Iggy and Me and The Happy Birthday. Jenny Valentine
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Iggy looked at us and pulled a face that said, “See? I told you I could swim.”
Sasha said, “Who can put their head underwater?”
Iggy ducked under and came back up again. “I told you so,” her face said.
“Who can open their eyes down there?”
“Easy peasy,” Iggy’s smile said.
“Who can make their bottom float up to the surface?”
Iggy’s smile disappeared. She looked at the others. Floating girl could. James could. The Incredible Hulk could.
Iggy couldn’t. She lifted one leg, and then the other. One half of her bottom floated at a time, but not the whole thing.
“Oh dear,” Mum said. “It’s the moment of realisation.”
“What’s that mean?” I said.
“Iggy just found out she can’t swim,” said Mum.
Iggy’s was frowning. She was biting her lip. Her face didn’t say, “See?” any more. It said, “Help!”
“Come on, Iggy!” we said. “You can do it!”
Iggy’s face said, “No I can’t.”
“Right,” Sasha said to Iggy. “Let’s have a look at you.”
Iggy did balancing on one leg at a time.
Sasha put her hand under Iggy’s tummy. Both her feet left the floor and her whole bottom did floating. Iggy looked very surprised.
“That,” Sasha said, “is what swimming feels like. Have a go.”
Iggy flapped her arms and legs about like a wild thing, while her teacher held her up.
“Perfect,” said Sasha.
“Perfect,” said Iggy in the changing room.
“Perfect,” she said on the bus.
“Perfect,” she said when Dad asked her how the lesson went.
“What was the teacher like?” he said.
“Perfect,” Iggy said.
I said, “She looked like a mermaid.”
“No she didn’t,” Iggy said.
“I think she did.”
Iggy looked at me like I was crazy. She said, “Flo, mermaids don’t have any legs.”
Mum and Dad laughed.
I said, “I meant her hair mainly.”
“Oh,” she said.
“What did you do?” said Dad.
“Swimming, silly,” Iggy said.
“Oh,” said Dad. “How do you do ‘swimming, silly’? Do you hop up and down and splash your top half about?”
Iggy looked cross, Mum said, “Stop it,” and Dad said, “OK.”
I was keeping out of it again.
“We did floating bottoms,” Iggy said. “If you must know.”
“What’s a floating bottom?” said Dad.
Iggy giggled.
“How do you float a bottom?” Dad said. “I have to know.”
Iggy said, “It’s easy. You let go with your feet.”
“Maybe you could show me next time we go swimming,” Dad said.
Iggy said, “Can we go now?”
“Not now, Iggy,” said Mum. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“Can we go tomorrow?” Iggy said.
“Maybe,” said Mum. “I think we probably could.”
“Good,” said Iggy. “Then I can show all of you.”
Iggy went to all six of her swimming lessons. Then she went to six more.
One day we were all swimming. Mum and Dad, and Iggy and me. I was being a mermaid and going underwater to find treasure. Dad threw his goggles for me and I dived down for them. They were the treasure.
Iggy was swimming along behind. Her feet weren’t touching the bottom. Her legs were kicking and her arms were flapping and she was doing everything right. She swam up to Dad and held on to him to get her breath back.
“I’ve got bad news for you, Iggy,” he said.
“What?” Iggy said. Her hair was all wet and peaky, and drops of water kept dripping in her eyes. “What?” she said again.
“You’ve turned into a fish,” Dad said.
Iggy smiled. “It’s better than being a piglet,” she said, and she swam off, with her whole bottom floating, to find Mum.
A long time before Iggy’s birthday, we were all in the garden. Mum was digging and Dad was reading the newspaper. Iggy and me were putting food out for the birds.
“Mum and Dad,” she said. “You know my birthday? Can I have a pet?”
Dad rustled his paper and Mum stopped digging.
Dad said, “What birthday?”
Mum said, “It’s ages away.”
“Is it?” Iggy said.
“Ages,” said Dad, looking out from behind his paper.
Iggy drooped a little bit, but she carried on anyway.
“Well, when it’s not ages away any more, can I have a pet? For my birthday?”
Mum and Dad smiled at each other. Dad shook his head.
“What sort of pet?” I asked.
“Just a small one,” Iggy said. “Like a puppy or a kitten.”
“Puppies and kittens grow into dogs and cats,” said Dad.
“I know that, silly,” she said.
“Dogs and cats are big,” Dad said.
“Well, smaller then,” said Iggy. “A rabbit or a guinea pig or – I know! – a hamster.”
“What about an ant or a spider or an earwig?” Dad said. “They’re small and they’re very little trouble.”
“Ewww,” Iggy said. “I don’t want them. I want something nice and soft and furry.”
“Some spiders are furry,” I said.
Iggy glared at me. “I don’t want a spider, Flo,” she said. “I want a hamster.”
“Good luck with that,” said Dad, and he went back to his reading.
“Put it on your birthday list,” said Mum.
“What birthday list?”
“A list of things you’d like for your birthday,”
Mum said. “You could start making it now.”
So Iggy did.
She went straightaway to get some pens and paper. She sat at the table in the garden, and she put pebbles on the corners to stop her list flapping around and blowing away. Then she tipped all the pens out of her pencil case and put on her very busy face.
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