I Wish I Had a River

“Listen...” Mum grinned at me as she prepared to launch into her oft-repeated anecdote of my greatest embarrassment which simultaneously provided my sweetest memory of childhood:

My parents,in addition to being two of the sweetest people on the planet,were naturists whose commitment to the cause of clothes-free living bordered on the fanatical.There was rarely a weekend or summer weekday when our doughty family caravan wasn’t parked in a field surrounded by similar vehicles,each of which had spilling from them naked people of all ages and more body shapes than newspapers or television acknowledged existed.In years when Dad’s shop was flourishing we might even wash up in the South of France,but wherever we landed,our home from home was always the same Viscount caravan which we named Joni after Joni Mitchell who my mother loves as much today as she did back then.

We were always the same small band of travellers,Mum,Dad,myself and my twin brother,Jerry.Tom and Jerry,we were nicknamed,due to my tomboyish demeanour.I was always the better athlete and the fiercer fighter which was just as well for,despite my lack of size,I found it impossible to walk away from any altercation.

“Why can’t you be more ladylike?” my grandmother would ask,with such frequency she was fortunate to not receive a dose of that which I inflicted on my infant enemies.

“Leave her alone,she can be whatever she chooses,” my dad told her.He was a big fan of my warrior tendencies,much to my mother’s amused chagrin.

Jerry hated the word ‘sensitive’ although that was the adjective most often used to describe him.He would never run from trouble,but his common sense kept him away from it most of the time.Drawing was both his talent and passion.I,who could barely create serviceable stick figures,was blindingly envious of his ability to generate a scene with the accuracy of a photograph whilst still adding a touch of artistry.

Siblings of an identical age and such wildly differing temperaments were bound to quarrel and we had some belters.If things ever turned physical I was an easy victor with Jerry often unwilling to put up any defence which served only to enrage me further.Fortunately,my parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment or I’d have spent half my childhood in too much pain to sit down.The only interest on which we saw eye to eye was our love of running around in our birthday suits...and we did love it.Most kids enjoy being without their clothes,but for us it was a way of life.We’d become grouchy as a weekend drew to a close and we had to imprison ourselves in shorts and t-shirts for the journey home.

 I’d never felt it was a privilege to be a twin until I was forced to start a new school at age seven.My parents told me we were moving to a larger house with a huge garden and we’d have more money to spend on treats and outings due to Mum’s promotion at work,but all I knew was I’d just made friends and settled in primary school and now I had to start over.At least with Jerry being present there’d be one face I recognised on the first day of term.

Despite his shyness,my brother fitted in immediately and became a component of a small,but close group of chums.I struggled in this respect.

“Perhaps you should try to be a little,just a tad less...sparky,” said my mother struggling to find a polite description for me.

The one class to which I’d been looking forward was the fortnightly trip to the local swimming pool.I loved – and still love - to swim.I learned to do so about the time I began to walk.I was fast,strong and sleek like a baby seal.I knew my classmates would be impressed once they saw me.

We took a coach to the local baths (I always thought calling them baths was silly),which were a noisy ten minute drive away.There were forty kids from our class and the year below and we had access to the facilities for an hour.I’d have preferred longer,but still,it was a billion times better than sitting at a desk.

Boys and girls were ushered into their separate facilities. “What’s the point of that?” I thought.

Most of the girls had frilly pink bathing suits.They seemed to think they looked cute,I thought they looked silly.Our teacher put her head around the door and told us to make our way to the pool.I did so...golden brown and bare as the day I was born.

There were thirty seconds of silence,as if the kids had trouble processing what their eyes were seeing,then the girls started screeching and the boys,pointing and laughing.I was perplexed,all I wanted was to jump in the water,that I’d be forced to wear clothes to do so was ludicrous.A circle of mocking children had formed around me.From the corner of my eye I saw my annoying little brother walking towards me...that worm,that little weasel who was the bane of my life.He was wearing a pair of red shorts.He stopped,took them off and threw them to the floor.He stood beside me,held my hand and faced the mob.Okay,a group of six and seven year olds might not sound like a mob,but when it’s thirty eight against two it certainly feels that way.Even so,it was appreciably better than thirty nine against one.

The ruckus brought the teachers running,well,walking briskly.There was Miss Lewin who was young,smiley and kind and Mrs Calvert who was none of those things. I think I heard Mrs Calvert exclaim “well,I never,” but such was the tumult I couldn’t be sure.The old lady unfastened her cardigan and wrapped me in it,then she noticed Jerry,removed it from me and swaddled him instead.She dragged me aside while Miss Lewin led my brother away by the hand.

Mrs Calvert,rendered almost speechless by rage,managed to bark out the order I should get dressed then go sit on the coach to contemplate my actions.All I could contemplate was how I’d been denied the opportunity to go swimming.

