Rescuing Rose. Isabel Wolff

me, not because of their identical looks, but because they were always arguing – that’s how we met. I was in the garden one day and I could hear these two little voices, disagreeing viciously.

      ‘Barbie is HORRIBLE!’

      ‘She is NOT horrible, she is very pretty and KIND. Sindy is UGLY!’

      ‘No she’s NOT!’

      ‘She IS. Her head’s TOO big!’

      ‘That’s because she’s very CLEVER. She can speak FRENCH!’

      ‘Well Barbie can speak AMERICAN!!!’

      I remember climbing onto the garden wall and staring at them in amazement. I’d never known any identical twins before. They were dressed in the same blue shorts and pink tee shirts, with conker-brown Startrites, and red and white striped toggles bunching their short fair hair.

      ‘Barbie’s a DOCTOR! And an ASTRONAUT!’

      ‘But Sindy’s a VET!’

      They looked up, saw me, and stopped arguing, then one of them said, ‘What do YOU think?’ I shrugged. Then I told them that I thought both dolls were silly and they seemed quite pleased with that. It was as though they wanted me to be their umpire. I’ve been adjudicating ever since.

      I think it was the twins’ sense of completeness which drew me to them – the way they belonged together, like two walnut halves. Whereas I didn’t know who I truly belonged to, or who I was related to, or even who I looked like. Nor did I know whether my real mum had ever had any other children, and if they looked like me. But Bella and Bea were this perfect little unit – Yin and Yang, Bill and Ben, Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Like Tweedledum and Tweedledee they argued a lot, but the weird thing was they’d do it holding hands. They’d been coupled from conception, and I’d imagine them kicking and kissing in the womb. And although their mum would dress them in non-identical clothes every day, they’d always change into the same thing.

      They did absolutely everything together. If one of them wanted to go to the loo, for example, the other would wait outside; and their mum couldn’t even offer them a piece of cake without them going into a little huddle to confer. Sometimes I’d watch them doing a jigsaw puzzle, and it was if they were almost a single organism, heads touching, four hands moving in perfect synchronicity. And I found it deeply touching that they were so totally self-contained, yet wanted to make space in their lives for me. I was mesmerised by their mutuality and I deeply envied it – the power of two. They’re thirty-seven now, and very attractive, but they’ve never had much luck with men. They were complaining bitterly about this, as usual, when they came round on Wednesday night.

      ‘We can’t find anyone,’ Bella sighed as we sat in the kitchen. ‘It always goes wrong.’

      ‘Men don’t see us as individuals,’ said Bea.

      ‘Hardly surprising,’ I said. ‘You look alike, sound alike, talk alike, walk alike, you live together and when the phone goes at home you answer “Twins!”’

      ‘We only do that for a joke,’ said Bea. ‘In any case there are huge differences.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Well, Bella’s quieter than I am.’

      ‘That’s true,’ said Bella feelingly.

      ‘And we went to different universities, and until now we’ve had different careers.’ Bella was a financial journalist and Bea worked for the V and A. ‘Plus Bella’s hair is short and mine’s shoulder length; her face is a tiny bit narrower than mine, she’s left-handed and I’m right-handed, and we have different views on most things.’

      ‘Too right.’

      ‘We’re not one person in two bodies,’ Bella pointed out vehemently, ‘but men treat us as if we were. And the stupid questions we get! I’m sick of men asking us whether we’re telepathic, or feel each other’s pain or if we ever swapped places at school.’

      ‘Or if we’d ever sleep with the same man!’ Bea snorted, rolling her eyes. ‘You can see what’s going through their pathetic little minds when they ask us that!’

      ‘Or they meanly flirt with both of us,’ said Bella crossly, ‘to try and cause a rift.’

      And there’s the rub.

      The twins may complain about their single status but I have long since known the truth; that although they both say they want a serious relationship, the reality is that they don’t; because they’re very comfortable and compatible and companionable as they are, and they know that a man would break that up…

      ‘Rudolf Valentino is speaking,’ I said, changing the subject. I took the cover off.

      ‘Don’t talk to me like that Ed!’ screeched Rudy. ‘Boo hoo hoo. Rose, let’s face it – you’re a mess! No, I have NOT done the washing up!’

      ‘God!’ Bea shuddered. ‘How ghastly. It’s probably been triggered by the stress of moving house.’

      ‘Rose you are WEIRD!’ Rudy screeched. ‘You need a SHRINK! No – you need an agony aunt!’

      ‘Now you know what it was like living with Ed!’ I said grimly as I gave Rudy a grape.

      ‘Er, yes.’

      ‘Imagine having to listen to all those vile and untrue things!’

      ‘You’ve got problems Rose!’ Rudy squawked. ‘And will you stop stop STOP tidying up!’

      ‘Ridiculous!’ I said, as I reached for my Marigolds and began cleaning out his cage.

      ‘Er…you’d better not let prospective men hear him,’ said Bea carefully, as I disposed of the newspaper.

      ‘Hmm.’

      ‘It might, you know, put them off.’

      Over supper – I’d bought a quiche and a bag of salad – the conversation turned to cash. The twins want to find a shop.

      ‘We need premises,’ said Bea. ‘They don’t have to be big, but that way we’ll get passing trade. We’re on the look-out in Kensington but it’s bloody expensive and we don’t have much cash.’

      ‘Nor do I,’ I said vehemently. ‘I’ve hugely over-extended myself. I got my first mortgage statement this morning – it’s going to be nine hundred quid a month.’

      ‘Christ, that’s a lot of money for one person,’ said Bella.

      ‘Yes.’ I felt sick. ‘I know.’

      ‘But you must have known that when you bought it?’ she added.

      ‘I was too distressed to give it much thought.’

      ‘Have you got the money?’ asked Bea.

      ‘Just about. It’ll be fine if I never eat anything, never buy anything, never have a holiday and never, ever go out. Nine hundred pounds,’ I groaned. ‘I’ll be totally broke. I could try and get another column,’ I mused.

      ‘No,’ said Bea firmly. ‘You work hard enough as it is.’

      ‘Then I’ll have to raid a bank. Or win the lottery; or get lucky with a premium bond.’

      ‘Or get a flatmate,’ suggested Bella. I looked at her. ‘Get a flatmate and you’ll be fine.’

      ‘Yes, get a flatmate,’ said Bea. How weird – they were agreeing! ‘A flatmate would really help.’

      ‘But I couldn’t bear living with anyone else after Ed.’

      ‘You couldn’t bear living with Ed,’ Bea pointed out. ‘So how could a flatmate be worse?’

      ‘Rose,’ said Bella. ‘Get a lodger – you’ve got that big spare room on the top floor. You could