him and me but I was hooked. Her attention was focused on a taller, darker guy called Tom. Even though we were twins, we had very different tastes in men - or so it seemed.

 We finally plucked up the courage to talk to our crushes and soon we were both dating. As our boyfriends were both swimmers, our relationships didn’t detract from the sport and as both seemed to be, in Mum’s words, “nice enough boys”, our parents didn’t object.

 Kate and Tom didn’t seem too serious; they were both happy to flirt with other people. However, Sam and I got very close, very quickly and, despite, or maybe because of, the fact that he was my first proper boyfriend, I was totally smitten.

 For the first time in our lives, Kate and I were moving in different directions and it felt really weird, like we could no longer read each others minds. We didn’t let it interfere with our swimming though; we were still The Water Babies, “as thick as thieves.” That’s a strange phrase and, as it turned out, a very apt one too…

 I’m not sure why I was so surprised. Kate had been acting strangely for a while - and so had Sam. Perhaps I just didn’t want to believe it but Kate and Tom’s relationship was breaking down and both of them were now seeing other people. In Kate’s case, it was Sam!

 Although I loved him, Kate’s betrayal was harder to deal with because, well, we were twins who’d always been on each others’ side. I didn’t know what to say when I caught them kissing by the cloakrooms. So I didn’t say anything. Ignoring his smirk and her cry, I turned tail and, needing somewhere to think, I climbed to the top of the diving boards. It didn’t take her long to find me. Of course she knew where I would be.

 She was in tears, apologising profusely, saying that Sam had come onto her and it meant nothing but I didn’t even acknowledge that she was there, let alone grace her drivel with any kind of response. Desperate for a reaction, she changed tack. She adopted a nonchalant attitude, telling me that the faithless Sam was no great loss and, in fact, she had done me a favour by proving it.

 I remained silent. If there was one thing we couldn’t cope with, it was being blanked by the other. Unsure of what to do next, Kate retreated to the other end of the diving pool and waited.

 And waited.

 There was nothing to say. What words could possibly bridge that yawning chasm of betrayal?

 I stood and walked over to her, without knowing what I would do next. She tried to defuse the situation with a smile - and that was it. I pulled back my fist and punched her squarely in the face.

 I can never forget that last scream as she fell from the top board and hit her head - hard - on the one below. Her neck snapped and she dropped into the water, silent and still.

*

I hang my head in shame, trying vainly to offer penitence. I hope that she can read my face, see the sorrow in my guilty countenance. Looking into her eyes, I wish she would at least acknowledge me.

But there’s nothing.

Worse than nothing.

A vacant, thousand-yard stare.

*

To bury her body and mourn her may have brought some kind of closure.

 But Kate didn’t die.

 Instead, she now lives in limbo between life and death; brain-damaged and paralyzed but still drawing breath.

 She doesn’t need a finger to point or a voice to condemn. Everyone knows who the villain of the piece is, the one who stole her sister’s life and now appears to carry on as if nothing has happened. Still swimming, still competing - the heartless bitch!

  But I don’t know what else to do. Kate is now my eternal accuser and I feel myself chained to her lifeless body, dragging the weight of condemnation everywhere I go, all of the time. Mum and Dad bring her along to the swimming events, hoping that she can get something, anything, from what was once the centre of her life. Tucked up in her wheelchair, her head lolling, her eyes rolling and drool dripping from the side of her mouth, it’s impossible to tell what she makes of it. Where I always used to know what she was thinking, now there’s just a terrifying void.

 My twin has become the dead version of me or I, the live version of her. If I hadn’t pushed her off that diving board, she’d be doing everything I am doing or will ever do; get married, have children, even an Olympic win. Kate will be the spectre at my every feast.

 Mum asked if Kate could ‘sleep’ in the same room as me, to provide company and a familiar environment for her during the long, dark hours of the night. How could I say no? I lay in bed, trying not to look at her looking at me. Can her staring eyes actually see me? Can she think? Can she feel? I no longer know but I hope to God she can’t do any of those things.

 She could live another fifty years like this and when Mum and Dad have gone, it will be my responsibility to care for her, my due penance. The doctors have warned us that when her death comes, it could be slow and painful as, ironically, she may drown from the fluid built up in her lungs.

 The worst thing of all is that I know she wouldn’t want to exist like this. Her silence screams it at me. The horror is not that I killed my sister - it’s that I didn’t.

 And that will haunt me for the rest of my life.