Jerry eventually arrived to sit with me.They’d made my brother cry,which was not generally something that bothered me,but I considered it my birthright to be the cause of his tears!

I stood to hug him.I didn’t make a habit of this,but I knew he’d made a sacrifice.He’d left himself exposed to ridicule – quite literally – to blur the focus on me.

The taunting resumed once the other kids returned to the coach and continued throughout the day.Miss Lewin did her best to quell it,but the other teachers were less concerned and a couple even joined in.

Our parents were waiting in the kitchen when we arrived home.Mum looked as though she was about to deliver the lecture to end all lectures,but Dad was struggling to suppress a grin.

“They wanted me to swim in clothes.It’s so stupid,they were wrong,not me.” I decided to get my defence in first.

It had been drummed into us we should be careful when discussing our lifestyle in the world at large.Jerry had no problem adhering to that.I was less compliant...

“I wrapped a swimsuit inside your towel and put it in your bag.Didn’t you see it? It was lovely,it was pink.” My mother was exasperated.

“Of course I saw it,it was horrible.I hate clothes and I hate pink!”

It was only my dad who could get through to me when I was in one of my moods.We went into the garden and he agreed I should stand up for myself,but sometimes I had to “pick my battles.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant,but I agreed I would.He said we’d go to our club that weekend,just the two of us,and I could swim all day if I wished.I love my mum dearly,but I’ve always been daddy’s girl.

“And what will you do if the other children make fun of you?”

“Punch them,” I replied,only half joking.

Boy,did they make fun of me.Jerry too,although he had more of a gift for making himself invisible thus avoiding the worst of it.

The teasing went on for months before it subsided,even then it would still be brought up if someone wanted to get a rise out of me. “Rudie nudie,” from the younger kids to a sneering “all the boys have seen your vagina,” from the older girls,feigning sophistication.Funnily enough I got ten times the grief from the girls.I think the boys were a little intimidated by me,they’d seen how fearless I could be and getting beaten up by a girl was not something any of them wanted to risk.

By the time I was in secondary school it was something that might be alluded to when I least expected,but by then I looked back on it with pride.I’d stood tall,I hadn’t cowered or covered myself,I’d never once felt ashamed.Besides,in a large comprehensive everyone had their own dramas and the tribulations of primary school seemed a lifetime ago.

I had a diverse group of friends and academic success came easily to me.It wasn’t a question of whether I’d go to university,but which one I’d choose.Jerry’s oddness had bloomed into a free spiritedness that was a joy to behold and we’d grown ever closer,our contrasting personalities dovetailing as we grew older.

Adolescence had put an end to his interest in nudism and with Mum’s career taking up ever more of her time it was primarily me and Dad who’d visit the club.Whatever changes I was going through it was always the location I felt safest and my truest self.All that swimming paid off when I made the county team and took part in national competitions.Unfortunately,I was forced to wear a costume – I reckon I’d have knocked a couple of seconds off my personal best had I been allowed to compete naked!

University was everything I hoped it would be.The social life was wild,though not so wild as to prevent me attaining the degree to which I’d aspired.My brother had gone to art school in London,an extraordinary talent for drawing and painting having blossomed.He dropped out in his first year after,as the cliche has it, falling in with a bad crowd,although I suspect he was very much a part of the bad crowd that others fell in with.Heroin was his poison and it robbed him of much of his lustre,although I still saw traces of the heartbreaking sweetness that,all those years ago,had led him to humiliate himself rather than allow his sister to face embarrassment on her own.

Of course,my parents didn’t give up on him,despite the oceans of tears shed in the privacy of their bedroom.With a combination of hard work and an eye watering sum of money we got him clean.I had a university friend who worked at a bar in Ibiza and he lined him up with a job.It was something of a risk as Ibiza’s not exactly the abstinence capital of Europe,but,despite a minor relapse,he thrived in the sunshine.He found a tribe of like-minded bohemian types and started painting again.He even sold a few.

I visited him for a couple of glorious weeks and succeeded in coaxing him to a nudist beach.Judging by the whiteness of his bits it was not a location he frequented.He introduced me to his group of friends who were chill and enormous fun.There was one guy,Luca,making a meagre,but contented living singing his songs and playing his guitar for anyone who’d listen.He possessed no permanent address,but had sufficient acquaintances to ensure there was always a sofa where he could spend the night.We’d sit on the beach into the early hours smoking a spliff,drinking cheap wine and talking about everything and nothing.It was a wrench to leave him behind.He asked whether he might call me once he was back in the UK.Of course I said yes,of course I had no expectation anything would actually happen.

Six months later he phoned and asked me to look out the window.He was standing on my parents’ driveway.Two years after that we were married.My brother was his best man,having flown  in from Helsinki for the ceremony before returning to Finland the following day.

