Iggy and Me and The Happy Birthday

“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.

Iggy’s birthday list (#ulink_af9078c2-3fd3-526c-836d-83de2d5fd7e7)

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.”