The storm had taken out the power again, so Aiden and I were in our beds and Mum was reading us a story by candlelight. I remember thinking that stories were so much better by candlelight because the flame danced and that sent ripples of shadows and light across Mum’s face as she read. It’s like her moving face was part of the story, that the words changed her expression as if they touched a switch inside her, turned something on and off, on and off.
Aiden had the bedcovers up to his eyes, which were wide, unblinking and fixed on Mum. The candlelight made his hair, black and wavy like mine, shiver against the white of the pillowcase. It’s as if there were thin worms crawling and creeping across his scalp and the thought made me giggle and then it made me afraid.
I don’t know what the story was about because I’d been thinking about candles and lights and worms, but Aiden was drinking it in, thirsty for every word.
Mum closed the book and we cried out together.
‘Another one! Please?’
But she wouldn’t tell us another one, no matter how hard we begged. We needed to get to sleep. We had school in the morning (though without electricity, we all knew that wasn’t going to happen). We couldn’t bully her. We only ever got one story at bedtime because … that’s the way it was. Nighty night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite. But we argued anyway. Because … that’s the way it was.
‘Can we keep the candle in here, please?’
Aiden was scared of the dark. I wasn’t, because I was tougher than him. I’m the oldest. By three minutes, Mum said, but that explained a lot. It explained why I’m always the one who makes decisions, why I’m the one in charge. Aiden never argued about this because it’s a fact and facts don’t care if you argue with them and they won’t change simply because you don’t like them.
Aiden was quite smart, though.
‘Ashleigh, tell your brother why you can’t have the candle in here,’ said Mum.
I sat up in bed and took a deep breath.
‘Because it’s dangerous,’ I said. ‘If one of us – probably Aiden because he can be quite clumsy – if one of us knocks over the candle in the night, then we could set the beds on fire and burn the house down and burn all of us to death so that’s why we can only have electric night-lights but we can’t have those because there isn’t any power because of the storm and we’ve run out of batteries.’
I had to take another deep breath then because all those words had ridden on the wave of my last one and my lungs were empty. Mum smiled.
‘A good answer, Ashleigh,’ she said. I beamed. ‘If a little self-satisfied.’ I didn’t know what she meant by that, but thought it was probably good. She turned to Aiden and smoothed his bedsheets. ‘So one of you – maybe even Ashleigh, difficult though it might be for anyone to believe – could have an accident. We have to keep you safe, my babies.’ He nodded, just as another clap of thunder sounded nearby. It made the glass of water on my bedside shake. It was a little bit funny, as if nodding his head made the thunder happen.
‘Anyway, if this storm keeps up, you won’t need any light,’ Mum said. ‘You’ll have more than enough of the natural variety. Think you’ll be able to sleep through it, kiddlypunks?’
We all knew the storm would go on for hours and hours and we probably wouldn’t have electricity to cook breakfast in the morning. That’s the way it normally worked. And we also knew the thunder wouldn’t stop us sleeping. We’d slept through cyclones and this was nothing compared to that.
‘Yes, Mamma,’ said Aiden.
‘Of course,’ I said.
Mum sat on my bed again, which was a bit strange and definitely not part of the routine.
‘I think you’re old enough to hear this,’ Mum said, ‘so I want you to pay close attention.’
We both sat up in bed. Was this going to be another story, despite what she said? Whatever it was, it was exciting.
‘You are identical twins,’ she said. We knew that. Of course we knew that. It made us rare and extremely special. We didn’t say anything, though. Just waited. ‘Brother and sister,’ she continued, ‘with an unbreakable bond between you. It’s a marvellous thing. A most marvellous thing.’
I swallowed a yawn. I was tired and this wasn’t very interesting or exciting after all. Well, so far. Of course we were special. I’d always known that.
‘But it also means you have responsibilities towards each other,’ she said. ‘Responsibilities means having sometimes to do things you might not want to do to help and protect the other. Do you know what I mean?’
We both nodded, but I’m not sure either of us quite got it. Maybe that was why Mum gave an example.
‘Let’s say I did leave the candle in here and Ashleigh knocked it over in the night …’ I opened my mouth to protest, but Mum held up a hand in the stop position, so I did. ‘And you woke, Aiden, to the bedroom on fire. What’s the first thing you’d do?’
‘I’d wake Ashleigh and get her out of the bedroom.’
‘Yes. Good. Why?’
‘Because she’s my sister and I have to protect her.’
Mum beamed, leaned over and stroked Aiden’s cheek. A stab of jealousy made me flinch. I could have answered that question. That small sliver of affection was rightfully mine and I felt the pain of its absence.
‘That’s what being brother and sister means,’ she said. ‘It’s what family means. There’s an old saying, children. Siblings are there to catch you when you fall. If something goes wrong – and it doesn’t have to be something big, like a fire; it could be just one of you feeling sad, or having a bit of a bad time – then the other should always be there to help. Always! That’s what I mean about responsibilities. You, Aiden, must always be there to catch Ashleigh if she falls.’ He nodded.
‘And I’ll catch Aiden,’ I said. ‘He’s falling all the time.’ That’s because he’s so clumsy, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud.
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘You must promise me that you’ll always look after each other.’
We made that promise with all of a six-year-old’s solemnity. Later, after Mum had blown out the candle and left us to our sleep, Aiden’s hand reached across the darkness between our beds and took mine. He could be so childish, like when he called Mum, Mamma.
We fell asleep holding hands, the lightning flashing silver and black and the thunder playing drumrolls on the bedroom window.