I’ve always been blessed to have tender men in my life,but Luca still stood out as the kindest,gentlest,most nurturing,least ego driven person I’d ever met.He was a total romantic without ever resorting to such clichés as chocolates and flowers.He was repulsed by the idea of having a career,working,instead,at a job only so long as he enjoyed it,then moving on.His great love,other than for me,was his music which he’d play anywhere to an audience of any size.The only eventuality that might have forced him to abandon his muse would have been attaining commercial success.Making music for a living would have killed the passion in him.

We’d hear from Jerry every six months or so and if he ever stayed in one place long enough we’d visit for a week or two.Hawaii,Bangkok,Kyoto and Lima – we certainly saw large chunks of the world as we checked up on my brother.Sometimes he was with a woman,other times alone.He never appeared unhappy,but had a restlessness to him it seemed unlikely he’d ever quench.

My parents adored Luca.They’d have preferred he had a “good,steady” job,but so charming was he,so obviously besotted with me,they readily forgave him.He even came to the naturist club with Dad and me.

“Come on,get your clothes off,” I teased him. “I thought you were meant to be a hippy freak.”

It clearly made him uncomfortable,but the fact I asked was reason enough for him to do anything.

Every aspect of our lives approached perfection,but for the fact we hadn’t managed to add to our family.We tried everything that medical science or the kookiest new age remedies had to offer.We hadn’t given up,but were becoming increasingly resigned when,after six years of marriage,I was late and five,count them,five home pregnancy tests confirmed the good news.

“Maybe it will be twins,” I joked.The joke seemed less funny two months later when my scan revealed there was dual occupancy of my womb.

Luca,ordinarily the most attentive of men,went into overdrive until he was being nauseatingly thoughtful as he tried (and failed) to stop me doing anything for myself.

Labour was excruciating,but the twins were,I don’t want to use the word ‘perfect’ again,but,to hell with it,they were.

Never was a man more suited to being a father than Luca.He did everything for our children other than breastfeed and I’m not entirely sure he didn’t give that a go when no one was watching!

Of course the kids were introduced at our naturist club,many of the older members recalling the first time Jerry and myself put in an appearance decades earlier.They took to the scene like little naked ducks to water.How could they not with their genes?

I hadn’t seen my brother since before the birth and I ached for Emily and Dylan to meet him.He informed us he’d recently ended a relationship and was planning an “epic trip” through Australia to get over things.We tied him down to a month in Brisbane and flew out a week after the twins’ third birthday.Escorting twin three year olds on a flight to Australia is something I would recommend as a punishment for only the most prolific of serial killers,but eventually,as Luca and myself wept tears of relief,we arrived.

Our four week stay raced by with distressing speed.We explored the city ,visited the zoo and spent days at the beach,but mostly we just hung out.It struck me like a sledgehammer that Jerry and I weren’t merely siblings,but a tangible part of each other.It was equally obvious what everyone had told me,but I’d refused to see,there were huge similarities between my husband and brother.Luca had a contentment Jerry lacked,but they shared a tear-inducing tenderness that was never more obvious than when they played with the kids.

Jerry had an instant rapport with his niece and nephew.

“You’re the luckiest boy in the world,” he told Dylan. “You have the best mummy and daddy anyone’s ever had,but there’s an extra reason you’ve won life’s lottery.You have a twin sister who’ll never give up on you no matter how often you let her down,who’ll fight to the death to keep you safe no matter how fierce your enemy.All you need do is keep an eye out for the rare occasion she might be vulnerable,when she needs your support,then you take her hand and you stand by her side and you don’t flinch whatever the provocation.”

Jerry came to wave us off at the airport.I sensed a cloud of foreboding hovering just above my head,but put it down to anticipation of our journey.As it was time to go through security I turned to wave.That was the last time I saw my twin brother.

That was three years ago.After he left us he set out on his road trip.He stayed one night at an airbnb fifty miles from Brisbane before leaving on his motorbike at ten the next morning.There’s no record or confirmed sightings after that.He’s missing,very much presumed dead,but I still harbour the hope,however ridiculous,he’s holed up somewhere in the Outback,that he’s hooked up with a woman who’s spent her life choosing the wrong man and finally finds peace with this gentle,damaged,artistic soul.It makes no sense,I know,but he was right,as long as I breathe I’ll never give up on him.

Our twins continue to flourish in wholly predictable ways.Dylan is reserved and clings to me.He already displays a talent for drawing.Emily is a warrior,little frightens her and whatever does she’ll attack regardless.She definitely favours her dad and he her,although neither would admit it.

Jerry is very much in my thoughts tonight as I pack the kids’ bags.They’re both hugely adept in the water,Emily especially so and tomorrow is their first school swimming class.I’ll make a point of telling them their costumes are wrapped in their towels.I’m sure they’ll utilise them,although were I to receive an irate phone call from their teacher,I wouldn’t be wholly surprised.